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“Their contraband usually contains magic, much like the artifacts. Most humans, fae, or shifters can’t detect it because they don’t have magic like me and you.”
“Does that mean we will sense it when we come close? That’s how Devon can find us later?”
“Exactly.”
They walked in silence after that, surrounded by displays of curiosities she’d never seen before. Pools of light spilled onto the slick, rain-soaked ground, coming from the lanterns strung above their heads. It didn’t take long to sense it, the gentle poke to her subconscious that warned her of the presence of magic.
Nava’s skin prickled. This was similar to how she felt near a place haunted by Neems, and yet different somehow. This time she didn’t want to run away—she felt drawn toward the sensation.
She craned her neck to look at the passersby. A year ago, she could not see things like auras or wards, much less sense the old magic lying dormant in an object. Especially in a place like this, where a myriad of impressions overwhelmed her senses.
And yet there it was. Clear waves of magic radiating in shades of green from a tent made of thick canvas. Nava approached with tentative steps, driven by her burning curiosity.
“Is that the place?” she whispered and pressed her body against the wall of the building beside them, allowing people to flow through the riverlike alley with ease. Arkimedes didn’t need to answer her, regardless. They were almost at the end of the market, and she could spot the street beyond the pitched ceiling of the tent.
“You can feel the artifact in there as much as I do. What remains to be seen is whether the gods crafted it or if it was made by a Caztanian.” Arkimedes pointed at the street, empty this late at night. Or this early, really—the first glimmers of sunrise marked the bottom of the clouds with hints of orange. “This is a pirate’s den. Usually, they set up their stalls in a place where they can escape easily.”
“Should we wait for Devon?” Nava asked. They’d been walking through the market for at least an hour, and her legs ached just as much as her body demanded rest. Having Devon’s help inside the pirate’s den couldn’t hurt.
“No, we shouldn’t stay here for long. I haven’t stopped feeling uneasy this entire evening, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the guards that are following us.” Arkimedes glanced to the rooftops, tracking the shapeless shadows.
Worry churned in her gut.
Nava nodded and moved toward the thick canvas flap that served as a door. But before she could enter, Arkimedes’s hand grabbed hers, making her pause.
“Are you sure you want to part with the sun stone?” His words rose clear in her mind, much like they had back at the safe house. This connection gave them an immense advantage when the walls could listen.
“No, but we have nothing else to offer.” Ari had given her the stone so she could maintain a connection with him. Even now, it gently thrummed inside her pocket, a reminder that he was out there, alive and well.
A wall of smoke greeted them as soon as they crossed the threshold. Nava’s heart leaped, and the image of a Zorren floated from the depths of her mind, of nails made of iron digging into her skin. The phantom ache of her old wound became a sharp throb as she gripped the pommel of the dagger strapped to her leg.
“No weapons in our shop,” a man close to the door said. He pointed at a wooden sign that hung crookedly from a rusty hook jutting out of the canvas wall.
Sweat beaded on her temple as she took in the enclosed space. Logically, Nava knew this wasn’t the smoke of fire, but her mind continued to spin, and nausea racked her body, making her wheeze.
“Breathe, Bee.” Arkimedes’s voice was a gentle whisper and helped bring her back to reality.
She took a deep breath and tried to focus on something that could anchor her to the here and now.
There. The two narrow tables on either side of the shop, and the three men waiting for them inside. Drake was sitting on a stool, casually leaning on his knee as he smoked a long wooden pipe.
“I told you, captain, the magic-wielder is small like a mouse.” He rose and pointed in her direction with his sharp jaw.
“And she walks with the Reaper.” The second man—the captain—picked a random trinket off one of the tables with a gloved hand. He didn’t turn to meet them. “You aren’t welcome here, Crow. Not after Aliyah.”
The town of Aliyah in the Iron Kingdom? Nava turned to Arkimedes with a raised brow.
“That was a long time ago, and I was doing my job,” Arkimedes said. “You should have known better than to sell contraband in the city. The ports are always crawling with Crows.”
“Yes, it was a long time ago, but a dragon never forgets…” Heavy tobacco use had roughened the captain’s voice. He took a long draw from his pipe and blew the smoke in their direction.
“We didn’t come here to fight. We came to trade,” Nava said, hoping to derail the conversation from old vendettas.
The captain wore very few clothes for someone managing a shop, as if he were ready to change into his animal form at any given moment. He’d rolled up the legs of his trousers, revealing muscular calves and ankles marked with scars. A leather vest did little to cover his tattooed torso, where a silver necklace hung, contrasting with the deep shade of his skin.
“Drake said you know about the emissaries? How did you hear about them?” he asked.
Aristaeus had told her the emissaries were hunting for the artifacts, and he’d lived for a long time. He’d watched the world go around the sun more times than one could count and all that happened within it. Nature whispered to him, sharing the truths of what he couldn’t see.
