2
The market of Tavamara was famous throughout the world. Other countries strove to emulate it, but none ever succeeded.
To Ramsay, it had always sounded like a living nightmare. Protecting someone in a mess like this was impossible. By the time he'd first seen the market though, he no longer had to worry about such things, and though it had been overwhelming and stressful, eventually he had gotten reasonably comfortable joining the throngs to do his shopping. Still, he was grateful he did not need to make the journey here often.
Once he saw Kajan safely home, he could stop by the market to sell some of the things he'd taken from the mercenaries, buy some supplies and a few indulgences if had coin to spare, and return to his normal life, such as it was, and Goddesses willing.
Not that his normal life was anything to covet, but it was free of people trying to kill other people and free of people needing his protection. Free of the ghost of the boy he had failed.
He sighed softly in relief as he finally left the crowded streets of the city behind and crossed the empty-by-comparison pavilion and courtyard that led from the edge of the city to the great palace of Tavamara. Legend said that it had taken seventy years to build the palace. Looking at it, estimating the hundreds of rooms it must have and the dozens of secret rooms that it also probably had, he could well believe the legend.
Joining the throng headed for the main audience chamber, he accepted a token from a clerk and then sidled off to the side to wait his turn. Seeing a wide, deep window ledge, he glanced briefly around, then hopped neatly up onto it. A couple of guards glanced his way, but no one ordered him down. Ramsay relaxed slightly, and well-situated just above the crowd, finally took in his surroundings.
Mostly ordinary, everyday people. Shop keepers, farmers, other working people. Mothers, fathers, bored and confused children. Harried clerks trying to keep everything controlled and organized. A beautiful room, ornate without being ostentatious, with windows that opened along the top to let in a cooling breeze.
He glanced toward the front, at the king he sought, and abruptly felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Hard. That was a king? But… but no king looked that way. Kings were spoiled and soft-looking, or hard and cold. They wore obscene amounts of costly fabrics and jewels, showy headpieces to emphasize their great and glorious importance. Kings were, always, always , a disappointment.
The man on the throne was presently laughing at something a dusty farmer was saying—kind, genuinely amused laughter. He conversed with the farmer easily, as though they were not king and peasant at all. Ramsay could not recall his own king ever deigning to even look at a farmer, let alone speak with them practically like they were equals.
He was striking to look at, the Tavamaran king, with all that dark skin and hair. Were his eyes the same? Or were they pale and contrasting? Were they filled with the same kindness he seemed to show the farmer?
Right now, of course, they must be filled with pain. He was impressed the king could laugh. Given the ongoing session, the lack of fear and curiosity, the low number of guards… They were trying to keep it secret that the crown prince had been kidnapped.
A wise decision, but he wondered what it cost the king to pretend as though all was well, when his only son was stolen by men who would probably kill him once they had the money or whatever it was they sought.
The more he watched the striking king, the more he saw it cost him a great deal to pretend that all was well. Ramsay wished he could simply stride across the room, up the few steps of the dais, and tell him that his son was safe.
Shafiq, he thought suddenly. That was the king's name. Everyone who spoke, with rare exception, said it with pride, with admiration. He was a well-loved king. Ramsay had not put much stock in that, as people often had no idea what their rulers were really like, but now it seemed he'd been the one who was wrong. He wouldn't actually know until they spoke, but…
The farmer went away smiling, clearly pleased with the resolution to his problem. The guards signaled a halt to the proceedings, and Ramsay's gaze was caught by movement as two of the men at the king's side moved. Until then, the men had all been perfectly still. Four of them in total, two on his right, two on his left.
The king's harem. He had heard about that—who hadn't heard about the infamous royal harems of Tavamara? No other country had anything like it. Rittu had harems, but they were complicated, extravagant, political things. Havarin of course had their pleasure slaves, a disgusting practice they refused to abandon no matter what pressure the rest of the world applied.
Only in Tavamara was it a position that the royal in question—king, queen, prince, princess—offered, that someone could accept or reject. They willingly signed their lives away to serve only their chosen monarch. He'd heard no one else could even touch them, be alone with them, or even approach them without permission. They were marked by their bare chests and the black clothes they wore, or so he'd been told, and it seemed to be true.
The two on the right were twins, which nearly made his jaw literally drop. That— Was that allowed? They were concubines, right? Not just attendants. Which meant… did they serve him one at a time? Did he… No, he wasn't thinking about that, it was so far beyond inappropriate to think about how the king fucked his pretty concubines.
