Warriors of Wind and Ash (Merciless Dragons #2)

“Watch it,” snaps the Vohrainian soldier.

I glare into the eye-slits of his helmet. My first instinct is to grip him by the throat and hurl him against the nearest market booth, then smash his skull on the ground until he coughs up information about the Princess.

But Meridian tugs at my arm. “So sorry, milord,” he says to the soldier. “Our apologies. Won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” The three Vohrainians march on, while Meridian pulls me between a couple of booths and into an alley at the edge of the square.

“Watch yourself,” he whispers sternly. “If they say you’ve done something wrong, confess it and apologize for it, immediately. Grovel if you must. There’s no room for foolish pride here, not if you want this to end well. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” I grit out.

“Good. We’re going to stick to the fringes of the square and buy a few things. Stay close.”

With firm taps of his staff, he ventures into the market again. Instead of walking ahead with Meridian, Hinarax slinks along near me, and though he doesn’t speak, I can sense that he’s brimming with a hundred questions. He stares with barely concealed delight at the goods spread along the tables, which to us seems like endless bounty, although Meridian mutters that “pickings are scarce today, nothing like post-war deprivation to make folks discontented.”

Apparently he has a list of things he was asked to purchase for some of the other rebels, and he takes his time chatting up each vendor and poring over their goods. Sometimes he’ll hold up an item and compliment it in great detail. “What a fine straight razor! And it folds so nicely!” or “These long matches are perfect for lighting a fire without burning one’s fingers.”

After he’s done this several times, I realize that he’s explaining the items to Hinarax and me, sating our curiosity without arousing suspicion. We’re learning about common human items and their value, all while observing normal movements, greetings, and social behavior.

Gratitude surges in my heart. This man could have taken our treasure and left us in that cell, but he is helping us. True, he’s getting something out of it—our help to defeat Rahzien—but that’s a future benefit, one he might never enjoy if things go wrong. In the meantime he’s being patient with us, teaching us. He’s willing to wait until I find Serylla and get her to safety before we move against Vohrain. Thief and miscreant though he is, he’s honorable.

Meridian guides us to the next booth. It’s the most interesting one yet, stocked with bolts of cloth in every imaginable color and pattern. At the side of the booth stands a rack with ready-made clothing on it, including a pair of black leather pants. I run my fingertips along them, pleased by the supple softness of the leather. If the pants were thick or rigid, like the boots, I would hate them, but they feel both protective and pliant. The way they shine faintly in the light pleases me, too.

“You like those?” asks Meridian, grinning. “They look about your size. I’ll buy them for you.”

If he hadn’t taken our treasure, I could have purchased them for myself. But I don’t argue the point. “Yes, I want them.”

Meridian argues goodheartedly with the vendor. Once they’ve settled on a price that satisfies them both, the vendor wraps the pants in thick paper and string before handing me the bundle.

Just as I tuck it under my arm as I’ve seen other humans do, a horn blares from the direction of the city gates. That single burst precedes a volley of triumphant, brassy notes. From our vantage point, all I can see is the top arch of the gateway—but I don’t need an unobstructed view to know who’s coming. I’ve heard that fanfare before, after each successful conquest of an Elekstan city.

My head whips toward Hinarax. His mouth is grim, his shoulders tense. He went to war with the clan. He knows that sound as well as I do.

“It’s Rahzien,” he breathes. “The King of Vohrain is coming.”

“Stay calm,” advises Meridian in a low tone. “We didn’t expect this, but it was always a possibility. Observe only. Do nothing to draw attention to yourselves, understand?”

Hinarax nods, but my blood is suddenly awake, red-hot in my veins, and my body thrums with a desperate awareness.

“She’s close by. I feel her. She’s with him.” My voice deepens to a growl.

“Are you sure?” asks Meridian. “How do you know?”

“I just know.” I lunge forward, but Hinarax clutches my upper arm and speaks tersely in my ear. “Look, my Prince. See the Vohrainian soldiers there, and there, and over there—everywhere, scattered through the market. Many of them have guns. If you transform right here, snatch her up, and try to fly away, they will shoot both of you. Your wings will be blasted with holes, and she’ll be killed by the bullets before you crash to the ground. Don’t do it. Not like this.”

I shake him off and forge ahead through the churning crowd. Many of the people seem to be trying to leave the market, but the Vohrainian soldiers have spread out along the fringes of the crowd, herding everyone together, preventing them from leaving the square. Whatever is about to happen, the King wants it to be a public spectacle, with an audience. Which does not bode well for Serylla if she’s with him.

I’ve reached the center of the crowd, where Vohrainian soldiers have created a protective ring around a large wooden platform. At one side of the platform, narrow steps lead up to a walkway. Along the walkway are three trapdoors, with loops of rope hanging above each one.

The other two catch up to me and Meridian speaks in an undertone. “That’s the gallows. The square chunk of stone on the platform is the chopping block, where they remove heads.”

Ice solidifies in my chest, chilling my blood. This may not be the same square where Serylla’s mother was beaten and executed, but it’s similar. And it’s also the spot Meridian’s allies were planning to attack today.

I glance over at the rogue. The taut concern on his face does nothing to allay my fears.

“There wasn’t an execution or a flogging planned—I checked,” he says, low. “Not on market day. Never on market day.”

“Does that rule still apply under this new regime?” Hinarax inquires anxiously.