Page 15 of A Tribute of Fire

Even though I very much wanted to kill this man where he stood.

And I would certainly have the element of surprise on my side. I briefly let myself imagine the way his eyes would go wide in shock as my blade whispered across his throat, just before he collapsed to the ground.

Self-control in all things,I reminded myself.

I had to get away from him before I did something foolish and reckless. Desperate to regain control of my impulses, I turned and walked outside to a courtyard I almost never entered.

A very large, ancient olive tree stood in the center. During the daytime it would shade the entire area. At night, it blocked out the stars.

I closed my eyes and leaned against the cool stone wall, willing my anger to dissipate.

There was a noise, like a leather sandal moving against the ground. My eyes flew open and I gripped the dagger under the tray I still held.

“Is someone there?” I said, wondering if that man had come to meet his fate. If he attacked me again, the law would clear me if I spilled his blood. It would be self-defense.

But the sound had come from the opposite end of the courtyard, deep in the shadows. A figure stepped around one of the columns and came closer.

A different man.

And as soon as I saw his face, my heart whispered,Oh,there you are. I’ve been waiting for you.

CHAPTER SIX

It was exactly the same feeling I’d had when I’d first met Quynh. A recognition, a remembrance, rather than encountering someone for the first time.

As if we had been destined to meet.

My soul calling to his.

There was a difference, though—I knew Quynh was meant to be my sister.

And there was nothing familial about the feelings I was experiencing for this man.

“Good evening,” he said, bowing slightly. His voice was rich and deep, like the honey in the pasteli I’d eaten yesterday.

My mouth gaped open and I couldn’t answer. Protocol had been drilled into my head from when I’d first started to talk, and now I couldn’t have spoken if my very life had depended on it.

Did he feel the same?

Even if he did—what did it matter? Nothing could come of it.

It crushed me that this had finally happened just as I was about to risk my life.

He was tall. Taller than even Demaratus. Broader, too. His indigo-blue tunic was simple, belted at the waist. He wore a darker blue cloak, fastened with a pin over his right shoulder. Which left his right arm exposed, and I could see muscles that spoke of the hard work he must have regularly performed.

He was young. Not a boy, but a man. He was probably only a few years older than me.

His golden-brown skin was darker than that of most men I’d met. As if he spent all of his time under the sun. His hair was midnight black, gleaming in the torchlight, and the ends curled slightly, reminding me of my own hair.

I couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but his lips were full. Kissable.

And he had a healed scar on the right side of his face, beginning above his dark eyebrow, traveling across his high cheekbone, and ending at his strong jawline.

I wondered who had cut his face and if it would be all right if I stabbed them for it.

Perhaps the scar should have marked him as dangerous, the sort of man who got into knife fights, but it only made his face even more interesting.

He had to be from one of the Pyronean valleys, where the Locrian quarries were situated, as he had on the distinctive amber bead necklace all the people from that region wore.

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