Page 82 of Requiem of Silence

“A hunt for knowledge.” The boy’s eyes grew big and somewhat wistful. “Scholars and seekers from all over the world—all trying to get into our Archives. But it doesn’t let just anyone in.” Pride laced his voice.

Zeli and Varten shared a look. Varten hoped he was keepingthe eagerness from his expression. “How do we join the Quest?” he asked.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather head to the Bride Hunt? I think you’d both do well.” The boy grinned again, an action that crinkled the corners of his eyes but did not brighten them. It was a strange smile indeed, full of a weariness odd in one so young. Coupled with the stillness, it reminded Varten of something.

But Zeli had gone stiff beside him, drawing his attention. She was… shivering. Varten placed a hand on her back, drawing her closer and recognizing fear in her expression. She wasn’t afraid of the young lad, but her gaze was troubled and haunted as she stared off at the wall, unseeing. A memory maybe. One of the holes in her tapestry. Something to do with the Bride Hunt?

She blinked and shook off whatever had gripped her. “Thank you for your help,” she said slowly. “I suppose you all grow up here knowing everything about the Rumpus.”

“It’s all anyone ever talks about, nine years out of ten.” The child shrugged.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m called Remi,” he said, sticking his hand out. They all shook and made their introductions.

“And where are your parents, Remi?” Zeli asked. “You aren’t lost are you?”

Instead of answering, he tilted his head to the side again. “You are Lagrimari?”

Her back straightened and she paused before answering. “Yes.”

But Remi just nodded. Then his gaze shifted to somewhere over her shoulder. Varten turned to find Lanar standing a few paces away, staring. He’d found them—for this Varten was grateful. A familiar face, even one so recently familiar and so aloof, was welcome. True to form, the Lagrimari man stayed a ways off anddid not approach. Zeli eyed him warily, evidently not as pleased at his return as Varten was. Remi watched him, too, the way you might watch a stray dog that has wandered into view.

“How do we enter the Quest?” Zeli asked.

“You already have.” Remi tore his gaze away from Lanar. “Follow those in the bluehunasto the Archives. That’s where the challenge is given.”

“You don’t happen to know what the challenge might be, do you?” Her voice shook a little—nerves, maybe. She stood close to Varten, not leaning into his hand, which was still on her back, but not pushing him away, either. He found himself unwilling to move, with her so warm beneath his palm.

“To hunt you must seek, to seek you must find,” Remi answered with a shrug. Then he gave a quick wave and sprinted around them, disappearing into the crowd.

“What a strange child,” Zeli murmured, turning to look after him.

“Well, he was helpful. Sort of.”

“I guess we do know more than when we started.” She shifted back, pushing against his hand, then froze and stepped away, looking suddenly embarrassed. Varten’s palm was unreasonably cold. He shook off the unfamiliar sensation that had invaded—his hand felt numb and tingly—and then began looking for the celebrants in blue.

There were far fewer of them than the marriage seekers, or the red-clad game hunters—he still didn’t know what any of the other colors were for. But he finally spotted a tight cluster of blue scarves up ahead, moving toward a side street.

“I see them. Over there.” He pointed then held out his free hand for her as they pushed their way through the congestion of bodies again. She paused before taking it and hurt strummedthrough him. But he held on, using his body to cut through the others. His size and height allowed him an advantage and people tended to get out of his way when he nudged, gentle as he could, keeping a firm grip on Zeli. He looked back over his shoulder every now and then to see Lanar following. Had the man mentioned seeking the Archives as well? Neither he nor Zeli had ever mentioned it, on purpose. Maybe Lanar was just trying to keep his eye on them, on him, since Varten had already proven himself untrustworthy.

Zeli grunted, and he looked down to see her rubbing a shoulder. “You all right?”

“Fine, I just really hate being jostled.”

He pulled her closer, releasing her hand to circle an arm around her shoulders. She was very close now, the smell of the oil she used to moisturize her hair filling his nostrils with a light sweetness.

As they walked, avoiding stray elbows or the whirl of a spontaneous dancer, Varten began to feel lighter. Though he did not enjoy the swarm of bodies, the excitement they exuded was infectious. The music was fast and loud and made him want to spin around himself. And having Zeli tucked under his arm did something strange to his brain.

She had one arm around him as well, the other placed against his stomach, probably for balance since the street was unevenly paved and the jam of people made her stumble occasionally. When he shifted suddenly to avoid a laughing, twirling woman who’d crossed his path, Zeli pressed against him harder. He was still tender from yesterday’s punch, but that wasn’t what knocked the air from his lungs.

He focused on keeping his feet under him when a smiling mancarrying a tray of wooden cups stopped before him and offered him one. Surprised, Varten reached for it, sniffing a delicious, candied aroma. He took a sip and groaned; whatever this was tasted like melted gold drizzled in honey. He offered it to Zeli, who frowned.

“What is that?”

He shrugged. “They’re passing them around.”

She looked around, somewhat worried. “We don’t know what’s in this or where it came from.” But she reached for it anyway, removing her hand from his belly, and took a measured sip. Then she smiled.

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