“Yes, yes. Art and entertainment, the power of expression and all of that.” Quinn yawned, stretching his arms out. Then he relaxed, retrieving his coin pouch and placing it in my hands. “Go on.”
I looked from the money to him and back again.
“You pay them,” he elaborated.
My head shook as I pushed the pouch back to him. I wouldn’t go spending his money.
Quinn picked up on my hesitation and chuckled. “Worry not. All the coin in that pouch is a mere trifle; simply an allowance. Just don’t spend all of it. Leave us enough to grab a bite to eat, or a trinket here and there if you see something you like.”
Truth be told, I knew nothing of the value of coin. It was simply never a factor in my life—my parents always traded forgoods. “…Oh,” said Quinn, somehow knowing exactly what troubled me. He took the pouch back, then retrieved a golden coin from within, reading my mind as he so often did. “This is a stag, our highest currency. A skilled laborer might earn its equivalent in a month’s time. An unskilled worker, such as a busker, would take two months to earn it.”
I parted my lips, then peeked into the coin pouch again. The glint of gold caught my eye now. The contents of this single bag would be worth a lifetime to the common man.
“Give one to any performer that catches your eye,” Quinn instructed. “And try to do so discretely. A display of wealth may draw unwanted attention.”
He returned the pouch to me and gave a gentle nudge. I was drawn toward the fire dancer, fascinated by her fearless display. A black mug sat a safe distance from her, filled with copper coins already. I dropped the stag in, feeling a warmth in my stomach as I did. If that single coin was really worth two moons of this woman’s labor, then perhaps another coin would allow her to live luxuriously for a time. Her footwear had seen better days…
I put in another, drawing the attention of the dancer. She gave a brief smile in acknowledgement, clearly not knowing exactly how much she’d been given, and I smiled back before receding into the small crowd.
Quinn watched my approach. “You seem pleased.”
I took his wrist and tugged him along to the other performers. The juggler referenced his son mid-rhyme, so I gave him two coins; the sword-swallower’s clothes were torn and in need of mending, so he, too, received a second stag. Everywhere I went, it seemed that somebody was in need of a little more than a paycheck. The pouch grew lighter, and before long, Quinn noticed how much I’d spent.
He caught my hand just as I went to pay the fiddler, staring at the coins.
“My lady…” He paused. “Have you been paying each of them double?”
I nodded, as chipper as could be.
Quinn frowned. “Oh, you dear woman.”
I paid the musician and brushed my hands together, satisfied. By now it seemed that some of the performers had noticed the good deed, though they hadn’t pinpointed the exact cause of the large donations. They searched the audience, most of whom were ragged and dressed according to their status. They’d figure it out soon enough, but I hoped they wouldn’t make too much of a fuss.
It felt good to do good things. It felt—
Quinn took my hand and yanked me out of the square. My feet dragged behind me as we passed through an alleyway, a large rodent watching us territorially from beside a stack of crates.
I tried to writhe my way out, but the man had a vice grip. We turned the corner and kept going. I slapped his arm and prepared to take a bite out of him if he persisted. Finally, though, the viscount looked down at me with piercing eyes.
“Would youpleasecollect yourself?” he hissed. “I don’t want to carry you, but I will if you don’t settle down. We’re being tailed.” What?
I hadn’t seen any such thing. Not far behind, the crates fell over with a loud clatter as if someone had bumped straight into them.
“I believe I can lose them,” Quinn said. Another group made their way from the left side of the alley, as unscrupulous in appearance as people could be. Quinn took me down an alternate path, winding through it all like a maze until at last, we rushed into a tavern’s rear entrance.
It was a crowded place, but quiet. We hurried to a busy table near the back and fit ourselves in among strangers, lowering our heads so that we could watch the doors without standing out too much.
“Alana, remove your cloak,” the viscount ordered.
I widened my eyes, then did as he commanded, shedding down to my dress. In turn, he removed his doublet, revealing the fine linen shirt beneath.
Quinn leaned closer and untied my hair, letting it fall past my shoulders with a heavy collapse. He teased the curls into a matted mess, then took his own hair down, dark waves falling around his face.
He propped himself against the backs of his hands. I lowered my head.
Pressed shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space, I felt the warmth radiating from him, sensing a subtle tension in his body as he leaned closer under the pretense of our disguise. His heartbeat fluttered visibly in his throat in hypnotizing rhythms.
Our stalkers arrived in short order, greater in number than I could have imagined. Two of the performers were among them—the juggler and puppeteer—but in my state of slight undress, they didn’t recognize me on their pass through. None of them did, thankfully.
