HIS EVENING STAR

Chapter XVI

Nova

The sudden hand on my mouth sent ice through my veins, even as the familiar warmth of his body registered against mine. Time seemed to freeze in that moment, my mind struggling between instinctive terror and an inexplicable sense of relief. I knew those eyes that stared deep into my soul, that presence – had felt their careful strength in a hundred small moments at the farm.

"Do not utter a sound." His voice came low and deadly behind his veiled face. The hand slid from my mouth, fingers trailing down to settle at my throat. The touch was precise, clinical – a warrior's knowledge of vulnerable points. "If you do—" his fingers pressed slightly against the spot between my jaw and neck "—I'll render you unconscious."

My eyes widened, not so much at the threat itself but at the cold efficiency I sensed behind it. This wasn't the Elijah who had taught me to split wood or bandaged my hands. This was someone else – someone dangerous.

"Nod if you understand."

I managed a small nod, feeling the slight pressure of his fingers adjust with the movement.

"Good."

The autumn air bit at my exposed skin as he released my throat, though the phantom sensation of his touch lingered. I heard rather than saw him reach for something, the rustle of fabric preceding the sudden warmth of heavy cloth around my shoulders. Before I could process what was happening, he was pulling the material over my head, his movements quick and practiced. The headscarf settled around my face until only my eyes remained exposed, though I didn't dare reach up to adjust it.

I had barely drawn breath to speak when he pulled me against his chest, the motion nearly causing me to stumble. "E-Elijah, wait I—"

"Shut it." The words carried enough frost to silence me immediately.

The market sprawled before us, a maze of voices and motion that suddenly seemed more threatening than vibrant. Merchants called their wares into the crisp morning air, their voices creating a tapestry of sound that might have been cheerful under different circumstances.

"Cabbages, come by your cabbages!"

"Care for some sweet buns, lad?"

"Please, spare some change..."

To anyone watching, we might have appeared as nothing more than a couple taking a morning stroll – I in my modest headscarf, he with his arm wrapped possessively around my waist. But I felt the tension in every line of his body, saw the careful way his eyes scanned our surroundings. His grip was just shy of painful, though I had nowhere to put my trembling hands except against his lower abdomen.

The sound of boots on cobblestones made my breath catch. A patrol of guards appeared ahead, their uniforms stark against the market's colorful chaos. Elijah pulled us to an abrupt stop, and I felt his muscles coil with contained motion. We turned down another street, only to find more guards positioned there, their presence like dark stains on the morning's brightness.

"Elijah, we—"

"I said hush!" The warning came as barely more than a breath against my ear, but it made me shudder nonetheless.

He pulled me toward a weathered building, its worn sign creaking gently in the morning breeze. Unlike the cacophony of the market outside, the inn's interior wrapped us in muted conversation and the warm scent of cooking fires. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling, dark with years of hearth smoke, while morning light filtered through clouded windows to dance across well-worn floorboards.

The innkeeper looked up from his ledger as we approached the front counter, his rheumy eyes taking in our appearance with the practiced assessment of someone used to judging potential trouble. "Hello there," he started, quill pausing mid-stroke. "What can I—"