Page 5 of Fortress of Ambrose
She’d heard. Her brother had taken her hiking twice. It was pretty, but not her idea of recreation. If Dublin was intrigued by her wit, she definitely wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of the punch line.
“From the peaks of the Kenetican, the clouds condense on your face, forming what looks like tears. Only one human has ever actually been there before.”
“You do know who I am,oryou hike.”
“Both.”
“But you said you didn’t know—” His mouth bowed as he remembered what she’d actually said. “Clever.” He extended a hand. “I’m Dublin. It’s nice to meet you.” When she let his hand go, he held on to hers and quirked a brow. Nore held up three fingers, then knotted them. One for each yew leaf of the sigil of their House.
“What other hobbies do you have?” He sat back in his seat with a sugary grin.
“I enjoy painting. I’ve dabbled in oils. I enjoy fire made with my hands, really anything with my hands. I used to—” The truth formed a lump in her throat. “Have a farm.”
“The more simply we live, the wiser and happier we are. The layers we add are full of complications.”
“So much complication.”
“It’s odd to meet someone…” He grasped at the air. This was an Order-approved tattoo shop, though still open to Unmarked. Discretion was paramount. “Who has such a fresh way of seeing things.”
Oh gosh, is he flirting?She fought the urge to vomit.
“What do you make of the extremeweatherwe’ve been having?Everyoneis talking about it.”TheSphere shattering, I mean.
“I don’t worry about theweather. I try to act as if the weather doesn’t exist at all.”
“What if a storm is coming, Mr.Kyn?”
“I suppose I’ll have to find a really good umbrella. And it’s Dublin.”
“There was just ahugestorm, actually, Dublin.”
“So glad I was out of the country for it.”
There were so many things she wanted to ask him, such as how he got away from the Order. And what it cost him. How he created a new life without changing his name. Or living in hiding. He jotted something down in his journal on the page he’d held before. As he wrote, he tucked his bottom lip, pausing to tap his jaw a few times.
“You’re up.” The tattoo artist gestured at her. “My gun is sparking.” She tucked away her tools, sliding them into metal drawers before tidying up her workspace. “Let’s move to the back room.”
“Would you care to join me?” Nore stood, hoping she’d played her cards right with Dublin.
He slapped his journal closed and tucked it under his arm. He watched her eye it, then said, “I would hate to impose.”
“It’s a lot less crowded back there,” the artist said, and Nore made a point not to look her way. “I can probably work you in faster.”
“Sure,” Dublin said. “Why not?”
The back room was elaborately decorated with Ambrose paraphernalia. The artist ducked out to get her things and Nore took it all in. Framed clippings fromDebs Dailycommissioning this location. Another with a ribbon cutting. A poster for an upcoming Audior concert.
Beside the shop owner in one picture was someone Nore recognized, with cropped bangs, a severe expression, and gray hair.Mother, decades younger.Nore’s jaw locked.
Dublin set his satchel in a chair before walking the length of the room with hands clasped behind his back.
“Reliving the glory days?” she asked him.
“Just observing. I meant what I said about the weather.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Truly, I’m not lying. I have nothing to hide.”
