“I was fifteen, thanks,” Kazia says, organizing his pieces. “But enough about filthy traitors. Shall we play another round?”
Vana avoids eye contact with Daromir and begins setting out his side.
?
CHAPTER FOUR
Daromir
The farther Daromir rides from the palace, the emptier the streets feel around him. They’re crowded with people, horses, and merchant stalls, but an image is missing from Daromir’s peripheral vision. Warmth missing from the air around him. A heartbeat missing from his ears.
When Daromir concentrates, that missing warmth pulls his magic-bound soul around like a compass pointing north. He triesnotto concentrate, because it makes it that much harder to resist riding directly back to the palace.
Daromir would prefer never to take a day off. If Vana ever wanted space, sure. Daromir could cope with that. For himself? Separating from Vana is hardly restful. But Daromir needs this day alone for Vana’s sake.
After briefing Zuzana and Indra for the day, Daromir spent the morning training with Vana’s drasgard in the courtyard. That gave him an excuse to change into nondescript clothes and exit the palace through side passages. They don’t exactly hide when Daromir leaves Vana’s side, but they don’t like to advertise it either.
Except Daromirdoeshave something to hide today. His winding journey through the city is purposefully misleading.
Ostomar City’s streets are wide, though they seem narrower with the bulk of the buildings towering overhead. Many intersections are large enough for a dragon to land in, whether defending against intruders or quelling dissent.
King Imrik hasn’t faced any rebellions in his capital city. Just the half-hearted Kaiskaran uprising years ago and occasional violence from Helra and the other mountain clans. The scorch marks from previous generations of Dire mages and dragons have been mostly scoured from the streets. The wide intersections are overrun instead with merchant stalls, forever encroaching on the carriage routes.
Daromir leaves his horse at a city stable and continues on foot. His first stop is a smithy. He nods to the assistant at the counter before making his way to the grimy half-forge behind the shop. He’s been here before, and while he doesn’t think anyone’s following him, he doesn’t mind if he’s seen here. Only Vana would find Daromir visiting this particular blacksmith suspicious, and their arrangement means Vana is the only one who would never ask.
Guilt isn’t useful now. Daromir shoves it down.
The blacksmith is a stocky woman with green streaks in her short black hair. Daromir waits until she sets her current project aside to cool before knocking on the wall.
“Yes, I’ve seen you, boy.” The blacksmith wipes her arm across her sweat-slick forehead. She joins Daromir at a work table. “What can I do for you?”
Daromir pulls two thin bundles from his coat, each the length of his forearm. “I need two knives sharpened.”
She nods, relaxing a fraction. “They’ll be ready in two hours. Will you be picking them up, or should I send them to the castle?”
“I’ll pick them up before you close.” Daromir drops a heavy purse on the table. Far too heavy for sharpening knives, which Daromir could do himself for free with a bit of spare time. “Thank you.”
“You have a good day, sir,” the blacksmith says, then whistles. Her assistant runs over as Daromir exits the shop.
Daromir’s next stop is just to kill time—a nearby jeweler he’s never visited before. He buys a gold and leather bracelet on a whim, sized far too small for his own wrist. Vana hardly needs more jewelry, but the trinket reminds Daromir of him. Daromir will have to think of an excuse to give it to him. Or maybe it can just be recompense for abandoning Vana for the day.
After that, Daromir goes to a tavern. By a stroke of luck, he spots a familiar face. No need to make friends or sit glowering alone in a corner. The man, a guard Daromir recognizes from Ostomar, is several drinks into his meal and happy for the company.
Also, apparently aformerguard.
“His Highness Prince Kazia fired me last week.” The man doesn’t seem too upset over it. “Called me a disgrace and threw a shoe at my head and everything. Lucky for me, His Highness’s aim is shit. I have another job lined up on a caravan heading out next week.”
“Condolences or congratulations,” Daromir says.
The former guard laughs and calls for another round.
Behind the guard’s shoulder, Daromir notes an orange-haired figure heading upstairs. He takes his time talking with the former guard, and only when the man leaves does Daromir make his way upstairs as well.
The room changes every other month. It’s the month of Aramy now, so the messenger waits in the third-floor room.
Vana is the one who set up the messenger networks. A slowly built web of contacts across the country. He used to use them simply for information, but several years ago, he expanded their reach all the way back to Kaiskara. All part of Vana’s disastrous attempt to rescue one of his few Draskoran friends—dragonrider Rakos Tem.
Granted, from Rakos’s perspective, that rescue looked more like an abduction. But if Wing-Captain Irenka Miraz and her powerful backers had gotten to Rakos first, he wouldn’t have survived the incident.
