Page 5 of Fire to the Stars

It’s not just any buck—it’s afawna. Fawna sightings bring good luck, so any pawnshop would pay good money for it. But the pink flowers that blossom from the antlers pose a pretty problem. They are fragile. And conspicuous. On second thought, not worth the trouble. Such a shame. It’s not the only pricey feature in this room, though. Silk sheets, a private washroom, and pillows stuffed with fluffy down? Well, well. This inn is fancy.

A certain boy paid handsomely to keep me talking.

Last night rushes back to me, a stark reminder of my goal.Abel Estellio.I finally found him.

So why, pray tell, is Abel asleep on the floor, slouched beneath the fawna’s head? His ankles and wrists bound with rope, for that matter. I certainly didn’t tie him up.

I clutch my throbbing head. The last thing I remember is those two sleazy men searching for me. That, and the bodies piled behind the market. I’m no stranger to dragon-made carnage. The reminder had me flirting for free drinks all night—and not in the fun way. Tipsy Mademoiselle is my most effective persona, but when she turns real, she’s dangerous. TipsyClairetakes risks.

Oh, curse me. I told him myname.

I look at Abel. Adorably oblivious, he snores lightly. Gold curls, olive skin, light stubble…If it weren’t for his uniform, he’d strike me as a handsome farm boy. Not a highly trained, highly expensive dragon hunter.

At the foot of the bed, Abel’s pack leans temptingly against his dragon-skull helmet. Carefully, I lift the pack and sort his items across the comforter: a waterskin, a folded canvas tent, a map of Florent, and a roll of ratty camping furs. Junk. All of it. Slayers live like nobility, thanks to the hefty price on dragon heads. They don’t camp.

I remove a moondagger next. Made of the only substance capable of killing a dragon, moonmetal weapons require a slayer badge to purchase. This could catch a solid price if I need to pawn something.

My breath catches when I see what I’m looking for at the bottom of the bag.

The infamous journal of Abel Estellio.

With hope so close, my grip on the dagger shakes. Finally, I can read his findings.

“Looking for this?” Abel says.

I flip the moondagger up my sleeve and startle on purpose, kicking his waterskin to the rug.Thump.The diversionisn’t necessary. His eyes remain closed. He doesn’t move, except to awkwardly lift a coin purse from its hiding place inside his crooked elbow.

Aww. He thinks he outsmarted me.

“You undressed me,” I say coolly. I’m wearing a new chemise, my dress and coat nowhere in sight. “A crime for a crime, monsieur.”

“You got drunk, stole a man’s coins, framed another, gothimassaulted, targeted me, then faked falling asleep to con me into renting a room with you to avoid getting arrested.” He drops the coin purse. It lands lightly, more leather sound than metal. “Don’t insult my morals. I didn’t do a thing to you.”

“You still undressed me.”

“No, the innkeeper did. You vomited on yourself in the lobby.”

I roll my eyes to distract from the heat in my cheeks. Yes, that tends to happen when Tipsy Claire sees burned bodies. I’m working on it.

“She changed you into clean garments from a rather expensive outfitter next door and took your clothes to the laundry. The only reason she didn’t call the Gendarmerie is because I explained the circumstances—minus your thievery—and showed her my slayer badge. She still tied me up and burst through the door every hour last night to ensure I behaved myself. Thankfully this was the last room available, or she would’ve charged me for an additional one.” He opens one tired eye, sizing me up. “You owe me seventy silver lunes, by the way.”

My pride takes a kick to the stomach. That’s enough coin to purchase a decent saddle.

“Where are my belongings?” I challenge him. Besides my clothes, I had a satchel. It held my coin purse, a map of towns Ivisited, a flask, riding breeches, and sleep powder. I can’t leave without my sleep powder. That’s a black-market sedative. Months could pass before I find another dealer.

“The innkeeper took them. Apparently, to keep me from stealing fromyou.” He huffs. “No justice.”

“Why don’t you turn me in? Get your justice.”

“Because you can pay me back with information. If I like what I hear.” Abel props an elbow on his knee and aims his sharp blue stare at me. “Tell me who the dragon is.”

Aha! If fuzzy memory serves, Ididtell him I knew the true identity of the dragon that attacked Bourlin. I was not entirely hopeless last night; I snagged the only slayer in the kingdom willing to cure dragons.

“You want to find my dragon?” I ask. “You’re certain?”

“For a proper bounty.”

The answer throws me like a bucking horse. There’s only one reason he would seek a bounty. He isn’t here to cure the dragon.