Page 110
My simmering jealousy tangles with grudging respect. “You could have told me your plan.”
Esme lifts her chin defiantly. “You were busy winning fights. I was doing my part. Isn’t that what a team does?”
I can’t argue, because she’s right. “Fine. You did well.”
Her chin damn near points to the sky, and pleasure radiates off her. “I know I did.”
I shove my bag of gear into her arms to remind her who’s in charge. “Come on. We need to get back to our quarters and figure out how to use this information.”
She falls into step beside me, pleased with herself, the gear in the bag clinking as she hoists it over her shoulder.
“General Agnar Kerrin? The Wrath of Tirene? Gods, what are you doing here?” The voice cutting through the crowd is pitched to carry, and several heads swing its way.
I freeze. Never thought I’d hear that voice use the name King Jasper coined after I returned from what was once the city of Blackwood…before I leveled it.
You can never escape who you are. It’ll be the death of you eventually. Or someone else.
Barnaby Paloma, the well-known minstrel and shit stirrer, holds both arms out at me as if introducing me to the world. My persona of Garrett Stone won’t survive this outing. In my mind’s eye, I see the entire card tower I’ve built crashing down, burying me under all the lies I’ve told.
Fuck.
When Esme realizes Barnaby is addressing me, she falters to a stop and stares, confusion written across her face.
I wish she’d continued walking, so we could avoid rupturing our travel bubble. A lute hangs across Barnaby’s shoulder, and the minstrel grins like he found his favorite drinking companion. He’s older than the last time I saw him, with more gray in his beard, but he carries that same easy confidence that comes from mocking nobles for coin.
I see no way out of this encounter, so I nod, attempting to tuck my anger behind a pleasant mask. “Barnaby. Good to see you. What are you doing here?”
Ignoring my question, he swans over, his colorful garb probably visible from two villages away. “I thought that was you in the ring!” He claps me on the shoulder, grinning. “Saw you take down that flashy bastard with the spinning routine. Beautiful work. What brings Tirene’s finest to a tournament on neutral ground?”
Curious murmurs spread through the crowd around us.
“—Kerrin, the Wrath of Tirene?”
“—fought against the gods—”
“—close to King Sterling—”
“—right hand of the Fire Queen—”
The more people that recognize my name, the lower my heart sinks.
Barnaby continues talking, acting oblivious while soaking it all up. “Heard you were doing special training. I guess this counts?” He laughs and gives me another shoulder clap. What would happen if I broke his hand right now? “Well, good luck in the bouts. If you want to catch up properly, I’m singing tonight at the feast.” He melts back into the crowd humming, completely unaware of the damage he just inflicted.
The murmurs grow louder. Heads keep swiveling, the weight of their attention settling over my shoulders like a yoke.
My pulse hammers against my ribs as I angle closer to Esme so we can’t be overheard. “I couldn’t tell you. You understand?”
She stares at me for a long moment, something shifting behind her eyes. I can’t read what, and anxiety that she’ll storm away spikes through me. “I understand.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Esme
Fury hits me in waves. Not the hot, explosive kind that burns out fast, but cold and methodical.
Agnar lied to me for weeks. The man I danced with at the festival commands Tirene’s military. The monster who made me come apart against a wall advises the most powerful fire user in generations. The soldier I’ve been traveling with as an equal wiped out half the invading army at Tír Ríoga.
And he didn’t trust me enough to reveal his identity.
