Page 15 of Prisoner of Steel and Shadow

Realizing that this was the point of no return, Ronan cleared his throat. “Make sure to tell her—”

“She already knows.”

Ronan sighed. “I suppose she does. If this is the last time...”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I’ve only barely begun tolerating you. I’m not ready to actively like you.”

He barked out a laugh. “That’s fair. Never did care for you much either.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way, shall we? Some traditions are sacred.” Despite the words, there was genuine affection in the other man’s gaze. “Best of luck to you, Ronan.”

“Farewell, Luc.”

With a slight tip of his chin, the Guardian took his leave.

Palming Reyna’s dagger, which he’d sheathed in his belt, Ronan set off the well-worn path, estimating it would be full dark by the time he reached the city gates. He hadn’t had time to grab much between Effie’s arrival and leaving. Luckily, his travel bag, magicked by Helena a few years ago, was always packed. Thanks to her, no matter what he placed inside it, it never grew heavy or changed its shape. So while it appeared to be an empty coin purse, hidden within was his best sword, the Butcher’s armor, a significant amount of coin, a couple cloaks—one fur-lined, one travel-stained—a set of court attire, his camping equipment, and a few other essentials. It should serve until he got a lay of the land.

Although he wasn’t sure he’d be needing the fur cloak.

The weather, so far at least, seemed moderate. A bit warmer than Elysia, but nothing like the sweltering temperatures he’d suffered in the Vale. He supposed that could change once the sun was at its zenith. But that was tomorrow’s problem. For the moment, the sky was painted in shades of orange, the sun hanging low over the horizon while a light sea breeze salted the air. It had been a fair while since he’d had to make do with a bedroll and the dirt, but if he had to rough it tonight, at least he’d be comfortable enough.

Ronan tried not to think too far past that. His plan for the moment was to make his way to town and find food and hopefully lodging for the night. Depending on how that went, he’d also put feelers out on potential work so he could buy whatever he might need at the market if the coin he had was not viable here. That was assuming these people even had some version of a merchant’s square where he could acquire such goods. He was well traveled, but Empyria was an unknown entity. The only thing he could count on was running into the unexpected.

The sound of crashing waves grew louder as he neared the town, and soon he could make out the familiar calls of a working port. That small dose of his homeland was enough to ease his nerves. The particulars might vary, but people were ultimately the same wherever you went. He’d find his footing soon enough.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Ronan counted several spires jutting up from the city's center, all topped with blinding gold onion-shaped domes. The towers, as far as he could tell, were a mix of blood-red and black with some sort of scrolling ornamentation running along their lengths. He couldn’t quite make out the details from here, but the overall effect was striking.

Something about the structure called to him, so he paused, squinting as he tried to get a better sense of what was catching his attention.There. The easternmost tower. A series of balconies jutted out, spiraling upward. And standing on one of the upper balconies was a woman. At least, he assumed it was a woman due to her willowy build and the way her moonlight-colored hair blew in the breeze. For a second, he would have sworn she was staring straight at him. A little shiver worked its way down his spine, but he couldn’t pinpoint why something so innocuous would affect him.

Ronan amended his earlier assessment of the building, blaming it for his uncharacteristic response. Striking, yet foreboding. A warning for citizens and visitors alike to tread carefully. They were being watched.

Taking the warning to heart, he quickened his steps and made his way to the main gates. After his reaction to what he’d decided must be the palace, he expected more fanfare at the gates but passed through without so much as a sideways glance from the guards posted on either side.

Once inside the city proper, the road turned from dirt to stone. Following it until it branched off at the end, he found himself in front of a sign he had absolutely no trouble deciphering. A board hung from the center of the thatched-roof structure, depicting cold drinks and hot food. That could only mean one thing.

A tavern.

“Now that’s a sight for sore eyes.”

“Talking about me, handsome?” a pretty wench with a gap-toothed grin asked. Once she had his full attention, she leaned forward to better showcase her assets. “Looking for some company?”

He offered her a polite smile in return and a quick shake of his head, happy that despite her unfamiliar and somewhat lyrical accent, it didn’t seem like there would be a language barrier to contend with.

She gave him a disappointed pout as he made his way to the tavern’s green door. “Pity. If you change your mind, you know where to find me! Or just ask for Camille!”

Before he could push it open, a couple of patrons tumbled out, along with the welcome sound of raucous laughter, men and women well in their cups, and lively gambling. Taking this for the boon it was, Ronan walked in and straight up to the bar.

Perfect.

Seemed like the Mother might be on his side after all.

For what better place was there for a weary traveler to find some respite... or for a hunter to collect a bit of town gossip regarding his target?

Any lingeringconcerns Ronan had about blending in were long gone a few hours later. Glimmermere, as it turns out, was a breeding ground for all sorts. Nearly everyone he’d interacted with had a different accent, and it didn’t take long to realize that travelers were not only common in the city, they were welcome. No one had given him a second glance when he approached one of the back tables and asked to join their game, which he’d since learned was called Diamonds.

The men and women seated at the table seemed eager enough to teach him the rules—likely because they saw him as an easy mark—but that was all right with him. If he could get some information out of them, it was a fair trade in his eyes. Not that being good at the game seemed to be a requirement anyway. The man seated next to him had been losing steadily for the past hour.

“Your move,” he said, nudging Ronan with his elbow.

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