Zaxe dug the local currency out of his pocket. He had that, along with Alliance credits. Handing over the money, he took the small recyclable bowl and spoon.
The elderly man grinned, the money slipping quickly into the pocket in his apron. “You will enjoy.”
Zaxe scooped up a spoonful and blew on it before tasting. Cinnamon and turmeric exploded on his tongue, along with the tang of the tomatoes. A slow smile spread across his face. “You’re right. I will enjoy.”
The man tilted his head to one side. “Forgive me, but do I know you? You seem familiar.”
Once again, an icy claw raked down his back. He had to lock his knees in place and clench the muscles in his thighs to keep from running. In spite of the almost oppressive midday heat, chill bumps raced down his arms.
He set the bowl down on the ledge of the stall. Information was critical to his mission, and starting here was as good as anywhere. “I have not been in Badwa since I was a child.”
“Let me see your eyes.” The old man waved at his sunshades.
Taking orders went against every cell in his body, despite the fact he’d been controlled by others his entire life. Even now, this mission was under the command of the king of Gravas.
Would he ever truly be free?
It went against every tenet he’d learned as an assassin to expose himself in this manner. His job was to infiltrate, eliminate the target, and get out before anyone knew he was there.
I should leave.
This wasn’t part of the mission. There were other ways to get information. Even as he ordered his feet to move, his hands were removing the shades from his eyes.
The vendor’s eyes widened. He slapped a hand to his chest and staggered back a step. “Dagmar.” He dropped to his knees and lowered his head.
Confusion swamped Zaxe. “That was my father’s name.” One he hadn’t heard or uttered in decades. When his life had changed in the blink of an eye, he’d shoved his past away. It was easier to survive if you let go of the memories. His sole focus had been on keeping his sister alive.
She was safe now, protected by the might of her husband’s family.
It was the main reason he’d taken this job and come alone. It was time to face the past, to dig out what he’d lost. And if a threat to his sister still existed here, it was up to him to eliminate it once and for all.
“Get up, old man.” His words were harsh, but his hands were gentle as he took the man by the arms and helped him to his feet.
“You have come home,” he whispered. “Praise the gods.”
They were starting to draw a crowd. Zaxe slipped his sunshades on and pulled up the hood of his cloak.
The man noticed the gathering people and shook his head. “My apologies.” He offered them all a slight bow. His smile was strained and sweat beaded on his brow. “I am an old man and was faint for a moment.” He waved his hands in this air as if to move them along.
Zaxe was impressed at how quickly he recovered. Suspicious, too. Most people went back to their own business, but a few lingered. The back of his neck itched. There were definitely eyes on him.
“Araman,” the man yelled. A younger version of him ducked his head out from the curtained-off section of the stall.
“Yes, Father.” He glanced at Zaxe and frowned.
“Watch the stall. Come.” He waved at Zaxe, pointing to the area his son had just left.
It was risky to go into a place without scoping it out first, but the vendor could have no way of knowing he’d been going to stop since Zaxe hadn’t known it himself.
He was skilled enough to get out if things went bad. The deciding factor was this elderly man had information that might prove useful.
Decision made, he ducked behind the curtain.
****
Jamaeh pretended to study the colorful scarves for sale at a stall, but all her attention was on the tall stranger by the harira vendor. She’d lived in the city of Badwa her entire life and was as familiar with the marketplace as she was her own home. Strangers were common, but this one stood out, in spite of him looking like a local.
There was something about the way he moved, his alertness that set her on edge. He was no merchant or trader. A smuggler or