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“Artus’ll be at the festival in Creta Square tonight. At least, I think that’s what Tregor meant. Hard to understand him, you know, what with the?—”
He gestured vaguely around his head, and then at Riella.
“I didn’t personally deafen him,” she said with a sniff.
It was possible she had, actually.
“Anyway—” continued Silas. “Artus’ll surely weasel his way into the wedding at the palace tomorrow night. Dunno how he hopes to get an invite, though. Rumors are swirling about assassinations and such. Security will be tight.”
“I’m certain he’ll find a way, and so must we,” said Jarin. “We go to the Creta Square festival tonight, then. Tomorrow, the wedding. We stop him before he becomes more powerful.”
Jarin seemed reluctant to mention the amulet in front of Silas, which Riella thought wise. Trustworthy or not, the man was drunk, and drunks had loose lips.
“Stop him?” repeated Riella with a frown. “But what about the blood oath? How does it work?”
“The blood oath states that if I or any Dark Tide Clan pirate try to kill him, we die.”
“Even you? Won’t your invulnerability protect you?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know, to be honest. It’s the kind of theory you can only test once. But there are more ways of stopping a person than killing them. And besides, you didn’t take any oath. You could still slay him.”
“I’d love to.”
With an appreciative smirk, Jarin turned back to Silas. “Any word on a sorcerer making trouble?”
“Which one?” he asked in a sardonic tone. “Everyone in the kingdoms will be at the wedding, including the High Magus. If there isn’t trouble of grand proportions, I’ll be flabbergasted.”
“Alright,” replied Jarin. “Good work.” He nudged Riella. “We need to visit a tailor and a dressmaker before the wedding.”
She nodded. Her mind was preoccupied with the idea of Polinth attending a crowded wedding. Even without the amulet, his potential to cause catastrophe was enormous. He possessed explosives and could create elaborate illusions at will.
Then again, the High Magus surely held his position for good reason. He had to be a supremely powerful sorcerer himself. If Polinth attacked, Riella wouldn’t be the only one trying to stop him.
And stop him she must. The full moon was tomorrow night. This was it—she was out of time.
A pair of royal guards passed by in the street. They cast an appraising stare over Riella and the pirates, but kept walking. News of her and Jarin’s entry had obviously not reached this end of the city, but it would only be a matter of time.
“Let’s get off the streets until sundown,” said Jarin. “We should?—”
His words died in his throat, as he inhaled sharply and doubled over. Riella grabbed his shoulder in alarm. Silas and Drue stopped, too.
“Are you alright?” she asked him.
But he did not reply. He only clawed at the center of his torso, grimacing in pain. Had he been poisoned? Should she try to find a healer?
Before she could decide, he abruptly dropped his hands. His grimace disappeared, replaced by a look of uncertainty, or perhaps even fear. He stared at his hands, turning them over and flexing his fingers. His face gleamed with sweat.
“Jarin?” asked Riella. “Are you alright? What just happened?”
He shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Nothing. Too much sun. Come on, let’s go inside.”
Mystified and concerned, but not wanting to press the issue in front of Silas and Drue, she followed him into the inn.
The woman at the front desk barely looked up from her parchment as they walked in. Jarin paid, and collected brass keys for the rooms. Silas wandered in the direction of the in-house bar, while Drue slumped after him to keep him in check.
Riella and Jarin climbed the narrow staircase. The inn had an air of gloom, despite being quite luxurious. The wood was dark and polished, stuffed animal heads decorated the walls, and chandeliers glittered from the ceilings. She tried not to think too much about how this inn would likely be the last place she ever slept.
Would Jarin be with her when she died? If she had one wish for death, that was it. Feeling his strong arms and hearing his deep, gravelly voice might be some comfort in her final moments. But she ought not to expect such mercy. Most creatures on earth and in the ocean died alone.
