I'm a busy woman, you know.’
‘Did you have plans?’
‘Well… No.’
‘Will you come with me?’
‘I haven’t decided.’
‘You will be paid for your time.’
‘I'll get my cane.’
Chapter 8
Our trip was made in a civilian rental coach with redwood panelling, pulled by a tame-looking mare. Roman sat opposite me, the cabin space small enough that our knees touched. His closeness made my heart beat faster than I'd like, and I pulled my window open, trying to distract myself by enjoying the warm afternoon air. Roman passed the trip in silence, and I was grateful. Roman knew I was nephilim, but I wasn’t sure if he was aware Fowler also knew. It worried me Fowler wanted to talk. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing to discuss, but The Pit would freeze over before I turned down money for a simple conversation.
As we drew closer to the Order of Guides' compound, my fingers ran nervously over the charm around my neck. Even with replacing the original charm and concealment spell after it broke, slivers of ebony had streaked my hair lately. I wondered if perhaps the charm wasn’t enough anymore. Maybe once your true nature was revealed, it became irrepressible. Like trying to unring a bell.
Roman’s dark eyes fixed on my charm. Feeling exposed, I tucked it underneath my shirt and pretended to be fascinated by my nails.
The Order’s tall granite walls rose beyond the murky Harken River, across a narrow stone bridge. I wound up my window against the stench of the water, but the smell stayed with us until we were nodded through the compound doors by heavily armed guards. I'd been inside the compound of the Order a few times now, and none of the memories were particularly pleasant.
The coach came to a stop and Roman opened the door, helping me out. The entry courtyard held no gardens or finery, save for a small limestone fountain at the centre. The surrounding grey buildings looked familiar and suitably grim, edged with long panelled windows and a sense of foreboding.
‘Regulator Roman?’ A round-faced monk hurried up to us, face glowing pink from exertion. ‘There you are, Regulator,’ he gasped. ‘I've been looking for you everywhere.’
Roman tensed. ‘What is it?’
‘Some of…your students…are fighting,’ the monk managed to gasp out. He bent over, trying to catch his breath. ‘There seems to be a disagreement.’
‘So? Tell them to stop.’ Roman’s voice rose.
The monk straightened with a pained look. ‘They have swords, Regulator.’
Roman cursed and the monk winced. Roman glanced at me. ‘I'll be right back.’
‘I won’t move an inch.’ I gave him a mock salute. Roman had students? Since when? What exactly was he teaching? As I watched him hurry off, I wondered why he hadn’t mentioned anything before.
After a short time passed, I felt bored and exposed, especially after the rented coach had rumbled back to the city. My feet wandered into one of the deserted colonnades alongside the nearby building. Keeping my cane tapping as quiet as I could on the slate floor, I admired the finely manicured hedges and herb gardens that spread across the open-air courtyards. I was considering heading back when something flickered in the corner of my eye.
A Regulator moved out from a darkened doorway and I stumbled back. His black eyes and facial tattoos told me he was nephilim, while his expression suggested I was in big trouble.
‘You must be the Lady Blackgoat,’ he said gravely. ‘You don’t look like nephilim. You look like a Witch Hunter.’ His nostrils flared. I knew he was trying to scent me; I'd seen Roman do it. ‘You don’t smell like nephilim. But you don’t really smell like a Witch Hunter either.’
‘Who told you I was nephilim?’ I asked.
A stiff smile played on his lips, like he was out of practice. He tapped his nose. ‘A little bird.’
‘Believe what you want. I don’t care.’ I shifted my feet, eyes darting to possible escape routes.
‘Did you have plans?’
‘Well… No.’
‘Will you come with me?’
‘I haven’t decided.’
‘You will be paid for your time.’
‘I'll get my cane.’
Chapter 8
Our trip was made in a civilian rental coach with redwood panelling, pulled by a tame-looking mare. Roman sat opposite me, the cabin space small enough that our knees touched. His closeness made my heart beat faster than I'd like, and I pulled my window open, trying to distract myself by enjoying the warm afternoon air. Roman passed the trip in silence, and I was grateful. Roman knew I was nephilim, but I wasn’t sure if he was aware Fowler also knew. It worried me Fowler wanted to talk. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing to discuss, but The Pit would freeze over before I turned down money for a simple conversation.
As we drew closer to the Order of Guides' compound, my fingers ran nervously over the charm around my neck. Even with replacing the original charm and concealment spell after it broke, slivers of ebony had streaked my hair lately. I wondered if perhaps the charm wasn’t enough anymore. Maybe once your true nature was revealed, it became irrepressible. Like trying to unring a bell.
Roman’s dark eyes fixed on my charm. Feeling exposed, I tucked it underneath my shirt and pretended to be fascinated by my nails.
The Order’s tall granite walls rose beyond the murky Harken River, across a narrow stone bridge. I wound up my window against the stench of the water, but the smell stayed with us until we were nodded through the compound doors by heavily armed guards. I'd been inside the compound of the Order a few times now, and none of the memories were particularly pleasant.
The coach came to a stop and Roman opened the door, helping me out. The entry courtyard held no gardens or finery, save for a small limestone fountain at the centre. The surrounding grey buildings looked familiar and suitably grim, edged with long panelled windows and a sense of foreboding.
‘Regulator Roman?’ A round-faced monk hurried up to us, face glowing pink from exertion. ‘There you are, Regulator,’ he gasped. ‘I've been looking for you everywhere.’
Roman tensed. ‘What is it?’
‘Some of…your students…are fighting,’ the monk managed to gasp out. He bent over, trying to catch his breath. ‘There seems to be a disagreement.’
‘So? Tell them to stop.’ Roman’s voice rose.
The monk straightened with a pained look. ‘They have swords, Regulator.’
Roman cursed and the monk winced. Roman glanced at me. ‘I'll be right back.’
‘I won’t move an inch.’ I gave him a mock salute. Roman had students? Since when? What exactly was he teaching? As I watched him hurry off, I wondered why he hadn’t mentioned anything before.
After a short time passed, I felt bored and exposed, especially after the rented coach had rumbled back to the city. My feet wandered into one of the deserted colonnades alongside the nearby building. Keeping my cane tapping as quiet as I could on the slate floor, I admired the finely manicured hedges and herb gardens that spread across the open-air courtyards. I was considering heading back when something flickered in the corner of my eye.
A Regulator moved out from a darkened doorway and I stumbled back. His black eyes and facial tattoos told me he was nephilim, while his expression suggested I was in big trouble.
‘You must be the Lady Blackgoat,’ he said gravely. ‘You don’t look like nephilim. You look like a Witch Hunter.’ His nostrils flared. I knew he was trying to scent me; I'd seen Roman do it. ‘You don’t smell like nephilim. But you don’t really smell like a Witch Hunter either.’
‘Who told you I was nephilim?’ I asked.
A stiff smile played on his lips, like he was out of practice. He tapped his nose. ‘A little bird.’
‘Believe what you want. I don’t care.’ I shifted my feet, eyes darting to possible escape routes.
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