Chapter Eight #3
Soren lifts an eyebrow in surprise. “No, not at all. I’m not saying the city guard shouldn’t care about a missing shadow-born girl. I’m just saying that they don’t. But there are channels other than through the guards.”
That’s interesting. It could be good to find out about some of these unofficial channels. And, jealous or not, I can’t imagine not doing anything I could for a fellow shadow-born in trouble. “Can I help you?”
Soren smiles. “That’s nice of you to ask.
Maybe keep an eye out at your shows. She’s thin with long red hair and several piercings in each ear.
” He gestures to the places on his own ears to show me.
He’s speaking calmly now, but I heard the concern in his voice in her mother’s shop.
He probably doesn’t want me to worry, but I’m an expert worrier.
I spent years doing little else while my family fought a war they wouldn’t all come back from.
He must see something along those lines written on my face because he says, “Come on. Her mother’s probably right about her being at the bottom of a bottle, and there’s not much we can do with the shops closing for the night. Let’s get something to eat.”
I do feel better once I’m in the tavern.
It’s a lively place, and it reminds me of home, only a little less dour.
I haven’t spent much time in the taverns back in Kalla; Larus wouldn’t let me until I turned eighteen, although I did sneak in once or twice when he was away dealing with house business.
But the keep had a small bar of its own, and he’d let me sit there with him while he drank.
Sometimes he drank because of bad news, sometimes because of good.
But the news was mostly bad, and the mood was mostly bad.
Here, it’s different. It’s as if they were never touched by the war.
There are people laughing against the bar, people shouting and cheering at tables playing cards, a band playing a lively tune, and a couple in the corner kissing so passionately it makes me blush.
The Great Festival is about to begin, and these people have gotten an early start to it.
The food is unusual, or at least it is to me. It’s some kind of spongy flatbread with different dishes served directly on it, but it has a pleasant, tangy taste to it, and the company is good as well.
There’s a freedom to having only one night with someone.
I find myself telling Soren about my sister—without using her name, of course.
I tell him about how she commands the attention in a room, about how she’s always been the best at everything.
I tell him how much I envy her and how I can never seem to measure up to the mark she sets, throwing in some made-up details about her prowess in aerial tumbling.
He asks about my parents and other siblings. I tell him a bit about Seth, but there’s not much to tell there, really. He’s somehow even more Adria than Adria. I imagine when they talk about the family, they focus primarily on their rivalry, and I’m not even part of the conversation.
And I tell him simply that my parents are dead. He doesn’t ask how, and I don’t tell him.
His parents are dead too, but that’s not unusual.
He tells me about his father, a man he both greatly admired and feared.
He inherited the business from him, but his father ran things with an iron fist. He’s trying to do things differently, and mostly it’s working, but some of the people his father paid to cooperate aren’t happy with his refusal to do the same.
We don’t talk about the war at all. I don’t ask him about the scars on his face, and he doesn’t ask me whether I fought on the other side.
After dinner and a couple of beers, he suggests we try our luck at cards.
I’ve never played the game before, so I keep my bets low.
It’s a game of strategy more than chance, and Soren is excellent at it.
He sweeps a large pile of coin from the table: some of it Selaran, much of it not.
When he goes to put the coin in his pocket, something falls from his sleeve.
A card.
I see it, but I’m not the only one. I hear the drawing of steel before I see the blade. A man with round glasses stands and shouts, accusing Soren of cheating. The man is right, of course, and he’s lost a fair bit of coin to Soren.
There are many differences between Selara and Nithyria, but it turns out how card cheats are handled isn’t one of them.
The man challenges Soren to a duel.
The color drains from my face. I know what’s coming next. Duels are a matter of honor and can’t be declined. There’s nothing for Soren to do except agree to the terms and…
He grabs my hand under the table. “Run!” he yells.
He pulls me up and out of the chair before I realize what’s happening.
Shit shit shit…
I darken the shadows in the room as I leap over an overturned barstool. All the lying today has given my magic a bit of an edge. It’s not enough to stop a shadow-born from seeing, if there are any in the room, but the darkness is near total.
Of course, the problem with that is that Soren is nature-born. He can’t see a damn thing either.
He collides with a buxom woman before slowing down enough to allow me to lead. I guide him the best I can as I dodge through the tables of confused and frightened patrons, turning back to see a fire-born cut through some of the shadow with flame.
It's a weak effort, though, compared to mine, and no one seems to be pursuing us with more than just a guess at where we are.
I keep the shadow on us when we’re out the door. Night has fallen, so I don’t need to do as much as we run through the city streets.
When we make it a few blocks over, I turn into an alley and let the shadow go. The moonlight is dim, but I can see the look on Soren’s face: he’s highly amused.
I’m not.
“Cheating at cards?” I say, panting from exertion and poking him in the chest. “I thought your business was doing well.”
“It is,” he says. He can barely talk for laughing and trying to catch his breath. “Believe me, those guys deserve it. And it’s just really fun to win.”
“It’s dishonest.”
“Says the shadow-born. Isn’t that kind of your whole thing?”
“I’m not a liar,” I say. Although I’ve lied a lot today, I don’t typically make a habit of it. “I just…don’t tell the whole truth.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
“It isn’t.” There’s a huge difference between keeping some things to yourself and lying for the fun of it.
“A lie by omission is still a lie.”
This man is infuriating. It was an incredibly stupid risk to take, and now he’s arguing with me like a child. We could have been killed. “You’re a moron,” I say.
“Oh, absolutely,” he says.
And fuck it, the way he says it is so genuine, I laugh.
I’m still laughing when I hear the voices approaching.
Soren covers my mouth with his hand and presses me against the wall. I darken the shadows again as we wait for the cheated gamblers to pass us by.
I’m listening for them to turn down the alley, preparing for a fight, but I’m also feeling Soren’s body against me. He’s warm from our run, and his hand is soft on my mouth. I can smell the beer on him, but also that smoky, spicy scent I smelled earlier. It’s so alluring it floods my senses.
I want to kiss him. I’m reminded of the slip of my mind when I met Ronan—I’m so starved for affection, maybe I’d want to kiss anyone—but it’s different with Soren.
I want to kiss him not just out of desperation or to save my life from my damning thoughts, but because I’ve had a really great time, the best time I’ve had in years, and I don’t want it to end.
The footsteps retreat, and Soren drops his hand. But he doesn’t step away from me.
“Is Hazel your real name?” he asks, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Is Soren yours?” I reply. I didn’t see it until now, but there are parts of his story that don’t make sense. The way his magic worked earlier, so unlike any nature-born I’ve ever known. The scars on his hands that don’t feel like anything.
Relying on spies when he’s able to move freely through the market, checking on competitors on his own.
And where’s his store, anyway? Why hadn’t we gone there?
But he’s standing so close to me, it’s hard to focus on the inconsistencies. It’s hard to focus on anything when I feel his heat, when his hand combs my hair and then touches my lips, when his own lips part as he leans in. I reach for his face and—
A bell chimes the hour loudly nearby. It’s late.
“Fuck,” he says, pulling away quickly. “I have to go.”
So do I. I’ve been gone way too long now. If Adria didn’t tell a really good lie, they’ve probably sent out a search party.
“Until next time,” says Soren, kissing my hand. As he turns away, he winks at me.
He winks at me.
And suddenly, I see it.
I don’t dare to think it, not until I’m running far away in the opposite direction. I focus on the sound of the bells, echoing their ding ding ding ding in my thoughts, desperately trying not to let the name form in my mind.
Because I recognize that wink.
When I turn the corner and the palace comes into view, I can’t suppress the thought any longer.
Ronan. Soren is God-King Ronan.