at her side, far closer than she wanted, his sleeve brushing her arm.
He was the mysterious stamped basilisk? Her heart fell with anger, disappointment.
“Hello, Sophus,” Macarius said in that polished voice that made Evadne grit her teeth. He looked at her and feigned surprise. “Evadne? I almost did not recognize you in those fine clothes!”
Evadne frowned, as if she had never seen him before, and said, “I do not think we have met. Who are you?”
Macarius’s confidence wavered. “Of course. It was a dark night when your father was kind enough to share his fire with me.”
“Oh. Yes, I remember you now. And my parents were gracious enough to feed you for days, weren’t they?” Evadne said sharply and then looked to Sophus, who was regarding her and Macarius with wariness, as if their stilted exchange made him nervous. “I think I will take this bundle of quills, Sophus. And I would love to have a pot of black ink.”
Sophus nodded, shuffling to the far shelf.
Macarius waited to speak until the shopkeeper was out of earshot. “I trust Damon has been treating you well?”
Evadne refused to meet his gaze, focusing her attention on the quills. “I never told you I was Damon’s scribe.”
“It is public knowledge now,” he drawled. “I thought you knew such. The contract is posted in the Destry.”
She elected to ignore him. But Macarius, strangely, seemed intent on capturing her attention. “Evadne, Evadne. You are angry at me. Why?”
“Are you such a conceited fool that you must ask?” she hissed at him, her cheeks flushing in fury.
“I must say you are beautiful when you are angry.”
“You have no right to speak to me in such a way. As a matter of fact, I do not want to speak to you at all.” She took her quills and met Sophus on the other side of the store, thanking him for his assistance. He gave her an oiled leather pouch to carry her purchases in, and Evadne dashed out of the shop into the storm.
She was halfway across the abandoned market when Macarius’s voice chased after her, nearly desperate.
“Wait, Evadne! Contrary to what you may believe, you will want to hear the news I bear.”
“No, I do not think so,” Evadne shouted back at him, walking as quickly as her ankle would allow.
“But I have news of your sister. Of Halcyon.”
That brought Evadne upright. She halted, torn. Wasn’t this the very thing she was secretly hoping for? That the stamped basilisk would be able to help with Halcyon’s current situation? “How do you have news?”
“Come, let us get out of the rain and share a meal at this corner tavern, and I will tell you everything you wish to know.” Macarius now stood before her, his flaxen hair dripping rain, his hand outstretched, waiting for her to agree.
It was the last thing she desired. To sit in a tavern with him and share a meal.
But Evadne followed him into the corner building. It felt like a prelude to betrayal, and she hoped word of this would not trickle back to Damon.
The other patrons were reclining, sipping wine and listening to a musician play a seductive melody on her flute. They were dressed in fine garments, their hair perfumed, chased gold on their wrists. Evadne had never felt more out of place in her life as she reluctantly sat across from Macarius in a shadowy nook.
She watched him pull the curtain closed, granting them privacy. Again, that sense of unease swarmed her, and Evadne glared at him.
“What is this news? How have you come by it?”
“Patience, love,” Macarius murmured with a smile. “Have a drink first, to soften that edge in your voice.” The alcove curtain parted, and a servant girl brought a pitcher of white wine and two golden cups. Macarius waited until she had retreated, and then he poured a cup for him and one for Evadne.
“I do not want anything to drink,” she said, terse.
“Suit yourself.” Macarius reclined on his cushion, his eyes on Evadne. She was still drenched and disheveled, and his gaze lingered a beat too long on her wet raiment, where the linen clung to her skin. “How do you like it? Being a scribe, that is.”
“I am not here to converse about scribing, Macarius. If you do not speak news of my sister in the next few moments, I am going to leave.”
He sipped his wine, unhurried. But she could tell her bluntness was irritating him.
“I do not understand the rush, Evadne. Is