Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
He bites his lip as he seems to absorb that. “What do you ask of me?”
“Your support and your friendship.”
“Is that all?” He chuckles. “My friendship, you need never fear losing. My support will not be helpful to you when I lose Bellcross to Atticus’s wrath upon him learning you were here and I did not apprehend you. He has made it clear that any who aid you will be considered enemies of Islor.” He studies the tapestry on the wall for a long moment. “If you are going to Venhorn, you will need supplies that I imagine you do not have.”
His eyes graze over the clothing I procured in Freywich. “I will gather what I can and have men I trust escort wagons to your camp in the morn. Beyond that … my support will have to be my faith that you are acting in the best interests of Islor, and that you will prevail. And I do hope you prevail, my dear friend, because I fear what awaits us if you do not.”
A knock sounds on the door.
“Enter,” Theon commands.
A guard pokes his head in. “My lord, there is a ruckus in the square.”
“Why am I being interrupted during this important private meeting for something that happens every market day?”
The guard wavers, suddenly unsure of his choice. Theon isn’t known to be this dismissive, but much weighs on his shoulders. “My lord, you wanted to know about any new claims of poisoning.”
Suddenly, Theon’s apathy is gone. “Is it valid?”
The guard scratches his chin. “That’s the thing. We’re not sure.”
17
Romeria
The square is still lively when Elisaf, Jarek, and I weave through. The dueling mimes are gone, replaced by a man painted bronze imitating a statue, and a woman drawing a bow over her fiddle, playing a spirited tune. Some merchants have sold out of their wares and are closing their wagons, but many remain, perched on their platforms, trying to persuade passersby to part with their coin.
I glance back the way we came, but the wagon is long gone. Ocher, a kindly older gentleman, steered it toward the quiet back streets rather than deal with the hassle of this crowd. “Do you think they’ll have any issues getting through the gate?” Gesine borrowed a gown from one of the priestesses, but Zorya refused to part with her leathers.
“Guards generally don’t give issue to those traveling from the sanctum,” Elisaf assures me. “They fear their standing with the fates will diminish, and they will land in Azo’dem. Besides, I’m certain Gesine could convince just about anyone to do her bidding.”
“And if not, Zorya will kill them all,” Jarek adds.
“Comforting.”
“That’s what I’m here for. To comfort you.” His gaze roams a nearby tavern on the east side of the square. The last dribs of sun shine a spotlight on several women loitering on the second-floor balcony, scantily clad and strutting before the crowd.
“They’re selling their blood?” Among other things, I’m sure. And they have caught his interest.
“Their keeper is selling their blood,” Jarek corrects.
“I prefer the former.” At least then they are in control.
“And yet what you prefer bears no weight on anything in Islor. Funny how that works.”
“You’re in a delightful mood.” I dismiss him, my attention shifting to the food wagons ahead. A single doughy pretzel hangs off a hook at one. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since before we reached camp. Now the shadows are long, the sun almost spent.
As if reading my mind—or maybe hearing my stomach—Elisaf produces a coin. “Quick, before he feeds it to the birds.”
I grin as I snatch it from his grip and trot over to exchange money for my meal. The vendor begins closing shop immediately, only too happy to be done for the day.
Elisaf smiles as I stroll back. “Well? How does it taste?”
“Like it’s been hanging on a hook all day. I hope I don’t break a tooth,” I say through my chews. “Where’d Jarek go?”
Elisaf waves toward a tavern.
“He couldn’t resist, could he?” The women are all attractive, curvy figures dolled up in dresses with revealing necklines.
“Don’t worry. He won’t take long.”
A memory hits, of Jarek and that tributary in the wagon in Freywich. “Can’t last, huh? I’ll have to bug him about that.”
“And I am sure he will find it amusing.”
I hesitate. “Don’t you need to … you know, too?” I nod toward the women.
“I would not leave you, not for a second.” Elisaf checks the clock tower and then points to a nearby bench by the water fountain where two mermaids entwined in each other’s bodies play the showpiece. “Come, we may as well sit. We still have an hour before we meet Zander.”
From the comfort of our seats, I work on my stale pretzel while Elisaf scrutinizes anyone who comes within twenty feet. But they’re all families and couples, and no one is paying us any attention.