Page 14 of Love, Nemesis (Ocean to Ashes #2)
THEY CONTINUED WALKING until the trees replaced the houses and several tents poked up in the distance. She could hear the music, smell the food.
They walked up to the festival. Torches and lights and banners greeted them.
Tables had been set out across the fields with vibrant foods and drinks and a place to dance in the middle.
Beyond that, tents selling all kinds of Richter goods were lined up in rows.
A large circus tent loomed in the distance with smaller tents surrounding it.
They strolled into the festival, examining the tables and paying for plates before finding a table near a group of musicians.
Jasper played with the leftovers of an elaborate piece of cake, dragging his fork back and forth through it.
Ana’s utensils rested on her empty plate, hands folded in her lap, and she watched people dance.
“You want another piece of cake?” Jasper said, pointing at her with the fork. “Give me your plate. I’ll get you another piece of cake.”
“There is a one-piece limit,” Ana said, chuckling at Jasper’s restlessness.
She glanced back at the food table. She watched a few kids run through the crowd and noticed the people in line for cake.
A woman was slicing it and handing it out.
The colored art piece with beautiful depictions of summer flowers disappeared slowly.
“I’ll figure something else out,” he said, getting up. “You know, they have these cakes shipped in from a bakery in Camdian.” He dropped the fact—one of many often swirling around in his brain—and then walked off.
Ana was convinced he had to share information to live.
The longer he went without teaching classes, the more he compulsively tried to teach her things.
It was cake now, but in a few days, he’d be educating her and everyone else who would listen on the lengthy history of the Mystics, the mechanics of time, and best practices for taking care of an Atlas.
She smiled, rubbing her temple as she imagined the impending onslaught of information. She’d forgotten he did that.
She was watching him go when she noticed someone at the meal table slip an extra piece of cake into a napkin and then into his pocket, maintaining a conversation with the woman serving.
Her attention immediately went to the man’s vibrant expression. He had a tanned, earthy complexion with black hair and an unshaven face. A stark, angular nose and sharp cheekbones made his smile seem devious.
His clothes separated him from the crowd with alarming distinction.
He wore uniquely weathered riding boots, leather around the knees clipped into a fold by a metal plate and tied down around his ankles.
They were fire-workers, fireproof riding boots that could unfold up over the thighs.
His utility belt extended to straps above his knees to accommodate a set of daggers.
A jacket with a double belt around the waist was odd in such warm weather.
The journey of her eyes then led her to the most telling artifact: En Sanctan riding gloves with a small symbol—what she knew to be a rose, branded into the side. They were crude, steel-reinforced symbols of a less peaceful time, and a much less peaceful cult.
She sat up when she saw him take a second piece of cake with his napkin. He laughed a rich laugh. He kept the woman’s eyes, leaning toward her with his head tilted low as if he were telling secrets. His sharp nose, prominent dimples, and bright teeth made him seem like a wolf.
An intricate tattoo peeked around the base of his neck.
The woman looked charmed.
Ana could understand it. He was handsome and apparently charismatic, an advantage he played, but there was an arrogance she perceived in the ownership of who he was, an outsider, but too comfortable in the crowd.
He was the outsider, rather, the En Sanctan.
The sense of it emanated like a prize when someone like him should rightfully hide within State borders.
En Sanctans like him didn’t belong in the State, nor did they last very long. So hated for hiding war knowledge and propagating the conspiracy of The Great Light, their very presence was controversial.
He ferried the third piece of cake off onto his plate after bidding goodbye to the woman.
His steps were fearless and light. He stopped by the bread rolls, biting a fingertip of his glove before drawing it off.
He picked up a bread roll as if to inspect it, testing the consistency with his fingers.
He set it back down, and Ana noticed what seemed to be the same tattoo from his neck peeking out from beneath his sleeve.
He was taller than her. Stronger. Leverage and speed would be her advantage. She could snap a knee first, an ankle maybe. No matter how strong or big someone was, joints would always be joints.
Ana broke out of focus, blinking as she realized a much more likely possibility.
The man was just some type of war aficionado, foolishly sporting the ROSE brand for the social shock and mystique.
The type of people who came to see Evira’s circus were no doubt part of the deviant culture of The Ocean’s War fanaticism, after all.
All true supporters of the Riders of Saint East stayed in hiding.
She knew a handful in the State, but one would have to be a victim of foolish and ignorant fanfare to actually wear a ROSE symbol in public.
She settled back into her chair, looking around as she rubbed her neck. The idea of coming to see Evira after her flashback a few days before must have put her on edge with her past. Now she was imagining En Sanctans in the crowd. More than that, she thought she’d seen a supporter of the ROSE.
She laughed inwardly at herself. Next thing she knew, she’d see an actual Rider of Saint East walking through the crowd. Of course, they’d all died in the Burning of the Strike, but with the way she’d been feeling lately, why not?
“You looked like you were sizing someone up.” Jasper interrupted her train of thought, slipping a drink onto the table beside her as he sat back down from his trip.
He leaned over as if to catch her line of sight.
“Five-six, one-hundred and sixty pounds, oh—and a gimp leg. He wouldn’t last five seconds, I bet. ”
Ana glanced back, but the man was lost in the crowd. Jasper appeared to be watching another man making conversation near one of the far away tables. She forced a laugh.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Myself. Life.” She took a sip from a cup on the table.
“All of this stuff with Evira has me on edge. I swore I just saw an En Sanctan with a rose on his glove,” she said, feeling guilty for how intense her reaction had just been.
The man was probably just another run-of-the-mill deviant who didn’t know what he was doing.
“I was really close to getting out of my seat.”
“Oh, yeah. I saw a booth near one of the tents with black finger paint, telling kids they could pretend to be a Strike. Lots of those types here. Granted, I didn’t almost confront someone. What? Did you see the person stealing cake or something?”
Worse. She thought she’d seen an En Sanctan stealing cake.
“Something like that. It’s not important,” she said, finishing her drink.
Three pieces of cake, with his dirty, bloodstained hands.
She reeled herself in again.
“There will always be cake stealers,” she said, lifting her glass as if to toast him.
“Let there always be Statesmen to stop them.” Jasper raised his glass back. “You should meet Jonah, by the way.” He waved someone over from where he’d just come.
Ana prepared to introduce herself.
She scanned the crowds one last time.