“It’s so many people,” he says. “I’ve never been anywhere like this.” He shakes himself a little. “Was it like this when you were young? At your tourney in Rillisk?”
I grimace, then nod. “Yeah— but I could hide in the stables.”
He looks over at me when I say that. Jax knows my history— and everything I ever had to hide from.
“With Grey?” he says, and his voice is so low I can barely hear him over the crowd. But he’s right— and as soon as he says it, the memories flare. I’m suddenly fifteen again, feeling the press of unfamiliar peopleall around me, smelling the tang of spilled ale that’s gone sour in the heat, hearing the low rumble of slurred voices that meant people wouldn’t be thinking clearly. The man who ran the tourney in Rillisk was known to take a coin for pretty much anything, and I remember the spike of fear in my heart the first time I heard someone ask, “How much for an hour with the boy?”
I wait for that same spike of fear to find me now, because it always does when these memories invade my mind. Sparks and stars always flicker in my blood, my magic responding to the burst of panic.
But for the first time, there’s no fear. Because I’m not fifteen, I’m nearly twenty. And I’m not hungry and hiding in the shadows, I’m strapped full of weapons and backed by soldiers. I don’t need to hide behind the king anymore. I don’t need to hide behind anyone at all.
Maybe this is what Jax meant when he said that I’ve changed.
I look into his hazel- green eyes and nod. “Yes. With Grey.” I brush my hand against his, and this time, I givehisfingers a squeeze. “Come on,” I say, tugging him toward the outer wall. “Let’s see if we can head toward the weapons rooms. We’ll never learn anything this way.”
He follows as I tug him through the crowd. Once we pass the narrow walkway that leads into the stands, the press of people thins out somewhat. The vendor stalls are back here, craftsmen and tradesmen calling their wares. I recognize a girl selling small painted figurines from the last time I was here, and I give her stand a wide berth.
The whole time, I listen carefully for Syssalah, and I look for signs of wealth and nobility. Unfortunately, all I hear is Emberish. All I see are sweat- stained tunics and dusty boots. The only coins that spark in the light are copper.
No one mentions a meeting, or the Truthbringers, or even the king.
I heave a sigh and look at Jax. “Nothing yet,” I say to him.
He frowns. “Maybe the meeting isn’t here?”
I shake my head a little. “The barmaid seemed so—”
I break off as a little scuffle erupts to our left. A boy of ten or eleven is shoving between people, and a middle- aged woman sourly grabs for his tunic.
“Come back here!” she snaps irascibly.
The boy slips past her, all but falling over his own feet as he tries to weave through the shifting crowd. “Sorry! Sorry!” he calls over his shoulder. “I’m late for the stables, madame— whoa!”
A man sidesteps to get out of his way, but clearly not quickly enough. The boy trips over the man’s leg and stumbles forward, trying to catch himself before he goes sailing into the dirt. When the woman shouts, “Stop him! Someone needs to give that young man a good lashing!” the boy abruptly changes direction and whirls, digging in his heels to bolt.
But instead of finding an opening, he slams right into Jax— who stumbles intome.
Luckily, the boy’s slight enough that he doesn’t send us all to the ground. I manage to steady Jax and grab hold of the boy’s arm, keeping him upright. He recoils instantly, spinning away from me, trying to jerk free like a lassoed horse. His teeth are gritted, his eyes wild. He looks over his shoulder like he can’t decide who’s the greater danger: the woman shouting about a “good lashing” or the armed man who’s got him by the wrist.
“Easy,” Jax says. He casts a disdainful glance in the woman’s direction. “We not hurt you.”
The boy ignores him, jerking at my grip again, and I realize we’re earning attention I don’t want. But just as I’m about to let him go, I freeze, recognition dawning.
Iknowthis boy. He watched me let Nakiis out of a cage.
As he tries to twist free of the grip I have on his arm, I say, “Bailey?”
The sound of his name makes him startle, and he whips his headaround, breathless. His eyes search my face for the longest moment, and then his eyebrows go up. “You,” he whispers.
I nod. “Me.” I glance up, past him. That woman is fighting her way through the crowd, shouting about putting him in his place, that he must be a thief. I remember the patrons like this. Based on the look on her face, she’s ready to raise hell, just because an overworked boy was too busy to look where he was going. Bailey follows my gaze and cringes.
“She’s coming this way,” I murmur to him quickly. “I’ll get you out of here. Fight me. Now.”
Bailey isn’t as quick on the uptake as Jax was earlier. His eyes flare wide, and he glances between the two of us, wetting his lips. I remember the last time I met him, one of the tourney’s champions tried to backhand him into the wall. Just now, the boy doesn’t look ready to be a co- conspirator. He looks like he can’t decide whether to bolt or cower.
But Jax understands, and he moves closer, putting himself between Bailey and the woman. He gives Bailey a little shove on the arm, pushing him toward me. “Fight,” he urges under his breath, his tone light. “We help you.”
The woman has almost made her way through the crowd, and I give her a sharp nod. “Don’t worry,” I call to her, letting a stern note slip into my tone, almost forgetting my Syssal accent. “We take care of this one.”
