“No,” says Oren. “Just you two. I’m not having Redstone come aftermewhen this goes poorly. If you’re lying, I have eyes in Silvesse, too, so I’ll get you back eventually.” He pauses, and a light sparks in his eye. “If you’re not lying, a spy and a killer should find this task to be fairly easy.”
I have no idea how we’re going to find a man we’ve never met in a city we’ve never seen, especially in less than a day. But it’s ten silvers and a little bit of freedom.
It’s more than we had an hour ago.
Still breathing.
I glance at Lochlan, then back at Oren. “Give us the silver. You’re on.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Corrick
The streets of Silvesse are hot, and the air smells like fish no matter where we go. By the time Lochlan and I find our way into the thick of the city, the sun is high overhead, and sweat has collected under my clothes. I’ve snuck through the Wilds of Kandala in the dead of night as an outlaw, but I’m somewhat shocked to realize that I’ve never really walked through a city as a commoner. In Kandala, as Prince Corrick, I’d be backed by guards, and people would yield a path without being asked. Here, the roads are crowded, and sea-worn sailors and sweat-stained laborers must not be too foreign. No one gives us a passing glance. I can almost forget who I am.
Thieves might be common here, so I’ve tucked my five silvers into an inner pocket of my jacket, right up against my heart. I have no idea what Lochlan did with his. There was a part of me that expected him to take his coins and bolt the very instant we were out of sight of the pirates.
But he hasn’t left my side.
He hasn’t said a word either, which is probably smart, though we’re going to have to talk at some point. But I’d forgotten that our Kandalan accent is going to paint us as outsiders the instant we open our mouths. The Ostrian accent is different, with round vowels, and I’m not sure I could imitate it without practice. I can’t even imagine what type of story we could tell to explain it away.
Then again, maybe it doesn’t matter if people question our accents. We just need to find one man and kill him.
The thought makes my heart trip and stall over and over again. Can I kill a man who’s never done anything to me? To anyone I know? Lina worked for Oren, and she was helping to keep us prisoner. My skin still crawls from where she touched me. I didn’t want to kill her, but I almost did it. Iwouldhave done it if Lochlan hadn’t stopped me. But it was a means to escape. A step toward rescuing Tessa. A step towardhome.
Ford Cheeke is a complete stranger.
Oren is the one demanding it. Is this simply another means to escape?
This is worse than when I was acting as King’s Justice, when no good options lay in front of me, but I had to choose what would cause the least harm—even if that meant someone had to die. As King’s Justice, Ihadto maintain order, because when the sickness wasn’t killing people, they were killing one another over access to medicine.
But in this case, I’m not protecting a kingdom. I’m protecting myself.
I hate the path of these thoughts. Maybe I’m the one who should take the coins and run.
Lochlan grabs hold of my sleeve and gives it a tug. “Come on,” he says, his voice low. “We can’t just walk all day.”
I blink and look up, startled to discover that he’s dragging me into a clothier’s shop. I’ve never been inside one of those either. When we need apparel in the palace, Quint sends a summons, and tailors and seamstresses and fabric merchants come tous. Once we cross the threshold, the odors of fish and sweat remain in the street, replaced by fresher scents: cotton and linen and what appears to be a small fragrant candle burning on a low table. A middle-aged man and a woman are sitting together, both stitching fabrics while they talk in low tones.
When they look at us, they fall silent. The man’s eyebrows go up. The woman frowns.
I didn’t realize we lookedthatbad.
The man recovers first, and he stands. “Ah . . . ?gentlemen,” he says. “How can we help?”
“We need some clothes,” Lochlan says.
“If you please,” I add, because clearly his early lessons didn’t includemanners.
The man and woman exchange glances.
I have no idea whether that’s about our appearance or if our accents took them by surprise, but I step toward a rack where a linen tunic is hanging, and the woman swoops out of her chair before I can touch it. “Please, sir, allow me. I’ll find something to fit. We wouldn’t want you to . . . ?ah, trouble yourself.” Then she whisks the tunic away.
“Perhaps a recommendation for a place where we could rent a room to wash up as well,” I say.
Lochlan looks at me and hisses under his breath. “Just how much money do you think we have?”
“You can stay filthy if you like,” I whisper back. I’m rarely cavalier, but we can’t hide what we sound or look like, so I smile at the woman. “Forgive our appearance. We’ve fallen off a ship from Kandala, so we’re not at our best. But we do have silver to pay.”
