Inked

beat down, the dusky scent of summer wafting through the streets. Y’Elestrial was beautiful. Buildings of marble and stone stretched along the neatly patterned streets. Carts clattered past us, horses’ hooves clicking delicately as they trotted along the cobblestones. Flocks of pedestrians milled through the thoroughfares, hurrying on their way to wherever they had to go.
    We turned down the road leading to the central market where the vendors opened at sunrise and closed after sunset. Most lived in their stalls, spending their money on brandy and wine, sleeping off one drunken stupor after another under the canopies and awnings. Unlike regular shopkeepers, they were vagabonds—their wagons their only homes.
    Bees droned their way past, lazily hunting through the flower arrangements that were for sale. The cadence of the vendors hawking their wares and of haggling customers filled the street with a cacophony of noise…an argument over the price of starflowers at one stall, quibbling over a bone pipe at another, women bargaining for fresh meat at the butchers’ kiosks. The collision of voices and sounds sent a bustling energy through the air.
    The vast market was four blocks long. Eventually we came to the end and exited onto a smaller side street. Trillian pointed toward a low building with a sign that read the steak and ale.
    As I pushed through the door, the aroma of sizzling beef caught me short. My stomach rumbled and I let out a grateful, “Oh, that smells good.”
    Trillian returned my smile, winking slyly. “You’re hungry.” It wasn’t a question.
    I nodded. “I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast this morning. I was running late, and the nut bread Jahn gave me only took the edge off my hunger.”
    He led me over to a private booth and we slid into the upholstered seats on either side of the table, illuminated by a honeycombed candle, its wax fragrant and inviting. Trillian didn’t speak until the serving girl approached. She blushed when she saw him. I realized he must have that effect on a lot of women.
    “We have good beef today,” she said. “And rosemary potatoes, fresh bread, and strawberry jam. Will that do?”
    Trillian glanced at me.
    I nodded. “I’d like a glass of water, please.”
    “Would you prefer wine?” he asked. I shook my head and the girl moved off to place our order.
    “All right,” I said after a moment. “I’m having lunch with you. Tell me what you know of Roche.”
    He gazed at me for a moment, not speaking, then softly said, “And so swiftly she veers to the contract.”
    “It’s just…I need to know about him,” I said, suddenly feeling rude. He’d been nothing but a gentleman so far. Since I was using him to get to Roche, the least I could do was extend a hand in peace. “I’m sorry. This is so very important. I have to catch this man.”
    Trillian rested his elbows on the table, leaning toward me. “I assume you work for the YIA. You don’t have the look, but I recognize the harried expression. Don’t worry—” he said, fending off my protest. “I’m not asking you to answer, just speculating.”
    I let out a long sigh. “You speculate right. And my neck is on the line if I don’t bring in this guy. My boss is doing everything he can to prevent me from succeeding.” Suddenly, I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care who heard me, or whether it cost me my job. I was tired of fighting, tired of being the scapegoat.
    Trillian cocked his head to the side and slid his hands across the table, gently taking hold of mine. The feel of his skin against mine sparked like oil on flame. My nipples pressed against the lace of my bustier, the material suddenly feeling harsh and arousing. The spark traced a fuse that led down through my stomach to settle between my thighs.
    His fingers, so dark against mine, were like coffee on cream, soft and velvety smooth. He slowly turned my palm face-up and rubbed the tip of one index finger against the cup of my hand, tracing the lines that creased my flesh. Every touch unsettled me. I clenched my thighs together, trying to hide my arousal, but I couldn’t pull away. I didn’t want to.
    “Your supervisor seeks to fail you because you are de’estial ?” Again, the silken voice.
    I raised my eyes to meet his. He’d used the Sidhe term for a phrase that meant “walker of two paths,” but I knew he was talking about my heritage. But usually, the word de’estial was given as an honor, not used when