Free Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One) by Dan Avera Page B

Ainoans, I mean. Don't make any kind of sense to me, how somebody could rule all those crazy ruffians.”
    “No, it's the Karkashians that have a king, and he's an emperor ,” said a third. “But he's got powers, see? I hear he lives in a big fortress with minions just like him, and he uses dark forces to control his subjects.”
    “Listen to you two,” the first man scoffed. “Talkin' of powers and dark forces. Ain't no such thing. Next thing you'll be telling me about how the Titans are real. Anyway, where was I? So the Clergy , see, they—”
    Will turned his attention elsewhere. It was no secret that Gefan's Clergymen were self-serving under the best of circumstances. Ignoring the three old-timers, he passed his gaze around the tavern. He was mildly surprised to see a young boy standing in the doorway—and even more surprised to realize that the boy was staring in his direction. He wore tattered, weathered clothes, and his body was hunched as though from intense pain. He looked over his shoulder to see if there was anyone behind him—there wasn't—and when he turned back around, the boy was gone. He raised an eyebrow, perplexed.
    “Your drink, sir,” said a woman's voice behind Will. “And a bowl of fruit. Will that please you?”
    “Yes,” Will said, looking up, “thank—you!”
    The barmaid was none other than Priscilla's older sister, and her eyes widened as she recognized him. Will almost laughed at his own luck.
    “Milord,” the girl said, curtsying and averting her gaze, but Will waved a hand dismissively.
    “Enough of that,” he said, and she tentatively lifted her eyes. “Please—I must speak with your sister. I feel I need to...right some wrongs.” A thought occurred to him suddenly. “Say, did an old woman find you with a bag of money?”
    The girl, for her part, looked completely bewildered. “I—yes—she came by last evening, but—”
    “Ah, fantastic. I wonder how she found you so easily, though. It's taken me all day. What was your name, by the way?”
    The girl gave him a funny look. “Helena, if it please you, milord. The old woman comes by Mother's stall every now and again.”
    Will held up a hand. “Really, there's no need for the formality. I'm no lord. I'm pleased to meet you, Helena.” He stuck out his hand and, after a moment's hesitation, she shook it gently.
    “It's...an honor,” she said quietly.
    Will smiled. “Listen,” he said, dropping her hand, “if it isn't too much trouble, I would very much like to speak with your sister. Would you take me to her?”
    Helena shot a glance in the tavern keeper's direction. “I don't know if I can do that yet—”
    But Will had already turned around and started toward the man.
    And not long after that he and Helena were back in the open air with the brutal sun beating relentlessly down on them once more. Will decided that, annoying as it was, he could grow to enjoy his newfound fame. He hadn't even had to pay the man for Helena's time.
    They made their way through the winding streets for what seemed to Will an eternity. And the farther in they went, the more labyrinthine the city became. The buildings became dilapidated, the streets narrow and dirty, and as the houses grew closer and closer together the stifling air seemed to stagnate until there was not even a trace of wind. “How do you stand this heat?” he gasped at one point, mopping his slick brow and panting softly.
    Helena shrugged. “I hardly feel it anymore. I suppose if you had lived here for your entire life you would be used to it, too.”
    “No chance of that happening,” Will groused.
    Eventually—and to Will's great relief—they came to a stop in front of a small, unassuming house in the midst of a crowd of others just like it. Laundry lines drew haphazard paths across the street, and their loads hung limp and motionless as they baked in the sun. “This is it,” Helena said, and she climbed the stairs to the front door.
    They're poor, Will