Page 25 of Prisoner of Steel and Shadow

“You ain’t from around here, are you, dove? No... you’d have to have been living under a rock not to know about Shadow.”

“Shadow?” Ronan repeated, the name tickling the back of his mind, though he couldn’t remember why.

“She belongs to the High Lord.” Glinta frowned when it was clear Ronan had no clue what she was talking about. Holding her hand up to her eyes, she scanned the crowd. “Bet you my week’s catch she’s around here somewhere. Can’t imagine she won’t want to check out her replacement.”

Ronan tucked that nugget of information away. If she was the reigning champion, why was the High Lord replacing her? He wasn’t sure why it was important, only that instinct warned him it was.

Glinta rose onto her toes, craning her neck from side to side. “You can’t miss her. She has the face of an angel and hair the color of stardust.”

Ronan frowned at the detail. He knew it was a longshot, but part of him had hoped, by some turn of fate, it would end up being his lost Night Stalker. He sighed but tried not to let himself get too discouraged. It was only his first full day here. Surely this Shadow had to be aware of a woman whose skill with a knife rivaled her own.

“There, that looks like her. The one in the hood.” The fishwife pointed to a cloaked woman standing near the front of the sign-up line. “Mind your manners, dove. She makes me look like a peach.”

Ronan tossed Glinta the second coin. “Don’t be so sure you’re not.”

“Come visit me anytime!”

Though he doubted he’d stick around long enough to become a regular, he knew he wouldn’t leave town without at least trying to see her again. She was a prickly bitch, but he loved how she owned it. So few people were that unapologetically honest. It was the mark of a person worth knowing, in his opinion.

Shuffling through the mass of bodies, grunting as elbows dug into his stomach and numerous feet stomped over his boots, he finally reached the front of the line.

“Hey, arsehole! You can’t cut. Line starts back there.”

Ronan gave the man his middle finger, not sure if the insult was known here but certain he got his point across regardless.

“Pardon me, I’m hoping you can help me find someone,” he said, tapping the woman in the cloak on the shoulder.

She turned, peering at him with curious green eyes. But not just a standard shade of green. A green so multihued and prismatic, he’d only ever seen its like on one woman.

He gasped, his vision going spotty, and the breath knocked from his lungs as he reached for her.

“R-Reyna.”

CHAPTER8

SHADOW

How hard is it to write your night-damned name?

Shadow couldn’t remember the last time nerves got the best of her. The consummate professional, anxiety or self-doubt were rarely an issue she had to contend with. But the sign-up line had slowed to a crawl, and with each passing heartbeat, she feared discovery. Moving about unseen was as natural for her as breathing. It was standing still that was the problem. With her unique look and reputation, it was only a matter of time before someone recognized her. And then she would be well and truly lost.

The longer she was out here in the open, the more on edge she became. That blasted piece of parchment was her ticket to freedom. If only the line would move so she could secure her spot.

Sweat rolled down her spine as she adjusted the hood of her cloak to ensure her hair was still concealed. People had to be wondering why she’d opted for such a garment in this heat. She prayed the nature of the contest excused her odd choice instead of drawing more eyes to her.

Either way, it was a risk that would eventually bite her in the ass, because if Erebos didn’t sniff her out, her competition might just get curious enough to see who was hiding beneath the hood. Another bead of sweat trickled down her back at the thought.

Stars, if they don’t hurry up, I’m going to start stabbing people just to get them out of my fucking way.

A tap came on her shoulder, and Shadow’s weapon was in her hand before she turned around. The only thing keeping her blade from finding a new sheath was the fact she didn’t recognize the man’s voice.

“Pardon me—”

Static filled her ears, drowning out the rest of whatever was being said. Schooling her expression into a polite but disinterested mask, she lifted her eyes to his. The sun glinted off his fiery tresses, and she recognized him immediately as the man she’d watched from the balcony the night before.

He’d been too far for her to see much in the way of detail last night, but she had no such trouble now. He loomed over her, which was saying something because she could look most men straight in the eye without lifting her chin. But the stranger had at least a head on her, if not more. And that said nothing of his sheer bulk. Even fully clothed, she could make out the definition of his muscles beneath the tight fit of his tunic and leather pants.

His hair had been tamed into a series of twists and braids, revealing the sides of his head, which were shaved down to the skin. From the sun-darkened state of his scalp, it was his preferred look. The rest of his body, so far as she could tell, was much the same shade, speaking to many hours spent outside. Faint lines feathered the area around his eyes, but she couldn’t tell if they were from laughter or something fiercer. Given the way he currently frowned at her, she assumed the latter.

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