Still, twins? But they were beautiful; all the more so sitting beside each other. Ramsay did not think the finest jewels in the world could display a king's power and wealth better than that perfectly matched pair.
Pure Tavamaran, by the look of them. They had the fine dark skin, the dark brown-black hair. It was closely cropped, showing off their sharp, elegant features, the beautiful eyes that were pale-colored, even at a distance. Their chests were bare, save for jewels adorning their nipples and belly buttons, with a glittering chain connecting the ones at their nipples. One twin wore rubies, the other sapphires.
Ramsay suspected that no one except the king and the rest of the harem knew which twin was who and the significance of the jewels they wore.
His skin felt suddenly too tight for his body, and the room too small, too hot. What might it be like, to be privy to their secrets?
As though sensing him, one of the twins—Sapphire—glanced his way, caught his eye. His expression never changed, but Ramsay knew an unseen smirk when he saw one.
Hastily jerking his gaze away, mortified to be caught staring and furious with himself for forgetting his purpose, he surreptitiously examined the remaining two. The one nearest the king was pretty rather than beautiful, his hair a tangle of artful curls. He had a pouty sort of mouth, though currently he was as expressionless as the others. It was the kind of mouth that always seemed to beg a kiss to take the pout away. He had chains dripping jewels wrapped around his wrists, throat, and waist: emeralds, pearls, and amber.
The last man was far from the slender, lanky builds of the others. He was broad, well-muscled, large without being overbearing. Ramsay thought with an old, familiar sigh that he would barely reach the man's chest. Short, compact, and fast had always been his fate. He had always envied the tall, broad ones who made everything look so easy, so effortless.
He carefully did not think about the other things he enjoyed from such men. Gawking at the twins had been bad enough.
Shock jolted through him. He was thinking about such things. He was thinking about such things. Since his brother's death, nothing and no one had interested him. For so long, he'd existed in a haze of grief, until it had given away to a cloud of numbness. It was only recently that too had faded. Seven months and eight days now since he'd held his dead brother in his arms. Was he allowed to feel anything again? He did not think ten years, or a hundred, was enough time to forgive his terrible sin. His brother had needed him, and he had not been there, and he had trusted the wrong people—
Turning away from those thoughts, he focused on the prince he was saving. He looked again at the large harem man. His nose looked as though it had been broken a couple of times, but it did not detract at all from his handsome features. None of the four were as striking, as compelling, as the king himself, but they were all damned close.
Was there a fifth one missing? Did the king only have four? What did it matter? Annoyed with himself, not quite certain why, Ramsay shifted his gaze back to the king—and startled to find he was being observed in his turn. He looked straight into dark, dark eyes for what seemed like an eternity, then wrenched his gaze away.
Doing so was much more difficult than it should have been, and he could not figure out why his heart was suddenly beating so damned fast. What was wrong with him? He was here to tell the king that his son was safe and could be brought home soon, not to act like a great fool.
A bell rang, signaling the resumption of the audiences.
"One thirteen!" a clerk cried out.
Ramsay frowned and glanced at his token. That was his, but when they had paused for a break, they had only been in the eighties. The clerk called his number again, and he slid down from his perch, presenting the token to the clerk, who checked him off and motioned that he may approach the throne.
He had spent his life guarding a prince, milling with nobles and royals, the most powerful men in the world. He had punched and otherwise harmed a few of them when they dared to try and bring harm to the man he had been blood sworn to protect. There was nothing about the high and mighty that unsettled him.
Yet his heart was still beating rapidly as he knelt reflexively before King Shafiq.
"You are a long way from home, child of Tritacia," Shafiq said.
Ramsay looked up in surprise. "I did not give my country of origin, Majesty. How did you know it?"
Shafiq seemed amused by something, but said only, "My clerk is a scholar of languages, and he has quite the ear for accents. That aside, your hair is a rather unique coppery orange. I seldom have seen that shade when it did not belong to a child of the Three Goddesses."
"Your Majesty," Ramsay conceded with a nod. His greatest asset as a Holy Protector had been that he looked quite harmless. His coppery hair seemed too bright for an earnest soldier, his freckles more suited to a child, and his small, compact stature had made him look weak and vulnerable. Too late, people realized he was no kitten.
