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The bell above the door rang, startling him alert. He was still orienting himself when he noticed a girl with dark, buoyant waves, wrapped in a deep-blue cloak stitched with gold. She turned toward him, her sparkling blue eyes matching her smile, which seemed to be just for his benefit. Her fingers played with her necklace, a dazzling red that had the likeness of an apple.
Tyr bucked alert, spilling his ale in his sleep-addled daze. He saved the letters just in time but had nothing to mop his mess up with. Something smacked into the side of his head, and he looked down and saw a rag on the table.
Agnes rolled her eyes from behind the bar and returned to her work.
He was making awkward swirls of the fallen ale when a slight shadow forewarned him someone was approaching. The young woman appeared beside him, peering over his shoulder with an odd expression.
Tyr was both wholly positive he’d never seen her before and struck with the impossible sense he’d known her forever.
“Dearest Par,” the girl said, reading. “I regret to inform you matters have become exceedingly worse.”
Sputtering something nonsensical, Tyr pulled the letters back to his chest. “Hello, uh... If you’re looking for a drink, uh...”
“Can I sit here?” Her glittering eyes were as wide as saucers. She didn’t wait for his confirmation, brushing the back of her skirt with her delicate hands before sitting. “What are you doing with a Vjestik letter?”
“It’s...” Tyr eyed his empty mug with a mournful gaze. His throat was a desert. “Do I know you?”
Her soft red lips curved into a delectable smile as she fingered a lock of hair. “No, I don’t think so.”
“But you must be native to the Cross. You know Vjestikaan.”
“You’renot a native,” she said pleasantly. “And you have a letter written in that very language in your possession.”
“Fair enough.” He swallowed down a dry thatch.Not just one.“I can’t...” He grimaced. “Can’t read it. I translate documents for my business partners in the Easterlands.”Stop talking.“Some of the letters are in... in a language Icanread, and some... like Vjestikaan... well.”
“The Easterlands!” She clasped both of her hands to her chest, looking oddly impressed. “That’s where you’re from?”
He nodded. “Well, Parth is technically in theWesterlands,but Riverchapel is just across the border, in the Easterlands.”
“Never been there myself. Either place,” she said with a slow nod. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
“It’s... nice. Yes.” Tyr swept his eyes over her. She was breathtaking, like Ana but so different. That he was even comparing her to Ana was maddening. There were hundreds of thousands of women in the kingdom, and only one he never wanted to see again. “Where are you from?”
“Here and there,” she said with a short wave.
“How do you know Vjestikaan?”
“I don’t really know it so well. A handful of words is all.”
“Yes, but how?”
“My father is Grigor Arsenyev. But I live with my mother’s people... elsewhere.”
Tyr practically choked. “You’re a Wynter.”
“No,” she stated. The word came out with surprising force. “I’m an Arsenyev. The Wynters are no friends of mine.”
Tyr bowed his head with a laugh. “Nor mine.”
“My name is Natasya, but you may call me Nessa.”
“Tyreste, but you may call me Tyr.”
“Tyr. You’re not fond of the Wynters then.”
He shook his head instead of answering.
Nessa tilted her head. “It’s all right. You’re in fair company on that matter.”
