MIRA FOUND ASHER next door in the Duckweed Tavern.
Stepping in from the cold wind and driving rain, Mira ducked her head to enter through a low doorway and stepped into a smoky space. The air was heavy with the odor of stale sweat, wet clothing, and mead. The roar of conversation was so loud Mira could barely hear the strains of a lute and bone whistle from the musicians who were playing up the far end of the room.
She walked into a press of male bodies. Keeping her hood up, Mira wove through a crowd of men in oilskins. They were dockworkers mainly, their faces florid with drink, their gazes glassy. Some of them were so drunk that they swayed and stumbled against Mira as she passed, only to receive an elbow in the ribs in return.
Asher sat at the back of the room, in the darkened recesses of the tavern, in a tiny booth. As she approached, Mira observed him. Slumped against the leather upholstery, he was gazing down at his tankard, a scowl marring the handsome lines of his face. Disheveled, his long hair unbound and flowing over his broad shoulders, the enchanter was dangerously attractive.
She’d noticed how handsome he was. A woman would have to be blind not to. It was just another reason to be wary of him.
Mira slid onto the seat opposite him.
Asher’s chin jerked up, and he fixed her with a cool, silver-eyed gaze that made a strange shiver caress her skin. Ignoring the disarming sensation, and the shallowness of breath that followed, Mira forced a nonchalant expression. “I think you owe me a drink.”
He frowned. “I’m not looking for company.”
Mira leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t care.”
A serving wench passed by then, pausing when she saw the enigmatic blond stranger now had company. She paused, her expectant gaze sweeping over them both.
After an awkward silence, Asher’s face twisted. “Another ale.” He passed her half a bronze talent, and the serving wench continued on her way.
Mira cocked her head. “I’d thank you … if that wasn’t done with such bad grace.”
“You shouldn’t have left Ninia upstairs alone.”
“She’ll be fine for a short while. I’ve locked her in, and your pet is looking after her.”
He snorted, lifting his tankard to his lips. “What do you want?”
Mira raised an eyebrow. “Not so charming once Ninia’s out of earshot, are you?”
He didn’t answer her, and a heavy silence fell between them. Around them though, the tavern reverberated with drunken laughter. Two men were shoving each other a few yards away—on the verge of brawling—and had to be separated by their companions. Mira couldn’t hear the music at all now. Still, she was grateful for the noise and confusion; it made it safer for them both as no one was paying the slightest attention to either of them.
The serving wench returned with another ale, and Mira sipped at it, watching Asher under lowered lids.
“Will you train the girl?”
Asher’s gaze snapped up. “What?”
“Ninia … will the Order of Light and Darkness take her in?”
She saw his hesitation—just for an instant but enough to confirm her suspicions. This man was definitely hiding something. However, he swiftly recovered. “If the High Enchanter is content she does indeed wield the Light.”
“But you know she does. You saw what she did.”
He shrugged. “Aye, but it’s not up to me.”
Mira watched him closely, examining that handsome face. She’d met few people who wore such an inscrutable mask as this man. Despite her distrust, he fascinated her.
“Your leader must think Ninia important if they’ve sent you to find her.”
“She’s a princess,” Asher replied, eyeing her warily. “The last of her line. The High Enchanter wants her protected.”
Their gazes met and held then—for far longer than Mira was comfortable with. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to look away. There was something mesmerizing about his eyes, an intensity behind that cool façade that made her feel strangely restless. Once again her breathing grew shallow, and a warmth spread up from her lower belly.
Stop it. Mira dragged her gaze away and took a deep draft from her tankard. Shadows, he’s trouble. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d used some kind of enchantment on her so she’d lower her defenses. Maybe she shouldn’t have followed him out here.
When she’d pulled herself together, she glanced back at him, almost expecting the enchanter to be grinning in victory. Yet he was frowning, his fingers clenched around the tankard before him.
“We don’t have to be friends, Mira,” he said after a pause. “You’ll be rid of me soon enough anyway.”
Something about the way he said those last words made Mira tense. “Why? Aren’t you going to escort us all the way to The Royal City so you can deliver Ninia yourself?”
He watched her a moment, before his mouth quirked. “I don’t think you’ve uttered a word that hasn’t been sarcastic since we met.”
Mira shrugged, before she cocked her head in a silent challenge.
He leaned forward, his gaze snaring hers. “What’s your story, Mira of The Swallow Guard? Why did your parents gift you to the realm?”
Mira tensed. “We’re not talking about me?”
“We are now.”
Taking another sip from her tankard, Mira wondered how much longer she’d be able to tolerate this man’s company. Talking to him was like trying to grab hold of an eel.
“I tell you what,” he said, still watching her, “you answer that question, and I’ll answer one of yours. Just one mind. Then this conversation is done. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t want company.”
Mira frowned, wondering what game he was playing now. Why was he interested in her past anyway? She sensed a trap looming, and yet she wanted at least one straight answer out of him tonight. She’d indulge him for now.
“Very well,” she said finally. “I’ll answer you. My parents didn’t gift me to the Royal Family. They died of the Grey Ravage when I was a child. I was living on the streets when Queen Rena noticed me … and gave me a new life in the guard.”
Asher’s silver gaze widened. “Why would she do that?”
