Chapter One

Not for the first time that week, Eliot had to check his pace to avoid bumping into yet another red-coated guard. Curbing the urge to snap at the man, he instead transferred his annoyance to tightening his grip on the armload of papers he held pressed against his body.

Hurrying down the crowded hallway, he nodded his thanks to the black garbed steward who held the wide door open for him. Shafts of sunlight spearing through the tall, arched windows glinted off the buckles on his shoes as he strode across the expansive hall to the group at the far end. Before he’d come to a stop, one of the men was already reaching for the papers.

“Master Bertran, forgive my tardiness.”

Bertran waved away Eliot’s breathless apology. “More people than usual still crowding the halls, eh?” he said with a knowing tilt of the head.

Returning his mentor’s smile, Eliot stepped back to stand by the wall.

Several groups of merchants and trade advocates were gathered in clusters, the hum of their discussions ebbing and flowing around the vast room, the main gathering hall of the Trade Building. The ones constantly on the move were the apprentices, keeping their masters furnished with whatever documentation they required.

No one could mistake an apprentice for a master. Aside from their young age, apprentices dressed plainly in muted colours while their masters wore braided overcoats and elaborate chains of office.

When he was a child, Eliot’s world had consisted mainly of the dark-haired, dark-eyed people of Alsasia. Over the years, he’d caught glimpses of other races. But it was only when he’d begun his training as a trade advocate, did he fully appreciate just how different the races were, something he continued to delight in.

Eliot often wondered how vast the lands across the seas must be for there to be such a variety of people in this hall alone. Fair-haired folk with creamy rose skin from beyond the sea in the far north with eyes varying shades of blue, and others with skin the colour of ivory and eyes as inky as their long silky hair who came from over the southern sea. Yet others from the Arid Plains whose skin was so dark, the whites of their eyes practically glowed; it was said, their land was little more than a sea of sand, something which Eliot still struggled to comprehend.

While most spoke the common language, some better than others, he still managed to catch snatches of energetic, rapid speech. It almost drowned out the lilting, gentle tones, which reminded him of tinkling bells.

But the ones who never failed to hold his attention were their nearest foreign neighbours, the Tall-folk of Aiqos. Even though Eliot was considered taller than most, the tall-folk were at least a head taller than him. With their warm olive colouring, particular manner of speaking and different style of dress, he found everything about them striking.

A frowning young man walking towards him cut through his musings. Raising his brows, Eliot wondered at his best friend’s unusually impatient expression.

Positioning himself next to Eliot, Renard let out a noisy breath. “Have the guards decided to amuse themselves today by constantly being in the way? No matter which way I turn, there’s at least one standing right before me.”

“The one by the stairs kept pacing as I came down, and I just missed knocking into him, almost dropped my papers.”

Born mere months apart, they’d known each other since they were babies. And Renard’s father, Bertran, was like a father to Eliot. A respected merchant-advocate, he had taken on the training of both men three years previous when they’d turned sixteen.

Leaning closer to Eliot, Renard lowered his voice. “Is it necessary to have so many guards here? I mean, everyone knows the Anti-G faction are nothing but talk.”

Eliot glanced either side of them, but no one stood close enough to hear their soft words as talking about the faction was frowned upon, especially with tall-folk present. “True, all talk and pamphlets, but no action.”

“And yet the Trade Minister insisted on an obvious guard presence.”

“Better to have and not need, I guess,” said Eliot with a shrug.

Grimacing slightly, Renard shifted his weight off his bad leg. “I still can’t believe we won’t be seeing Lord Jarek after today.”

“I know,” said Eliot, kicking at the polished wood floor and leaving a scuffmark. “I suppose it is possible to weary of the constant travelling. But I don’t think I’d ever tire of travelling and seeing the wonders outside Mariosha.”

“The lands across the southern sea,” said Renard, “that’s where I want to go, beyond the Arid Plains.”

“How many different people beyond that, I wonder?”

Renard’s grin faded. “Not that we’ve even begun our travels. Yet Lord Jarek has been travelling for… what is it now, fifteen years?”

“More than sixteen, I think.” Inclining his head in the direction of another broad-shouldered tall-folk conversing with two men, he said, “I’ve not seen him before. You?”

Renard shook his head. “I only noticed him when I caught sight of Father embracing him. But I don’t remember Father ever speaking of any tall-folk other than Lord Jarek. I tried but couldn’t hear much of what they were saying.”

