The Amulet Of Nicmir (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 1)

Chapter 36

Sam knew something had gone wrong the moment Lillian stepped inside. Kariana's arm was protectively wrapped around her shoulders. Her face was white as a sheet, and her green eyes had a spark of strange fear in them.

Sam expected Nyle to hobble in behind them. He didn't.

Standing up so fast his chair almost fell backward, Sam said, "What happened? Where's Nyle?"

"He's fine," Kariana said, her voice low. "We'll be upstairs."

A sick feeling stole through Sam's heart when Lillian glanced back at him, just once, and pursed her lips like she was trying not to cry.

That expression was all it took to make him realize his mistake.

"Maybe yours wasn't such a brilliant idea after all," Crynia commented absently, reaching over the table to move her chess piece on the board. She'd been beating him at that confounded game for the past half hour. "Checkmate, by the way."

Sam barely heard her. Locking his jaw, he took his jacket off the back of his chair and shrugged it on. "Come on, Darling," he muttered. "We're going to find Nyle."

***

The market was a place of sweaty merchants, stale produce, and seedy glares. Stinking, half-rotted meat was heaped beside a butcher's stall. Crynia wrinkled her nose as they walked by that one. Sam thought she looked cute like that. Then he remembered why they were there, and bitter guilt pushed through to conquer his thoughts.

Crynia blew out a breath, stopped, and reached up, gathering her dark hair and twisting it into a bun. "Maybe we should split up," she suggested, wiping the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve.

It'd gotten hotter the higher the sun rose. Sam had shed his jacket an hour before and tied it around his waist by the sleeves. The dry, cracked mud pavement of the road absorbed heat and radiated it like a baking stone. Sam felt like he was walking through a putrid-smelling oven.

Running his tongue along his upper lip to collect the sweat, Sam turned around and squinted in the dizzyingly bright daylight. People milled past him, some traders or travelers, others town dwellers there to bargain. But there wasn't a trace of a blond-haired Serpentine on crutches anywhere.

"Maybe you're right," Sam said, turning back to Crynia. "One more street, and then we'll separate. Meet me back at the inn."

"Right," Crynia agreed. Her eyes wandered to a stall selling white cloaks of some kind and lingered for a moment. "Hold on a second. I want to look at these."

She was out of reach before Sam could stop her or protest. So he followed grudgingly, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the sturdy log posts that held the roof of the stand as she unfolded a cloak and draped it over her head.

Pinning it beneath her chin with one hand, she turned to Sam and fluttered her eyelashes mockingly. "How do I look, Jackass?" she inquired, her voice sticky-sweet.

Without thinking, Sam reached out and smoothed a wrinkle against her raven hair, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile. "Beautiful," he said, letting his fingers trail down to her cheek, watching the rosy blush take root and bloom under her chocolate-brown eyes.

She looked down and cleared her throat as he drew his hand back with a start. Her fingers fiddled with a corner of the cloth. Then she looked back up at him through her eyelashes, narrowing her eyes in the slightest. "I thought allies weren't supposed to compliment each other."

Sam grinned to conceal his embarrassment. It felt good, hiding behind humor again. "Since when?"

Crynia rolled her eyes, tugging the cloth off her head and laying it in a heap on the counter. "You're impossible," she muttered, walking away.