But there was suddenly a man standing at the window.
Her father had described Dragan as a handsome man, though riddled with pox scars, with long sideburns and a hawkish nose. The sideburns had grown to a short beard flecked with gray. He wore clothes that would have marked him a nobleman except for the abused, patchwork quality of them. His eyes, though—his eyes were like staring into death. They were haunted, menacing, and utterly ruthless. They were staring at her with such hatred it made her insides turn oily and weak.
“Dragan,” Trynne whispered hoarsely, still in shock from having encountered him in the city of Marq.
Her weakness lasted for just another moment before a vengeful fury blazed up inside her like an iron poker yanked from the depths of the furnace, glowing with power and heat. It startled her with how hotly it burned. This was the man the Espion had been hunting since before her birth. She had unmasked his illusion, noticed him as he had noticed her, and she was going to drag his sorry carcass back to the palace of Kingfountain so he could stand trial for treason. But no matter what he’d done to her, to her father, she would not kill him. No, she had sworn an oath never to do that.
She shoved the book she had just purchased into Captain Staeli’s surprised hands and rushed to the door.
Dragan fled.
“I can wrap that in paper if you want to protect it?” the bookmaker called after her, but Trynne was heedless of his words. Another patron opened the door. Trynne collided with him, but she didn’t even pause to apologize before slipping past him. Dragan’s fancy ratty jacket stood out, and she fixed her sights on him and hurried through the crowd, not quite running but trying to gain ground.
He walked with a brisk vigor, tapping his hat politely at those he passed and stealing from several with deft hands that infuriated her, knowing that it was deliberately done because she was watching him.
Staeli caught up to her, his voice a growl. “Is that the one?” he seethed. “The false noble? He’s of the age. Are you sure?”
“I have never been more certain,” Trynne answered, her heart thundering in her ears. Dragan was keeping just ahead of them, slipping through the crowd. She felt him trying to cloak himself in his magic, but the force of her spell was still at work and he couldn’t hide yet.
“Then it’s no accident we were here today,” Staeli grumbled. He stuffed her new book into his pack as he walked. He sounded more emotional than usual, and Trynne realized it was because he harbored his own deep resentment against Dragan. He had been called as Trynne’s protector because of him. Their fates were all entwined.
“Faster,” Trynne said, breaking into a jog. She wished she had a moment to change from her Brugian-style dress into the men’s clothes she had brought to compete in the Gauntlet. People were looking at her with annoyance for barging through the crowd, but she couldn’t care less as she dodged past the whippet dogs. Her eyes were fixed on the back of Dragan’s head, popping in and out of sight amidst the rabble.
“If we lose sight of him . . .” she whispered under her breath.
Suddenly Dragan broke into a run, cutting through the crowd, deftly weaving through several people.
“He’s going for the bridge!” Staeli warned, and began to run as well.
Trynne wondered if she should cry out to enlist others to help, but they were close to him. Surely they would make it. Dragan jogged up a narrow stone bridge, plowing his way through the crowd as people grunted and hollered at his rudeness. Some of the dogs began barking with the commotion, and soon it sounded as if the entire city was joining the chase as the yaps and barks spread like wildfire.
Captain Staeli reached the bridge first and elbowed his way through. Trynne was hot on his heels, trying to keep sight of Dragan and failing amidst the sea of bobbing heads. She felt another prickle of Fountain magic and sensed that he had turned invisible on the bridge. Her spell had ended over the water. She remembered her mother had once said that some spells didn’t work over water at all; it was a natural barrier that provided protection from some of them.
Staeli stopped halfway across the bridge, searching the crowds, his face growing agitated with anger. “I lost him!” he snarled.
“I feel him still. Follow me,” Trynne said. She could sense his power, although she could not see him, and knew he was just ahead of them. In fact, she sensed him along the rail. “He’s almost to the other end!” she shouted, hurrying forward.
Staeli responded immediately and continued to press against the crowd. The hostile glares and occasional counter-shoves ended when they finally reached the other side. With all the distractions swirling around her, Trynne focused her thoughts and sensed the direction he was going. She was the only one who could lead them and she knew invoking the word again would be useless. All he would need to do was dart over another bridge, or run far enough out of range.