I gaze at my unorthodox escort, wondering why Jasce and his brothers are here in Bloodstone territory with their sister.
His black eyes are sharp and calculating, always taking in his surroundings. Even his muscles stay coiled and tense, as if he’s preparing to strike at any moment.
Inwardly, I frown as I remember Wrenley saying her father is the chieftain of the Hematite tribe. Does that mean Jasce is his heir?
I glance over at him as our horses trot down a narrow alleyway. “Does Kheldar know you’re a Hematite?” It’s a bold question. Possibly even a dangerous question.
Jasce stares at me for a beat before locking his eyes on our surroundings again. “Kheldar knows. It was the only way Wrenley would agree to follow him here.”
“It must feel odd...” I tighten my fingers around my horse’s reins as the alleyway narrows even more and our horses are forced to ride side-by-side, “…being Hematite among so many Bloodstone.”
“Indeed.” Jasce slows his gelding. “You must feel the same way being Kyanite among Bloodstone.”
I swallow.
He’s not wrong.
As we ride through the dark alleyways, the air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying vegetation. My horse snorts and shies away from a pile of rubble, and I can’t help but feel the same way. This isn’t the kind of place I’m used to being in, and every sound seems to be amplified in the night’s stillness.
But I know we need to press on and find Solomon before he can do any more harm.
We finally emerge from the alleyway and into a wider street. The buildings here are taller, the shadows deeper. Music and laughter resonate from the inn on the corner, but it doesn’t bring me any comfort.
Jasce and I dismount our horses, tying them to a post near the inn. A group of rough-looking men exit the building, their raucous laughter echoing down the street.
As we step inside the inn, the smell of ale and sweat hits me like a wave. My eyes adjust to the dimly lit room, and I scan the faces of the patrons, looking for any sign of Solomon. Even though I have never met him, I imagine him covered in his wife’s blood.
Most of the patrons are too drunk to notice our entrance, but a few hardened men stare at us with suspicion. One of them, a burly man with a thick beard, stands up and approaches us.
“What brings you two here?” he grunts, eyeing us up and down.
“We’re looking for someone,” Jasce says in a steady voice.
The man narrows his eyes, his hand hovering over the knife tucked into his pants. “And who might that be?” he growls, his breath reeking of stale ale.
“His name is Solomon,” I interject. “We were told he might be here.”
The man chuckles, revealing a row of yellow teeth. “Solomon, eh? That bastard owes me coin. If he owes you too, I might be able to help you find him.”
Jasce glances at me, and I nod, giving him the go-ahead to negotiate with the man. The last thing we need is to get into a fight with a group of drunk, armed men.
“Deal,” Jasce says.
The burly man nods, a sly grin spreading across his face.
He turns and takes us to a back room, where two men sit at a table, playing a game of cards. One of them looks up at our arrival, his eyes glinting with malice. Blood splatters the front of his surcoat and stains his hands. He calmly studies his cards as if he has no shame in what he did.
“Solomon,” Jasce says, his voice erringly calm. “We have been looking for you.”
The man sneers and glances back down at his cards.
Jasce lifts his hands and speaks words in his ancient Hematite language. Flames shoot from the nearby torch, singeing the men at the table. As they leap from their chairs, the flames recede.
“What in Hades!” the burly man cries as he hurries from the room and slams the door behind him.
The other man stares at Jasce with wide, bulging eyes and his mouth parted, but not Solomon. He glares.
“Who are you?” He demands.
