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“Now, look here, they tried to killmefirst—”
“I won’t judge you for killing someone in self-defense.” The man’sface went hard, and Sirsha glanced at his scim. It looked well-worn.
“Don’t act like you can’t handle this job,” the man went on. “Doing so is beneath you.” He leaned forward. The fire made his eyes glow orange. “Track down this child-killer. Shove a knife through his throat or bring him to me alive so I can do it myself, I don’t care. I’ll pay you a thousand marks either way.”
Sirsha nearly choked on the flatbread. A thousand marks would get her out of the Empire for good. Set her up with a nice little guesthouse in the Southern Isles. In time, she could hire help. She might be able to avoid tracking entirely.
Freedom, she thought desperately,finally.She knew her hunger was written all over her face, but was unable to care.
“Two thousand,” she haggled, more out of habit than because she felt she was being underpaid. “And it’s a deal.”
“Thirteen hundred,” the man said. “And I’ll throw in enough for transport and supplies.”
Sirsha raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t expected him to budge quite that much. A voice inside her head, one that had kept her alive since she’d struck out on her own at the age of twelve, whispered at her.Careful, Sirsha.
Sirsha’s skill lay not just in tracking, but in tracking magic—and binding it. But she didn’t do that anymore—on pain of death. Such were the conditions of her banishment from her people.
A Martial wouldn’t know all that. Still, Sirsha didn’t want to directly ask if the killer had magic. Her client would want to know why she cared. She’d have to lie. And he was obviously not the type of man who suffered liars.
“This killer,” she said carefully. “There’s nothing…unnatural about him, is there? He’s not a jinn, say? Or some kind of otherworldly entity that will rip out my innards?”
The man furrowed his brow, incredulous. “Of course he’s unnatural.He kills young people for sport. And jinn keep to themselves in the Forest of Dusk. They want nothing to do with the world of man.”
Can’t say I blame them.“Half the money now,” Sirsha said.
He scoffed. “And have you run away with it? I’ll give you a hundred marks now, plus twenty more for supplies.” He pulled a small leather pouch of coins from his cloak and tossed it at her. It landed in her palm with a satisfyingclink. There were at least one hundred twenty marks in here. Maybe more. It was a third of the amount she’d saved up over the last eight years. Sirsha checked the gold with her teeth. Real.
“Before I forget, take this.” He pulled a ring from his right hand, flat and silver, with anXetched onto it. “When you find the killer, bring it to any Martial garrison or Tribal or Mariner embassy. They’ll help you get him—or his head—back to me. I’ll pay you the rest when the job’s done.”
“I don’t walk away once I’ve taken a job.” Sirsha examined the ring before tucking it away. “Ask anyone I’ve worked for.”
“In that case, you won’t mind swearing on it.”
Sirsha didn’t see him draw the blade. She only realized he’d done so when he cut a line into his hand, flipped the knife around, and offered it to her.
She considered him over the fire. He was wily. Cunning. And he knew more about her than he let on. Among Sirsha’s people, blood oaths were not made lightly.
“Who are you?” she asked him.
“A man looking for justice.” He held the knife out again, but she still didn’t take it.
“You managed to track me, so you’re clearly capable,” she said. “I wager you’re good in a fight. Why not kill this murderer yourself?”
“I’ve tried to hunt him,” the Martial said. “For months. He’s eluded me.” He looked away, jaw tightening. “I can hunt no longer. I must return to my family. I’ll travel with you until you catch the trail. Then I’llbe on my way. I need you, Sirsha Westering. I don’t have time to dicker anymore.” He offered the knife a third time. “Will you help me?”
Thirteen hundred marks on one hand. On the other, a blood oath that she could never break—not unless this fellow died or spoke words to release her. If she tried to walk away, the oath would bend her body and mind back to her vow. Eating, sleeping, bathing—it would all become secondary to hunting down this killer and either sticking a knife in his gut or dragging him back to her client.
Ah well.It wasn’t like she had any other prospects. From what the Martial described, the killer was human, which meant a relatively quick chase.
She took the blade, cut open her hand, and pressed it against his before she could second-guess herself. Before the warning in her head became a screaming howl.
There was a brief chill between their palms, like they’d plunged them into snow. A moment later, it was gone. Cold flared near Sirsha’s neck, and the thin gold chain she wore grew heavier. She fidgeted. It had been years since her magic conjured an oath coin. She felt the ice of the vow she’d made sink into her very marrow, and wondered what in the skies she’d agreed to.
They made their way out of the Roost on horses the Martial had procured. The sky loomed low and threatening. To the south and east, thick bands of rain smudged the horizon. The horses would be ankle-deep in mud by midday. Sirsha glared at the heavy clouds.
“The entire reason I moved to the desert was so I wouldn’t have to deal with the bleeding rain,” she said.
“It must interfere with tracking.”
