Page 34 of Fate of Echoes and Embers
Marek bounded from his seat. Without a word, he left us and headed directly toward the men, apparently, Kael and Mev had overheard. How had he even noticed that? We’d been in the midst of our own conversation. One I was very much anxious to finish.
“What’s he doing?” Mev asked.
Kael smiled. “What he does best.”
As the couple focused on their meals, I continued to watch Marek. He moved from man to man, smiling. Talking. Gesturing. He clasped one on the shoulder, as if they were long-lost friends. This was his element. Marek, among his people, even if they were human, though I would not be surprised if there were a Thalassarian mixed in with that group. You could find a Thalassarian at every port in Elydor, it was said. Unlike Gyorians and Aetherians, the Thalassari could pass for humans. Although often, they had alook. One difficult to describe, but unique to a southern climate where it never cooled.
I watched as he sauntered back to us. When he made eye contact with me, I had some difficulty not feeling as if I had won some sort of prize, to be the object of his attention. His obvious approval at what he saw.
I wouldn’t pretend he had lost his appeal because… it would be a lie of epic proportions.
He sat, leaning forward. “The whispers in Valmyr aren’t just rumors, Isolde.” It was as if he used my given name to emphasize that he was serious. “Draven’s been moving pieces on the board for longer than we realized. I will learn more, but I suspect Mev and Kael’s overheard conversation is the start of it.”
I felt ill. Pushing away my meal, no longer hungry, I stood. “Pardon me.”
Needing air, I made my way out of the tavern and ran toward the dock. No ships were coming or going now, but all were swaying gently with the breeze.
What had I done?
I whipped around as a hand lay on my shoulder.
“Put the dagger away, sereia.”
Every time he called me that, I had difficulty breathing normally. It was like a lover’s touch, soft and gentle. And all-knowing.
“Come with me.”
Marek guided me away from the lantern-lit docks, past warehouses stacked with crates. The night air was thick with salt and the distant scent of fish, but as we moved deeper into the port’s underbelly, the scent shifted. Woodsmoke, damp stone, and something faintly metallic, like rust or old blood.
He led me through a narrow alleyway between two looming buildings, the ground beneath us uneven, cobbled but worn down by time and foot traffic. A single torch flickered ahead, illuminating a heavy, iron door set into the stone wall of an aging structure.
We didn’t speak.
Marek rapped twice on the aged, wooden door, then once more, in a distinct pattern. A moment later, the door opened, but the darkness within revealed no one. Inside, the air was tinged with pipe smoke and the sour scent of spilled ale. We walked into a dimly lit room, a handful of oil lamps casting long, flickering shadows over rough-hewn tables and mismatched chairs. A few men and women, lingered in the corners, their conversations hushed as they cast wary glances toward us.
“A smuggler’s den,” Marek whispered, tilting his head toward the farthest table, where an older man with storm-gray hair watched us as we approached. “Are you ready for the truth?”
“Yours,” I asked, “or Draven’s?”
“Mine can wait. Draven’s cannot.”
“I want both,” I said, realizing it was true.
Marek looked me deep into my eyes. “And you’ll get both, before the night is through.”
13
MAREK
Cormac watched us carefully as we sat. His eyes that never missed a detail were as cold and calculating as ever, but when he looked at Issa, something softened in them. He knew who she was already.
Not surprising.
He knew everything that happened in Valmyr. The moment we stepped onto the dock, his spies would have been watching.
“We’re seeking information about Lord Draven of?—”
“You know better than to ask without an offer, Marek.”