“She wanted someone loyal to her … someone whom she could trust should she ever need a special favor.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “And that day came when Anthor attacked.”
“It did,” Mira replied coolly. “That’s two questions. It’s my turn now.”
A noise behind her, in the direction of the street, interrupted them. Mira turned, her gaze traveling to the doorway. More men were entering the tavern, only these ones wore black leather armor and sodden red cloaks.
Asher muttered a curse. “This all we need.”
Mira’s gaze swept over the crowded floor. There were no other exits; they were trapped in here. As she watched the newcomers, she realized they weren’t here to drink. Instead, they were questioning the patrons, slowly edging their way through the crowd. Near the front of the group, Mira spied a big, broad-shouldered man with golden shoulder epaulettes. He looked to be around Asher’s age—in his early thirties—yet the severity of his face made him seem older. His dark hair was cropped close to his scalp in military fashion. He prowled rather than walked, as he cut a swathe through the crowd.
The man’s gaze swept across the room, and Mira flinched back, pulling her head back into the shadowed booth. “Who’s he?”
“Someone important,” Asher replied, his voice tense. “Didn’t you see him today? He arrived while you were at the market.”
Mira’s pulse quickened. He had to be looking for Ninia. The King of Anthor wouldn’t send a commander to Thornmere otherwise. She pushed aside her tankard and started to slide out of the booth. “We need to get out of here.”
A hand fastened around her forearm, restraining her. “Wait … they’ll stop you if you make for the door.”
Mira glared at Asher before wrenching her arm free. “We can’t stay here and wait for them to come to us … they’ll know what I look like.”
His face was calm as his gaze held hers. “Aye … that’s why we’re going to leave via the privy instead.”
The Duckweed Tavern’s privy was located in an annex at the back of the building. Leaving the common room and the roar of drunken voices behind them, Mira and Asher hurried down a narrow passageway to the door at the far end.
The eye-watering stench of waste that hit Mira when she opened the door nearly made her gag. She clapped her hand over her mouth and stumbled inside, blinking as her vision adjusted to the dimness within. A single guttering lantern hung from the ceiling, and benches with holes in them lined the walls. The floor was sticky underfoot, and Mira tried not to look too closely at the dark patches on the walls and benches.
Mira spat out an expletive. “I’m not crawling down one of those holes. I’d rather they caught me.”
Asher ignored her, moving to the right where he climbed up onto one of the benches and yanked open a small, shuttered window. “Lucky for you then we’re climbing up, not down.”
Relief flooded through Mira at this news, although it was short-lived. Even in the poor light, she could see that window was tiny. “We can’t fit through that.”
“We’ll have to … they’ll check the privy after they’re done in the common room. Come on, I’ll give you a leg up.”
Mira scowled at Asher but did as bid, climbing up next to him. A moment later she placed her foot in his cupped hands and thrust her head and shoulders through the window. She gulped in a lungful of cold, wet air—which tasted like honeyed wine after the foulness of the privy—grabbed hold of the edge of the window, and pulled herself up.
Halfway through, her hips got stuck. Mira let out a string of curses this time, twisting as she attempted to dislodge herself.
“Swearing isn’t going to help,” Asher called up to her, his voice infuriatingly calm. A beat of silence followed before he added. “Hurry up … they’re coming.”
Mira gave another vicious twist, gritting her teeth as the edge of the window ledge bit into her flesh, and pulled free. Then, clinging to the timber frame outside, her feet squeezed onto a narrow ledge, she reached back inside to grab Asher’s hand.
The enchanter’s strong, cool grip crushed hers before he pushed himself up through the window. However, Asher’s shoulders, which were considerably broader than Mira’s, caught as he tried to wriggle through.
Mira heard the heavy tread of footsteps approaching. Asher hadn’t misheard—the soldiers were indeed checking every corner of the tavern.
Asher swore under his breath, his calm façade slipping. Mira hooked her arm around his and yanked. She heard fabric tear as his cloak caught on the edge of the window, and then he was free.
Breathing hard, the enchanter pulled himself out onto the narrow ledge before reaching back inside and yanking the shutters closed.
Inside, the door crashed open.
A moment later a man cursed. “Shadows, it reeks in here.”
Mira flattened her back against the wall, raising her face to the lashing rain. Beyond, the night was a wild, dark sea. She imagined they were hanging just a few yards from the surface of the lake, for the annex overhung the back of the pier. Her near drowning earlier that day had given her a new respect for the water. She wasn’t keen for another swim.
Long moments passed, and the sound of voices and footsteps inside the privy retreated.
“Mira,” Asher spoke finally. “Are you okay?”
She heaved in a deep breath. “Aye … I’m just wondering how we’re getting down from here.”
He gave a soft laugh. “There’s a wooden ladder around three yards to your right. It leads down to an alley between the buildings.”
Relief suffused Mira, although she was careful not to let it show in her voice. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve been staying here a few days … and I pay attention to my surroundings.”
Mira glanced over at him. The darkness was impenetrable, and she couldn’t make out his face at all.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten,” she growled. “You still owe me an answer.”
He snorted. “Ask your question then.”
“Can I trust you, Asher?”
A long silence followed before he answered, his voice soft. “No … but then you shouldn’t trust anyone.”