They stretched. Ate. Drank. But none moved from their wagons or steeds, busy ensuring that the offerings in the occupied wagons—all of whom would be from the other settlements of Phoenixia—didn’t try to make a run for it.
I looked back at Talon just as he placed his tankard on a tray. He swept an impressed gaze over the town and then flicked up a questioning brow at Remus.
In his shoes,I’dwonder why the settlement looked like a ghost town. We had buildings in various stages of decay. Our water tower was barely standing. There was an awful lot of rust, rot, grime, and overgrown weeds. More, the human population was lower than it should be.
“A plague hit our settlement,” Remus explained, drawing to his full height. “The many tragic deaths obviously led to several problems, particularly since there was a loss of laborers and a slump in trade.”
I frowned. He spoke as though it had happened only months ago. The godkin had had years to repair the place but simply hadn’t bothered.
“We have been focused on recovering from the aftermath,” he added.
Bristling, I felt my brows shoot up.We?Uh, the mortals had focused on it. We’d been responsible for burning every corpse, burying the ashes in pits, scrubbing every building, and training survivors in various trades. The godkin had been of little aid.
Sending an accusing look at Remus, Talon moved his hands this way and that, clearly trying to convey some message.
“This sort of damage comes from long-term neglect,” one of the officiates interpreted, his voice very deep. Long and bulky, he had not one hair on his head. “If you’re finding it too difficult to act as Baron, perhaps it’s time that you were replaced.”
Remus’ trim figure tensed.
“That won’t be necessary, Talon,” Aegeas smoothly cut in. “Remus plans to improve the state of the town now that it’s beginning to recover from the effects of the outbreak.”
Talon let out a skeptical grunt, lowering his arms to his sides.
One might think that there was no way someone who didn’t speak could possibly lead an Order, but he had one of the most expressive faces I’d ever come across. He also had an in-command airthat was further accentuated by the dignified upward tilt of his chin.
“Do you think he took an oath of silence?” Aurelia quietly pondered.
“I heard that Vitus denied him the gift of speech when He created him,” said Kemp.
With regards to Talon, there were plenty more rumors where those came from.
“Do you all wish to take a short rest before returning to Deimos?” Remus asked. “Your steeds could surely do with a respite.”
Hardly. Arion horses—much like the Laelaps, for that matter—could go for days without food, water, or rest.
Looking bored, Talon waved aNot necessaryhand. He turned away from Aegeas and the nobles, settling his attention on the offerings.
Tensing, I sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to nervously smooth a hand down my thin blue gown that all acolytes wore. I sensed more than saw the others in the line stiffen. I could hear one whispering a prayer to Hellyne, begging Her to save him. But he cut off as Talon began crossing to us with sure, controlled strides.
The male emanated a sense of perilous calm that was somewhat nerve-wracking. Up close, he looked even more impressive. Utterly invincible. Truly, the raw power of him was like nothing else.
My gut clenched as his gaze began to creep along the offerings, his scrutiny sharp and ruthless as a blade.
Talon’s eyes clashed with mine. Paused. Narrowed. And having his focus locked on me made my pulse rocket.
His brow dented as he took in my Sayer-eyes and otherwise very human appearance, but then his gaze sharpened in remembrance. Yes, he’d heard of my existence. He shot up a curious brow.
I swallowed. “If you’re hoping I can explain how a human can be a Sayer, your guess is as good as mine,” I told him, proud that my voice didn’t shake.
He looked to Aegeas for an answer.
The Archduke gave a stiff, clueless shrug. “We have found no way to make sense of it. As such, it likely means nothing at all.”
His mouth twisting, Talon gave me another once-over before sliding his gaze along the last few offerings. He then turned to his men and gave a tip of his chin.
At that, a nearby officiate clapped his hands once to get our attention. “Right, offerings, get moving,” he called out in a toneless voice. “The first seven will go in this wagon next to me. The rest of you will head to the one behind it.”
A breath stuttered out of me, my panic kicking up several notches. A little mindlessly, I joined the people in front of me who were shuffling toward the first wagon in single file. Some dragged their heels, ghost-white and shaking so hard it was a wonder their bones weren’t rattling. I felt for them. Felt for the crowd members I could hear weeping. Felt for people like Kemp and his mother.
