Page 37

They’d started early. Started hungry. But tracking down a single food vendor in a city of thousands was a tall order, one that had Kat wishing she’d planned this excursion on less of a whim by the time the sun was high in the sky.

They’d spent all morning traipsing up and down Fallon’s streets with nothing to show for it, leaving several perfectly good food stalls tragically unpatronized in their quest to find the one.

“You’re sure?” Kat groaned after the latest near miss, shooting a longing look at the display cabinet full of savory pastries.

“They had a very particular folding style,” Emory said despondently. “And besides, it was an old man selling them.”

“Maybe he passed along the family business to a daughter?” she countered, but Emory wouldn’t hear it. Kat’s wish had been specific, and he was determined to hunt down that exact pastry or, apparently, starve to death trying.

But even with hunger gnawing at her, Kat couldn’t find it in herself to be let down by disappointment after disappointment.

It was a beautiful day in a healing city, and she found she didn’t resent the opportunity to see more of what Fallon had become in the year since the war had loosened its grip on it.

The cobblestones beneath her feet were a little uneven, the concrete that threaded between them a patchwork river of repairs.

Many of the roofs were tiled with mismatched shingles, and the buildings’ walls bore obvious bulges where damage had been plastered and then painted over.

The citizens she passed all had a familiar cast to their faces—hollowed out but optimistic, like they hadn’t dared imagine a future where their city had been freed and the war was over.

Fallon had opened the door to that victory.

During its occupation, it had served as a pen for people the Demon Lord rounded up to convert into thralls for his armies.

When the army had liberated it, the High King of Hell had lost the ability to produce a significant portion of his infantry—enough to turn marching on the Mouth of Hell itself from a far-off fantasy to the sole focus of their campaign.

Crimson banners hung from the balconies, proclaiming the victory of Adrien Augustine and welcoming him to the fair city of Fallon, which made Kat snicker a little.

The prince was far too absorbed in the particulars of negotiating the path his road would take outside the city to ever see the favor of his people.

And Emory was at her side for all of it.

She’d missed this—the feeling of moving in sync with him, their strides matched as they meandered up and down the city streets, trying to figure out what vendors parked at which plazas.

It steadied her, knowing that even after a month that had done nothing but put distance between them, they could always come back to the foundations of their partnership.

There was a certain joy in seeing the world twice over—once through your own eyes, and once through the eyes of a man whose mind worked in harmony with yours.

A certain annoyance, too, because that harmony never worked out to perfect unison when it came to canvassing the city’s food carts.

Kat wanted to go about it methodically, checking off square after square, but Emory seemed convinced he could find this roving food cart on pure instinct.

It’s not a stag, Kat wanted to shout after his third “ This street, definitely, this has to be it—I’ve got a feeling.

” She’d heard tell of Thread of Angels tokens that could lead hunters to their prey.

Now that she had a solid handle on her Light of Angels, Kat wondered if she couldn’t somehow track one down, add it to her arsenal, and use it exclusively to hunt the foods she wanted to eat.

Of course, there was another solution to the problem of Emory’s ranging, one that was getting more and more tempting with every abrupt swerve Emory took to hound down an alley Kat hadn’t even noticed.

Kat’s focus had started to slip from the bustle of the city surrounding them and narrow instead on her battle partner’s hand.

It was frankly embarrassing how much her cheeks were heating at the mere thought of sliding her palm into his.

Hosts above, she’d fucked this man, and she very plainly wanted to do it again.

Something as innocent as hand-holding couldn’t be sending her spiraling.

But it wasn’t just the notion of that physical contact that had seized her imagination.

With their hands joined, the push and pull of their haphazard adventuring would go from something she sensed to something she felt.

The tug of every side street that caught his attention.

The glance back over his shoulder to confirm she’d followed, and the way she knew he didn’t need to check but wantedto.

He’d still look back at her with their hands joined, she thought. Just to look.

But Kat resisted and tried to tell herself her caution was correct.

Though a city gave the soldiers more room to spread out, they’d still crossed paths with a fair number of legionnaires out to spend their discretionary funds and cause trouble.

