Page 111 of The King's Man
My hackles rose at the idea of men eyeing her with that in their minds, but I also knew it made her safer.
A common drunk wasveryunlikely to challenge me for her. Wizard, or no.
So, I kept her hand in mine as we slipped between the buildings, looking for the place we believed was our best source of information: A tavern in the shadow of the Great Hall where the Arbiters—the government officials—drank and met for meals and made their corrupt deals.
That was one thing I’d been able to assure Diadre: She may empathize with the sorcerers for their defeat. But they were a corrupt, self-serving lot, keeping their people enslaved to a caste system that saw magik as a sign of royalty. But in truth was only a system of control.
I had little respect for the Zaryndarians, beyond their intelligence in attempting an alliance with their neighbors to defeat us. They were a nation of weak, pitiful men who used flashy illusions to control others through fear, but had no real spines among them.
I was not a petty man, but defeating these bastards held some delight, purely because I could watch the cowards tuck their tails and whine until I put their noses in the dirt.
We’d only torn their city apart as a lasting reminder that they should not start to believe they hadn’t truly been defeated.
Cowards were always the first to decide that they were brave the moment the enemy was no longer in sight.
As we moved through that city there were fewer dirty trades and seamstresses, and more taverns with music, and modistes—the elite dressmakers and costumers to those with the means to pay them. The streets were fully lighted here, lanterns hung high on both sides creating cones of light that met and crossed at the middle of the street, leaving deep shadows under eaves and awnings, but few stretches of street without some light.
After an hour of walking through the city, we finally reached the wide promenade that circled the Great Hall at its peak.
Here the destruction was stark—without the dirt and mess of the poor streets, those missing roof tiles and broken windows were far more noticeable. Diadre’s lips thinned, but she didn’t speak about it, thank God.
When we found the establishment we’d been searching for, we looked at each other, but without a word I took her hand, opened the door, and pulled her in behind me—no one here would believe a Neph had manners, after all.
Despite the late hour, the place was busy. Clean and bright, the only sign of weariness was in the tendrils of hair flying loose, or sticking to the sheen of sweat on the cheeks of the beer wenches wending between the men in the aisles.
Table after table lined the aisles, each surrounded by benches and stools and the asses of men in various stages of intoxication.
A band of players jigged and sang from the short stage in the corner opposite the half-moon bar, cheeks red and temples sweaty, but appearing to enjoy the song, smiling at the patrons and the beer wenches alike.
Several heads turned when I stepped out of the shadows around the door and into the much brighter light of the main aisle between tables. Some of the voices lowered, or stopped speaking, but a Neph in the City was no longer a remarkable event, so while their eyes followed me suspiciously, no one spoke up.
I tugged Diadre through the bar towards a corner away from the door, and furthest from the bar. An unpopular spot because the beer wenches visited less frequently. But it would give me a view both of the door, and the staff coming and going from the kitchen beyond the bar. As well as the players on the other side of the room, and almost every other table.
One of the men at the bar watched us make our way to the table, his eyes dragging up from Diadre’s toes, to her braided hair.
She wasn’t in uniform, but she’d insisted on staying in leathers and a shirt, though most of the women in Zaryndar wore dresses. I didn’t mind. She was stunning. She’d draw eyes whether she wore skirts or not. And this clothing gave her better flexibility and ease of movement in a fight.
Though God help any man who thought he’d put his hands on her, fight or not.
When the man’s eyes made it to her face, I tugged her forward another half step so his eyes followed and foundme.I smiled, showing my teeth, and those eyes widened before flipping away and to the ground nervously.
After making certain he’d keep to himself, I caught eyes with the tavern owner behind the bar who sent a beer wench scuttling over to us.
The moment we sat, she was at our sides offering ale or wine. I ordered an ale, and Diadre a wine, then we waited until she was gone.
‘I agree that this is the most likely place to find the kind of men who’d know of a plot, but do you really think they’ll talk to you about it? You’re obviously not one of them.’
‘I don’t expect to hear from an Arbiter directly,’I sent back, scanning the room for what I was looking for.‘I expect to find one of the rats who shadow them and collect their secrets for sale.’
Diadre’s brows popped up, but she didn’t say anything, just looked around the room.
After our drinks were served, I paid the wench and sat back to drink knowing that the kind of man I needed would find me only if I was patient. Diadre seemed far more uncomfortable, keeping her shoulders hunched and her drink gripped in both hands on the table in front of her.
I frowned. Was she still struggling with her nerves? She hadn’t seemed nervous about coming into the city, and she’d told me she felt far safer around human men than Neph, but sometimes fear was irrational—
‘I’mactingJann,’she sent with a twist of derision in her voice.‘My missions are usually far more… covert. I could take any of these men in a dark street without their companion even realizing I’d been there before he dropped to the cobbles. But when I do have to show myself, I’m a broken woman. The kind of woman that arrogant men think is no challenge to them at all.’
‘Oh, I can’t wait to seethis,’ I sent back, coughing slightly on my ale.
