Lifeblood

Chapter 34

Two Years Ago

In hindsight, Rike should not have trusted Raimi.

Okay, trust was a strong word for what he did. Rike had simply made assumptions, the main one being that Raimi was too much of a coward to contradict him. The way he had twitched and ducked his head when Rike fiddled with his new compass—how he had averted his gaze when Rike had told him there was nothing in that half-buried merchant ship—timid, mousy—should have known he would squeal. Maybe if he hadn't been blinded by overconfidence he would have noticed the suspicion hidden in Raimi's eyes. And maybe, if Rike had stayed a few minutes longer instead of calling it a day, he would have seen Raimi tuck away a waterlogged ship's manifest after searching the wreck himself.

The manifest shouldn't have listed the compass at all, but if it were still legible enough for Raimi to discover a Wayfinder had been a crew member, it wouldn't have been hard to connect the dots.

Most of the time, Rike blamed fortune for picking least favorites (him), but . . . this time the mess was of his own making.

In his defense, Sawel wouldn't have been able to make use of the compass (despite having self-proclaimed "knowledge" and "authority" as the head of the Circle). To anyone who didn't recognize its make and/or didn't know the incantation, it couldn't even point north for them. Really, he was doing everyone a favor by pocketing it himself.

"Everyone" was not on the same page, however. Hence, Rike was currently doing what he did best in a poor situation: flee.

"Sorry!" Rike fumbled out of a linen shop, knocking over a rack which happened to knock over another rack, which happened to fall on top of some poor girl trying to buy a scarf. He felt bad, but not enough to help.

A second after, one of his would-be-murderers face-planted over the fallen rack.

Cavas n'ain. Surely the pay wasn't enough for this?

Since the face-plant, his pursuers had fallen out of sight. Not for long though—if he wanted to take a gamble and hide he'd have to do it now. Rike made a hard turn, skidding on the balls of his feet, and vaulted over a stall, pressing as flat against it as his body allowed. A couple carvings followed him down. He caught one, wincing as they clattered.

He shouldn't be worried! No way they'd hear that over the sounds of a city getting ready for the Madalaquasín festivities—

Rike's brain stopped working for a minute as he made eye contact with the apparent owner of the stall. She held a knife, paused in the action of whittling. Her grip relaxed, and she raised an eyebrow.

He raised a finger to his lips and prayed she'd get the message.

The woman's expression fell to something more steely, her presence flipping like a coin from forgettable to formidable. She moved next to him, skirt barely touching the hairs on his arm.

"Hey!"

Rike tensed. Footfalls approached and gods, if they looked over the table they'd see his knees clear as day.

"A man ran past here. Where did he go?"

Rike struggled to get his breath under control. The stall was backed by brick and lined by shelves, preventing easy escape. That was fine. If she sold him out he wasn't above destroying more property in the name of preserving his life. Rike braced, ready to flip as much furniture as necessary, starting with his hiding spot.

"Plenty of men come this way. This is a city."

"Did you see him or not?" they pressed, voice raising in threat.

"I did see a man." The woman's dress rustled as she made a gesture Rike couldn't see from his position. "But if he were running, you'd better hurry."

Curses fell along with the clicking of metal on the table. The woman hummed, pocketing several coins. "He went that way."

Rike's head thudded against the stall as he relaxed. He counted the seconds until he could be sure it was safe to come out, then popped up, stretching his arms above his head. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!" He grinned from ear-to-ear. "Thanks."

"Wait."

Mid-turn, Rike stumbled when his arm didn't follow the rest of him. She had snatched his sleeve, holding him in place a little longer than he appreciated. But when he didn't move, she dropped it.

"You're paying for this one."

Rike stared, uncomprehending. She held one of the carvings he had knocked over. It was a rabbit, but instead of two ears, it had one. Oh.

"Hah," he laughed. Rike made a meager attempt to cover his mouth to stop, but it did nothing if not draw more attention.

"Why are you laughing?" she demanded.

"Nothing, I—"—he snorted, suddenly feeling giddy—"I like you."

The woman scowled. But it was too late to dissuade him by being cold—Rike had already seen her kindness. "What's your name? I'm known by many monikers, some of which include: 'Handsomest Man in Zanfria,' 'Not Him Again,' and 'Hey You,' but I prefer Rike."

She didn't humor him with a response.

"Alright, alright." Rike put up his hands in a placating manner. "Tell me your name, and I'll buy the rabbit," he compromised. He was quite good at compromises. Maybe he should have added "excellent diplomat" to the list of names.

Was that a sigh?

Her gaze flickered across the street. "Ma—" She paused ungracefully, lips flattening as she finished with gritted teeth, "ri."

Rike checked where she had looked, noticing a sign that read, "Mares For Sale" The one immediately following said, "Rice Cakes."

He slapped on his most genuine grin. "Mary?"

"Mary" nodded.

"I've never heard that name before," Rike said innocently. "It sounds made-up."

"That's rude to say about someone's name," she countered, and if Rike wasn't mistaken, there was a dare in her voice.

Rike decided to let it go. This once. "Mary is a wonderful name." He pretended to contemplate before adding, "Almost as wonderful as Rike."

For the briefest of seconds, her mouth twitched upwards. Yes, Rike decided then and there. They were going to be good friends indeed.