Heretic (The Sanctuary Series Book 7) Read Online Free Page B

him as a wizard. “She found me in Reikonos Square and bade me come here and deliver it, and to await your reply.”
    “Describe her for me,” Cyrus said. His lips felt suddenly quite dry, as did the rest of his mouth.
    The elf’s lips became a thin, annoyed line. “She was tall, for a woman, dark hair, skin the color of an ashfruit … she had a green jeweled ring upon her finger.”
    That’s Imina , Cyrus thought, and a little bead of moisture trailed across his head under his helm. “And she wanted my reply?”
    “Indeed,” the elf said impatiently.
    “Can you take me to her right now?” Cyrus asked, casting a look back at the guildhall. The doors were closing. “And bring me back once my business is concluded?”
    “For a fee,” the wizard said. “Naturally.”
    “Take me to her,” Cyrus said, reaching into his coin purse and coming out with two pieces of gold. He pressed them into the waiting palm of the wizard, who looked at them impassively for just a moment before pocketing the generous payment. He smiled thinly at Cyrus and then closed his eyes, murmuring an incantation under his breath. With a splash of light, the magic burst all around Cyrus, instantly transporting him from under the grey skies of the plains to another place he had once called home.

3.
    Reikonos Square bustled in spite of the snow in the streets, the new year only a few days away. The winter solstice would follow, the days growing short, and here it was not clouds that dimmed the skies but the setting sun. Cold, crisp air burned at Cyrus’s cheeks and made him regret not returning to the Tower of the Guildmaster for a cloak before embarking on this journey. He let out a slow breath and it misted before him, the filthy scents of the human capital filling his nasal passages and the cold air burning them as he drank in the smells of the city.
    Cyrus took a step and his boot crunched in fresh snow. He looked down; he hadn’t left Sanctuary in months, and it seldom snowed in the Plains of Perdamun. The wizard, noting his surprise, said, “It’s been falling here and there for a month. We received a plentiful dosing the day before yesterday, though. Almost a foot.”
    “Indeed,” Cyrus said under his breath as the frigid air seeped in through the gaps of his armor and crawled over his skin like tentacles of ice. He cast a steady gaze over the crowds that swarmed through the square, treading through the snow and leaving their own prints in the process, long cloaks sweeping and smoothing the soft powder behind them.
    “I was told by the lady who gave me the missive that we would find her in the markets,” the wizard said stiffly, starting past Cyrus across the square.
    “I thought she was going to be waiting here?” Cyrus asked, holding his ground. The wind whipped through hard just then, and he cringed as his cheek numbed.
    The wizard turned back to look at him, raising his cowl against the hard blast. “She runs a flower stand. Without her, business halts, so I presume she did not dare lose gold on the chance that you might not come immediately.”
    “Fair enough,” Cyrus said and started his slog through the snow, following in the wake of the wizard. In spite of the steady traffic, the snow still reached a high point around his shins and slowed his passage. The wizard seemed to be having an even harder time of it, but together they trudged out of the square and into the realm of stalls and shops, their cloth hangings covered in an inch or more of snow.
    How long has it been since I’ve seen Imina? Cyrus wondered, trying to place their last meeting in his mind. Four years? I didn’t even recognize her the last time …
    The traffic thinned as they took a turn down a market street. Costermongers hawked their wares on either side, vivid splashes of color on white-covered streets telling him that the bright cloth dyes of the Dark Elven Sovereignty had made their way into the human city. The new imports seemed to have taken