Celeste

  I sat beside a low stack of rugs. It was shorter now than it had been a few hours ago.

  The work was simple, if tedious. Trim the frayed ends. Pick out the loose knots. Thread them back through and pull tight.

  My fingers found the pattern quickly, muscle memory taking over from the same kind of work I’d done back home.

  Lioren knelt beside me, taking a break from the pounding he’d been giving his own stack. Dust clung to his sleeves and beard alike.

  The merchant hadn’t spoken a word since setting us to work. He moved in and out of the alley only to stack more rugs and collect the ones we’d finished.

  He left a few small loaves and a wedge of cheese on a crate between us, keeping to the bargain he’d made with Art.

  The sun slid lower, the light thinning until the alley fell into a cool, muted dusk. The merchants’ canvas stalls swallowed what little remained, and the sounds of the market softened, voices drifting apart as stalls began closing for the night.

  Art still hadn’t returned.

  I tied another knot and let the fringe fall from my fingers, my hands aching dully from the work. With nothing else to occupy my mind, it drifted back to the same thought I’d been circling since I first started working the rugs.

  How was Art supposed to fight alongside Lioren?

  Lioren didn’t know what Art was. And if all three of us were going to fight together, there was no such thing as holding back. That meant telling him.

  It wasn’t my truth to give away, so I hadn’t said a word.

  Still, the guilt gnawed at me. I’d put Art in a position where he might have to share that secret with another stranger—if that was even the plan.

  Another thought crept in, and a thought I kept trying to shake.

  What if he wasn’t planning to fight with us at all? What if he’d already gone ahead, choosing to handle it alone while Lioren and I stayed hidden here… waiting.

  I pushed it down as soon as it formed. Art wouldn’t do that. Not now. He’d promised to tell me what had happened to him—how he’d escaped. He wouldn’t disappear again without keeping that promise.

  But the thought made room for other fears.

  Faylen.

  What if she wasn’t there anymore?

  I’ve been traveling so long to get to this point, what if they’d already sold her or moved her somewhere farther away. I’d do everything I could to find out who they sold her to. But after that…

  I glanced at Lioren beside me, then the mouth of the alley where Art should be coming through.

  Would Lioren come with me?

  I didn’t doubt Art would come with me—not because of hope, but because he’d already said he would. He’d told me once that he wouldn’t stop searching with me, even if Faylen wasn’t there anymore. That he’d stay, no matter where the trail led.

  But Lioren… I didn’t feel right tethering him further into this. He was still welcome to return to the Brotherhood, and deep down, that was where I thought he should be.

  Footsteps brushed the edge of the alley.

  My head came up, finger freezing mid-knot. Lioren was already standing, dusting his hands on his trousers as Art slipped through the curtain of canvas.

  The merchant glanced back once, then went back to counting his purse.

  Art stopped a few paces from us, eyes taking in the large stack of rugs to my right. “Ready?”

  I stood, my legs stiff from sitting so long. “I think so.”

  Lioren rolled his shoulders back. “I feel like a child apprentice whose father’s just come to collect him from the master’s forge.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The corner of Art’s mouth twitched. “You do look the part.”

  Lioren glanced down at himself—dust-streaked, sleeves rolled, beard a mess. He snorted. “Aye. Just missin’ the burns.”

  Art’s gaze turned to me. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’ve learned more about rugs than I ever wanted to,” I said. “But otherwise, fine.”

  Art let out a quiet laugh. “Then let’s go. We’ve lingered long enough.”

  We slipped back out of the alley, giving the rug merchant a quick thanks on our way out. The market was nearly empty now, stalls shuttered, the last of the day’s light bleeding out of the sky.

  Art led us through the narrow streets at a quick pace, straight back to the bakery. It stood dark when we went inside, the owner once again nowhere in sight.

  We didn’t linger in the shop. At the top he unlocked the small room, stepping aside to let us pass.

  I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed before my legs decided to give out on their own. Lioren took the chair, lowering himself into it.

  The door shut and Art turned to face us, his expression changed. “We need to talk.”

  My pulse kicked at the shift in his tone. For a brief moment, my mind leapt to all the ways this may have went wrong.

  “Tomorrow morning,” he said, “we split up.”

  Lioren’s brow creased, and my shoulders tensed as my thoughts drifted back to the ones I’d had earlier in the alley.

  “You two will head for the southern gate at first light.”

  “And you?” I asked.

