“Why?”
“You’ll know when you see him.”
“And this place?”
Temra shrugs. “It’s a good place to meet men.”
“You’ve been frequenting this establishment!” I nearly shout. “Have you been drinking?”
“I’m sixteen, Ziva. Of course I’ve been drinking and having fun—while being perfectly safe.” She tries to stride inside the building.
“Oh, we are not done discussing this or your sneaking out.”
“Maybe we could save it for when we’re not trying to outrun a warlord?” she asks.
I narrow my eyes at her back as she pushes into the building. Handing Reya off to a waiting stable boy, I bark orders at him not to unsaddle her. We won’t be that long, and I don’t want him touching any of the precious cargo on her back.
I grab the sword and buckle it to my side before following after my sister.
Temra couldn’t have beaten me by more than thirty seconds into the tavern, yet she’s already seated at a table, surrounded by admirers. Three men and two women are laughing around her, and I watch as one of the men buys her a drink.
How does she do that? Temra has her own magic. A kind that draws people to her and makes it effortless for her to be around them. Jealousy blossoms within my chest, although it’s mostly covered up by the fear of being surrounded by so many people.
Noises and smells are everywhere. Laughter, wailing, chewing, mead, sweat, leather.
Awkwardly, I walk over to my sister. The broadsword weighs me down heavily on my left side, and I have to adjust my stance accordingly. When I finally reach Temra, I hover at her shoulder. That brings the gazes of the others at the table straight to me.
I stare at the back of Temra’s head, willing her to do something. Anything.
She reaches up, grabs my arm, and yanks me onto the chair so that half my rump is balanced in the air. And then, as though Temra’s acceptance was all they needed, whatever conversation I’d interrupted resumes.
“As I was saying, Kellyn is a fine swordsman, despite being so young. There’s talk that his father was a weapons trainer in the late king’s castle, but that could just be a rumor.” The man speaking pauses to take a hefty drink from his cup.
“But honestly, that’s the least of his fine qualities,” one of the girls says. She and the other woman at the table turn toward a corner of the room.
I nearly choke on my own spit.
Golden-red hair. Tanned skin. Longsword at his back.
It’s the stranger who helped me create the sword. I wanted to touch him, and the blade ate up the secret, giving it power.
Secret Eater.
The name comes to me all of a sudden. Normally, I leave the naming of weapons up to my customers, but this one is now my burden to bear.
My thoughts circle back to the mercenary Temra wants to take with us on our journey. Kellyn. He already has a connection to the sword. Either it’s a sign from the Sisters that he’s our best option on our journey or that I should keep him far from the weapon.
“We can’t use him,” I say after leaning in toward Temra.
“Do you see any other options?”
But he’s going to remember me, and it’s going to be awkward and—
For Temra, I have to do this.
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go talk to him.”
Temra gives me an irritated glance. I think she’s upset over how I chastised her for sneaking out. As if I’m the one in the wrong here. “You can’t just walk up to someone like that, Ziva. We need to wait for the right moment.”
I watch as Kellyn raises a cup to his lips and throws his head back. Half the contents spill down either side of his face.
“He’s drunk!” I exclaim.
“Of course he is. This is a tavern.”
“And this is a terrible idea.”
We watch as one of the men seated next to the mercenary says something, the sound lost in the cacophony of other voices. But whatever he said Kellyn doesn’t like, because he tosses his tankard right at the man’s face.
“Oh dear,” Temra says.
The man opposite Kellyn draws his blade and tries to skewer the mercenary to his chair. Kellyn dodges just in time, finding his feet.
While the other man advances, coming around the table, Kellyn picks up the chair he just vacated and crashes it onto the man’s head.
That gets the attention of the rest of the tavern. People turn in their seats to get a better look. Cheers go up as drunken men and women encourage the fighters.
Kellyn doesn’t touch his weapon as the other man starts slashing at him like mad. He dodges and punches. Then, in a swift move, he disarms the other man, grabs him by the back of his shirt, and rams his head into the table, rendering him unconscious.