Page 18

First, the female captured the male…and then he captured her.

How long would it take before the unmarried females in the Black City searched for mage shackles on the black market while the males started running?

“She’s loud,” Hakon mused. “With courage, that one. ”

Maybe it was petty. Entertainment was scarce in the Black City.

People weren’t above encouraging spectacles to break up the tedium.

But I didn’t like men staring at Senaria Wraithion.

I didn’t want them noticing her hair or her eyes—her face.

With so many years protected by Silk’s veil, she had no idea how much she revealed through her expressions.

Last night, when she’d made that ridiculous assertion of a mating custom, the men believed her.

Most in that tavern had been resistant by nature to her magic.

They came from the Faded Lands—a faint sigil of Orm had been carved above the door—and the men protected the secrets through mockery and denial.

But with Senaria…I still didn’t understand why they’d indulged her with that farce, unless she was more skilled at invading their minds than I thought.

Or they had more fun poking at me—the Draakon, still wearing mage shackles while that girl spun her wild tales.

I said cooly, “Not courage, Hakon. Arrogance.” I added stupidity to the list, but didn’t say it.

Hakon tensed. Senaria’s screeching gained volume, enough that I’d never hear the end of it.

The mage shackles weren’t doing much to dampen her, although my goal had not been pain when I set the magic’s intensity.

I’d need to reconsider that goal since this was a mating custom she’d invented, and she wasn’t the least bit cooperative.

“How many acts of penance did the dragons demand?” Hakon murmured without taking his eyes from the scene playing out in the street. It had been years, decades of paying the debts. Too many to list, and I didn’t want sympathy or praise for acts I accepted as my responsibility.

When I didn’t answer, Hakon added, “Is she one of them?”

I shifted my weight.

“I remember who you were before, and if she’s your penance…

” Hakon toyed with the reins clutched in his hand.

“She might also be your destiny. Someone like you, Draakon. Who can call all the dragons, not just one.” His eyes went distant as if lost in a memory.

“If you don’t succeed, few will go home. ”

I pressed my palm to his shoulder. The weight of his grief was one I lived with and understood.

Senaria’s tantrum attracted onlookers, women who hovered in doorways, a few who openly laughed.

Fennor kept away from her flailing fists, even though she dared him.

I’d never heard such language. She spat words I was sure she made up on the spot.

Corruptions of the words she’d learned as Silk, delving into the darkest minds in Thales.

This had to be a new experience for her, having no control over the minds of men, unable to convince them to betray themselves. What Silk called mercy.

I didn’t believe in mercy.

Slowly, I stepped through the stable door.

I wore a warrior’s clothes this morning, not those of a defeated rebel tied to a wall.

Black leather shoulder protection, a shirt and tight pants, also black.

The sword sheathed at my back was long and wicked.

A baldrick across the chest held knives.

I’d tied my hair with a leather thong. The curse tablet remained around my neck .

Senaria stormed forward despite her slight limp, and I stared at her feet. She wore shoes, but…were the cuts not healing as I expected?

Her clothes were sleep-wrinkled. She’d woven a braid, but it remained disheveled. With her hands shackled, she couldn’t tend to her hair, and Fennor had no idea how to help. Nor would he care when he disapproved of the risks I took to get close to this woman.

When she saw my clothes and the displayed weapons, her eyes widened, but the challenge remained in her voice. “Where’s my knife? Do you still have it?”

I frowned. “The knife is safe.”

“My father gave me that knife. I want it back.”

“Did he teach you how to use it?” The knife meant something to her, either nostalgia or freedom. A way to protect herself when no one else would do it.

She held up her confined wrists. “Why are these shackles on my wrists? Because I was going back to Thales? What did you think I’d tell them? That you’re a damn rebel? Arrogant and pig-headed and—”

“Speak with respect, miss,” Hakon warned softly. “He’s the Draakon.”

When she faced the old man, color was high in her cheeks. “What does that mean—that he’s the criminal? The donkey’s ass who put these cuffs on me?”

“The king, if we still had them,” Hakon said with a deferential nod. “So you’d best not fight.”

She jerked as if something hit her. The pulse beat hard in her throat, and her magic flared, probed, then scattered when she spotted the saddled horses waiting in the sunlight and the five men standing behind Fennor.

Her gaze raked back to me, and her lip curled. “I liked you better when you were tied to a wall, waiting to be gutted like a fish.”

“You’ve already gutted him.” Fennor’s voice was hard-edged. He’d never been shy about his opinions. Invited or not, he was pushing into a conversation that hadn’t started.

A muscle near Senaria’s mouth pulsed and her scent rose—a blend of the soap from last night, mixed with something wholly her own, like stars on a clear summer night. I sensed her racing heartbeat. The jagged edge to her breathing.

“So what now?” Her lips thinned as she faced Fennor. “You’re holding me for ransom?”

“No ransom would be high enough for what you owe,” Fennor said.

Her chin jerked upward. “What have I done?”

“Destroyed innocents.” He glared, daring her to make eye contact. But Senaria turned her face away. Her fingers wrapped around the mage chain as if she needed the buzzing energy to maintain her composure.

From a rooftop, the familiar chirp had her scanning the buildings, almost desperate in the search for her deformed bat.

I turned to the waiting horses. We were wasting time and she’d created the scene I wanted.

If the red priests nosed around, talk would be about a mating custom.

How I’d been shackled and then she’d been the captive.

Witnesses would swear that, at the end, she’d been controlled by the mage shackles and spitting mad.

Because, if through some failure, she escaped and made her way back to Thales, she’d need an excuse to give the king. Explain how she’d tried and failed. I’d grant her that much—a chance to stay alive until I could get to her again.

I wouldn’t give her more.