"So you have come to introduce yourself?" the king asked. "You are a long way from home. Why do you choose to settle here?"
Ramsay almost replied honestly and inwardly recoiled. What was wrong with him? He was a Holy Protector; he had a job to do. Drawing a deep breath, he said, "I have a different reason for being here, actually, Your Majesty. Two days ago, I met a young man while journeying to my house, well outside your magnificent city. He told me some fascinating stories, about Cobra and Owl and Fox—and Ghost, which was his favorite, though he tells me that his father says Ghosts do not exist."
The king looked puzzled for a second—then his eyes snapped open, and too late Ramsay realized his attempt at conveying all was well had not worked.
Everything happened fast. It always did. Even as he heard guards banishing everyone else from the room, others were upon him, drawing swords for what they no doubt thought would be an easy capture.
He caught the first one in the face with his fist, then whirled around and took down two more with well-placed kicks, dropping to sweep another one off his feet, then bounced up neatly—
To find himself going head-to-head with the broad-shouldered harem man, and for a split-second Ramsay had the thought that he would be enjoying himself if the situation were not so dire. Goddesses, the man could fight, and it was obvious he was not fooled for a second by Ramsay's deceptive build and features.
Fighting a sudden, inappropriate urge to laugh, Ramsay tried to keep the man back without doing him real harm. "I'm not—" He dodged, kicked. "A threat. Please—" That time, he dodged too late and stumbled back with a grunt.
But he recovered in the next moment, until at last they were pinned, locked together in an awkward draw.
"Where is Prince Kajan?" the man demanded.
The king moved forward, even as the rest of the harem tried to hold him back. "My son, where is—"
Everyone froze as the door abruptly opened to admit—
"Jankin?" Ramsay asked, not certain what shocked him more—that of all people, Jankin had just walked in, or that Jankin was obviously the fifth member of the king's harem. "What in the name of the Three are you doing here?"
"Me?" Jankin demanded. "What are you doing here? You are an incredibly long way from home. Oh, Berkant, honestly. Let him go. What in the name of the Great Dragon is going on here?"
"He has Kajan," Berkant replied.
"I saved him!" Ramsay finally managed to get out.
Silence fell for a moment, then Shafiq said quietly but firmly, "Berkant, let him go."
"But—" Berkant muttered something indistinct, then obeyed with obvious reluctance.
Shafiq moved closer, pushing away the men clearly protecting him. "Who are you? Where is my son? How do you know Jankin?"
"I was traveling home two days ago," Ramsay said, answering the only important question. "I was taking water at a well when I heard a cry for help. Six armed men were chasing down a boy. I saved him and soon deduced he was the crown prince. He is hidden in my home, while I came here to try and tell you as quietly as possible that I had him and he was safe." He grimaced. "It did not go according to plan, but I promise, Your Majesty, I intend you and your son no harm."
"Why should we believe you?" Berkant demanded, and nearby the twins and the other man nodded in agreement.
Jankin snorted. "I've told you about Ramsay before. He is, or was, I guess, if he's here now, a Holy Protector of Tritacia. It was his sworn duty to protect the Crown Prince of Tritacia. He would never harm someone he thinks requires protecting, and most certainly not a child. We met when I was in Tritacia studying dance there. We were friends, lovers, until our paths diverged once more." He slid Ramsay a fond look, then looked at the others again. "I know I've told these stories before. This his him, this is Ramsay."
Ramsay could not resist smiling ever so briefly in return. Jankin would always be one of his fondest memories. He had been a Holy Protector, and Jankin had been devoted to traveling the world to learn and master every style of dance he could find for them to settle into anything permanent. But they'd had many a good night together the few months Jankin had been in the royal court of Tritacia. It had been rare, back then, that he got to spend such time with anyone. People were seldom forgiving of the fact that the prince had to come first in his life, at all times. Only his brother and Jankin had ever understood.
"What are you doing in Tavamara, Ramsay?" Jankin asked quietly, setting down the tray of wine he'd been holding the entire time. "Why did you stop protecting? Where is Colum?"
"Dead," Ramsay said flatly, hands fisting as he was forced to hear his brother's name.
"Oh, Ramsay…" Jankin said, and all of a sudden Ramsay found himself embraced, pressed against the slender, well-toned chest he still remembered years later, only barely noticing the gasps of surprise from the others. "I'm so sorry, Ramsay. He was the sweetest little boy to ever live. No wonder you are here."
