Page 34 of Love, Nemesis
“Ares knows to stay out of the bullpens. Worth a try,” Jasper whispered. “Riddle, you mentioned we should stay on our toes with Evira. What do you mean by that?”
Riddle lowered his voice. “Word is that she’s from En Sanctus, used to serve the Strike.”
“Great. Maybe we can politely ask Evira to leave.” Jasper backed away from the bar. “Thanks for your help,” he added, tapping the wood of the bar as his signaturelet’s go, go, gogesture. He moved to the door, doing it again, faster.
“He’s still as annoying as ever,” Riddle whispered, “as nervous as a cat in a hailstorm.”
Ana chuckled and headed for the door. Jasper stood waiting outside near his horse, fingers tapping over his crossed arms as he scanned the streets.
She pulled an airy lilac dress out of her pack. “I’m changing.”
“Where did that come from?” He frowned. “I don’t have a non-State change of clothes.”
“Wedding. You aren’t half-retired.”
“Where? Whose? You went alone?”
“Satellite. The Hauluds. Yes,” she said before walking back into the bullpen. She changed in a spare room, and then she and Jasper left the bullpen and made their way toward the festival.
Chapter 8: Festival
THEY CONTINUED WALKING until the trees replaced the houses and several tents poked up in the distance. She could hear the music, smell the food.
They walked up to the festival. Torches and lights and banners greeted them. Tables had been set out across the fields with vibrant foods and drinks and a place to dance in the middle. Beyond that, tents selling all kinds of Richter goods were lined up in rows. A large circus tent loomed in the distance with smaller tents surrounding it.
They strolled into the festival, examining the tables and paying for plates before finding a table near a group of musicians.
Jasper played with the leftovers of an elaborate piece of cake, dragging his fork back and forth through it.
Ana’s utensils rested on her empty plate, hands folded in her lap, and she watched people dance.
“You want another piece of cake?” Jasper said, pointing at her with the fork. “Give me your plate. I’ll get you another piece of cake.”
“There is a one-piece limit,” Ana said, chuckling at Jasper’s restlessness. She glanced back at the food table. She watched a few kids run through the crowd and noticed the people in line for cake. A woman was slicing it and handing it out. The colored art piece with beautiful depictions of summer flowers disappeared slowly.
“I’ll figure something else out,” he said, getting up. “You know, they have these cakes shipped in from a bakery in Camdian.” He dropped the fact—one of many often swirling around in his brain—and then walked off.
Ana was convinced he had to share information to live. The longer he went without teaching classes, the more he compulsively tried to teach her things. It was cake now, but in a few days, he’d be educating her and everyone else who would listen on the lengthy history of the Mystics, the mechanics of time, and best practices for taking care of an Atlas. She smiled, rubbing her temple as she imagined the impending onslaught of information. She’d forgotten he did that.
She was watching him go when she noticed someone at the meal table slip an extra piece of cake into a napkin and then into his pocket, maintaining a conversation with the woman serving.
Her attention immediately went to the man’s vibrant expression. He had a tanned, earthy complexion with black hair and an unshaven face. A stark, angular nose and sharp cheekbones made his smile seem devious.
His clothes separated him from the crowd with alarming distinction. He wore uniquely weathered riding boots, leather around the knees clipped into a fold by a metal plate and tied down around his ankles. They were fire-workers, fireproof riding boots that could unfold up over the thighs. His utility belt extended to straps above his knees to accommodate a set of daggers. A jacket with a double belt around the waist was odd in such warm weather.
The journey of her eyes then led her to the most telling artifact: En Sanctan riding gloves with a small symbol—what she knewto be a rose, branded into the side. They were crude, steel-reinforced symbols of a less peaceful time, and a much less peaceful cult.
She sat up when she saw him take a second piece of cake with his napkin. He laughed a rich laugh. He kept the woman’s eyes, leaning toward her with his head tilted low as if he were telling secrets. His sharp nose, prominent dimples, and bright teeth made him seem like a wolf.
An intricate tattoo peeked around the base of his neck.
The woman looked charmed.
Ana could understand it. He was handsome and apparently charismatic, an advantage he played, but there was an arrogance she perceived in the ownership of who he was, an outsider, but too comfortable in the crowd. He wastheoutsider, rather, the En Sanctan. The sense of it emanated like a prize when someone like him should rightfully hide within State borders.
En Sanctans like him didn’t belong in the State, nor did they last very long. So hated for hiding war knowledge and propagating the conspiracy of The Great Light, their very presence was controversial.
He ferried the third piece of cake off onto his plate after bidding goodbye to the woman. His steps were fearless and light. He stopped by the bread rolls, biting a fingertip of his glove before drawing it off. He picked up a bread roll as if to inspect it, testing the consistency with his fingers. He set it back down, and Ana noticed what seemed to be the same tattoo from his neck peeking out from beneath his sleeve.
