We agree that Saengo should remain outside with the drakes to keep an eye out for Jonyah. Unless he took a different route, we should have beaten him here. Before dismounting, I brush my fingers along Yandor’s jaw. He’s panting heavily, but he still leans into my hand.
With the heavy flapping of wings, Millie lands on the nearby hitching post to keep Saengo company. She sets about watering the drakes. I tear the feathers from my hair, along with the distinctive red sash of a Company fourth-year from around my waist. I stuff both into my satchel and retrieve a long gray scarf I’d brought on our journey to shield against light rain. My legs are stiff, and my bruised muscles sting fiercely. But I bite my tongue against the pain as I head inside and send a prayer to the Bright Twin to keep luck on my side.
I wrap the scarf loosely around my hair and neck, taking care to conceal my face and the collar of my uniform. Inside, the low light of a single fireplace and several oil lamps cast the room in flickering shadows. The teahouse is nearly empty. Tables are arranged in a square around an empty platform where the entertainment would perform, likely a musician with a two-stringed lute or a storysinger, who relays old tales through lilting, rhythmic songs.
The earthy scent of firewood is ruined by the curdled odor of the day’s unwashed patrons. A trio of hooded men sit quietly at a corner table, sipping tea or perhaps something stronger. As far as I can tell, none wear crossed swords.
As expected, Jonyah isn’t here. I release a slow, even breath. He won’t be far behind us, though. Hopefully, Kendara’s mystery informant shows up soon. I choose a table with a clear view of the entrance. A short woman with dark brown curls and a round face emerges from a door that I assume leads into a kitchen. She presses her palms to her floral apron and dips her head in a polite bow.
“Anything I can get you?” the owner asks.
“Some hibiscus tea, please.”
She returns a moment later with a tray bearing a steaming ceramic teapot, a small saucer of honey with a dainty spoon, and an upturned cup. Once she’s filled my cup, she leaves the tray and disappears again into the back. I spoon some honey into the aromatic tea and then take a light sip.
Someone jerks my scarf off my hair. I’m instantly on my feet, the dagger hidden within my wrist guard sliding into my hand. I freeze at the sight of Jonyah. How had he sneaked up on me?
“It is you!” he snarls. He would be handsome if his face weren’t always twisted into an ugly sneer. The firelight from a lantern casts copper tones in his dark hair, which he has freed from its usual braid. “Pray the Twins favor you, if you’re here for the reason I think you are.”
When I don’t shrink back, the muscles in his neck go taut. His hands lift, fingers flexing as if he’d like nothing better than to throttle me.
“And what reason is that?” I ask coolly. We’re far from the Company and anyone who knows who we are. Since he’s hardly going to report my disrespect without giving away his own little adventure here, I can speak to him however I wish.
When he doesn’t answer, I lean my hip against the table and ignore the way my thighs protest. I pretend to study the blade of my dagger, which glows faintly orange from the firelight. I stole it from the armory two years ago. Kendara doesn’t always warn me when she’s sending me off into danger, so I try never to be unarmed.
Jonyah grips my forearm, yanking me far too close for my comfort. His grip is bruising, the only sort of grip he’s capable of, I suspect. I almost smash my fist into his face.
Instead of replying, he spits out, “What are you up to?” His reluctance to name his task irritates me, because it proves he did learn something from Kendara.
“What do you think? Work it out yourself,” I say and then casually withdraw the note from my pocket.
Jonyah goes still. The brief flash of alarm on his face is almost comical. But then he laughs, the sound abrupt and harsh.
“You’re one of her pupils? She must have been desperate. You’ve lost, Tshauv Taws. She’s going to choose me.” He spits at my feet. “Because I’m better than you in every way. My name, my station, my skills.”
My nails bite into my palms. Tshauv Taws. In old Evewal, which is taught only to reiwyn, it means “ashes.” Saengo told me after the first time he’d called me that. It’s a translation of my last name, Ashwyn, which isn’t a true Evewynian surname. The monks gave it to me at the orphanage as an unsubtle way of saying I come from no one and nothing.
Despite the insult, he’s unwittingly revealed what I’ve been desperate to know since reading the note—Kendara hasn’t yet named him her apprentice. I haven’t lost everything. Not yet. “She doesn’t care about any of that.”
“Doesn’t she?” He looks me over. “You’re a skinny bit of nothing with no true name and no future. I’ve been trying to get you to do everyone a favor and turn that dagger on yourself for seven years. When will you understand? No one will miss you.”
My jaw feels like it might crack from how tightly I’m clenching my teeth. I remain still because if I don’t, I’ll stab my blade into Jonyah’s thick neck. While he helps himself to my tea, I exhale slowly through my nose and consciously relax my body, muscle by muscle.
Chairs scrape over the scratched wood floors. My gaze lifts to the corner, where the three men are now standing. They pass in my periphery, their heads bowed. The last one looks up, and his eyes, beneath the heavy folds of a scarf, find mine. I stiffen. He has the luminous scarlet eyes of a firewender, a fire shaman.
Sparks dance around his fingers. Instinct takes hold, and I vault over the table as my chair erupts into flames. I hit the ground and then dive behind the center platform.
My pulse races. Shamanborn roaming free in Evewyn? Impossible. The queen imprisoned them all. But if they’d somehow escaped capture, they would be in hiding. These have to be Nuvali, shamans from the Nuvalyn Empire. What in the Sisters are they doing in Evewyn?
Everything turns red and hazy. The pain in my legs becomes secondary as I brandish my dagger and survey the damage.
Flames engulf the room. Tables and chairs glow like kindling. I cover my mouth with my scarf as smoke stings my eyes. The front door bursts open. Plumes of smoke escape into the open air. Saengo stands beyond the threshold, shouting muffled words, arms raised to ward off the heat. Streaks of fire shoot straight for my feet. I run, ducking beneath a table and colliding with Jonyah as the back door and part of the wall explode.
Flaming wood chips fly through the smoke only to be engulfed again by fire. I’ve confronted this brand of chaos once before, when Kendara tied me up and left me in a hut full of burning thatch. But this fire is different. This fire spreads too quickly, too controlled, raging through the teahouse in seconds.
Jonyah shoves me away with a curse as we both stand. Flames snake across the floor. Jonyah whips out a dagger twice as large as mine, although I don’t know what good it’ll do. His back hits my elbow as we grip our useless weapons and watch the fire encircle us, trapping us inside a burning ring. Beyond the circle, one of the shamans steps into view.
Not the firewender. The dancing flames paint highlights across his face, but his eyes glint purple, brighter than any human eye color. His arms lift. A sudden wind gusts around me, tangling my scarf and snagging my braid around my neck. The flames roar higher, twisting into an inferno. I recoil, pulling my limbs in tight to keep from being incinerated.