Page 4 of A Storm in Every Heart
His face breaks into another grin. “No, not yet, which is why I’ve got to learn other ways to fight. Come on, let’s go.”
I blink in confusion, still shaking broken glass from my long red hair. “Go where?”
“To watch the fight,” he says, like it’s obvious. “You know, to pick up tips.”
I shake my head. “But we have to wait for your mother.”
Daemon scoffs, walking backwards toward the end of the dock. “No, we don’t. She’s afraid you won’t adjust well to coming to live with us. She won’t come back until she thinks I’ve gotten you to talk…and you’re talking. So, let’s go.”
I shift between my feet, my mind spinning. I’m not allowed to go wandering through the ports on my own…but then again, that was Papa’s rule, and he’s no longer here to enforce it. Making a split-second decision, I dash after my cousin, nearly tripping over my long skirt and the end of the dock in my haste to follow.
Looking pleased with himself, Daemon slows to half speed so I can walk alongside him without having to run, and leads the way down the busy street toward the sounds of fighting. We pass by the shabby carriage, which is parked beside a low stone wall. The driver is sitting on the wall smoking a pipe, and he glares at us as we pass.
“What did you say to the carriage driver when you arrived?” I ask the moment we’re out of earshot.
“You saw that?” Daemon laughs as we walk past the rows of merchant stalls and mingling sailors. “It’s a borrowed carriage. Mother lent hers to a friend just before we heard about Uncle Gabriel, so we hired this one in a hurry. The driver is a lecherous ass who wouldn’t stop staring at my mother. I told him to keep his eyes to himself or I’d cut them out of his head.”
“But you said you don’t know how to fight.”
He shrugs. “It can’t be that hard.”
I look sideways at my cousin. “How old are you, anyway?”
“Eleven.”
My eyebrows raise. “Do you often threaten men twice your size and ten times your age?”
He grins in a self-satisfied way. “Only when they deserve it.”
I haven’t spent a lot of time with other children, so I can’t be sure, but I’d guess my cousin is unusual. I can’t tell if he’s messing with me. “Did your father really die, or were you just saying that?”
He nods. “Last year.”
I squeeze the key in my hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
I can’t imagine what his father could have done for Daemon not to miss him, and I’m not sure I want to know. Instead, I ask: “Does that mean you live alone with your mother?”
Daemon shoves a grown Fae male out of the way before the male steps on my dress. Then he answers as if there were no interruption. “Yeah, just me and her. And the servants, of course.” He raises an eyebrow. “And now, you too, I suppose. I’ve always wanted siblings. I pictured brothers, but a sister would be fine too, I guess.”
“I’m not your sister.”
“May as well be, right?”
I shake my head as Daemon and I make our way to the end of the narrow cobblestone street. The street buzzes with excitement, and the shouts of men watching the fight echo over the harbor, growing louder and more fervent with each step we take. We stop at the edge of the throng of onlookers, craning our necks and straining on tiptoe to glimpse the fight beyond the wall of towering men.
Daemon turns in a circle before his gaze catches on the barnacle-covered stone wall that runs the length of the harbor, holding back the ocean waves from splashing onto the street. He bounds across the street in three steps, and hoists himselfup, then extends a hand to pull me after him. I pause for only a second before shoving the brass key into my pocket and taking Daemon’s hand.
From atop the wall, we have a clear view of the boxing match taking place in the center of the enthusiastic crowd. The fight that we saw from the dock has ended, and two other men are preparing to enter the ring. From their cheap clothing and overlong hair, I assume they’re deckhands. The taller of the two is Fae, but the other has rounded ears.
“Is that man human?” Daemon asks incredulously. “That’s absurd. He’s going to get himself killed! I thought you said it was just for sport.”
Before I can answer, another voice sounds behind us. “I’d take that bet.”
I crane my neck to see who’s talking and nearly lose my balance. Daemon whips out a hand to steady me before I fall backwards into the harbor, and makes no comment about it as he turns both of us toward the voice.
My gaze lands on another boy, leaning against the wall to our right. He appears to be about Daemon’s age with curly midnight-black hair, sharp cheekbones despite his youth, and warm golden-brown skin. He’s wearing a forest-green cloak with the hood pulled up, despite the warm weather.
