The Scribe - Hunter Elizabeth (библиотека книг бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

“What do you know?”

“He’s Scandinavian, but I’m not sure from where. Not one of Jaron’s. Older. About four hundred or so.”

“One of Volund’s?”

“Perhaps. I don’t know.”

“But he’s in Jaron’s territory with an angelic blade.”

“Yes, I noted that in your report. And I’ve passed it along to Vienna.”

Obviously Damien didn’t know any more than Malachi. He heaved a sigh and noticed movement in Ava’s room. All the rooms in the hotel opened onto the beautifully tended central courtyard. Tiled fountains and lush potted plants created tiny oases within the scattered tables. A few early morning travelers were already up and packed for day trips. They were eating breakfast while Malachi drank his tea. He’d slept only a few hours; luckily, he didn’t need much to be alert. He’d woken with the first prayer call at dawn. The curtains in Ava’s room moved.

“Damien, I should go. I’ll text you later.”

“As long as you don’t expect me to text back.”

Malachi smiled. “I don’t. Have Rhys keep me updated if he finds anything.”

“What are you going to do today?”

“Whatever she wants, I suppose. I’m still supposed to be her bodyguard.”

“And how long is that going to last?”

“As long as I can manage. I was half expecting the police to storm my room last night, but it didn’t happen. So I’m guessing she was too angry to call home.”

“Just be prepared for anything. If they make a move—”

“The only one I’m worried about is Brage with that dagger, but since Leo’s with me, I doubt he’ll show his face. He won’t take on two of us at the same time. I think the show last night didn’t go as planned. They were supposed to keep me occupied longer.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

“I won’t.”

He hung up the phone when he saw her door open. He wondered if she would sit with him. He wondered if she’d speak to him at all, or if they were back to how they’d started. Her pretending he didn’t exist and Malachi pretending she was just another anonymous human he’d taken a vow to protect.

She stepped into the morning sun, gold touching her hair and making her skin glow. Her fierce eyes met his and froze.

Malachi decided he was done pretending.

“Good morning,” he said as she approached.

Ava sat down, but she didn’t speak. A smiling waiter brought her tea and set down a plate of fruit between them. Figs drizzled with honey and fresh green grapes. She pulled at one of the grapes and popped it in her mouth before she spoke.

“You were injured last night. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” She couldn’t have sounded more disinterested, but he supposed he couldn’t blame her. The woman wasn’t stupid; she wasn’t buying the story he’d told her the night before, so he’d have to be more convincing this morning.

“All right. Convince me why I shouldn’t call my stepfather and have you and Leo both fired for being so high-handed.”

A fraction of the tension fled. She hadn’t called home.

“I apologize for how we handled things at the bar last night. I was worried, and I overreacted. I’d just come from a confrontation with one of this gang, and I saw one talking to you, obviously trying to trick you into going somewhere with him—”

“Did you also see me telling him off in my somewhat inebriated state? He wasn’t really all that appealing.”

“I’m glad.” He paused to watch her bite into a fig. “But I’d just watched my friend take a half-dead girl to the hospital. I wasn’t entirely rational at the thought of the same thing happening to you.”

She paused with the fig at her lips, met his eyes for a moment, then looked away, leaning back in her chair and looking around the courtyard as she nibbled on the fruit. Malachi was practically growling in frustration. How could this human woman be so impossible to read? Her calculating stare and disinterested posture ate at him.

Malachi continued to sip his tea as casually as he could as Ava ate breakfast. He had expected a torrent of questions. Anger. Doubt. Instead, there was… nothing. It was maddening. Finally, she put down her fork and looked at him.

“I think I’d like to get out of the city today. It feels like it’s going to be hot and the traffic… Are there any places we could go that are close? Day hikes? Maybe some trees? Somewhere with not so many people?”

What was her game? Whatever it was, he could play along. “We could go the islands. They’re just off the coast. It’s a day trip if you take the ferry. One of the islands has a nice hike up to an old monastery. Very beautiful. There are no cars allowed. On foot or horses only. Some carriages if you don’t feel like walking.”

“No. Walking sounds perfect. I could use a good stretch.”

“Okay.” He looked at the clock on his phone. “If you’re ready, we could catch the ferry in about an hour. Wear good shoes.”

“Sure thing. Meet you in the lobby? I have a couple things to do in my room. I need to clean up. Make myself presentable, even if we’re hiking.”

She looked fine to him—she looked beautiful, if he was forced to admit it—but Malachi wasn’t about to question her.

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

She stood and turned toward the lobby, heading for the front desk. Malachi followed her. She picked up a small box the concierge slid across the desk, then tucked it under her arm. Malachi intercepted her before she made it back to her room.

“Ava, if that was delivered last night, I might need to check—”

“You really want to go through the feminine-hygiene products my mom sends me, Mal?” She gave him a rueful smile. “I mean, it’s possible someone snuck a bomb in with the tampons, but I’m kind of doubting it.”

He cleared his throat and stepped back. “If it’s from your mother, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“That’s what I thought.”

She turned and walked to her room, Malachi’s eyes following her every step.

The ride across the Sea of Marmara was smooth, but Ava didn’t sleep as Malachi thought she might. She remained quiet and watchful, clutching her bag as they rode the waves out to the Ottoman-style ferry terminal on Buyukada, the largest of the Prince Islands. Once the favored spot for exiled royalty, the islands had become an even more-favored vacation spot for Istanbul’s wealthier citizens. Shops and cafes dotted the street leading to the central square, which was dominated by a clock tower. Instead of stopping for lunch in the square, Ava picked a few snacks from one of the shops catering to the summer tourists.

“Okay, which way?” She packed the snacks in her small knapsack and threw it over one shoulder.

Malachi pointed toward the carriages by the clock tower. “Are you sure you don’t want to hire someone?”

“Definitely. I could use the walk.”

“This way, then.”

It was early summer and the middle of the week. There were a number of tourists, but most seemed to head toward the beach or the restaurants. Only a few stopped to hire a phaeton to take them up the mountain, and even fewer looked ready for the steep climb through the town and up to the Monastery of St. George. As Ava and Malachi started out, they were alone. Leo stayed near the terminal, watching for any visitors, per Malachi’s request.

“Are you ready?” he asked as they headed up the hill. “It’s not a short hike.”

Ava took a deep breath as they stepped away from the crowds. “Trust me, this is just what I had in mind.”

Her expression began to clear the farther they got away from other people. They walked through a neighborhood filled with luxurious mansions on their way toward Luna Park.

“Your house in L.A.?” He nodded toward one mansion. “Is it grand like this?”

“My mom’s house?” She shrugged. “It’s bigger. Carl likes people to know how much money he has.”

“You don’t have your own home?”

“No.”

They kept walking. Malachi wondered what it would feel like to live in a grand home. The retreat where his parents raised him in Germany was simple, and scribe houses were more like monasteries. The most well-appointed rooms were reserved for the books, scrolls, and tablets, not the scribes who copied or preserved them. He knew some Irin lived with more wealth, those in cities who worked in human businesses. After all, the retreats and scribe houses had to be supported financially, but Malachi had never had the head for human business. His life had been protecting the accumulation of knowledge until it had been about avenging his parents’ deaths. He didn’t know anything else.