We argue halfheartedly about the merits of selling secrets versus honoring contracts, our voices hushed even though we’re alone. I doubt she would actually consider sabotaging the job, even if it did promise a higher reward; I think it’s just the tired desperation of yesterday still lingering, seeping into both of us, poisoning our thoughts as surely as the poisons destroying this city.
If I'm honest, I'm as tired as she is of this endless cycle of barely surviving.
But as we step out into the hazy sunlight, my exhaustion is suddenly the least of my worries.
There's fresh blood all over the front steps.
A winding trail of it goes from one side to the other, as if whatever left it behind was pacing frantically. Its color is a distinctive deep, deep red, bordering on black. It has a distinct smell, too. Saltier than human blood. More acrid.
Dragon blood.
Chapter Six
“Iknow I'm not the world's most observant person…” Briar says “…but that wasn't there when we went inside, right?”
I shake my head just as footsteps and voices drift toward us.
Briar runs for the edge of the building, peering around it for only a moment before jerking back, cursing.
“Company,” she says, hurrying to my side. “Mouren soldiers making their way down the street.”
“Let's get the hell out of here.” I make a dash for the opposite edge of the building, to the small yard where we tied our horses.
But there are soldiers marching down the road on this side, too, heading straight toward us, and my breath catches as I realize this group is being led by one of the men I eavesdropped on last night—the one I thought I recognized. In the daylight, he still looks like someone I once knew. Helooks like…
No.
I'm not thinking about him today.
Not here, not now.
“Any brilliant plans for getting us out of this one?” Briar asks, appearing beside me.
“Just have a distraction ready to go. And be prepared to run like your life depends on it.”
She's already readying that distraction before I get the words out, pulling a small round object out of the hidden pocket Marta sewed into the sleeve of her coat. She clenches it in her fist, putting it out of sight just as the two marching groups converge in front of the steps.
Several of the soldiers narrow their eyes in our direction, then peel away from the larger group and make their way up, encircling us more tightly.
The vaguely familiar man comes the closest, stopping right in front of us. Judging by the insignia on his coat, and the obviously high quality of his weapons and armor, I suspect he's a high-ranking officer of some sort. Many of his soldiers wear protective gear similar to ours. He doesn't. His cold expression is on full display—calculating, grey eyes flecked with gold; a sharp jaw set in rigid authority; thin lips pressed into a hard line.
His gaze lingers on my scarred, blind eye for a moment. That disfigurement would give me away every time, even with a scarf covering half my face. I silently curse it, but outwardly I lift my chin as if I don't care if he sees it and recognizes me as the one who attacked his camp last night.
“This city is condemned and forbidden to outsiders,” he informs us. “So kindly explain what business you have within its boundaries?”
“Just out for a stroll,” Briar sweetly replies.
“I see.” His mouth remains set in a hard line. Unfortunatelyfor us, he doesn't seem like the type to be taken in by Briar's flirting.
He lifts a hand, beckoning. In the span of a breath, several soldiers swoop forward and seize Briar.
She fights—of course—and manages to land a few punches before two burly men catch her arms and pin them behind her back.
“I'm actuallynotfond of being touched without consent,” she snarls, twisting violently enough that the man grasping her left arm flinches; as his grip briefly sways, she wriggles free enough to slam her head into his, making him lose his hold entirely.
It's ultimately useless, though. Too many others surge forward, securing her with even rougher hands, twisting her in a way that makes her eyes scrunch up in pain.
I start toward her—I don’t care whether it's useless or not—but the officer cuts me off, stepping between us while deliberately reaching for the handle of his sheathed sword.