  “I’ll collect the horses. I’ll hold onto them while I’m at the mason’s yard. Gives me a reason to be there—and a way to carry supplies without drawing attention,” he said.

  My fingers curled into the blanket beneath me. “How will you know which one is Dryke?”

  “The herbalist gave me a description. Short, stout, and blonde hair. I’ll also be watching the carts.”

  “Because of what’s inside. He’ll have food and supplies before he gathers the quicklime last and heads out on the road,” I said, remembering our earlier discussion.

  “Exactly,” Art nodded. “I’ll follow him as he leaves the city. When he heads out the southern gate, I’ll have the horses with me. You’ll mount up, and from there we stay on his trail.”

  He leaned forward in the chair, forearms braced on his thighs. “That works fine while he’s on a main road. But it won’t last forever. Sooner or later he’ll turn onto a smaller feeder or a game trail—places where anyone behind him sticks out like a torch in the dark.”

  “And when that happens,” Lioren said, picking it up immediately, “he’s goin’ to notice. Two horses following him into the middle of nowhere?” He shook his head. “No chance he doesn’t put that together.”

  I looked at Art. “And he knows enough about the people he’s working for to understand what that means. Leading anyone back to the compound wouldn’t just cost him his job—it’d get him killed,” I said.

  Lioren straightened. “Which is why I don’t see why we don’t take him when we have the chance. Do it on a quiet road. Get the truth out of him and be done with it.”

  Art shook his head once. “Because there’s no guarantee he talks.”

  Lioren frowned. “Everyone talks.”

  “No,” Art said evenly. “Everyone breaks. Those aren’t the same thing. This man has more to lose than his own life. He may die before he risks his son’s in retribution.”

  Relief flooded through me knowing that we wouldn’t be attacking Dryke, even as I wrestled with the knowledge that he had still, knowingly or not, aided the slavers who’d held me.

  “Then what do we do?” I asked.

  Art leaned back against the wall, gaze fixed somewhere past us. “We ride together at first. Stay on him while he’s on a main trail so he doesn’t think twice about it.”

  Lioren’s brow creased. “Until when?”

  “Until he turns off the main road. Then I’ll follow him alone.”

  “One man followin’ him doesn’t disappear just because he’s alone,” Lioren said. “Unless you plan on trackin’ his trail instead.”

  Art shook his head. “I can, but there’s too much risk involved. A wagon trail over an entire day isn’t a single line, at least not in the direction he’s heading. Stone breaks the trail. Hard ground hides it. Each league adds another place it can disappear. The longer I’m tracking, the greater the chance I lose it altogether.”

  “Then why go alone?” Lioren demanded. “If you can’t ride close and you won’t stay back and track the trail, how do you plan on followin’ him without spookin’ him off?”

  At that moment, I realized Art’s plan.

  Art’s gaze set on Lioren. “I won’t be following him on a horse.”

  Lioren blinked. Then let out a short laugh. “On foot?” He shook his head. “You’re talkin’ about shadowin’ a wagon through open country. You’ll never keep pace.”

  I knew what Art meant, but not how much he intended to share with Lioren. I didn’t know what his plan was, or how he meant to fight alongside someone unaware of what he was truly capable of.

  Art’s gaze lingered on the windowsill, his jaw tightening as if gnawing on words that refused to come. The guilt I’d felt earlier began to creep back in.

  Art drew a slow breath. “My name isn’t Samuel.”

  Lioren lifted a brow.

  “It’s Artemis.”

  Lioren studied him for a long moment, then huffed softly. “Samuel never quite fit you, anyway.” He gave a small nod. “I appreciate you tellin’ me, but if Artemis doesn’t run faster or track cleaner than Samuel did, we’re back where we started. I don’t see how it changes what we’re facin’ tomorrow.”

  Art watched him for a moment and let out a quiet laugh.

  “Art,” I said quickly.

  He looked at me.

  “You don’t have to do this. Not for me. We can figure out another way.”

  Lioren’s gaze turned to me then, a questioning look on his face—but otherwise said nothing.

  Art didn’t look away. We stood there, caught in the space between one breath and the next. I saw it in his face, the sadness he didn’t bother hiding, the choice he’d already made.

  “It’s all right,” he said softly. “I know what you’re thinking. This isn’t your fault.” He gave me a small, reassuring smile. “And I promised I’d tell you how I escaped.”

  I wanted to argue. To reach for another excuse, another delay. But his words held me still.

  Art turned back to Lioren. “I didn’t tell you my name just to set the record straight,” he said evenly. “There’s more you need to know about me.”