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Even her ears burned red hot now. She tried not to give him her attention and forced herself to look away with a shake of her head. The shops they passed finally gave way to homes. Modest houses only large enough to hold a small family and far from the ridiculous luxuriousness of Warlord Vigor’s mansion. Ribbons were wrapped around porch railings and more evergreen wreaths were nailed upon doors. A couple scurried from a house in a fit of giggles, racing hand in hand down the street toward the line of vendors Remis and Meira had only just passed. The pair slowed as they caught sight of Meira in her leathers, their smiles falling.
She sighed. What memories she had were quite clear, even the ones that stretched far back into her childhood. And if those memories served her, then they’d turn a bend and reach the town square. If a witch was hiding here, then she’d be hiding in plain sight. Dragons knew she always had. If you couldn’t run from your enemies, becoming one of them was just as good if you wanted to survive.
Around the next corner, the village square waited, a fountain shaped with the patient precision of two lovers wrapped in an intimate embrace at its center. The water that dripped from several carved holes in the statues had been dyed a terribly bright shade of red. It ran in rivulets down into the pool at the lover’s feet looking more and more like blood as Meira watched it.
More lanterns were strung above their heads, their various colors casting a rainbow of light all around them. People were already gathered here, many wearing those fluffy wreaths on top of their heads. She slowed as they entered the crowd. Somewhere amongst the celebration, someone ran a bow across their fiddle. Another musician plucked at strings of something larger, deeper sounding. It wasn’t music yet, just the preemptive tuning of instruments and the promise of dancing to come.
The buildings around the square all had their doors propped open, allowing people to come and go as they pleased. Meira stayed to the edge of the square, Remis’ presence at her back a mild comfort. She could lose him in this crowd. Yes, she was faster, but if she was tripping over these lavish gowns and rows of people, he’d get his chance. Then she’d be hunting again, hating the terrible pull of the curse.
The smell of freshly cooked turkey legs drifted by them. She swore she heard Remis’ stomach growl even over the start of the musicians’ first song. Cheers went up all around them, hands thrust into the air, wine sloshing over glasses. Meira hissed as mead was tipped and splashed onto the toe of her boot. A man with long black hair tied at the nape of his neck who’d spilled looked at her, his mouth opening, light gray eyes warm as though he meant to apologize. Yet when his gaze settled on her, drifting down her flight leathers, the corners of his mouth drooped down.
“What are you looking at, scale rider?” He laughed, spittle flying from his lips.
Meira drew up short, her legs no longer thinking of carrying her. Her brows pinched together. This wasn’t the first time someone had recognized her as a scale rider. The uniform was well known. However, that was the first time she’d been recognized while alone without the rest of her legion to have her back.
The empire’s dogs, that’s what scale riders were to Augustine citizens. Pets on a short leash, due no more respect than the mangy mutts loose on the streets. He wouldn’t be saying a word though if he was face to face with Mrithun.
“You’d do well to keep your mouth shut.” She pushed aside her cloak and let him watch as she rested her hand on the hilt of her sword. He was a drunkard, eager for a fight, and she needed to keep a low profile. The man wore no weapons, at least none that weren’t somehow concealed. Even if he had something hiding under that tuft of pink material he wore, she doubted it would do much against her blade.
The mead on his breath was well-crafted, giving off a floral scent that covered most of the sour smell underneath. He blew a breath that ruffled the loose curls around her face. “Our village does not need the likes of you wandering around on a night like this.”
Her grip tightened on the hilt, but Remis placed a hand on her arm. “I think it’s best if we’re on our way. Excuse us.” He steered Meira away, putting pressure on her arm until she slid her weapon back into its sheath and was stalking forward.
“Good luck with your scale rider bitch!” The man’s voice rose after them. “I hope she’s at least a good fuck!”
Every muscle in her body tensed. She stopped abruptly, Remis’ momentum slamming into her back. The world didn’t have to like scale riders. They didn’t have to respect what they did, but no scale rider would tolerate the offense, the suggestion, that she was little more than a whore, and let them walk away.
Meira started to turn but Remis was there, his hands on her shoulders, hunching forward until they were eye level. “No…no.” His attention danced between her eyes. “He’s drunk, let him go, he does not know what he’s saying.”
“He knows,” Meira said through her tightening jaw. “He knows what hate he harbors in his heart and spews out into this world.”
She pushed against his hands but Remis held firm. “Why are we here?” he asked. “Why bring me to this village? What are we looking for?”
Meira closed her eyes. The crowd was moving around them again, music picking up into a healthy tune that made the air stir into a dance. Then there was her and Remis, still and quiet.
His hands, calloused and rough, despite his clear status, cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking against her. Her eyes snapped open; a familiar longing drawn up within her at his touch. She might not remember Remis as much as she should have, but her body remembered him. It reacted as it might to a lover, and she clamped down on the sensation warming in her chest.
Yanking herself out of his reach, Meira began through the crowd again, her determination renewed.
Find the witch. Remember.
The crowd was growing larger as the band played. People flowed out of the shops and businesses and into the village square to dance around the fountain. Music, conversation, the swish of liquid in glasses, the stomping of feet all mingled with the scent of food, sweat, and body odor until Meira’s skin began to crawl. Her shoulders were slowly rising to her ears and she had to fist her hands at her sides to keep from shoving her palms over her ears.
“Follow.” Meira managed to say, darting into the nearest building. Remis’ steps were quick and light behind her, keeping close as she weaved between tables and headed straight for the darkest corner of the room. Several patrons looked up from their drinks to watch as the scale rider darted across the tavern.
Shadows were a welcome reprieve as she dropped down into a wooden chair that groaned and wobbled at her weight. She pulled her hood up over her face breathing through the rush of overstimulation that threatened to drag her down.
Remis stood next to the table before Meira examining the stains on the wood with his hands planted on his hips. He frowned, looked over his shoulder, then pulled the chair out next to her and lowered onto it. “Interesting. I didn’t foresee you gutting me in a shitty little tavern in the middle of nowhere.”
The table to their left held a candle, nearly burnt to nothing, but its glow was just enough to outline Remis’ strong form. He leaned back in his seat, grimacing as it squealed at the motion. Dim light haloed his broad shoulders and Meira found her eyes lingering on the swell of his biceps as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’m looking for someone,” Meira finally admitted. A tiny sliver of truth that lifted a fraction of the weight that sat on her chest. The relief was so pleasant that she considered for a moment telling him everything. She pressed her lips together, looking out across the room.
“And this person is in this musty tavern? Or…”
Young, smiling, and with her blonde hair pulled up high on her head, a woman approached their table. Her attention drifted between them but lingered longer on Remis. “Interested in a drink?”
Remis only watched Meira, never looking up at the woman though she had directed her question at him. His attention burned against Meira’s cheeks. She chose to ignore the sensation, certain the darkness would hide what coloring was born of the notion. The chair shifted, a threat of its possible collapse, while she leaned forward and set her folded hands on the table.
