“Or he’ll go to Lysander and tell him that you’ve regained your powers, and that you have set out to replace your core with the Firestone.”
“Even so, no one knows where the Firestone is, and all the information is in here.” He taps the tome under his arm with his fingers. “They’ll never know where to look for us. We need to find a place to study this, by the way.”
The further we walk into the night, the more aware I become of the sewer stench that sticks to my skin and to Nazarean’s fur. His thick, shiny black coating is now dusty and caked in places with Hell knows what substances. I walk slower just so I can breathe in Xerxes’ scent, which for some reason wasn’t damaged at all through the sewers.
“What we need to find first is a place where we can rest, and maybe have a bath,” I argue.
“We don’t have time for that.”
“Listen, Your Highness.” I stop in place, forcing him to come to a halt. “Maybe now that you have your powers back you can go on and on, but some of us are merely parahuman. We have needs, and limitations, and—” I hate having to bring it up, but here it goes. “Some of us stink.”
He measures me with his dangerous red eyes. “I don’t mind the smell.”
“But I do. Besides, something is wrong with Nazarean, I need to tend to him. Maybe he got hurt when you pushed him out of that air fae’s way.”
“He would have died pierced with a sword if I hadn’t.”
“I know, and I don’t mean to be ungrateful. I’m just saying. He needs help, just like you did when you first came to me.”
He looks down at my familiar as if he can perfectly relate. I try to remember the last time someone looked at Nazarean that way, like he was more than a magic accessory, like he was a real person. Few people understand the complexities of these animals.
Xerxes’ eyes sweep over the barren fields around the street.
“There.” He points in the distance. “I think it’s a village.”
I squint. “I don’t see anything.”
Of course I don’t, I don’t have his higher being senses.
Before I know it, he slips an arm around me and hoists me onto his back. I can only hold on with one arm around his shoulder, the other arm holding Nazarean. Worry chokes me. He doesn’t have enough energy to clamber up my shoulder and shelter under my ponytail, as he usually does.
Xerxes picks up speed until our surroundings turn into a blur, and I hide my face in his black hair. It’s as smooth and silky as it looks, and his scent of man and fire drowns my senses. Realms, I could get used to this. I breathe in his scent along with the feeling of safety that engulfs me. Only when he sets me down in what appears to be the entrance to a village do I notice the ache in my arm from holding on to him, my hips and my thighs burning from how I clenched my legs around him.
He runs an arm around my shoulder, supporting me as we start down a little street with houses lining it on each side. But our surroundings soon blur as shadow rises from his body, encapsulating us.
“Xerxes, I can barely see,” I manage when my eyes start to itch.
“We can’t risk anyone recognizing us,” he says in a low voice.
I try to steel myself against the feelings that his closeness and his voice stir in me. I have to fight this. I let myself grow comfortable around him, but I can’t by any means fall for him.
“By now Lysander must have found out from your guards that I took you. I suppose that’s what I get for going against all my rules, and letting them live,” he says. “That’s why we have to keep a low profile. So we’re going to find a place where we can hide, but also take care of Nazarean, and study this tome. Maybe a free house.”
“There are no free houses in any of the villages around Edinburgh. Barns are probably all we’ll be able to find. But in order to help Nazarean I’ll need some basic comforts.” Despair seeps into my voice. My familiar’s breathing grows fainter by the minute. My throat tightens with the urge to cry.
Xerxes stops when we come close to an inn. I know the place, I used to come here with Zillard long ago. It’s everything one would expect from a medieval tavern, with a huge hearth, hot bread, and ale to make for a full medieval experience. The only problem is—it’s filled with people, and we can’t go in there surrounded by shadow, it will only draw more attention.
“We can climb directly into a room,” Xerxes suggests.
Remembering how he climbed the tower at the Grand Mage’s mansion with Nazarean and me on his back, I know that would be a piece of cake to him. But just as we approach the building, two shifters barge out of the inn, halfway through the shifting process, rolling together like a huge ball of fur and fists. More people follow, cheering, pints in their hands. There’s no way we can climb the inn now, not without being seen.
My eyes fly to Xerxes, gauging his reaction. He frowns, calculating our next move.
“Come on,” he whispers, and whisks me by the boisterous group with our heads down. They’re fully focused on the fight, which is how we manage to slip into the inn unobserved, just as more spectators reel towards the door. Xerxes hitches a black cloak from the back of a chair, one that’s so common-looking it won’t draw attention, and pulls it around himself, and the hood over his head. He draws me to the back of the inn, to a secluded little table by a small window at the very back.
“You’re gonna need something to ward off attention, too,” he says. “Your face is glowing. Why don’t you undo your hair, and keep your head down, let it fall over the sides of your face. I’ll go get you and Nazarean something to eat, and a room.”
He leaves so fast that I don’t even get to ask him with what money he’s going to do that with. But soon I understand. He slips his hand into a few coats, getting silver and even a few golden coins. With most of the tavern clients gathered by the door, and the rest so drunk that they’re either sleeping with their heads on the table or singing to themselves, it’s easy for him to acquire what we need.
I watch him as he reaches the wooden bar. He’s so tall and large, the cape molding the shape of his thick shoulders that he’s bound to draw attention like a magnet despite the cloak. The man behind the counter frowns suspiciously at him, but Xerxes slips two golden coins into his meaty hand, and the man grins under his mustache. I don’t hear what Xerxes is telling him, but I’ve heard stories about his ability to ensure people’s loyalty if he gets a moment alone with them, and it’s not always through intimidation and brutality.
He returns with milk and a plateful of steaming bagels. The smell reminds me just how hungry I am, my stomach growling. It’s strange, seeing the villain I’ve been fearing for so long carry food for my familiar and me. The way he places the bowl of milk by his side on the bench, helping Nazarean over so he can drink, warms my heart.
“Can I tell you something?” I grab a bagel, but it burns my fingers, and I drop it again.
“I thought we were over questions like that.” He keeps his voice low, to make sure no one hears as people start returning to their places, laughing and slapping each other’s backs, others reeling and barely keeping their eyes open or their magic in check, their auras flashing in different colors around them.