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What could have been a blush, or just the shifting of a shadow over his face, darkened Maldis’ cheeks. He raised an arm to scratch at the back of his neck though his gaze remained icy.
“Surely there is something of use you might be able to tell me? Is there a way to camouflage myself as I travel?” Remis asked though the man lowered his arm and made to turn away from him.
No, no, no.
“Dragonis hunt by scent. You can’t hide by sight,” Maldis mumbled and headed back to the door.
“Wait!” Remis hollered before ramming his ribcage into the stone. One leg lifted as though he was frantic enough to start climbing over the counter. This was his one chance to learn something, anything, that might save him while he was in the Deadwoods. He stretched an arm across the counter trying to reach the man and stop him. “Please, is there someone else who might be willing to talk to me?”
“The other crosser is no longer here.”
“Well, where did he go? I’ll go to him.”
The man blinked heavily. “He’s dead. That’s why I’m here.”
He’s dead. Realization settled in the damp perspiration on his neck. Of course, any other crossers would be dead. It was the most dangerous profession in the entire Empire. More crossers died than men serving in the emperor’s army. So what chance did Remis stand? The reminder of his impending doom deflated him.
“Fine, okay, I understand. Do you at least have some paper so I might write a quick letter?” He let his head drop until his forehead hit the counter with a thunk. His eyes drifted closed as Maldis dug beneath the counter.
His shuffling paused. “Writing your last will and testament?”
“Something like that.” Remis flipped his palm up to accept the parchment.
Maldis didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He didn’t hand him the damn paper. Remis lifted his head to find Maldis staring down at his palm. The eye marring his skin watched the man back. Remi let his fingers curl into a fist to hide its image and when Maldis’ attention finally met Remis’, his skin had gone pale, though he managed a small dry laugh.
“You better pray you die at the hand of the dragonis instead of a witch. At least that death will be swift and merciful.” He set the blank pages down, motioned to the pot of ink a foot away, then shook his head and disappeared to the back of the shop.
4
Meira
The grand hall was the only space large enough to fit the entirety of the Horde. Five dens resided within Mount Ridmond. While numbers still lingered in the thousands across several locations, Horde Ridmond held six hundred riders. Now they were all crowded together, filling up the long rows of seating or lounging against the smooth stone walls.
Meira wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her sleeve before squeezing her way through the throngs of people. The trembling in her body had lessened since returning from her flight but a fog still clung to her mind. She could still picture the tousled dark strands of the stranger and the curious look on his features as he found the mark on his hand. Mostly, as she weaved amongst the crowd, she could still feel the strands of magic that connected them.
Magic was peculiar in the sense that it felt undoubtedly tangible one moment and unreal the next. She was certain if she closed her eyes all she would have to do was follow the tugging sensation in her chest and they’d find one another. Meira wasn’t certain that was how it worked though. While she’d had a vague understanding of the huntress mark, she’d never created one herself. Though someone had carved the curse into her skin; if it had been her she couldn’t recall.
Up ahead she caught a glimpse of blond hair several rows away where Bram sat with his arm draped over an empty chair. Instinctually, she knew that he’d saved the seat for her. The two of them had made a point not to flaunt whatever sort of relationship they’d sometimes participated in, so up until now, they had never actually sat next to each other during official meetings. The parameters of her health and curse would be cause to break away from the normal distance they kept. No matter how much she disliked the idea of being watched by her legion leader.
Bodies shuffled out of her way as she nudged her way past. More than one conversation stopped as Meira slipped by. Watchful eyes clung to her skin. They seared against her clothes and burned through until she felt the heat of them like a thousand suns.
She was certain they knew. That everyone around her could see that lively rush of power living within her as clearly as if she’d written ‘witch’ across her forehead. Swallowing against her dry throat, she wiped her hand over her face again to be certain. There was no way for them to know, not truly, and certainly not by looking at her. Meira was as plain as any other rider and only the jagged shape of an eye in her palm, hidden under her glove, might be enough to give them pause. Bram had only thought her victim to it. Perhaps she was a victim. Only time and the return of her lagging memories would tell.
“Pardon,” Meira said, sidestepping between the backs of seats and riders’ long legs in the row behind them.
Bram dropped his hand from the back of the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. The muscular shape of his biceps was apparent through the tight fit of his long-sleeved shirt. Her attention caught on the dark fabric, unable to rise to see his face. Behind him, the room turned brown with winter foliage and trees and Bram was no longer Bram. He was the stranger.
His hair was slicked back with sweat which felt strange when Meira noticed that he wore a thick cloak and his breath fogged up the air. The man struggled to catch his breath as he sat upon a log and stretched to look up at her. He smiled and her heart tumbled in her chest.
“I would have died back there if it wasn’t for you,” he said. His voice was like an old lullaby; soft, smooth, and tinged with a dangerously dark reminder.
Words were pulled from Meira’s mouth without her control or consent. Her words were just as breathy. “I’m sure you can find ways to thank me.” Her tone dropped an octave with the suggestion.
While his cheeks were pink with exertion the color deepened and his smile grew wide. “Meira,” he said her name with the promise of threat. A thrilling warning that turned her body hot.
“Meira,” he said again. His smile remained and so did the hungry glint in his eyes. “Meira.” His voice turned urgent. “Meira.”
“Meira!” Bram hissed through clenched teeth, reaching for her arm and pulling her down into the hard wood of the seat. The hall had gone quiet and those who didn’t watch Meira stared up at the platform at the front of the room. Crimson stained her cheeks as she shrunk down in the chair. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I told you to rest more.”
