Bloodleaf (Bloodleaf #1)(27)

“You? You think he’s here for you?” Ray burst into hooting laughter. The other person, the man he’d called Zan, lowered the lamp until his face was bathed in the yellow light, and I was startled at the sight of him. Simon? I thought. How could—?

But it wasn’t Simon, of course. This man was taller, younger . . . probably only a few years older than I was, twenty-one or twenty-two at the most. His eyes were not brown but green, and his face was leaner. He was less well kept, too; his dark hair was ruffled and windswept, long enough to brush the collar of his leather jacket and the loose linen shirt underneath. But despite that, his clothes were well made, like Simon’s—?the work of a skilled tailor. And perhaps most telling of all, he wore a ring in the shape of a raven, wings outstretched. The Silvis signet, I was sure of it.

He cocked his head, eyebrow raised. “You can put your . . . uh, weapon . . . down,” he said. “It’s not you I’m here for.” He looked meaningfully at Falada.

“I already told him, she’s not for sale.”

He turned to Ray. “Can you give us a minute?”

Ray nodded and walked away, still snickering to himself.

“All right, let’s skip all the simpering and sighing. I am purchasing your Empyrean, and I will pay whatever you ask. I’m not in the mind to negotiate; simply tell me your price and we can get on with it.” The young man took out a pouch, heavy with coins, and waited for my response.

“There is no price,” I said through gritted teeth. “She is not for sale.”

“Really?” He put his coins away. “How long has it been since you had something to eat?”

I lowered my stick just a little.

“Your hands are shaking,” he continued. “There are dark circles under your eyes. I’d say it has been at least two days, maybe three, since you’ve had a meal. I know you didn’t try Ray’s soup, because you gave it to her.” He nudged the empty bowl, licked clean by Falada, with his boot. “Probably for the best; I have little faith in Mr. Thackery’s culinary skill.” He took me in, examining my stark Renaltan servant’s dress. “Tell me, what is a Renaltan girl doing in the travelers’ camps? No companions, half-starving, sleeping on a pile of hay in a dirty stable . . .”

I gave him the same answer I had given Ray. “None of your business.”

“You have to know that you won’t survive long without money. Or shelter. Or rest.” He approached me carefully, like I was a cornered, feral animal, and slowly removed the stick from my fingers.

I decided the biggest difference was in the mouth. Simon had an easy smile, but Zan’s lips were like cut glass, artfully shaped but severe. “I can provide you with what you need,” he said.

“She’s not mine to sell,” I stated, trying not to think about how it would feel to fall asleep in a clean, warm bed with food in my stomach and no terror scratching at my door.

“You stole her?”

“No! No, I didn’t—?I just . . .” I took a breath. “She belonged to someone I . . . I love. Loved,” I corrected myself, and the coil inside my chest tightened, just a little. “He died.”

He took a step back, studying me.

“I won’t sell her. I’ll starve first.”

“And what about her? Will you let her starve? Is that what your dear departed love would have wanted?”

I didn’t have an answer.

He gave a deep, haggard sigh. “We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow morning, after you’ve eaten and slept and can reason properly again. Come along.” He took ahold of Falada’s reins and led her out of the stable, while I scrambled behind them.

“What are you doing? Where are we going?”

“There’s an inn on Canal, not far from High Gate. It’s quiet and clean—?I expect you’ll find it quite comfortable.”

“I can’t cross the wall.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, just a little. It was the first hint of a smile I’d seen on him, and I didn’t think I liked it. It didn’t look natural on his grim face. “I’ve got it covered.”

I knew I shouldn’t trust someone whose motives were so obviously counter to mine, but if I was going to be of any use at all in taking Toris down, I had to get inside the wall somehow. I looked again at the ring on his hand—?silver, and bearing the symbol of a bird with a widespread, open wingspan. Just like Simon’s. I decided to trust him, for the moment.

Raymond Thackery chased us down. “What about my payment?” he asked. “Services were rendered.”

“Here,” Zan said, pulling out a small stack of folded papers, dotted with wax and stamped with the Achlevan seal.

Thackery counted them and said, “There’s only nine here. You promised ten.”

“I’m keeping this one,” he said, “as a fee. The horse came with some baggage, as you can see. Count yourself lucky. The prince was in a generous mood to issue ten invitations at once. He might not give me as many next time.”

“There might not be a next time. King’s been sniffin’ around, wonderin’ who’s been making invitations and handing ’em out to the riffraff—?”

“Consider me warned,” Zan said, cutting him off. To me, he said, “Let’s go.”