Ramsay trembled briefly, simply clinging, secretly grateful for the comfort. No one had held him when Colum had died. They'd murmured what a tragedy, what cruel fate, told him they were so sorry that had happened, but hadn't given him even a day to mourn before telling him that he must remember his duties.
He made himself push Jankin away after a moment and recovered himself. "Your Majesty," he said, not quite able to make himself meet Shafiq's gaze. "Your son is safe at my home for now. Given all that he told of his kidnapping, I determined there was some form of inside help. I did not want to risk telling the kidnappers that I had him. Already too many people know." He glanced around the harem, not trusting any of them, save Jankin.
"My harem can be trusted," Shafiq said firmly. "I will, in fact, send two of them to retrieve my son."
"I'll go," said the pretty man with the pouty lips. "I won't be missed for a few days, not the way the twins or Jankin or Berkant would."
"Two twins would be missed," said the twin wearing sapphires. "One will not, if the rest of you are careful and Ender plays me from time to time." He smiled at his brother.
Ender made a face. "Nadir—"
"Mazin and I have our knives," Nadir said, cutting him off. "We will be fine." He turned to Shafiq. "Yes?"
"Just be careful," Shafiq said quietly, reaching out to brush his knuckles across Nadir's cheek. Then he reached out to touch Mazin. "Both of you, be extremely careful. Bring Kaj home to me, and keep all three of you unharmed."
"Of course," Nadir murmured and closed the space between them to kiss Shafiq hard.
Ramsay tore his gaze away, feeling suddenly very much like an interloper. He did not understand harems at all, but it was obvious they were nothing as simple as concubines meant for pleasure and looking pretty. They seemed a mix of lover and friend and protector, though it made his head hurt trying to figure out how that worked with so many men.
He had the depressing, aggravating thought that when he was alone again, he would not mind at all trying to figure out all the different ways they might fit together.
Desperate for distraction, he glanced toward Jankin. "How is it you come to be here, my old wandering friend?"
Jankin smiled, looking fondly at Shafiq, the others, then finally back at Ramsay. "I found a reason to stop wandering. Though I admit I always thought fondly of you and missed you, Ramsay. It is good to see you again, despite the circumstances. I am truly sorry about your brother."
Ramsay looked away, hating the sudden sting to his eyes, fighting the tears that should have run dry months ago. "Thank you. I missed you too. It is good to see you happy."
It was good, even if it made him sort of sad too. His fate had been to protect people, and Holy Protectors spent their lives keeping others safe. It was a duty that always killed them. He had never known a Holy Protector to reach the age of retirement and finally live their own life. He would never have been given the chance to spend his days with someone like Jankin. Handsome, beautiful, elegant, golden Jankin, who danced and moved like something from a dream.
Though he would never have imagined it in a thousand years, somehow the harem life seemed well-suited to Jankin. Ramsay wished he fit somewhere half so well, but he had fled the only life he had known when the single, solitary bright spot in that life had been cruelly taken from him. Now he just wanted to see Kaj returned safely home before he crawled back to the solitude that seemed to be his true fate.
"We can leave whenever your men are ready, Your Majesty," he said when attention seemed to be turning his way again. "I certainly do not want to linger too long. It took me a day and a half to get here, and the longer he is alone, the greater the danger. I did what I could to hide our tracks, to cover the path to my home, but only a fool is arrogant enough to think he has thought of everything."
"This is very true," Shafiq replied. "Of course I want my son back as quickly as possible. I thank you for all that you have done for him. Without you, I sense my son would be dead. My debt to you is great."
Ramsay shook his head. "It is my Goddess-given duty to protect, as your sacred fate is to rule. One is owed nothing for doing as he should. I am honored to have been helpful to Your Majesty."
Shafiq smiled. "You are entirely too humble and gracious. Though I must say, you do not look like a guardian. I would imagine you have always used that to your favor." He glanced ruefully at his guards, who looked shamefaced as they picked each other off the floor. "Certainly my people underestimated you."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Ramsay said, stifling a sigh. His looks worked well for him, but he had never enjoyed being thought of as lesser simply because he had been born small and slight and—worst of all—cute. 'Like a kitten' people had been fond of saying, always with that tone of condescension.
Jankin snorted softly. "I never understood why everyone mistook you for a harmless kitten, as they liked to say. Any idiot actually looking at you can see you are no idle threat. It's all in the way you hold yourself, the way you move."
