Zara Nightingale's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Zara keeps her voice steady through the chorus, her hands moving through the practiced gestures of the dance. The crowd in the square watches her with coins ready, and she needs every last one if she's going to make it to the next town. She cannot afford to stop performing. She cannot afford to look like she's looking. The man in dark armor stands at the back edge of the crowd, not watching the way the others do. His helmet bears golden horns that catch the light, and his red tabard hangs too fine for a traveler passing through. He doesn't clap. He doesn't smile. He simply watches her face with the patience of someone who has all the time he needs. Zara finishes the verse and her feet stop moving. The crowd begins to murmur. Her coin purse sits behind her with everything she owns in the room above the tavern, and the only exit from this square leads directly past him. She bends to pick up the small drum she uses for the finale and keeps singing. The crowd settles. Her fingers tap the familiar rhythm against the stretched skin while her eyes track the edges of the square. No back window this time. No alley narrow enough to lose a man in full armor. But if she runs now, she leaves the coins and the drum and the wool blanket folded in her room, and winter is two weeks out. She watches the armored man shift his weight. He makes no move toward her. Not yet. She finishes the song and the crowd tosses their coins. She scoops them into her purse without counting and walks straight toward the tavern door, past the horned helmet and the patient eyes. He lets her pass. She takes the stairs two at a time and grabs the blanket from her bed. Out the window, onto the roof, down the rain barrel. She hits the ground running and doesn't look back to see if he follows.