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“Which town is this?” I turn to Taj. “Any ideas?”
“If I remember the map correctly and if I’m not hopelessly lost, it might be Martus or Satria,” Taj says. “One of the small stops on the trading route toward the south and of course the Summer Capital.”
“No. Doesn’t ring any bells,” Finnen says.
“I vote we go in,” Taj says. “Kiaran? What do you think?”
The Wildman doesn’t speak, still gazing at the town.
“Kia?” I lean over the horse’s side, but he’s too far to touch. “Are you okay?”
He harrumphs.
No choice but to take that as a yes. I seem to be the only one with misgivings about this decision, but the thought of a warm meal and a soft bed is way too tempting to resist.
The horse’s hooves clop on the paved street leading up the low hill, Taj taking up the front, Finnen by his side. We are at the rear, Kiaran and me, following them past low stone-built houses with small gardens and smoking ovens in their yards.
A town on the road leading to the Summer Capital, Eremis, the traditional summer residence of the Emperor.
A big city with gleaming temples to the gods and singing fountains in the squares, statues hewn from marble and blue stone quarried from the mountains of Athus which are looming in the distance and laced with gold bought from the south.
The old Fae capital, according to some tales.
I’ve read about it. I’ve even seen some pictures. I’ve wanted to see it with my own eyes, experience a city that purportedly never sleeps, full of beautiful things and elegant people. But it will never happen. It’s a gleaming place of death we have to avoid at all costs.
This small town built out of the grey rock dotting the landscape with its twin turrets over the open gate and the neat two-story houses lining the street will have to do…
11
ARIADNE
Finding the inn proves easy. Not far from the main street of the town, there is a big wooden sign hanging on a façade with an arrow pointing down a side alley.
‘The Dragon Fang Inn.’
Ominous. But as the men turn into the alley, Kiaran pulling the horse, we find a simple albeit tall gate that’s wide open, and laughter and aromas of roasted meat waft over to us, making my stomach growl like an actual dragon of old.
We cross a square yard to reach the two-story building, the second floor studded with doors to its many rooms. The plain entrance was quite deceptive. It’s a big place with a gurgling fountain at its center, stables for the horses on one side and fruit trees on the other.
Kiaran leads me toward the stables and a harassed-looking stable hand appears to snatch the reins from him. He growls when the stable hand starts pulling the horse toward the stables with me still on it and I’m at a great vantage point to see the stable hand finally stop and actually look at him.
“Drakoryas,” he whispers and scurries away.
“How would he know?” I whisper.
“It’s the craziness in the eyes,” Finn says, deadpan. “Hard to hide.”
Kiaran reaches for me. “Come.”
Without hesitation, I swing my leg over the saddle and slip down the horse’s flank, trusting him to catch me.
His strong arms come around me, hauling me against his hard body, not allowing my feet to touch the ground. Instinctively I hook my knees around his hips and his hands go under my ass, keeping me in place.
Not the most dignified position for a woman to be publicly seen in, perhaps, but by the time I think to try and regain my feet, I’m lost in his gaze. His eyes are so blue, like a sea, and I drown in them.
I haven’t been in his arms, or even this close to him, since our brief time in his cave, and my breath wooshes out of me in a rush.
Then his scent seeps in, pepper and nutmeg, pine and resin, and fire rolls through me. A gasp escapes me at the sensation, the pain/pleasure of it, the sharp need for him.
