Tempest bristled. “No, but if we keep heading this way, we’ll hit the docks outside of Demrias. Don’t you want to avoid the trading city?”
Brine barked out a laugh. “We can pass through the docks no problem. Just cover your hair. If we navigate around the city, our journey will take hours longer than it should, and we’ll risk getting spotted by the perimeter guards. Now, shut up and walk, dog.”
Insufferable bastard.
Well, he wasn’t wrong about the shortcut, but she had enough bossy males in her life. It would be so easy to dig her heels in and fight him. But… it was clear that Brine was the Jester’s right-hand man, which meant it was important for her to try to make nice with the grumpy shifter, even if he had no qualms about killing her. She watched the tall, lithe man lope gracefully ahead of her, moving so quickly she had to jog to keep up with him.
And the good times just kept rolling. Brine never slowed other than when they passed through the docks outside of Demrias—Tempest’s nerves twisted her stomach this way and that the entire time they were there. The journey was relentlessly fast and uneventful, but eventually they passed by a village a few hours north of Demrias, sitting right on the edge of the coast.
Her stomach grumbled loudly. Winter’s bite, she was hungry, and her legs ached. She needed to up her strength training. “Can we stop at the inn here?” she asked, noticing the tell-tale signs of cat ears and large, owlish eyes on a few of the villagers standing outside of said establishment. “It’s a shifter village, so won’t they—”
“Absolutely not,” Brine cut in, fervently shaking his head.
“But—”
“Not all shifters are on our side. I thought even you were smart enough to know that. And keep your hair tucked away or you’ll get us both killed.”
Tempest ignored the jibe, though it took a lot of effort to do so, and double-checked her hood. Her hair was tucked away.
“Perhaps they simply want to go about their lives,” she reasoned, giving the inn a final, wishful glance as they moved around the bitty village and even farther north. “Not everyone is a fighter, Brine.”
“They are cowards,” he said, spitting out the last word. “They are complacent. They think if they don’t get involved then they won’t get hurt? It’s madness.”
“Maybe protecting their own families is all they can do right now.”
“The only way to protect their families is to fight with an organized, collective front.”
Tempest considered his words. Brine wasn’t wrong, though he wasn’t completely right, either. “They’re farmers. How do you expect them to fight? They’ve had no training.”
Brine said nothing to continue the debate, so they soldiered onward in now-familiar silence as the sun’s rays bled out of the sky and the dark clouds crept even closer.
Full darkness had descended by the time the two of them arrived at their destination. Tempest vaguely recognized the city, though. How did she know this place? She’d never been this far northwest before, other than when she’d been found as a child. Before her trial, Tempest had been too young to travel from city to city with her Hound brethren.
“Anything I should know?” she murmured.
“It’s a place of corruption. Full of pirates.” He slid a look her way. “Too violent for a pup.”
She’d show him how much of a pup she was.
Tempest pulled her hood back and tucked her braid into the back of her shirt. She reached for her hood, but a huge hand wrapped around her wrist, nails digging into her skin. Hissing, she glared at Brine.
“What are—”
“Keep your damn hair hidden, fool!” he chastised, speaking in an undertone. “Don’t be so stupid.”
“I am,” she growled, yanking her arm out of his grasp. She tugged her hood low over her eyes.
He grunted. “Keep your mouth shut and follow me.”
Tempest bit back a retort. Brine clearly had more expertise in the area; if he was telling her to hide her hair, keeping quiet was likely wise. They descended into the small port city, winding through dark streets and empty marketplaces full of flickering lanterns. Metal bars covered the small windows of every home. Given the city’s reputation for crime, Tempest was not surprised.
Her nose wrinkled as a mixture of the smell of sewage and mold assaulted her nostrils. The place stunk. It was even worse than the slums in Dotae. Her boots slurped as they slogged through the muddy streets, surrounded by dilapidated buildings. Green scum clung to every bit of stone and wood. She slipped and gagged when she caught herself against the side of a rundown apothecary, the green gunk squishing between her fingers.
Nasty.
She wiped her hands on her trousers and followed Brine. The quiet houses faded as taverns began to appear on almost every corner, spilling light, loud music, and raucous laughter into the streets. She tried not to stare when she spotted scantily clad women poised in front of a brothel. A nightwalker caught her eye and smiled.
“See something you like?” the woman called.
Tempest ducked her head and hurried after the wolf.
“I thought I told you to keep your head down?” Brine growled softly.
“I did,” she muttered. “There are more brothels here than Dotae.” She’d never seen so many half-naked women. Was this how all cities were? Her knowledge of Heimserya abruptly seemed small and insignificant. Why did women subject themselves to such things? Could they not find a proper occupation?
“I can hear you thinking and judging. Stop.”
Tempest glared at the shifter’s back. “I thought we were supposed to be quiet.”
A grunt was all the answer she received.
Tempest shook herself from her thoughts and scanned the area around them. They settled into silence as they moved deeper into the city. The stench of rotten fish grew stronger, and Tempest shallowly breathed through only her mouth. Winter’s bite, that was rank. She could taste it.
Brine let out a short laugh. “Stinks, doesn’t it? Imagine what it smells like for me.”
“I’d rather not, thanks,” she wheezed, allowing the smallest of smiles to curl her lips—though it was hidden by her cowl. It was the closest the two of them had ever gotten to civil conversation.
They ghosted along the docks, ships bobbing restlessly in the harbor. Tempest eyed the black water. She didn’t want to know what lurked beneath the surface. Brine paused next to one of the larger, more expensive-looking ships along the docks. She frowned. The ship looked out of place.
Brine spun and snatched a handful of her cloak, pulling her closer. She blinked up at him in surprise as he pressed even closer, his chest touching her own. What in the hell?
The wolf leaned closer and murmured, “Act as my bodyguard. Don’t say a damned word unless I instruct you to. Can you do that?”
Tempest nodded, because it was the kind of plan she would have suggested. She had no idea who or what exactly they were dealing with. She eyed the ship. Whoever had stolen from the Jester was stupid, though. She knew that much.
Brine stalked up the gangway, and she followed suit, careful not to trip. She’d never been one for developing “sea legs,” and when the water beneath her rolled and the gangway lurched, she cursed underneath her breath as she stumbled. Now was not the time for a swim. Straightening, she schooled her expression and stepped onto the ship, shadowing Brine as her stomach rolled.