Do you want me to kill him or not?” He addressed the last question to a woman at the edge of the crowd, who walked shakily up to Sabino with her fists clenched and her chin raised.
“No,” she said, voice shaking. “I want him charged.”
“Fine.” Eli kicked Sabino in the back, which had to hurt. Dominance radiated off Eli in waves, not through his voice as itdid with most doms, but in every deliberate movement he made to keep Sabino still.
“And I’m charging him under the old laws,” Lydia said. Sabino went ashen. “That means exile.”
“No. No, you can’t.”
“Let him grovel if he wants,” Eli said, and released Sabino, who looked like he was tottering on the edge of a cliff. A person who broke the old laws of consent in Gerakia could still be charged under their rules, which meant any property they left behind after their exile would be given or sold for the profit of their victims. Even on the edge of the Starian and Gerakian border, the old laws counted. Sabino must have been wealthy—he had the expression of a man who wasn’t sure if death was preferable.
Eli walked over to Lydia and lay a hand on her shoulder. They spoke softly for a second, their heads close together, and Eli turned away to pick up his cloak. As he turned, his gaze slid over Rey, then away.
Rey’s brows rose. Typically, swords for hire were paid at the end of their service, but Eli seemed to be walking away empty-handed. Was he risking his life fornothing?Rey followed Eli from a distance as he carefully pinned up his cloak again, and Rey got the attention of one of the Gerakian elders sitting in their chairs at the corner of the market, tuning their guitars and mandolins.
“Grandmother,” Rey said to the one who looked the oldest, “do you know anything about that boy?”
Gerakian elders were the lifeblood of local rumor. Gossip spread over front porches and rooftop gardens like lightning, and the opinion of one grandfather in a small Gerakian town could raise or ruin fortunes on the other side of the country. The elder Rey spoke to was a woman with thick, white braids and adulcimer in her lap, and she had to squint at Eli for a second before she nodded.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “That’s the Hanged Man.”
“Pardon?” Rey watched Eli as he wiped his sword with a rag, frowning at a spot just below the hilt.
“It’s his neck,” an older man said, tugging at his shirt collar. “Scars in a ring, like a collar. They say a man in Staria hanged him for helping his wife escape to Gerakia one night. Dug himself out of the grave and killed the husband the next morning.”
“That’s not it,” the woman with the dulcimer said. “He was strangled with a garrote by some Starian killer. The killer went and drowned a little boy, and when he got home, the Hanged Man was waiting for him.”
“He was hanged as a thief,” another man said. “But he lived, so they dropped the charges. You know how it is in Staria.”
The members of the circle nodded.
“And he fights people for free?” Rey rocked back on his heels. Stories were usually half true by the time they made it to circles like this. That meant Eli was either a thief, a hero, or a man with an unfortunate scar who’d stumbled across a bored grandfather or auntie in need of a convenient scandal. Still, there was something about him that tickled the back of Rey’s mind, and Rey hated not knowing why.
“He works for trade, mostly,” one of the elders said. “Fixed my fence a few weeks ago for a few things from the garden. I said I could make him something to eat, no trouble, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Very strange,” Rey said, as the members of the circle started nodding and murmuring. “Thank you.” He took off toward Eli, who was sheathing his sword.
“Good afternoon,” Rey said, as Eli started off toward the street.
“I’m not interested in another job, thank you.” Rey had thought it was just an affectation for show, but Eli still didn’t speak very loudly at all.
“I’m not asking for a job. No offense,” Rey said, as Eli glanced at him. “You’re scrappy, no one can deny that, but I'm in no need of a sword for hire.”
“Good for you,” Eli said.
“Also, she should have paid you. You could have been whipped, and he did cut your arm. That’s a good silver piece for compensation, at least.”
“I don’t need it.” Eli stopped at an empty stall and fetched a leather bag from under one of the wheels. “You can take your advice elsewhere.”
“Oh, aren’t we worldly and knowledgeable.” Rey followed him to the street. “Eli, was it? I’m Gerald de Plume, second son of the Archduke of Staria. At your service.”
Eli gave him an aggrieved look. “There’s no such thing as an archduke in Staria, and none of the actual dukes are named dePlume.”
“You don’t know that.” Rey patted Unicorn as they passed. “I was dining with the de Valoises just last year, in fact.”
“Now I know you’re a fraud,” Eli said, adjusting his bag. “There’s only one de Valois left. The rest are dead.”
“What? No.” Rey racked his memory for the last time he visited Staria. There’d been quite a few de Valoises knocking about, back then.
