Eerie silence blanketed the corridors since most of the palace’s occupants were outside partaking in grand feasts and parties to mark his victorious return from Mesinia. Stealthily, he slipped into his chambers and threw on an outfit of rough-hewn cotton, one he’d worn as a soldier in the war. Over it, he wrapped a cloak to hide his head. He was virtually unrecognizable.
Despite his new clumsiness, Sebestyén managed to escape undetected and make his way outside. His feet slapped hard against the marble pathways leading from the palace to the stables where he bribed a stable hand for a horse. A cool breeze slapped his cheek as the animal galloped toward town. Starlight poured from the sky. The path it illuminated was a long one. But with his head in a jumble, he barely noticed the passing of time. Before he knew it, he grazed Ferosia’s borders.
The town of Ferosia was boisterous as he threaded his way through the stony streets. Orange light burned inside small brick-fronted houses and loud, indistinct sounds kept him company. Every now and then, he was tempted to peep inside the windows he passed, but the fear of finding happy families on the other side and feeling the sting of his own loneliness kept Sebestyén’s eyes fixed to the destination.
Soon, he told himself, biting the inside of his cheek I’ll have my own family with Zsófia. Not that such a thought offered any solace.
Glory. Riches. Power. Admiration.
Once, those had been his sole desires, the compass he’d used to direct his life. Now, they were empty words devoid of any sense of joy. The words that truly mattered were ones he couldn’t utter, not even to himself. Only in the hush of the night, when his mind had sunk deep into the land of dreams, would those words rise to his consciousness.
Love. Passion. Courage. Her. Always her.
“That’s rubbish,” he told himself.
He couldn’t want those things. They were too sentimental, intangible, shameful. He was a warrior, an archduke, the heir to a vast measure of power and land. He shouldn’t want such things. Sentiment made men weak and foolish, two attributes an emperor didn’t need. Digging his nails into the soft folds of his coat, Sebestyén picked up the pace. That night, he didn’t seek fanfare. He wanted to melt into the crowd and disappear.
Sweat poured down his skin in streams by the time he reached The Gunfire. It was one of the largest buildings in Ferosia, a two-storied, white-walled spectacle that jutted starkly against the night sky. The roof was missing shingles in places, and the windows were dirty, but he wasn’t being discerning that night.
Gathering his courage, Sebestyén plunged inside. A cocktail of voices—angry, cheerful, merry—swirled all around him mingling with the smell of smoke and booze. Sweaty, smelly bodies packed in every inch of the place. Drinking tables had been converted into platforms where bawdy couples were showing off their dancing skills.
Shouldering his way through the crowd, he sought his compatriots’ faces. Most were drunk beyond redemption, but somehow they managed to recognize him. Still, the merry atmosphere failed to pull him in. Without a partner, all he could do was stick to the walls trying to avoid bumping into other couples.
“You look lost.” A deep, raspy voice jerked his attention away from the dancers.
He swung his head around; his gaze connected to that of a ragged man. Tall, lanky, and stubbly, he appeared to be talking to Sebestyén. He wasn’t sure how to respond, though. He’d heard there were various criminals and pickpockets who combed bars and taverns, desperate for money to steal. He didn’t intend to get caught up in a scheme tonight.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” Pulling his lips back in a sneer, the man continued to bore into Sebestyén with his gaze.
Tension congregated in the back of Sebestyén’s neck stiffening his muscles.
Trying to relax, he loosened his shoulders. “I’m not lost, and I don’t need any help. Why don’t you enjoy yourself? It’s a fine night, isn’t it? Where’s your partner?”
“She’s…oye!” He waved his arm around, though Sebestyén couldn’t decipher whose attention he was trying to get.
He was so engrossed in watching his pockets that he failed to take note of the familiar raven curls bobbing up from the sea of heads. Only when she stood right in front of him did he lift his chin. And the shock of her presence instantly made him stagger back.
“Rea?” His words were all breath.
The man looked between them, puzzled. “You know him?” he asked her.
“No.” Rea’s bitter coffee eyes slid away from him. “Who is he?”
It could’ve been his imagination, but he detected a simmering resentment under her tone.
“I wondered about that myself.” The man turned to Sebestyén. “Mind telling me your name, mate?”
Before Sebestyén could attempt to open his mouth, Rea wedged herself between him and the other man.
“Can we go back home?” She fidgeted nervously with the full sleeves of her maroon dress offering the tall man a pleading look. Her tattoos were hidden under strategic clothing and her face was caked with thick paint that rendered it pale and Alisian. But even in that disguise, she was unmistakably herself.
“It’s too noisy,” she whined.
“It’s supposed to be noisy,” her partner replied.
Watching them act so natural around each other punctured his heart, bled out his ego. Selfish man that he was, he’d hoped that he was the only one she revealed her secrets to, showed her annoyance and childishness to. He’d hoped he was someone special to her. How ludicrous.
Rea twitched like a little bird. “I think I’ll get some fresh air,” she said to the tall man. “It’s sweltering in here.”
“Don’t stay outside too long. You’ll miss all the fun.” He sailed deeper into the crowd leaving her behind, and she took the opportunity to flee.
He had to give her credit; she was fast on her feet. He’d have had a much easier time catching her if his leg had cooperated. Like a nymph, she slid from under his reach, slithering beyond the limits of his vision. When he emerged onto the street, only glimmering moonlight and slick stones greeted him.
Sebestyén grunted. He’d lost her. Again.
Rea
Cold night breezes drifted over Rea’s skin, peppering it with goosebumps. She drifted unsteadily on legs that were still shaky from the encounter with Sebestyén. He shouldn’t be in Ferosia. He had no right to be here. She had no strength to face him.
The past few months had plundered everything from her—her house, her companion, and all her optimism. If not for Grindel’s mother finding her on that night after she’d lost the girl, when she’d collapsed in Ferosia while out hunting for scraps, she might have shuffled off the mortal coil long ago.
Grindel was part-Suveri, but his father was an Alisian and he’d inherited his old man’s looks making life in Ferosia less dangerous for him. Still, he treated her like a sister, their physical distinctions not making a difference to him. From his mother, she learnt techniques she could use to conceal what she was, and though she was proud of her heritage, winter forced her to become practical.
An empty belly wasn’t going to fill itself. Luckily, Grindel’s parents needed a maid, and she was happy to fill the role. She’d only been with them for five new moons, and while she hated the restricted way of life they lived and the mind-numbing chores, she liked feeling as if she was part of their family. She didn’t want to ruin the fragile warmth she found.