"It is in every line of his body," Berkant said, startling Ramsay, "and in his eyes. Any fool who mistakes you for a kitten simply has never seen a lynx and thinks that all cats must be lions or tigers."
"Uh—" Ramsay could not think of a single thing to say. No one had ever said anything like that to him.
Shafiq smiled. "Let him be. Nadir, Mazin, slip away with him. Jankin, tell the guards outside that audiences are finished for today. Guards, keep your mouths shut about all of this. You're dismissed for the rest of the day, please visit the healer to attend those wounds. Ender, pour that wine, if you please."
Then he strode to Ramsay and took hold of his hands. Ramsay was startled to find Shafiq's hands, while soft and smooth, were strong, capable. Not the limp hands of a monarch who'd never struggled a day in his life. These were the hands of a man who understood the burdens put upon him, and carried them willingly. "Thank you, master Ramsay. Nothing I do or say will ever be enough. You have saved my son's life, and that is a debt even a king can never truly repay."
Ramsay shook his head but did not draw away from the hands holding his. "You may thank me when you hold your son in your arms again, Your Majesty. Until that moment, I have accomplished nothing."
"You have accomplished more than anyone else."
"I was in the right place at the right time," Ramsay demurred.
"The gods saw fit to put you there." Shafiq insisted. "I thank you for what you have done so far, whatever next comes to pass. Now go, before more people come and things become more difficult to hide."
Ramsay nodded and followed Nadir and Mazin across the room and up the dais. Rather than a simple wall, a portion of it proved to be a secret doorway. He was surprised they let him see it, but after this, he was unlikely to come back to the palace, and who would he tell?
They went first to a room that was the simplest, yet most luxurious room Ramsay had ever seen in his life. It was quite obviously the king's private chambers—and was just as obviously shared by several men. The rooms were enormous, so elegantly appointed, and he tried not to notice the hints of sweat and sex that lingered faintly.
Several minutes later, Nadir and Mazin more suitably attired, they were outside the palace. "I left my horse at a stable in the city," Ramsay said.
"We will purchase some in the city," Nadir said. "We dare not take any from the royal stables." He winked at Ramsay. "We are not permitted to leave the palace. We had best make this journey as quickly as possible, before someone notices we truly are missing."
Ramsay nodded and took the lead from habit, headed for the city, then through the crowds to the small stable at the northernmost end.
"I will go get our horses," Mazin said shortly, and vanished before anyone could stop him.
Nadir scowled after him and sighed. "I do wish Berkant could have come, but his absence would be noticed, especially at supper tomorrow night."
Ramsay only nodded and slipped inside the stable, moving to the furthest stall where his horse was kept. Feather whinnied at him as he approached, and he greeted her softly in Tritacian. He had been speaking Tavamaran almost exclusively since his arrival; his native language was beginning to feel strange on his tongue, even if his accent was still thick.
After he had paid for the stabling of his horse, they waited outside for Mazin to reappear, which he did several minutes later, two horses in tow. They rode off, traveling as best they could through the crowded city. He could not wait until they reached the open roads and could increase their pace. He was more than willing to ride through the night and stop only for the horses and the bare minimum rest he needed to stay sharp.
"Jankin has spoken frequently of you, and how important your role was. It is no easy thing, apparently, to become a Holy Protector of Tritacia, even if you were fated for it." Nadir smiled, and Ramsay wondered if he was more talkative than his brother, or if they were equally so, or if he was actually the quieter.
He shrugged in reply. "It is Tritacian custom to take a babe before the altar of the Goddesses and have the priests foretell the child's fate. My destiny reading said that I was meant to protect people, and my skill was great enough that I was given into training to protect our sacred rulers. I protected Crown Prince Wilmot for ten years."
"And now you are protecting our crown prince," Nadir said thoughtfully. "I do not like the idea of being told what to do from birth, but it does seem your Goddesses knew what they were about with you." He flinched. "Sorry, that sounds like I'm saying your brother dying is a good thing."
Ramsay shook his head. "I did not take it that way; I knew what you meant."
"Still, my phrasing was poor and I apologize for it."
"Forgiven and forgotten."
Nadir smiled softly. "My brother and I dabble in poetry a bit. Perhaps we shall compose a poem about you and all you have done for our king."
