Page 21 of Reckless
I offer a curt—and borderline cocky—nod to a few, not shocked in the slightest by their reaction to me and my men. It’s not as though Dor is subtle about their loathing for the Elite kingdom, seeing that they have taken in the most Ordinaries over the decades.
Ilya hasn’t had allies since before the Plague. Since before thekingdom isolated itself to hoard its Elite powers. Since before Ilya suddenly became a threat to anyone outside it.
Spotting a guard that looks entirely too bored to be doing his job even remotely right, I push through the crowded market street we’ve stumbled upon and make my way toward him. Inch by inch, the guard straightens with every moment his eyes rove over us.
“I believe this belongs to you,” I say, gesturing to the dead guard now laid at the feet of the wide-eyed one before us. “We found him on our way into the city. He was stabbed in the chest.” The guard blinks. “And I know who’s responsible. My question is whether or not you’ve seen her stumbling around.”
“H-her?” the guard stammers. “Awomandid this?” His eyes widen slightly with recognition. “It washer? The Silver Savior?”
It’s a struggle not to visibly cringe at the title. “Yes.Her. The girl you have plastered all over your city.” I gesture to a tattered poster beside the guard’s head, barely sparing a glance at the face I’d once memorized. No, what catches my eye is the script scrawled across the bottom:TWENTY THOUSAND SILVERS FOR PAEDYN GRAY’S ARREST. DEAD OR ALIVE.
Dead or alive.
And Plague knows she wouldn’t go easily. It’s unlikely she’d allow anyone to return her to Ilya alive. Though, that is what Kitt wants, despite what he tells the surrounding cities.
I turn my attention back to the baffled guard before me. “You didn’t answer my question. Have you seen her?”
“If I had, I’d have already dragged her back to Ilya for them silvers.” He laughs, half snorting. “So, your king’s really got all the cities lookin’ for her, huh?”
Yes, he does.
“If you see her, or anything of suspicion, you are to report to me,” I say, dismissing his question.
Another snort. “Like hell I’ll report to you. Who are you to steal my twenty thousand silvers from me?”
I inch closer, studying him long enough to make his throat bob. “I’m the man with the twenty thousand silvers.”
Watching the realization make his jaw drop is comical. “You’re… you’re…”
I turn on my heel before he’s even finished stuttering my title.
Enforcer.
The word hovers in the air, turning heads as I pass. My appearance is well-known throughout the neighboring cities, seeing that they view Ilya and its royalty like a bedtime fairy tale. We’re idolized in the way that mutual dislike brings people together, providing petty gossip when there’s a lull in conversation.
I scan the street for anything edible, searching for a merchant’s cart. I’m drained and beginning to feel dizzy, as though all the frustration filling my body has finally settled in my head. I set off toward a cluster of carts, content to shove anyone standing between me and my appetite.
But the crowd parts as though the Plague walks among them.
Whispers wash over me, my name falling from lips pulled into firm frowns. I ignore them and their accompanying scrutiny. Judgment is a familiar feeling, almost comfortable with its predictability.
Though I am regretting my lack of composure that has so quickly identified me.
“Do you have any meat?” The merchant’s back is to me when I place a few coins atop his cart and begin grabbing stale loaves of bread, each of them nearly as solid as the wood they’re stacked upon.
The merchant twists, roaming his dark eyes over me and the coins sprawled before him. “Just wild boar.” His voice is exactly what I’d imagine it to sound like, as gruff as he looks.
I nod once. “I’ll take enough for my men and me.”
My request is met with a long stretch of silence. “For you”—the man’s eyes narrow at the coins—“double.”
I duck my head, a humorless laugh slipping past my lips. The merchant shifts, his body tense when I rest my palm atop the rough wood. I nod down at the coins. “You and I both know that meat isn’t worth half of what I’ve already given you.”
“Double,” he grunts again.
“And why”—my voice is lethal—“is that?”
“Because I don’t like you or your kind.”
