“Gods damn this Rellmiran heat,” Maz grumbled, his thin sleeves flapping in a sluggish breeze as we hurried down the steps and through the Old Quarter.
I’d known no other kind of weather, so I didn’t comment.
The twisting pathways looked and felt so different from my frantic journey last night. The weathered brown buildings warmed in the sun. Shutters and doors were thrown open to let in whatever breeze that stirred. Cooking fires flavored the air with meat and spice. Everywhere people bustled about their business—hanging colorful bits of laundry on the rooftops, carrying parcels, gossiping with their neighbors.
As if death didn’t hunt their streets at night.
Maz led me to the main road via a different route than last night. Or else I would’ve seen the crimson stain, like an ominous mark on a map.
I needed to talk to Renwell. Soon. We’d come up with a way for me to reach out to him should I escape the Den with Aiden. But I couldn’t leave my mark, let alone have a clandestine meeting, while my every move was watched.
I could only hope that Aiden would agree to letting me work for him. The more he loosened his grip, the easier it would be to slip away for a while.
Patience, Renwell would tell me. But why did everything in this job require so muchpatience?
Here I was going to a dance rehearsal for a heist that would never happen instead of backtracking to find that warehouse to look through the crates or hunting down Aiden to see where he went and who he spoke to.
Patience. Play the part. Perhaps Melaena knows more of Aiden’s plans.
I darted after Maz’s tall figure as he plowed his way through the thick crowd toward the Noble Quarter gate. There, we had to wait long minutes in a line of people waiting to be allowed into the quarter. Most were turned away. Only nobles and those in clothing stitched with noble insignias were gestured through.
I held my breath as we approached the red-faced guard. His leather uniform creaked as he wiped sweat from his eyes. But Ididn’t recognize him, and he barely looked at me, focusing on Maz.
“Name and business,” he grunted, his fist tightening around one of the long spears only the day guards were allowed to carry.
“Kiera, one of Melaena’s dancers atThe Silk Dancer,” Maz answered.
The guard finally glanced at me with a frown. “No, she’s not.”
“I’m new,” I said quickly. “And running late.”
When the guard continued to stare at me without answering, Maz straightened to his full height, towering over the guard. “Melaena said she would give Kiera’s name to the guards. Check the list and let us be on our way.”
The guard glowered, but he sauntered over to consult with another guard that held a ledger. After a minute of conferring, he nodded and waved me through.
Maz started to follow, but the guard blocked him with his spear. “Just her.”
Maz looked as though he were going to snap the guard’s spear in half, but I forced a smile and waved him off. “Go on. I’ll be fine. See you after.”
Maz hesitated for a moment, no doubt thinking Aiden might take issue with letting me loose. But he had little choice. He nodded, and I hurried onward.
The flow of traffic was much different on this side of the gate. Much less pushy and dirty. Sparkling fountains, pristine cobblestone streets, and strolling nobles in their silks and satins.
It felt like a lifetime ago that I’d been one of them, albeit in the lonely halls of the palace.
Melaena’s club sat closest to the wall on the west side of the street. The domed building was built with white stone that glittered in the sun. Wide, polished steps split around a bronze statue of a dancing girl mid-spin and draped in silks. Parts of her were worn glossy and smooth—probably from enamoredfingertips. But her carved smile was still serene and untouched. A matching bronze plaque under her feet readThe Silk Dancer.
Gathering my breath and my courage, I opened one of the heavy wooden doors and slipped inside.
The entrance was more like a lounge with guests sitting in overstuffed armchairs, sipping iced drinks and enjoying light refreshments. Melaena’s patrons were all nobles. Men and women who held quiet conversations in dim corners or played friendly games of Death and Four on marble tables.
It certainly wasn’t like the taverns I used to sneak into with beer-soaked tables, knife-throwing, and occasionally violent games of Death and Four.
Gods, I missed that.
I hurried past the daytime patrons, none of whom noted my passing. Down a crimson-wallpapered hall, I pushed open the double doors at the end, ignoring the “Closed for Rehearsal” sign on the handle.
At the far end of the cavernous room, Melaena was already on stage instructing her dancers. I strode past the staff cleaning the dozens of tables and couches, trying not to look as sweaty and uncouth as I felt.