She didn’t want a repeat of the tavern incident, and knowing that somewhere out there Carrick and Sawyer might be roaming these streets was reason enough not to riskit.

It wasn’t because she was afraid she and Emory had grown too distant over the past month. Certainly not.

In her hesitation, she’d lost sight of Emory. He’d rounded a corner ahead of her, and she jogged to catch up, breaking from the alley out into a bright, open plaza. Though in construction it was nearly identical to many of the ones they’d traipsed through this afternoon, two things set it apart.

The first was that it was absolutely swarming with children, all of them running, shouting, shrieking, and generally carrying on like a herd of farm animals turned out into sunlight after a long winter in the barns.

The second was that on the edge of the square sat a small wooden cart, on a stool next to that small wooden cart sat a companionably small elderly man, and Emory was already halfway toit.

“This is the one!” he shouted, the unfettered smile he threw back over his shoulder blending right in among the joyous kids.

By the time she caught up, Emory was already deep in conversation with the vendor, who’d clasped him by the hands like a penitent as Emory tried to get one free to fumble for his coin purse.

“Kat,” he said over the tussle. “Want you to meet Roberto. Finest purveyor of hand pies in the city of Fallon.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Roberto,” Kat said, grinning as the old man returned her nod. “Since my friend seems otherwise entangled—”

“Don’t you dare,” Emory yelped. “You got the mead last time. It’s my turn. You put this on the list.”

“Neither of you pays a penny,” the old man said, shaking his head vehemently. “It’s the least I can do for the heroes of the realm.”

“Think his eyesight’s bad,” Emory whispered theatrically over his shoulder. “Makes up for it with a hell of a grip, but the man seems to think we’re the Aureans who took down the Demon Lord.”

Roberto scoffed. “Didn’t see any of those Aureans when Fallon was in the foul one’s grasp, but I remember your face clear as day,” he said, jerking his chin at Emory.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“You had a religious experience eating one of my pies. Said the hosts had blessed you personally to have given you this meal at that moment. A man doesn’t forget a compliment like that, nor the person who gave it.”

“He wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks,” Kat confirmed, and Roberto beamed.

“So not only did you rid my city of demons, you also gave my stall free advertising. Again, I insist.”

“How are you so strong?” Emory whimpered as yet another attempt to pull his hands away was foiled. “Fine, you win. You’ve ruined my dream of treating Kat to your magnificent pies. I hope you’re happy with your stolen valor.”

“Exceedingly,” Roberto replied. “Now, miss, I must ask you the most important question you’ve been asked all day.” He released Emory’s hands and swept behind his stall with a flourish. “Beef or chicken?”

“One of each,” Kat replied without hesitation.

Roberto nodded approvingly. He grabbed a pair of tongs, reached into the belly of his cart, and pulled out a plump pastry, its edges crumbling slightly in the grip of his implement. Kat cupped her hands, but Roberto wagged a finger at her. “Needs one more finishing touch.”

He brought his free hand under the pie and flipped its palm heavenward.

Even if Kat hadn’t spent the last three days figuring out the difference between grounding and conducting, she could have spotted the movements of an Aurean from a mile away.

One breath passed, and then the pastry began to steam.

“You didn’t mention that part!” she exclaimed.

“And ruin the man’s theatrics?” Emory replied.

“Go on,” Roberto said, holding out the tongs. “Don’t worry—the wrapper stays cool enough to hold.”

“Then you must have fine control of the angels’ gifts,” Kat said, taking the pie as gently as she might hold a newly hatched chick. True to his word, the shell of it was pleasantly warm, a promise of the heat the vendor had infused insideit.

“You’re versed in the golden arts yourself?” Roberto asked cannily.

Kat pulled her token out from under her shirt with her free hand. “I’m just getting started, and it’s only a pauper’s token—”

Roberto’s nose wrinkled. “Do I look like a pauper to you?”

“No, no!” Kat backtracked. “I mean there’s only so much I can do with a single token—”