Page 32 of A City of Flames

My mouth parts, seeing an opportunity to shout for anyone except—

“Ah!” He cuts me off, taking the necklace away. “You know what will happen if you try to yell for help.”

“Dragon pig,” I spit, pulling at his magic restraints.

“Foul mortal,” he murmurs humorously, eyeing my predicament.

Stepping back, he heads to the counters again. When he looks to be done, he flips that coin he’d had earlier on and places it atop. “Until never, venator.” He bows with such grace that I find it hard to believe as he turns to the door.

“Aren’t you going to try and kill me?” Bold and outrageous of me to think about giving him that idea.

The Golden Thief stops and glances over his shoulder. The subtle smirk plays on his lips as he says, “How boring it is to kill if I’m not hunting you down instead.” He walks out at that, with the jewels and gold, leaving me still tied in his shadows.

It goes silent with only my harsh breathing over those words, and then... I start tugging and pulling and shouting.

Seconds pass, and that just gives more time for him to escape. A grunt bubbles out of my throat as another minute goes by this time. I strain my hands to the point my shoulders hurt as I pull and pull.

After a few more tries to my relief, the shadows disintegrate, releasing my wrists. Without another thought, I lurch towards the door, staggering into the streets. I glance at every corner and up at the roofs, but the Golden Thief is long gone.

I had him. I almost had him.

Another part of my subconscious tells me I didn’t, not at all. He knew what he was doing, and it angers me more at the thought.

I drag my hands down my face, exasperated as clamors resurface, echoing the far streets from the central. They’re back.

Dashing, I make my way out of the streets where I’d fought that creature, and the Jewelers where I’d faced the Golden Thief until I see the exit of Chrysos. The first person I spot is Lorcan, waving in venators to come through as I run to him.

“Lorcan!” I inhale, trying to catch my breath. He turns at my voice, grabbing my arms as he looks me over. “I—” Pausing how I was about to mention the Golden Thief, I watch as venators call out to one another, giving orders of clearing the infirmary. “What’s going on?” I look back at Lorcan.

“There was an attack,” he says, exhaling, “A rümen.”

If Lorcan wasn’t holding me right now, I’d likely fall.

A rümen, not a dragon. I can’t tell what is worse.

“One of the trainees didn’t make it.” Lorcan shakes his head, copper strands mattify to his forehead with dirt from the forests as his hands never let go of me. “The other was bitten.”

Deaths... either way, the other would die. “Who?”

Lorcan doesn’t need to answer my question as more yelling comes from behind some venators. Lorcan’s head turns as Rydan stumbles on his feet, as well as someone else beside him, both trying to hold up a battered and bloodied man. His leg bent in ways it shouldn’t be, and leather armor ripped open, revealing skin.

Crusted mud clings onto his hair, auburn, unmistakably auburn.

Solaris, it’s Adriel.

A few more haul in a body, limp, lifeless in their arms. His head down, but I recognize those long spindly dark locks.

Bile sticks to my throat. This means that Adriel was bitten, and Oran... Oran’s the one that died.

* * *

I wait outside of the infirmary double doors, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch Lorcan talking in hushed tones with another venator. Sana, the woman who I’d seen the day of the dragon attack at my village. The strain on her fair neck pops as she tries not to raise her voice, making me wonder why she looks mad.

“I’m going up to our quarters. Are you coming?” Freya asks, coming into range and blocking Lorcan and Sana out.

I blink, shaking my head. “Yeah, um, I’ll be up soon.”

She nods, half exhausted as she strides off. As soon as we returned, Freya looked sick to her stomach. According to her, she isn’t one to handle deaths, despite witnessing far too many throughout her youth. I suspect it has to do with her mother’s passing when she was three years of age. Freya has only spoken of it once, but the dullness in her eyes when she explained it once was more than enough to know it pains her, like any death of a parent would.

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