Ramsay grimaced at the idea. "Any poem about me would be very boring indeed."
Nadir smiled then in a way that would have made him shiver had were it not stupid to be so affected by a man who belonged to a king. Ramsay did not even want to know the penalties involved for touching a king's concubine. "I sincerely doubt anything about you is boring, Lynx."
He had never been the sort to blush, but something about the way first Berkant and now Nadir called him that completely undid him. He was not used to being noticed, not in a complimentary way. He should not be receiving compliments from such men, anyway. He was certain that violated laws as well. In reply, he only shrugged again and hoped his flush did not give too much of his thoughts away.
"We should be moving faster," Mazin broke in, looking annoyed. The expression did not suit his pretty face. It made him look pinched and soured.
"Soon enough," Nadir said patiently. "Rushing through the city would attract attention, and there are more reasons than I can list that we should avoid attention at all costs. So tell me, my new friend, what do you do here in Tavamara?"
"Nothing," Ramsay said, voice level, neither polite nor impolite—but definitely not inviting questions. It was true enough, as far as it went. He did his little carvings to trade for necessities. He fixed up his house. He kept up his training, because he loathed the idea of getting soft and weak. Occasionally he tried himself against others in the fight rings in the city on his infrequent trips.
Mostly, he just did whatever he could to avoid thinking. Probably he avoided living too. He had never much cared.
"That is a pity," Nadir said lightly. "As I said, my brother and I dabble in poetry. Berkant, as I'm sure you saw, is a fighter trained. He and Jankin have been working on a knife dance performance for the past couple of months. Though, so far as knives go, Mazin is the best. I'm certain I need not tell you what Jankin does."
Ramsay almost smiled. "No, you need not tell me. I am fascinated you caught him, when so many have tried and failed."
Nadir smiled faintly, and his voice was barely audible when he replied, "Oh, I think there was always one piece of him we never caught."
What was that supposed to mean? Ramsay frowned and turned away, dismissing the subject. He didn't understand what Nadir was implying, and he didn't want to understand. He just wanted to be left alone.
He wished the words didn't sound suddenly so hollow. He wished he knew what was wrong with him. "Unless you need to stop, I suggest we push on toward the first rest stop."
"I agree," Mazin said coolly, glaring at Nadir, who only stared blandly back. "The sooner we retrieve His Highness, the better."
Nadir nodded. "I agree, but there is no harm in conversation while conversation is possible. It is not often we encounter so fascinating a person."
Mazin made a face. "You are quite hopeless, and the only one more hopeless is your brother."
"You are welcome to your opinion," Nadir said lightly, but Ramsay could see the words grated.
He wished he knew how to ease the tension, but his role had always been the silent one. Still, he struggled for something to say, but in the end, he could only come up with, "I don't understand how… uh—" He fumbled and gave up, not certain how to ask or even if he should. It had been a stupid attempt at getting them to stop arguing.
But Nadir only chuckled and smiled at him. "How we come to be in the harem?"
Ramsay nodded. "It is not something I've seen practiced anywhere else in the world, and I traveled extensively with His Highness for five years. People talk and talk about the strange royal customs of Tavamara. Stranger still to actually, finally see."
Nadir laughed. "Yes, I guess it would be, but you are kind for not thinking less of us for it. Many do, you know."
"Why?" Ramsay asked, surprised. "I admit it is unusual, and no doubt complicated, but why think less of you for managing it?"
"Most would say it is wrong to love so many? Love is one on one," Nadir said thoughtfully. "Not to mention the immorality of certain other acts performed with more than two. Foreigners always have plenty to say on the matter, except for those from Rittu, who amusingly find us slightly too prudish."
Ramsay very carefully did not think about immoral acts. Especially when he had so many grossly inappropriate questions about Nadir and Ender. "People love in multiples all the time. I loved my parents, my brother, all at once. I do not see why love must be limited, depending on its nature."
Nadir smiled at him, and Ramsay had the sudden, absurd impression he had just passed some test. He shook off the strange thought and was quietly relieved when they finally reached the edge of the city.
"Finally," Mazin said, and spurred his horse forward, taking off ahead of them, racing off down the path.
"We had best not let him out of our sight too long," Nadir said, and there was a grimness to his tone that drew Ramsay up short. He looked at Nadir, who returned the stare blandly.
Nodding, Ramsay signaled his own horse and raced off after Mazin, into the growing dark.
*~*~*