Ronan lifted a hand, fingers flailing above his head as if reaching for absent flight goggles. He dropped it to smooth sandy waves from his face and shot me a grim look. I rolled my stiff shoulder, loosening old scars in quiet preparation. And pretended ignorance of our tail.
The crowd drew us into the market, aisles narrowing beneath the press of buyers and sellers. Smoked fish hung heavy in the air, mingling with fresh bread and sharp spices.
I cataloged the men. A single man for every five women. War always left its mark deeper the farther one traveled from the capital.
Children’s laughter rang out, bright and unguarded, and something in me eased, settling my soul. There would be more orphans than I wished to name. More homes without fathers. Still, Radaan endured. It would heal.
Once Tallon fell.
A boy with sun-bleached hair and nothing on but a loose tunic darted across my path, chasing a dog.
A sense of longing twisted within me, a glimpse of a blessing denied me. Nienna would mend Radaan’s scars, the balm to our wounds. She was our future. Part of me whispered she would never be content without a child. How could she be? Her life had been shaped by purpose. A princess meant to be Queen, to bear an heir for a nation.
Instead, she wed a sterile king.
I blinked and forced the thoughts down. She came to me. She chose me, knowing every limitation I carried. Doubts would always linger, ghosts of another life, reminders of failure best left unspoken.
I pivoted, shifting our course. Shoulders brushed mine, the hard line of metal beneath my cloak earning no notice. There was power in that, knowing that I walked among my people as a commoner, and they accepted me still, even without recognizing who I truly was. They pressed past me, unaware, unafraid.
They were my purpose.Thiswas Radaan.
“Now there’s a couple men who’d appreciate a sharp blade.”
I let the lanky man call out to me from the press of bodies, keeping my mouth set in a firm line, the only part of my face he could clearly see.
“You’re not farmers, are you?” He shaded his eyes with a weathered hand. “Loggers?”
He stood behind a plank balanced across two barrels, its surface scattered with paring knives, cutlery, and hoes. A scythe leaned nearby, polished bright enough to catch the sun.
I frowned and shook my head. “Headed for Lon.”
“Only a strong arm hides under a cloak on a cloudless day.” He squinted but didn’t try to peer beneath my hood. His attention shifted to my companion. “There may be work for you there, but I wager you wouldn’t last long. A few extra blades might buy you a night or two.”
“Poor way to sell steel.” Ronan scoffed, though he stepped closer and eyed the wares. “Call us mercenaries, then offer an apple peeler for protection?”
Any number of things could have betrayed our ruse. My mantle beneath the cloak. The garment itself. Or the chance he’d served with me once, which felt the most likely.
We carried ourselves like men ready for a fight.
“Let me tell you, boy.” The man leaned in, elbow braced on the makeshift counter. “You want to be headed in the opposite direction of Reem.”
“Our destination is Lon,” Ronan said, leaning closer with a crooked grin.
“I don’t care where you’re from, but if Lon’s your goal, you are chasing blood. Reem is a rotten carcass ready to burst. Things will happen there. You’d be wiser to turn back now. And you!” A gnarled finger snapped toward me. “You walk like a wolf in a sheep pen. You’ve fought. I have no doubt you know full well what waits ahead. Dragging this lad along makes you no better than those wearing the mantle.”
Those. Plural.
“Perhaps we wish to help,” I offered, vague enough to test him.
“You’ll help no one.” He shook his head. “Not King Tallon. Not King Kallias.”
My stomach knotted. So the bastard prince had claimed the crown and forged a mantle of his own.
Elohios guide me, but I would kill him.
“Not even your own purse,” the man added. “Dead men can’t spend coin.”
“Then best to spend it now?” Ronan said, redirecting the man’s attention.
