"So," I said, twisting under his grip. "Can you let me go, then?"
"Not a chance, sweetheart. Your husband needs to learn not to let his girl play with knives."
Women were not allowed to carry weapons in Muirashi.
Gods. I was an idiot.
"You can wait in the dungeons until he comes and gets you," the guard mocked, shoving me forward.
The steel-haired rogue beamed at me. "Call it a truce?"
I scowled at him as the guards led us away.
Not even a week into my journey, and I was headed for the dungeons.
Somehow, I just knew Akemi would have seen this coming from miles away.
Chapter 8
Diar
Isat on the cold floor, staring through the iron bars.
Kentoro had a quaint little prison: a handful of cells beneath the governor's estate. The hushed atmosphere and empty halls might have been pleasant company had I not been imprisoned with the rogue.
He occupied the cell beside me, leaning against the bars to watch shadows moving at the end of the hall. His fingers danced on his wrist, as though counting something.
Leaning forward, I studied the man. He looked to be about my age, not yet twenty. His curls were well-maintained, falling around a sharp-featured face: high cheekbones and a defined jaw flecked by freckles.
The ratty cloak shrouding him in shadow hung over a finely tailored forest-green jacket. The collar was torn and bent.
His emerald eyes flicked to me. "So, where'd you learn to fight?"
Pulling my knees up, I glowered at him. His voice was like a song, easy, light, and unduly charming.
"Most Muirashi women seem pretty meek. I thought you'd cower or run. I didn't expect him to actually hit you."
"Do Aenir men regularly hide behind their women?"
"No," he said. "My talents don't lie in straight-up fights, and you looked rather capable, besides."
I wrapped my arms around my knees. "How could you tell I was a woman?"
Narrowing his eyes, he looked me up and down. "Oh. Were you pretending not to be?"
"Idiot. Do you see many women in the Shatterblades?"
"Aenir lets women join the army." He glanced away. "Well, we used to." Footsteps and murmurs sounded in the distance. He met my eye. "What are you doing, anyway?"
"I'm looking for someone," I answered shortly.
"Who's the lucky fellow?" He waggled an eyebrow.
"He's not lucky," I spat. "Who was your friend?"
He looked away again. "We'd been going at it for a while before you arrived. He was perfectly pleasant before the third drink."
"I'm sure you weren't."
