Zander squeezes the bridge of his nose, as if dealing with both of us simultaneously is too much. “Where is the seer?”
“Somewhere safe.”
His gaze narrows. “You’re keeping her location a secret from me? For what reason?”
“For her protection, as well as mine. And I have given you no cause to doubt my purpose here.”
“But you expect me to allow you to take Romeria into the city—”
“Allow?” I snap, my anger flaring. “You’re not my keeper!”
Neither of them are listening to me, though.
“I will share the location when I am within those walls and on my way to her.” Gesine’s voice remains serene as they stare each other down.
“And have I given you any reason to not trust me?” Zander says calmly.
Her lips press together, but she doesn’t answer. She isn’t going to acquiesce, not about this. I see it, and Zander is beginning to as well.
He shakes his head. “What use to us is a seer who cannot wield affinities or grasp reality anymore?”
Rage flares in Gesine’s emerald eyes—the first time I’ve ever seen her reveal so much as a hint of it. “She is of utmost importance to our cause.” A touch softer, she adds, “And she is important to me. I will not be leaving Bellcross without her.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “And I’m not leaving Bellcross without Gesine.”
Zander’s gaze drifts between us—likely evaluating his options, or how worthy this fight is. “Fine. You two can come into the city with me and get her out, but only if you take Zorya and Jarek.”
“What about Horik or Drakon or—”
“Jarek is the most skilled and respected warrior next to Abarrane.”
“He hates me.” I drop my voice, scanning for ears. “You don’t think he’ll be a major issue when he finds out?” I don’t have to elaborate.
But Zander isn’t to be swayed. “You’re with Jarek, or you remain here. I will not bend on that.”
Gesine dips her head. “That is a wise decision, Your Highness.”
I groan, knowing I’ve lost this battle.
Zander’s eyes drift over me. “We’ll soon find out how wise.”
Somewhere deep within the city, a clock tower gongs six times.
“I have to say, I didn’t expect you to be so eager to get back in a saddle.” Jarek steers our horse behind Elisaf’s along the crumbling fieldstone wall—a divide in someone’s farm field, suitably shielded from view of the looming city wall by lush, overgrown trees. We’ve been following it for miles, in single file along the worn path.
“Did I look eager?” I think I swore as I threw my sore leg over. “I’ve had enough of saddles for the rest of my life.” All those car rides sitting behind that buffoon Tony don’t seem so bad anymore.
“And thank you for volunteering me for this run.”
“It wasn’t my choice.”
“Either way, there are plenty of taverns off the main square. I needed an excuse to visit one, and you gave it to me.”
Mention of taverns reminds me of that night on Port Street and Bexley’s bar. “Because you want to feed.”
“Why wouldn’t I, if the opportunity presents itself?”
“And does it usually?” It’s been days since his night with that pretty blond in the wagon.