10. Lirion #2
“So…we were waiting on each other? Wow, that’s stupid.” Fenric’s voice was flat and hard with irritation, all playfulness evaporating like morning dew under the rising sun.
“Very stupid.” Lirion stood and stretched both arms over his head. “And while you are fun to flirt with, Sexy Eyes, I would prefer not to stay the night here.”
“If you’re absolutely sure you can get out—”
Lirion waved him off. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Go.”
Fenric shrugged and then, so smoothly done Lirion doubted his eyes for a moment, shifted.
He went from the roguishly handsome man to a sleek housecat, with black fur and those same incredible eyes.
Lirion’s jaw dropped, as he hadn’t expected such an ability.
Shifting wasn’t a common ability, to say the least, and those who had it could generally only shift to one or two forms. He wondered how many Fenric could do.
Fenric was not inclined to linger, however. His tail flicked as he squeezed neatly through the iron bars, padding silently off, probably looking for where the town watch had placed the many, many knives they’d stripped off him. Lirion should have known the thief would have no problem escaping.
Damn, he really had stayed behind for Lirion’s sake. Liron was torn between being amused by this and annoyed. What was even the point of sitting here in this foul-smelling place, then?
Ugh, people.
He activated his own ability and sailed right through the walls as if they were nothing but air.
He paused once out, listening hard to make sure no one was around to see him.
Being at the back of the jail, the area was clear.
In fact, there was barely anything more than an alley, and a narrow one, to boot.
The space was lit only by a sliver of moon and the sparkling stars in the velvety black night.
Lirion drew his cloak’s hood up to hide his distinctive hair and sauntered out of the alley, making sure his gait was that of one not bothered or hurried. It was a telltale sign of a wanted man, that quick walk, and he knew better.
He left the alley and reached the main street, which was just busy enough to hide him in plain sight. People were leaving from dinner, on their way home, or on last-minute business. No one paid him any mind.
For safety’s sake, he’d have to leave Pomor, of course.
He had no friends in this area and no place to retreat to, so it was best to just leave altogether.
Lirion kept his absolute essentials on him at all times, and the guards hadn’t done anything more than seize him and throw him in jail, having not found any weapons on him.
He passed a block away from Cartwright manor to grab his gear and musical instruments from where he’d stashed them ahead of his planned rendezvous.
He was swift and silent, not catching anyone’s attention, and was gone again within a minute flat.
Only with the familiar weight of his pack on his back did he feel assured and ready to put Pomor behind him.
This whole trip to Pomor had proven to be a disaster. Lirion hadn’t managed to succeed in a single goal. Ursula had gotten laid and then hadn’t known a damn thing about his sister or the people who had taken her.
Bust.
It was all a bust.
His footsteps grew heavier until he was almost stomping his feet. The weight of his failure bowed his head and constricted his chest. Time was running out. He drew in a deep breath and pushed it through his nose, trying to shove down the rising sense of panic threatening to consume him.
Well, he supposed it wasn’t completely true to say he’d gotten nothing out of this stop in Pomor.
Ursula had mentioned a fence in a town farther south who might know something.
But that was all Lirion’s search had amounted to so far.
“Might know something” often turned into “knew basically nothing.” The frustration ate at him.
From the very start, he’d felt like he was in over his head. Tracking down people and information? Locating accomplished and experienced kidnappers? Those were not his forte. Music—any kind of music—he was practically an expert. Sex? He could have been listed in the pantheon of gods.
He could do nothing more tonight. He’d just have to leave town, find a sturdy tree to tie his tent to, and hope it didn’t start raining before he got camp set up—
It was as if the heavens had waited for his very thought.
The sky that had looked so damn clear when he escaped from jail had clouded in the past several minutes while his mind was occupied with bitching and moping about his luck.
Rain threatened yet again with the first roll of thunder.
Lirion held out a palm and felt fat raindrops hit his bare skin.
Looking up, he addressed the sky and any deity who thought the timing of this storm was hilarious. “Fuck you, too. I can’t get a single break tonight, can I?”
The raindrops came down faster, closer together, aiming to soak him if he didn’t get a move on.
A move on to where, though, was the question.
“Tonight,” Lirion bemoaned, walking faster, “has definitely been a disaster from start to finish. Is it too much to ask for one good thing to come out of it?”
Clearly, it was.