I put my hand on his arm. “We need to find out where that blackened iron came from.”
Tristan’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Among other things.”
The streets were still buzzing with the sounds of the bustling market—sellers shutting down their brightly colored stalls and gathering their unsold wares or haggling for the last trade of the day as twilight started to set in. Camels lazed by a fountain in the shade of a crooked palm tree as children played a hopping game by the side of the street. The fragrant smells of spiced pastries and meat roasting on open pits filled the humid air as we hurried past the dusty alleys and roads back to the inner section of the city, where we had taken rooms at a local inn. Or at least that’s where I thought Tristan was going, so I followed him.
My grandmother had tricked me into agreeing to become betrothed to Tristan even though she knew Rafe was not marrying Katerina Valasis as she had led me to believe. She timed it perfectly, knowing Rafe was on his way to see me. He’d arrived just in time to watch me become betrothed to the Prince of the Night Court in the presence of all the fae nobility. When Tristan realized what my grandmother had done and that I was still in love with Rafe, he’d left Elfi.
He had been tracking Andromeda and the book for weeks now. I had followed, keeping myself glamoured and hidden, but he knew I was there—and I was lucky he knew, or I would have had to take on the attackers on my own. I probably could have handled them myself, since I was becoming good with a sword and had been getting a lot of practice. But it was always nice to know that Tristan was around. His sword skills were unmatched in Avalonia and beyond.
I had tried everything from apologizing to trying my luck and ordering him to help me rescue my granduncle. None of it had worked; he was determined to brush me off every chance he got. If only he would talk to me and let me explain what had happened.
But Tristan was having none of it. He always seemed exasperated when he saw me. “Leave me alone, Aurora. Go back to Elfi.”
“Not until you talk to me.”
He whirled around, stopping suddenly in a small grubby street. “There is nothing to talk about. We were betrothed out of necessity. I took an oath, and that’s why I am bound to you. But that doesn’t mean I have to spend every waking hour listening to you chattering.”
My spine bristled as I tried to keep calm. “I’m not chattering, I just want to talk.” I threw my hands up in the air. “I need your help, Tristan. I can’t do this alone.”
“So you keep saying.” He clasped my shoulders and pulled me toward a dark corner of the street, so close his breath was hot on my face. He smelled of cloves, cinnamon, and pine trees. My breath hitched as he gazed down at me. His dark eyes were the color of the sky at midnight. “Then talk.”
“I, um . . .” I hesitated, suddenly at a loss for words. “I want to apologize.”
“You did that already.” Tristan’s gaze was pure steel, his eyes swirling with silver sparks. “But what I would like to know is what you believe you are apologizing for.”
I looked down, my eyes level with the leather straps that crossed his powerful chest and kept the swords on his back in place. Tristan was a warrior through and through, with centuries of experience and a hatred for all things mage. I didn’t blame him for being upset, but I could not change the way I felt about Rafe, even if I tried. And I had tried. But Rafe’s face haunted my dreams every night. I kept seeing his eyes looking at me with such hurt and anger. Not so different from how Tristan was looking at me now.
“I never meant for it to be this way,” I said, finally finding the words and looking up at his devastatingly handsome face. “You knew from the very start how I felt about Rafe. I never kept it a secret. Everyone knew.”
“Yes, but when you agreed to become betrothed, I thought . . .” He paused and shook his head, his face going blank. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.”
I looked away and Tristan moved back. “I have to go. There is an informant waiting for me at the teahouse by the western gate.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Tristan shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
I followed him through the narrow streets, past short, squat sandstone houses with flat roofs, to the western district of the city. Lanterns were being lit along the way as we passed Detori soldiers, their crimson uniforms trimmed with gold, standing out in stark contrast in this drab and poor part of the city. The big, bearded soldiers patrolled the streets and dark alleys at night, sporting huge, curved swords at their waists. They paid us no attention, except a cursory glance as we hurried past.
The teahouse Tristan spoke of was not what I expected at all. I had pictured people sitting around in a small shop sipping tea and nibbling on cakes like in the little cafés in Elfi or Eldoren. But this Nedorian teahouse was quite the opposite and, despite the name, quite frankly not a teahouse at all.
I followed Tristan through a door and down the rickety stairs of a deserted house in a dingy alley. The air was thick with the overpowering smells of hookah smoke and, as Tristan pointed out, opium. It was a dark, seedy place, where drunks and pirates fumbled and frolicked with veiled barmaids and stuffed their bellies with mediocre food until they were satiated. Customers lounged on multicolored divans strewn with sumptuous but incredibly gaudy silk cushions, watching gauzy-veiled women in transparent chiffon pants and revealing jeweled tops