“You eavesdropped?”

Renard feigned innocence. Badly. “It’s hardly my fault. With so many people blocking my way, I had no choice but to walk closer to Father. Not that it did any good.”

Eliot grinned at his friend’s resigned tone. His curiosity piqued, Eliot continued to watch the tall-male. It struck him that, more than once, the male’s gaze would come to rest on him before sliding away again. Frowning slightly, he wondered if he was imagining it.

Then Bertran summoned him and Renard, signalling the end of their brief respite, and the rest of his day became a blur of passing messages between the offices on the upper floor and other advocates.

Once business concluded, the overall atmosphere instantly relaxed, and Eliot wanted nothing more than to remove his coat and his waistcoat. Normally, the merchants allowed the apprentices to remove their wide-cuffed frock coats. But when formal meetings were taking place, they had no choice but to remain formally dressed.

The warmer temperature of the early summer day, the large number of people present, and the usually pleasant smell of reams of paper mixed with the pungent odour of sweat, turned the air stuffy despite the opened windows in the spacious, high-ceilinged hall.

A thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead as Eliot, yet again, wiped the damp area between his nose and upper lip. Under his waistcoat, his shirt clung to his back, and he had to make a conscious effort not to fidget. Although he’d tied his hair back with a leather cord, wisps of his hair were plastered against his neck.

Impatient for their day to end, Eliot wondered where Renard could be. He hoped they’d be allowed to say farewell to Jarek. Then he saw his friend with Bertran and Jarek making their way to him, and he hurried to meet them.

Jarek, facing both young men, graced them with a beaming smile as he clasped their shoulders. “What a pleasure it has been to witness you grow into fine young men.”

“It has been an honour to know you, my lord,” said Renard.

Eliot’s smile faded. “I can’t believe we won’t see you regularly anymore.”

“Ah, such is life, changes are to be expected. But you will always be welcome at my home, you know that, yes?”

He hesitated a moment before thanking Jarek.

“Good, good. Now, there is one I have been meaning to introduce you to.” Raising his hand, he waved towards the middle of the hall.

To Eliot’s surprise, the tall-male he’d noticed earlier approached them.

Although he wore his hair loose like his brethren, unlike them, he was beardless and sported only a moustache.

“This is Aridai Risal-son,” said Jarek, his hand against the newcomer’s back. “In his younger years, he was an important member of our trade brotherhood. And after all these years, he is still held in high regard.”

Aridai’s wide smile crinkled the already deep lines around his eyes.

“Aridai’s father-by-marriage was the President of the Brotherhood,” said Bertran.

Eliot’s and Renard’s eyes went round as did their mouths.

 “No doubt that has helped maintain my high standing,” said Aridai, laughing, and they joined in.

“Aridai and I have known one another many years,” said Bertran. “But it has been too long since we’ve met like this.”

“I am grateful to finally have the opportunity to make the journey and speak with you once more, old friend.” He turned his attention to Eliot and Renard. “Many times, Jarek has spoken well of the both of you. I have long wished to meet you.”

“Thank you, my lord,” they replied, more or less in unison.

One hand resting lightly against his chest, Aridai’s gaze fixed on Eliot. He remained silent for long moments before seeming to come to a decision. “Eliot, I knew your father.”

“My father?”

“Your true father, Ruvane.”

Surprised, Eliot didn’t respond. He’d lost his father when he was three and had only vague memories of the man.

“We worked together many times.” His deep voice had softened and shook slightly. “He was a, a good friend.”

Eliot could think of nothing to say, so simply nodded.

“I hope one day you will visit our city. There is much I would, much we could discuss.”

Realising his silence might be seen as rude, Eliot quickly replied, “Thank you, my lord.”

Unlike Bertran and Jarek who had also known his father, Aridai’s more focussed demeanour left Eliot feeling strangely unsettled.

Then Jarek wished him well, and Eliot’s sadness at the parting overshadowed his confusion.

Their working day finally over, Eliot, holding the reins of both their horses, waited for Renard by the Trade Building.

His black horse flicked its ears back and Eliot noticed a bare-headed young man in a faded charcoal frock coat standing close to them, his gaze fixed on the horse.

Moving closer, the man said, “Beautiful animal. I had one like it once.”

Eliot simply nodded for he found it hard to believe someone as poorly dressed as this man would have ever owned a well-bred horse.

