The Prince Deceiver (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 6) by Karen Azinger Page A

it
around his cloak pin, a ward against the city's fouler smells. Breathing deep,
he enjoyed the sprig's luscious springtime scent. Storing the two bundles in
his satchel, he wandered among the stalls looking for hyssop and fennel and
other ingredients. While his gaze roved the green bounty, he kept an ear open
for gossip. Of late he'd heard foul rumors whispered against the queen, but
he'd yet to discover their source. Someone spread slander against the Rose Queen,
seeking to turn the people against their monarch. Lies were ever the hallmark
of Darkness. He'd come to uncover the trail. A snatch of gossip caught his
attention. He began to meander that way but then he noticed an odd snuffing
sound at his left side. His hand reflexively delved into his left pocket
gripping his focus. Glancing down, he expected to see a dog questing with its
nose, seeking interesting scents.
    A dwarf with
pointy teeth sneered up at him.
    Master Numar
recoiled from the ugly little man. "What do you want?"
    The dwarf
hissed, staring at him as if he were something good to eat.
    The master
brandished his quarterstaff. "Be gone!"
    Casting a baleful
glare, the dwarf slunk away, disappearing into the crowd.
    Master Numar
shuddered. Something about the little man was deeply unsettling. Shrugging off
the encounter, he pressed deeper into the market. He found a farmer selling
flowering fennel and bought a bundle of the feathery leaves, but as he paid for
his purchase the master felt a hard stare drilling into his back. Whirling, he
spied the dwarf crouched by a table, watching him.
    He knows! A
cold certainty settled into the master's stomach. The dwarf did not look like a
killer, yet secrecy was the master's best defense. He felt the need to run yet
he knew it would be unwise to draw more attention. Moving away from the dwarf,
he slipped into the thickest part of the crowd. Like a minnow moving among
many, he followed the crowd, using them for cover. Keeping his fist locked on
his focus, he scanned for the dwarf. Jostling through the market, he waited for
his chance. The crowd's movement seemed aimless, a random torture of
meandering. Sweat beaded his brow, striving for patience, but then the crowd
pulsed near an alley. He fled the market, slipping into the city's shadowy back
ways. Racing down the alley, he turned left and then right, taking the path
that seemed most evasive. Ducking beneath a shaded doorway, he waited,
straining to hear over his racing heart. He expected the clatter of footsteps
running behind, but he heard nothing. His back pressed to the door, he kept
listening, waiting till his heart slowed to a regular beat.
    Still nothing.
    Needing to be
sure, he crept back to the last corner. Pressed to the wall, he carefully
peered around. At first he saw nothing...but then he noticed a furtive movement
at the far end of the alley. The dwarf! But instead of running, he was
crouched down, moving slowly, methodically, his head slewing back and forth... as
if he followed a trail.
    A thread of fear
ran through the monk. He studied the hard-packed dirt of the alleyway and saw
no tracks, nothing to betray his path, and then he remembered the strange
sniffing sound in the marketplace. My scent! Perhaps the dwarf tracks me by
my scent! The thought evoked a primal fear, the sound of wolves howling in
the night. Perhaps it's just the pungent scent of my herbs. He soothed
his fear with strained logic. Shrugging the satchel from his back, he left it
lying in the shadows. Plucking the sprig of thyme from his cloak pin, he tossed
it aside and scurried back down the alleyway. Moving quickly but quietly, he
sought to leave no trail. He ran blind through the back ways, twisting and
turning, seeking to escape.
    Five times he
tried doors and five times they remained locked, bolted, closed. Trust was
scarce in the back alleys...and then he spied a red lantern, the age-old symbol
for a house of ill-repute. He hurried towards the lantern. Dispelling any
doubts, the