“Oh,tensilvers then, if you think he’s worth so much.”
“I’m not selling you any of them to be butchered.”
“And how are you going to feed them if you won’t sell any? I can see those empty hay mangers from here, and I see an empty corner where last week, you had a stack of bales. And what about that girl, there? Her riding breeches are falling apart at the seams. Is keeping hold of all of them while they starve any better than selling one to pay for the rest?”
Austin stepped up next to the customer. His presence startled the man, the horse man, and the girl, but not the quietponies. Everyone turned their full attention to Austin; there was no recognition in the horse man’s face.
“Show me what they can do,” Austin said.
“I—er—”
“I like calm,” Austin added.
At that, the horse man recovered in a rush. “They’re all extremely calm, sir. And placid. Mella will show you.” He waved to the girl. “Hop on—which one do you want to see?”
Austin waved a hand. He knew precisely nothing about horses, though he agreed with the previous customer that this lot were quite hideous. “Any. The ewe-neck.”
Tristan waited patiently at his side as Austin watched Mella ride the horse without any tack through the busy market, even bringing the horse by cages of large cats the size of panthers. The animal didn’t flinch at anything, not even Reba’s wings, which terrified the carriage horses.
At the end of the display, Austin looked pointedly at Tristan.
“That one?”
“All of them.”
There were six horses waiting patiently in stalls, all with varying conformation flaws, as the other customer had pointed out. They were far from the sleek, beautiful creatures that had pulled their carriage into the city. Austin recalled the horse man coming at the crack of dawn every day to ride and work them before the city streets filled with people. He laboured with patience and persistence. Austin had even watched him get kicked once, a brush against his thigh that left him limping for weeks. There wasn’t so much as a flash of anger, just a pained,Startled you, did I?Austin had found him utterly bizarre. The kind of man who left out dinner every night for a stowaway in the rafters.
Tristan slid his gaze over the horses, expressionless.
Austin placed his hand on Tristan’s chest and rose onto his toes, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, the highest point he could reach. “Be generous.” Then he walked away.
Eli joined him, Reba following a few lengths behind.
The stall with the instruments was on the far side of the market. Austin was halfway there when a bark of seal laughter stopped him cold. A chicken vendor was on his left, little creatures clucking as they ate from grain thrown to the ground. Baskets of colourful eggs lined the front of the stall, and the woman standing there was finishing a deal to sell a “tasty strain” to a doe-eyed little girl with horns twisting out from curly hair.
As they paused, Eli turned on his heel, speaking to Reba. “You should aim for the back of Oran’s knees. Even if you don’t get in a solid hit, it’ll do some damage.”
“His knees?”
“The back of them. He’s got poison sacks just under the skin there. A small hit will burst them. Of course, he’s immune to his own poison, but it still hurts to rupture them.”
A break in the buildings onto a cobbled street gave Austin a perfect view of the docks. A book vendor was set up on the edge of the sea—a ridiculous spot for someone whose wares would be ruined by a spray of water—but the position was clearly strategic. Next to him was a cart of pastries, just as strategic.
Two mermen, one copper-tailed, the other pale blue, crowded shoulder to shoulder, pointing at the pastries. The vendor brought the loathsome Dew and Bee the requested samples.
Next to them, with a tail that refused to settle on one particular colour, was Adonis. He peered through the pages of a red-backed book with great concentration. Austin had the flashing, distinctly unkind thought that he wasn’t aware the merman could read. And then he recalled a scene he’d spied—ofConnor asking Adonis to read to him, in a gentle tone of voice that Austin had never heard from the man in his entire life.
Connor would bend to Austin’s will when they dated or offer exasperatednos,but he wouldn’t make requests of Austin. He couldn’t imagine any scenario where Connor would sweetly ask Austin to read to him and then shut his eyes and enjoy his voice.
Of course, Austin thought bitterly, his voice was not something oneenjoyed.
The egg must have just emerged from a chicken, as it was still warm when he took it in hand. He whispered to it, but he felt the egg ignore the command: it was not of the sea and had no mind for Austin to influence. So what? Austin didn’t need it to listen. He’d had a funny knack for rounders in school. He cocked back his arm and let it fly.
The egg disappeared into the darkening sky for a few seconds, but Austin glimpsed it as it began its downward arc, a tiny grey smudge falling through the air. It landed squarely on Adonis’s head. The delicate crack of shell seemed to echo across the street, a shocked silence descending across the market—even those out of sight of the attack went quiet, heightened senses alerting them that something was amiss.
Egg yolk and whites dripped down Adonis’s hair and onto the pages of his book. A confused expression crossed the merman’s face. When he lifted his head, his eyes landed on Austin. Recognition curled his mouth into a sneer. Austin sneered back. Recognition became realisation, alerting Austin to the fact that the sneer was merely his reaction to Austin’s presence, and his comprehension of where the egg had come from dawned second.
Apocalyptic rage.
