Inked

He caught my gaze and winked. “Care for a trip, my dear? Make life more bearable? Only ten pen.”
    He reached out to grab my arm as I pushed past him.
    Before I could react, Trillian had hold of the man’s wrist, twisting it so that it was bent back in the wrong direction. “Touch her again and I’ll cut it off.”
    The Sawberry winced. “All right, all right. You wouldn’t want to sell her, would you? She’d fetch a—”
    He didn’t get a chance to finish because Trillian’s arm was suddenly wrapped around his neck, a knife aimed at his jugular.
    “Don’t touch her, don’t speak to her, don’t even think about her. Are we clear?” A dangerous light flickered across the Svartan’s face, and I realized that he was ready to cut the man’s throat and he wasn’t even sweating.
    “Yes,” the Sawberry croaked, rubbing his neck as Trillian released him. He averted his gaze from mine and scurried back to his tent.
    Trillian slid the knife back into its sheath, which was hanging at his side and shrugged. “Come,” he said, holding out his hand. “This isn’t the safest place for women.”
    I took his hand and followed. The stars were emerging, brilliant and beautiful and shining. The Moon Mother watched over us and I felt her presence in the pit of my stomach. She was nearing full, and the closer we got, the more I craved a man’s touch. Trillian’s hand was hot against mine. I tried to keep my mind on our mission—on finding Roche—but it was hard with him touching me.
    “There,” he hissed. “Up ahead. See that tent? A gambler named Bes runs a den there. Roche is there. I checked earlier and he was deep into the game. What do you want to do? Will he recognize you?”
    I’d been careful, but an alarm rang in the back of my head. If the YIA was setting me up to fail, maybe they had leaked info about me to the rumor mill. Maybe Roche knew I was on his tail.
    “I don’t know,” I said after a moment. “I can’t guarantee that he won’t know who I am.”
    “Come with me,” Trillian said, pulling me toward a nearby stall. The vendor was sitting beside a rack of scarves and drapes, drinking goblin brandy. The stench filtered up to my nose and set me to sneezing, it was so thick with peppercorns and keva root.
    “Let me see…This will work,” Trillian said, choosing a sheer ankle-length cloak. Filmy and the color of amethyst, it was hooded and would cloak my face while still allowing me to see through the silken material. He draped the cloth around my shoulders and I slid the hood up.
    Trillian gently tucked my hair inside the hood, making sure my errant curls were hidden from view.
    “So beautiful,” he whispered, tracing my chin with his fingertips, gently running his fingers over my mouth. I parted my lips and he slid his index finger inside. Closing my lips around his finger, I swirled my tongue against the flesh, gently running my teeth over his skin as I pulled away.
    He caught a harsh breath. “Do you know how lucky you are that I am not like the majority of my kinsmen?”
    “Do you realize how lucky you are that I’m not like my sisters?” I countered, wishing we were anywhere but here. I hesitated. Would it be so bad to forget about Roche? To pretend I didn’t know he was here, to run off to an inn with Trillian and slide my naked body across his? But then my father’s training kicked in and I let out a long sigh. “Roche shouldn’t be able to recognize me now. Let’s go before I lose my nerve.”
    Trillian laughed, then. “Camille, somehow I think that if you lose anything, it won’t be your courage. Come, pretend you’re with me and keep quiet until we find him. They don’t like women in the dens but they’ll allow them if they’re with a man. We can get a feel for what’s going on and go from there.”
    He paid the man and we headed back to Bes’s den. Trillian motioned for me to hang back a few steps while he talked to the two guards at the entrance.
    The vagabond gambling dens were usually owned by criminals. Gaming wasn’t illegal, but the safer dens were found in buildings and guaranteed the gambler safe passage in and out of the game rooms unless they invited trouble. The vagabonds’ dens were strictly enter-at-your-own-risk.
    Suddenly chilled, I realized how grateful I was that Trillian was with me. I could fight down and dirty, but the dens were dangerous places, and without my sisters, I felt vulnerable. I shifted from one foot to the other,