Page 116 of A Tower of Half-Truths
Outside the shop, she leaned against the wall and peeked inside the bag. The boots were so glossy, her reflection stared back at her. With a shrug, she decided to take Priscilla’s advice and exchanged her regular boots for the new pair. The stiff leather pinched her toes, and the heel was a bit higher than what she was used to, but they were bearable.
Carrying her old boots inside the bag, she headed back to the main plaza. As she walked down the tree-lined street, the shadows grew darker, the air more frigid. She peered up at the sky, but it was the same as it had been earlier: blue and cloudless.
She stopped walking. When she looked down, she gasped. Her blood turned to ice.
Thick tendrils of shadow swirled at her feet, like mist lingering after a storm. The air reeked of ash and arcana.
“Oh, shit.”
She ran.
Thirty-Four
The world darkened around her as she sprinted down the cobblestone street. It was as though night had fallen early, but there were no moons to light her path. She could no longer see the trees, the buildings, the sky. Everything had become lost to the shroud. She wanted to cry for help, but she couldn’t tell if there was anyone around to hear. Anyone other than the last person she wanted to see.
She ran with all the grace of a newborn calf, her feet screaming in agony from the too-tight boots. She wanted to rid herself of the bloody things, but she couldn’t afford to stop.
The distance between the boutique and the market was not even a block. She had to be close by now. Once she returned to the market, she would be safe. The area would be too open, too sun-bathed for even a master of Aumbremancy to cast it all into darkness.
She continued running forward, but the arcana-infused shadows caught up with her. A tendril snaked up her leg like a dark, intangible rope. She tried to shake it off, but the more she struggled, the more it persisted. Another quickly followed, coiling around her other leg, then her midsection and arms.
She needed to dispel the shadows. The incantation came to mind automatically. But when she opened her mouth to conjurean orb of Ether, the shadows caught in her throat, burned her lungs. Choking on their acrid taste, she couldn’t manage so much as a whisper.
The shadows engulfed the final inch of her exposed skin, and then her stomach lurched as she became weightless, one with the black void.
Three heartbeats later, her feet met solid ground again. The shadows dissipated, but the world around her was still dim. From what she could tell, she was in an alley. And judging by how briefly she’d been within the shroud, she couldn’t have been transported far.
“Hello again, Mave.”
Her breath caught in her lungs as she froze, then slowly turned toward the voice she’d expected but nonetheless dreaded to hear. Standing behind her was the man who had put a bullet in her stomach two months ago.
Neldren had shaved his goatee, and the scars marring his slate-colored skin were now on full display. One of them appeared fresh. He was wearing the same longcoat he’d worn the last time they saw each other, though it had gained several new patches.
He took a step forward.
“Don’t!”Mavery cried, reflexively summoning a protective ward.
“Relax.” Neldren raised his hands, fingers spread and palms facing out. “I know how this looks, but Idocome in peace.”
She scowled at him through the blue veil.
“It’s like Ellice told you: I just want to talk. I reserved us a table at a café around the corner. I figured if I brought you straight there, it would cause a scene, and I wanted to do this properly. After all, word around town is you’re a regular in the Garden District these days.” His gaze flicked downward. “Nice boots, by the way.”
“Fuck you.”
He sighed. “All I’m asking for is five minutes. I know I don’t deserve it, but give me that, and you’ll never see me again. I swear.”
Neldren Rel’Selayne was a master of deception; he’d taught her everything she knew about that art form. Yet, there was something in his voice that gave her pause: a modicum of sincerity. Onlysomeone who knew him as she did would recognize it.
“Five minutes,” she said stiffly. While she didn’t trust the bastard—far from it—she had to admit she was curious enough to humor him.
He inclined his head. “Follow me.”
Mavery kept her ward aloft all the way down the alley. They rounded the corner, and before them was a small café much like the one Alain had once taken her to. But this one had a spacious patio with a front-row view of the botanical garden, whose glass roof gleamed in the sunlight. They were still in the Garden District, just down the road from the boutique.
A dozen café patrons chatted quietly, drank tea, read newspapers. A few risked glances in Mavery and Neldren’s direction but otherwise paid them no mind. It was little wonder; Neldren’s presence signaled that, while he didn’t belong here, he was someone best left alone.
He gestured to an empty table. Mavery dismissed her ward, then took a seat in one of the wrought-iron chairs. In front of her was a porcelain cup filled with what looked like an exceptionally dark tea. Its aroma was earthy, somewhat burnt. Had it been Alain offering her this unfamiliar drink, she would have tried it without a second thought. But she was not about to trust anything from the man who’d seated himself across from her.
