That didn’t even sound possible.
“If you play my memories, you will only see what I remember.” And again, he didn’t want her to see him nearly put an innocent Silva and Kalinda to death because of his need for revenge.
“We can try. Sometimes, magic can sense others, and I have been permeated with the power of the What May Be. There could be some link I may find. The Norns see all times as wide-open parallels.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to believe her words.
Eiravel nudged Heath with his elbow. “What’s she saying?”
“She may have a way to help show the memories. If nothing else, be able to set a different set of eyes on them.”
“Then we do what we can. Cynes isn’t back yet, which means he’s taking his time marking the plot to help us go forward. We may still have some time.”
Heath looked to Ash. “What do I need to do?”
“Sleep.”
Heath skipped over the tops of slanted roofs with an ease born of years of practice. Each landing was soft, producing as little sound as possible. It was the difference between helping the others eat or not. They depended on him and what he could teach them to survive.
Living in Daemon as one of the many orphans from criminal exile was hard.
Heath’s parents had been taken when he was fifteen years old because they’d taken food from a stall to feed the family. The disparity between the poor and the rich was massive, but he was working to change that.
Another leap took him to the outskirts of the market. The trick to being a thief, and a good one, was to live in the spaces people ignored. Very few looked up for danger, and he could remain there and watch the vendors push their wares. He could see who left things in mini storehouses, who guarded their wares zealously, and who catered to the nobility.
He targeted them the most.
They wasted more than they could use and didn’t care about those living in the slums just steps away from their precious grand estates.
“I caught up to you.”
Heath smiled as Lorack settled on his haunches next to him. Heath never doubted he would follow him when he went out to scout for food. The young man, just twenty-five years old, already showed great promise. If anyone could watch over the orphans when Heath wasn’t around, it was him.
“Have you spotted your mark?”
Lorack grinned, a dimple appearing in his right cheek, and flipped his flame-red hair over his shoulders. “My favorite.”
Heath didn’t have to guess. The orange in Lorack’s eyes signaled his affinity for fire, something he’d helped Heath mirror with his shadow skill. Lorack would be targeting the smokers’ shacks, where they stored and preserved meat.
With his talent, Lorack could stoke the fires to create larger clouds of black smoke to obscure him going in and stealing a feast worthy of many meals.
“I’ll take the grainery then. No use having meat without bread. We can come back with the others later.”
Lorack snorted. “You know there won’t be any of the better meats left by then. If we don’t strike before midday, we’ve lost our chance. Getting the younger ones in on the training will only slow us down.”
Heath couldn’t argue, but something in his gut made him hesitate. The wind was calm—no storms in the sky—but the atmosphere was pregnant, a heavy mass waiting to spew. He couldn’t shake the chill in his spine.
But it was too late. Lorack focused on the nearest shack and directed the flames to unnatural levels around the soot-covered stones. Thick, black smoke billowed as Unseelie raced from the confines.
“Meet you back at the square.”
Heath only nodded, studying their surroundings. Something was gods-damned wrong.
He spotted the problem just as Lorack leapt from the building. The Escala were there.
“Lorack!”
He didn’t stop in time, sliding to the ground just steps away from one of Daemon’s elite soldiers. The golden-masked warrior gripped his sword as he spun around to strike out at Lorack in a wide arch.
