“You know you’re not doing it alone. I’m going to work with you.” Wrenlow left the table and walked to the door.
Gavin appreciated Wrenlow’s offer, and yet there was another possibility—one he thought would help him even more.
He finished his ale and swiveled so that he could look around the tavern. It had been a while since he had spent any time at the Dragon, long enough that he couldn’t deny that he now felt a little uncomfortable here. Maybe it really was what had happened between him and Jessica, though perhaps it was something else. Perhaps it was just that he had changed; that he had become someone else. Either way, he knew he needed to come to terms with it.
He could protect Jessica for only so long. He could ensure her safety for a while, and there was the possibility that Tristan wouldn’t even come after her. That was what Gavin had to hope for.
On the far side of the tavern, Imogen sat across from a dark-haired man dressed in a black cloak, the hood pooled around his shoulders.
In all the times he’d been at the Dragon, he hadn’t seen Imogen meet with anybody besides Gaspar. Despite being in Yoran for as long as he had, Gavin still didn’t know much about her, and it was that ignorance that left him filled with curiosity about her—along with who she might be meeting with.
The man stood up and leaned forward, saying something quickly in a soft, flowing language that Gavin recognized but didn’t speak.
Jalash.
Who would she be meeting with from Jalash?
The language was quick and fluid, as well as difficult to master. Gavin had learned only a few words in it, enough to get by when he traveled through the lands but not enough to understand what others were saying.
He frowned, but then Imogen stood up and slipped out of the tavern.
Gavin waited for a moment, but curiosity overcame him. He was still tired, and it was late, but he wanted to talk to her about the woman he’d faced in the warehouse who reminded him of her.
He left the booth, headed toward the door, and paused, looking out into the darkness. Her shadowy form moved swiftly along the street. He closed the door to the Dragon and followed her by staying in the shadows along the buildings. He turned the corner and thought he saw someone drifting down the street.
Gavin hurried toward it, and as soon as he got there, he realized it wasn’t Imogen at all. He’d lost her.
Balls.
She was a thief, after all. At least, he thought she was. She worked with Gaspar enough that she would have to be trained in some way, enough so that she could sneak along with the old thief. Probably far more effectively than Gavin had ever managed to do—something Gaspar loved to point out to him.
There were lessons there for Gavin to learn, and if he was going to have to deal with Tristan the way it seemed he was, they were lessons he’d have to learn as quickly as possible.
The person he came across had the distinctive clothing of one of the constables, a dark gray bordering on a deep blue. The constables carried short swords sheathed at their sides and wore leather helms, signifying that they were there for the protection of the people. He didn’t recognize this constable, but he trailed after him for a moment to see with certainty. He knew many of the enchanters who now worked with the constables, so he wanted to know.
Finally, Gavin turned away. Even trailing after this constable left him too tired to do much else. He didn’t want to run the risk of encountering anyone with magic, forcing him to draw upon his core reserves—or his core magic, as he had told Wrenlow. He needed to recover through a good night of sleep.
He slipped off along the street, heading toward the place he’d been making his home and trying to ignore the feeling he detected in the city around him, which suggested there was other magic here. The feeling left him questioning whether Tristan was out there, following him.
And even if he was, there wasn’t anything Gavin could do to stop him. That bothered him more than anything else.
Chapter Four
The lower level of the sorcerer’s lair was dark. He had considered staying in the above-ground levels of Cyran’s home, but there was a danger in him staying up there, especially now that Tristan was in the city. As far as Gavin knew, Tristan hadn’t discovered the lairs. When there had been only evidence that Tristan was alive but not one of Gavin’s opponents, it had been safer. Why shouldn’t Gavin use a place that had been offered to him, that few others knew about? Now he was no longer sure it was safe, though there was a connection through it that he still needed to keep secured.
The darkness of the tunnels surrounded him, and he slipped the ring onto his finger for only a moment, long enough for him to find the door leading into the chamber. He pushed power out through his hand, borrowing only a bit from his core reserves to trip the magical lock on the door that allowed him to go inside.
Even that much weakened him.
He closed the door, pressed his hand against it, and let a little more of his core reserves flow from him so that he could seal it off.
He looked around the room. He’d been safe here. Separate from the others. It was possible that Gaspar knew where he spent his time. The old thief had every reason to know where he had gone, not only because Gavin had revealed this place
