Page 16 of A Hunter for Luna

He clung to me, his forehead pressed against my shoulder. I sensed the desperation in his grasp, the fear of being left to his cold, unforgiving madness.

The brother who gave me my first practice sword, who stole apples with me, all those memories rose in a flood as I gently disentangled myself from his hold.

I cupped his face in my hands, looking directly into his hollow eyes. "Trust me, brother. I will never abandon you."

Francesco stared at me for a long moment before he finally nodded, a glimmer of the man he was surfacing briefly. I squeezed his shoulder, offering a reassuring smile before turning to leave.

As I stepped out of the room, I paused by the attendant who closed and locked the door. Pulling out a pouch from my belt, Iextracted several dragons, gold coins worth a month’s wage for him, and pressed them into the man's palm.

"Continue caring for my brother as if your life depends on it," I commanded. "Because it very well might."

The attendant swallowed, nodding vigorously. "Of course, my lord. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure Lord Francesco's comfort and well-being."

Satisfied, I turned on my heel and strode down the hallway.

As I emerged from the building’s shadow, the sun's warmth was like a mockery against my skin. The weight of years pressed down on me like a physical burden.

The cobblestone streets of Kalion bustled with life as I made my way back to the city center. Merchants hawked their wares, their voices rising above the clatter of shoes and clogs on the stones. Sedan chairs containing noblewomen strolled by, the curtains looped back so the occupants could window shop.

I cut through the crowd with purpose, turning over plans. The tome Francesco had mentioned, Ruin's journal... it was the first potential lead I'd had on the direct cause of his insanity. If the rumors were true, if it truly contained the dark curses that had shattered my brother's mind…

For every curse, there was a counter. I just had to find it.

It was possible Moonshifter had set Francesco to read it to see if it held mental traps for the unwary. My brother had been the sorcerer’s apprentice before he lost his mind.

I shook my head, pushing down the flicker of excitement that threatened to rise in my chest. Hope for a cure was a luxury I couldn't afford, not until I held the answers in my hands.

Around me, the city pulsed with energy. Laughter spilled from taverns, mingling with the scent of simmering stews and beer. Children darted between the legs of the adults, their faces smudged with dirt but their eyes alight with mischief.

Out here, life went on, vibrant and chaotic and gloriously ordinary.

As I continued walking, unease prickled the back of my neck. The sense of being watched was unshakable. That was normal, since several of my distant cousins had met with accidents and nudged me far too close to the imperial wreath. I’d be glad when someone else inherited it and produced a dozen or two babes.

The buildings here were a mix of grand marble structures and crumbling tenements, a physical embodiment of the city's dual nature.

I contemplated my next move as I turned down a side street, the shadows lengthening as the afternoon sun dipped toward the horizon. Gambling and socializing at The Angry Octopus seemed like the best bet to gather information about the mysterious tome. The tavern’s patrons were known for loose tongues and high-stakes gambling, a perfect combination for me.

Gambling debts could buy so many secrets, and I was a very good gambler.

The Angry Octopus came into view, the orange and blue namesake octopus painted on the wall above the door. I pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside, immediately assaulted by a wave of noise and heat.

The tavern was exactly as I remembered it - a rowdy, smoke-filled room with low ceilings and plaster peeling off the stone walls. A few sad frescoes, mostly faded and stained, depictedscenes of hunting and sports. The air was thick with the scent of spiced wine, roasted meat, and the acrid tang of sweat.

Tables were scattered haphazardly around the room, occupied by a motley assortment of patrons. One of the charms of this place was the mix of customers.

Rough laborers in soiled woolen tunics rubbed elbows with nobles in jewel toned silks, the boundaries of class blurred by alcohol and the lure of easy money.

I scanned the room. There were a few familiar faces, men I'd crossed paths with before. Here a merchant, there a minor noble, a gambler at one of the tables who still owed me money from our last encounter.

I made my way to the bar, the floorboards creaking under my boots. The barkeep, a grizzled man with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow, looked up as I approached.

"Benedetto," he said in greeting. "Been a while. The usual?"

I nodded, sliding a coin across the stained wood. Today I had no desire to be subtle; I wanted my answers quickly. "Who would know information on a recently surfaced rare book? A journal, supposedly once belonging to Ruin."

The barkeep's eyebrows shot up. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Dangerous thing to be asking about. Folks who stick their noses in that kind of collecting tend to end up dead or worse."

"I'll take my chances," I countered. "What have you heard?"

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