Page 24 of Jeweler to the Blessed
“What if I can’t?” I asked.
“I’ll tell the seller you were here.” She glanced over her shoulder as Soren disappeared. The worry in her face gave me pause, but her words gave me even more. “I’m sure he’ll find you.”
8
I know he searches for her. I’m just not sure what he’ll do when he finds her.
— ALARIC SARE’S LETTERS TO ISABELLE ARKOVA
With no leverage to speak of, I had to accept that the seller would find me.
I entered Alaric’s workshop and focused on concocting a dose of the tonic with the current youngleaf supply. Once Mother had this, then I could worry about another batch. Even I realized the foolishness of trying to plan when it felt like the world was still shifting under my feet.
Alaric could return before then.
I shook my head at my own naivete. Parting the curtain, I strode to the workstation. Again, Alaric’s visitor crossed my mind. He had been fixated on Alaric’s pickup yesterday.Based on words alone, the man seemed no stranger to violence. Would he have done something if Alaric hadn’t come? I dismissed the thought just as quickly. If Alaric was his customer, he wouldn’t have a reason to hurt him. Then, Soren’s anger flashed through my thoughts, confusing me further. Could Alaric’s visitor have been just as angry?
None of this made any sense.
The shop was the same as it had been this morning. I was unsure what I expected. It seemed Alaric’s dangerous friends and foes were at Forest’s Edge, and if I were to trust my gut, I’d say Soren and Ava learned of Alaric’s absence from me. They would have had no reason to search the shop previously. Maybe they would have a reason to search it now that they knew he was missing.
I mixed the ingredients for the tonic and left it to steep. It was like tea that way and even had the faint scent of mint, like Alaric’s favorite brew.
While I waited, I considered where to search for Alaric. Prince Elias’s words knotted my chest. He thought Alaric was gone. I squeezed my hand into a fist, unwilling to accept that. Still, I had no idea where to look. Forest’s Edge had been my only lead, and they hadn’t known he was missing.
I needed help. Maybe Mother and Father would know something.
Once the tonic was ready, I slipped out the door onto Cross Street to deliver it. I kept my head down and my face hidden. If no one could see any emotion, they wouldn’t be interested in trying to take from me. Not more than a few blocks from Alaric’s workshop, the red glow of an adamas gem caught my eye.
“Incoming!” a man shouted.
Someone flew through the air across the packed street. People darted and jostled to get out of the body’s trajectory. The ring on the Blessed’s middle finger glowed afurious red—fitting, since anger was the emotion used to harness the increased strength he flaunted.
I hoped throwing the man would settle the Blessed, but with the way the ring still shone, I doubted it. There was nothing I could do but get out of the way as the Blessed stalked across the street to his prey.
The man thrown—or, more aptly, the crumpled body—was already in bad shape. It looked like the Blessed had gotten a few punches in before the initial toss. The crowd shifted again, and I tucked myself in the nearest alley to avoid the fray. I pulled at my gloves, feeling helpless as the crumpled man tried to crawl away from the Blessed.
This wasn’t a taking gone wrong—it was worse. I searched the street for anyone who might intervene. Many stopped on the side of the road to watch as it became clear this was an altercation. A few scurried by, hoping to avoid whatever was about to happen.
No help for this man then.
The Blessed grabbed the crumpled man’s tunic, lifting him and pulling his fist back for another hit.
“This will teach you to try and take from us.”
Another ugly crunching sound filled the street. I winced. His nose was definitely broken after that. The man didn’t even attempt to defend himself. The Blessed’s words didn’t make sense. How could one of us take from one of them? Did he mean steal? If so, what an uncommonly foolish thing to do.
“Father, please,” a woman yelled from the doorway of one of the establishments. Her long blond hair was more than mussed. It may be the middle of the day, but the robe hastily tied around her waist and the exposed skin at the shoulder and neck cleared up all my questions about what the man had stolen. The door behind her boasted another of the city’s less reputable taverns with rooms for rent by the hour.
She was old enough to know better but young enough to risk it. It wouldn’t be her paying the price for the indiscretion after all. The poor man being bludgeoned hadn’t stolen coin but had the audacity to bed the Blessed’s daughter.
Her eyes were red, and tears streamed down her cheeks. I couldn’t empathize, though, not when she would face no consequences, and the man on the street might not survive.
“Lucinda, get your things and wait for me inside,” the man who must be her father called.
A pathetic whine came from the limp body. “Luce … tell him …”
The words were feeble, even from where I stood, but it was clear from the horror on Lucinda’s face that she heard them. What little color her skin had was gone, and her father turned to face her.
