Podaxis opens his mouth, and I can tell he’s dying to talk some sense into me. I give him a pointed look, and he releases a groan. Then, with only a hint of pandering, he says, “Perhaps you’re right.”
Feeling validated, not to mention all kinds of tired, I return my sealskin to its hiding place, giving the gray fur a final pat. Then I strip off my damp clothes and climb under the covers. I close my eyes and release all thoughts of daring rescues, violent waves, muscled chests, and dark, sea-soaked hair.
By tomorrow, it will be like nothing ever happened.
7
Four days have passed since my stupidly valiant rescue, and no one has come demanding my head. Not that anyone would go so far as to outright execute me, should my involvement in the illegal border crossing be found out. Instead, I’d be processed, tried, and likely defended by my father. I am a princess, after all. Then there’s the bit about me being a killer and such. Considering fae can’t lie, I might be forced to tell the truth about that. And then, regardless of whatever punishment I’d be given, that wouldn’t even be the worst of it because next Queen Nimue would find me.
Find me, claim me, and make me a murderer.
It’s a vicious spiral of thoughts that have plagued my mind the last few days, mostly in my weaker moments when I’ve debated whether I’d been truly out of my mind for rescuing the man.
But now…
Now life is about as normal as it can be. There are no extra patrol officers on the streets seeking leads on a rogue fae girl who aided a human fugitive. No whispers of a masked human killer suddenly let loose on the city after a mysterious shipwreck. In fact, there’s no word on the ship, the wreck, or the survivor at all.
Podaxis and I were clearly overreacting.
Which is why, for the first time in four days, I have a full satchel of stolen goods. Without the fear of getting caught for somethingotherthan stealing constantly tensing my every move, I’ve been able to get back to work. The last few nights, my nerves got the better of me after a trinket or two, but tonight I’ve gathered a sequined purse full of citrine chips, three pocket watches, a ring, a bracelet, and a beaded pearl necklace. I’m tempted to keep the last item for myself, but the prospect isn’t nearly as exciting after losing my short-held hair comb. Nothing will ever be quite as pretty as that was.
It’s early too. Not even midnight yet and already I’ve collected enough to put a smile on Mr. Tuttle’s face.
“This calls for a celebration,” I say with a skip in my step as we turn off Halley down Third. I don’t let myself glance toward the Diamonde Opera house and the aristocrats gathered out front. I’ve firmly learned my lesson about stealing east of Third.
“Celebrate? What for?” Podaxis asks from inside my satchel.
“I don’t know. The fact that I’m not behind bars.”
“I suppose that’s something to be proud of,” he says, tone flat.
An idea sparks in my mind, one that sets my mouth watering. “We should get Lumies!”
“Oh, all right.” For once, he sounds truly enthusiastic.
And why wouldn’t he be? Lumies are one of the greatest highlights of Lumenas, a treat made from fluffy, airy, fried dough and dusted with cinnamon, cardamom, and bright yellow Starcane Sugar. They can be found anywhere from upscale restaurants to street vendors. The latter are my favorite because street vendors know not to skimp on the oil or sugar.
Podaxis peeks out from my satchel. “Which one are we going to? The place near the Vulture’s Prose offers day-olds at three-for-one.”
“No, I want to try the vendor on First and Cygnus.”
He levels a stare at me with his beady, condemning eyes. “First and Cygnus. You mean we’re walking down Salvation Street. Again.”
I give a nonchalant shrug. “There’s nothing wrong with walking down Salvation Street.”
“You’ve done it at least once a day every day since…sinceyou know what.”
“Hmm,” I say with an easy grin that I know will incense him. He’s right though. I have walked down said street daily sincethe incident, always slowing my pace as we pass Saint Lazaro. I’m not even sure what draws me there aside from curiosity. I can’t help but wonder how the man fared after nearly drowning. Did he survive? Is he hiding out at the church? Did they even follow my tip and collect him in the first place?
I try to tell myself I’m only interested to ensure I won’t be implicated, but it’s more than that. And it has nothing to do with a muscled chest, strong nose, and pretty face. Nothing at all.
I turn down Cygnus. It’s quieter than it is on Halley, although several churches blare praise music from open doors—or sultry beats, if you’re the Church of Undulating Pleasure. I pass the Church of Textiles and find theWho Wants to Marry a Millinersign has been updated to sayCongratulations to the winner and the new happy couple! There’s a new portrait too, this one with the handsome hatmaker next to a buxom blonde wearing a hat so large it dwarfs the pair of lovers beneath it.
“Looks like he chose well,” I mutter, then pick up my pace as we approach First Avenue. That’s when I find the sidewalk has become far busier than it ever ought to be on Salvation Street. A crowd of young women stand in a chatting cluster ahead. At first, I think they too had the brilliant idea to buy Lumies, but I quickly realize I’m mistaken. The crowd is on this side of First, not at the vendor across the street, and…I’m taken aback to realize they’re in front of the Church of Saint Lazaro.
I pause, brow furrowed as I study the gossiping girls. They stand around a sign on the sidewalk—the same one that held Brother Billius’ portrait last time I saw it. Each time I checked the sign this week, the start date was changed to the current day. I wonder if the ladies are laughing at the unfortunate man’s fate. I walk a little closer until I’m able to grasp snippets of conversation through their lively giggles.
“…twenty thousand citrine rounds a year!”