The man reached out to lay his hand on the horse’s neck, but stopped as Renard approached, and quickly walked away.

“Who was that?” asked Renard.

“No one I know. Ready to leave?”

Mounting their horses, Eliot and Renard moved to join the busy street.

Without warning, a man darted in front of Eliot’s horse, causing it to shy and back away. Cursing, Eliot worked to get control of it when the sound of smashing glass made it dance to the side.

A brick had been thrown at a window of the Trade Building, and the culprit shouted, “A plague on giants.”

Before the guards could react, the man slipped into the shocked crowd who began shouting. The guards gave chase and soon only their pikes remained visible, disappearing into the distance.

Having brought their horses under control, Eliot and Renard stared at one another, shaking their heads.

“Maybe the faction is moving past all talk,” said Renard.

“Suddenly, having the guards present doesn’t seem such a bad idea. I wonder if they’ll catch him.” Eliot frowned for the man who’d spooked his horse and who, no doubt, had thrown the brick bore a strong resemblance to the man who’d spoken to him moments earlier.

“What is it?” asked Renard.

Eliot shook his head; it didn’t seem worth mentioning.

Their progress was slow through the busy streets of Mariosha. As they moved further from the Trade Building, there appeared to be little awareness, if any, of the smashed window incident.

Despite the sun sinking lower behind amber-tinged clouds, the city hadn’t grown any quieter. Clattering coaches and carriages still clogged the streets, causing common folk and peasants to raise their voices in conversation as they hurried for the end-of-day bargains in the market area. Shouts and children’s laughter vied with barking dogs chasing one another and darting between horses’ legs, earning loud curses from riders.

Eliot wrinkled his nose at the overpowering smell of meat and not-so-fresh vegetables, laced with that of horse manure, which hung in the still-warm air.

“I still don’t understand,” said Renard, “why we’re not permitted to attend the summer banquet when we are allowed to be present at all the other delegation suppers.”

“Almost a year as master-apprentices and some illogical rule still groups us with the novices.” Eliot kept an eye on a group of children in case they heedlessly darted in front of his horse. “Surely, it would make more sense for us to be at this banquet. Imagine the things we could learn.”

“Because after days of discussing business, the merchants and advocates will want to talk of nothing else at the banquet,” said Renard, giving him a sideways glance.

“You mean they know to talk of other things?” Eliot raised his brows in mock surprise, and they both laughed.

“Admit it, Master Aridai is the one you want to talk to.” Renard raised his voice as they passed sellers loudly trying to outdo one another in a bid to sell the last of their wares. Before Eliot could reply, Renard continued, “To be honest, when he said he knew your father, I thought he meant Uncle Dacey.”

Eliot nodded. “I thought the same.” Eliot’s stepfather, Dacey, had also been a trade advocate, but he’d been dead for almost ten years.

Finally clear of the city gates, they still maintained a walking pace as the main thoroughfare leading away remained busy with riders and carriages, as many entering the city as leaving.

As a cooling breeze washed over them, both men guided their horses off the main road and urged them into a trot before easing into a canter. With the city behind them and the main road snaking off in the distance, they passed a solitary oak tree, its shadow lengthening.

Renard slowed his horse.

“Something wrong?” said Eliot as he halted his horse alongside him.

“Long day, on our feet for most of it.” Grimacing slightly, Renard slipped his left leg out of the stirrup, straightened it, and massaged his knee.

Distracted from his thoughts about Aridai, Eliot knew better than to make any mention of the accident that had caused Renard’s injury. Over the years, Renard had said many times it hadn’t been anyone’s fault, that he had made his peace with it.

They’d both been young and foolish, they’d both been reckless, galloping their horses before they really knew how. They should have known better, but neither had cared. Though Renard had never once said it, Eliot knew the blame was his. He’d wanted to run, keep running from the pain of loss he couldn’t escape. And Renard had paid the price.

“I know that look.” Renard’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“What look?”

Renard eyed him as he got his foot back in the stirrup. “That look that tells me you’re wallowing in guilt again about the great tragedy that befell me.”

Eliot’s attempt at a frown failed as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

They urged their horses into a walk.

“You know what that day makes me think of? Meeting Lord Jarek. Though it was a bit of an unusual meeting.” Renard started to laugh. “The look on your face when he rode up to us. I was in agony, but you looked ready to pass out.”

Eliot flushed. “You’ll never let me forget that, will you?”

“Never,” said Renard, laughing even harder.