Enflamed (Book 2) by R.M. Prioleau Page B

walked.
    The announcer suddenly ran in
front of him, holding out a filled pouch heavy with coin and yelling, “Wait!
Wait! Wait! You forgot to claim your prize!”
    Aidan shook his head and
brushed past the man. “Aidan does not want.”
    “But—but this money is
rightfully yours! You won the competition! Four hundred gold was the prize!”
    Aidan stopped and looked back
over his shoulder. “Then donate it to orphanage. The children will eat good for long time.”
    The announcer gawked at him. “Ah ... o – okay then? I
guess we will donate it to—”
    “’Old on
there!” Nester tugged at the
announcer’s tunic, and the man looked down. “I’m Aidan’s manager, y’know,”
Nester continued. “I look after ’im an’ all that. Aidan obviously got bumped in
th’ ’ead that last round, so ’is judgment’s a little off. I’ll just go ahead
an’ ’andle th ’ prize money for you, if you don’t
mind.”
    The announcer shooed Nester
away. “Off with you! The money will be donated to the orphanage as per the
winner’s wishes, and that’s final!”
    The cheers had died down, and
the crowd began to disperse.
    Rubbing his pained ribs, Aidan
quickly made his way out of the plaza.
    “Aidan! ’Ow could you just up
and reject a ’uge sum of money like that?!” Nester had
caught up with Aidan walking alongside him, trying to keep up with his
long-legged gait.
    Aidan kept silent.
    “Now we won’t ’ave enough
money for our trip to Ghaeldorund!” Nester fingered some coins in one of his
belt pouches. “Well, at least I managed to make a li’l ’ere an’ there.
And I’m sure as ‘ells ain’t givin’ you a single soddin’ piece! Th’ kids are
richer than us! Can you believe that?!”
    Aidan kept his eyes focused
ahead as he made his way toward the nearest inn.
    “I’ve never seen a more stupid
bloke than you, Aidan,” Nester continued. “’Ow could you ...”
    Aidan stopped listening.
Gaston had unnerved him. That bitter taste never left his mouth, and those
mixed scents of something bloody and pleasant were etched in his mind.

 

 
 
 
 
    VIII

 
 
    Kaijin couldn’t stop grinning
as he perused booth after booth of books. For the first time in a long time, he
felt at peace with himself. Flipping through an assortment of tomes pertaining
to the gods—more particularly, Ignis, the Firelord—Kaijin noticed Zarya out of
the corner of his eye. She simply stared at him while he read in silence.
    “How interesting,” she said at
last.
    He stopped reading and looked
up. “What?”
    Zarya smiled. “Someone like yourself being so avidly curious about the gods.” She lowered her voice. “Are you looking to become a Ignan cleric?”
    “No,” Kaijin replied. “I
simply wish to further expand my knowledge about the god, whom I’ve grown to
revere.” He returned the books to their stacks and then sighed. He turned away
from the stall and walked away, his head lowered. He could remember Easthaven’s
vast marketplace and the endless rows of vendors’ booths that had lined the
streets. Kaijin could still feel the same enthusiasm he had felt as a boy,
walking with his father amongst the throng of shoppers. He could smell the aged
books from some of the booths, and he could hear his father’s scolding voice
after Kaijin had wandered off alone to explore some of the bookstalls. Kaijin
choked back tears the longer he dwelled on his past.
    “Kaijin?” he heard Zarya call
out softly.
    Turning, Kaijin saw the
priestess run to him, carrying two books. “You forgot these.”
    Kaijin blinked, realizing the
books were the two he had been browsing through the longest. “You ... you
bought these for me?”
    A hint of pink flushed her
cheeks. “Well, you looked like you really wanted these in particular....”
    Kaijin swallowed a small lump
in his throat. He slowly reached out and accepted the books from her. A warm,
pleasant feeling, came over him, and he smiled. “Th— thank