Beta Sinta kneels beside me and takes a handful of silver coins from the pouch at his side, dropping them next to mine. My eyes practically pop out of my head at the sight of so much money.
“I usually give to Athena and her cult.” He shrugs. “But since we’re here…”
Carver, Flynn, and Kato all kneel and give up a silver coin as well.
After the holy man bestows a blessing on each of our bent heads, we head back out into the blinding sunlight. The heat sinks into my scalp, driving me crazy. Squinting and fanning myself, I look around at the stone buildings adorned with fluted marble columns and carvings of creatures and Gods. What I see makes the geography of our convoluted travels finally click into place.
“This is Velos,” I say.
Beta Sinta glances at me, seeming surprised. “You’ve been here?”
“No, but Apollo and Artemis are everywhere, and Velans worship the twins.” They’re on nearly every facade, in all their naked glory. “Velos depends on game from the forest to the west. Along with the market, meat and leather are what make the city prosper. It’s logical to worship the Gods of archery and the hunt.”
“How do you know so much about Velos? The circus travels a route farther to the west.”
Hours of schooling and a tutor with a whip? “I’ve met people, heard things,” I say offhandedly.
Beta Sinta stops, his mouth flattening in obvious irritation. “Help me, Cat. Or at least tell me the truth. I know when you’re lying.”
“Oh?” My heart trips over its next beat.
“Your eyes get twitchy.”
“My eyes do not get twitchy!”
“This one gets narrower.” He touches the tip of his finger to the corner of my right eye, and a little jolt zips through me. “It’s as if you’re expecting the lie to hurt, but it doesn’t because it’s your own.”
I jerk my head away and start walking again. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll have to work on that.”
“Cat…” he growls, stalking after me. “Everything would be so much easier if—”
“—you let me go.”
Beta Sinta shakes his head. “I can’t. You’re too valuable.”
“Aren’t you the lucky despot? The one who caught the Kingmaker. Forgive me for not being overjoyed about becoming your slave.”
“Not a slave.” He grabs my arm, swinging me back to him. “One of us.”
Incredibly, he believes what he’s saying, even if I don’t. I wrench my arm from his grip, feeling each long finger like a brand on my skin. I wish my eyes could shoot flames. Or my hands. Or really, any part of me would do. “I’ll never be one of you.”
Beta Sinta spears a hand through his black hair, tugging a little. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”
I glare at him. He simply looks back, and his calm makes me want to hit something. Or someone.
Our small group continues before stopping again in front of a row of colorful market stalls. A light breeze slips over my shoulder, and I turn into it, trying to cool down while Beta Sinta opens his leather pouch again and produces four silver coins.
Flynn rubs his hands together, his eyes brightening. “Payday!”
Flynn, Carver, and Kato each take a coin, leaving one in Beta Sinta’s palm.
“Cat.” He extends the coin to me. “Your pay.”
Of all the things I imagined he might say, that wasn’t one of them. I snap my jaw shut and turn away. I have my last copper.
He doesn’t insist, dropping the coin back into his pouch. “I’ll hold it for you. I know what you want. You complain about it often enough.”
I look up sharply and find his eyes brimming with humor. Is he teasing me?
We approach the vendors, the enchanted rope tugging me along. I wonder what would happen if I sat down and refused to budge. Would I get dragged around on my ass? Tossed over one shoulder? The possibilities keep my feet moving.
Beta Sinta buys enough apricots and oranges to last a week; four loaves of bread; normal, hard cheese; and green grapes. I want the red ones, but since I refused the money, I keep my mouth shut. He finds a soap seller next and takes forever sniffing the different scents.
I roll my eyes. “You’re worse than a woman. Just take the yellow one. It’s always the best.”
He picks it up and inhales. “Lemon. Smells like you.”
I don’t know if it’s the way his voice turns rough, or how his thick, dark lashes dip, fanning his cheeks and shading his eyes, but my insides turn revoltingly mushy.