Clouds clotted the sky, the sun weaving in and out. The city was bustling with daytime activity, the sound of clanging metal echoing from a blacksmith’s shop, the flutter of laundry drying in the breeze, and once or twice, the sound of song threading through the narrow alleyways toward the sky.
At last, the gondola pulled up by the side of a wide street lined with tall, multistory houses.
Ramson tossed a few copperstones to the gondolier and they filed off. By now, the skies had turned gray, and Ana pulled her worn fur cloak around herself as wind rattled the empty streets. A mist had begun to seep between the walls.
Linn shivered. “It’s quiet,” she remarked.
“We’ve left the commercial district of Sapphire Port,” Ramson explained. “We’re on the outskirts, between the city and the Blue Fort.” He jerked his chin at the cobblestone streets ahead. “We’re about to reach the Crown’s Port, which directly serves the Blue Fort. There, you’ll take a road named the Crown’s Cut; I’ll find you a wagon heading for the Blue Fort.” He motioned to them. “Follow me.”
Their steps echoed between the stones of the buildings on either side of them. Within a few turns, the gently lapping waters of the canals had grown distant, and then fallen silent. When they looked back, fog shrouded the path behind. Overhead, a bird screamed. Ana jumped.
“Bone gulls,” Ramson said. He walked several steps ahead of the group, leading them through the narrow alleyway. “They only eat rotting meat.”
Another scream, and this time, Ana’s Affinity pricked.
She whirled, and at the same time, Linn’s knives flashed as she crouched, eyes narrowed, scanning the empty streets and buildings all around them.
“Ramson,” Ana called. Her voice bounced between the buildings. In a lower tone, she said, “There’s someone here.” She closed her eyes and the world darkened into blood. And then shadows began to burn crimson into awareness, high overhead, winking into existence like candles. There were over a dozen, crouched as still as stone on the rooftops all around them. They were surrounded.
Ramson stopped. He slid his misericord from its scabbard. The metal hissed softly in the silence. Linn clenched her knives, the air growing eerily still all around them.
And then, in the dead quiet that had fallen between the hollowed windows and empty doorways and drapes that fluttered in the phantom breeze, came the steady tapping of footsteps.
They reverberated in the alleyways, flat, rhythmic, and strangely cheerful.
Out of the swirling gray mist came a shadow that became a person. He walked quickly, his outline cutting through the fog with the sharpness of a blade. He wore a long hooded cloak, sleek and navy blue. His leather boots were tipped in steel, wicked and sharp.
He came to a stop over a dozen paces away.
On the rooftops and behind corners, out of sight, the watchers watched.
Ana’s palms were slick with sweat. She hadn’t even sensed the person until she’d heard his footsteps. Even now, as the newcomer stood before them, his face obscured by his hood, Ana found it difficult to grasp his signature. There was something strange about his blood. It smelled of absence, of…nothingness.
Ramson stepped forward. His shoulders were rigid, his weapon held tightly in his fingers. “Ane koman?” he demanded in Bregonian.Who comes?
Moments lapsed. A draft rippled the figure’s cloak.
Beneath his hood, the stranger’s mouth tugged upward in a phantom grin. It was a female voice that spoke, the Bregonian words sounding guttural. “Ene maden dar vanden koman.”Just a girl taking a walk.
Ramson’s eyes narrowed. “Show your face,” he continued in Bregonian.
The hood canted slightly. Beneath its shadows, Ana sensed clever eyes watching them. “You don’t trust me?” the stranger asked, her voice lilting mockingly.
“Sweetheart, the wordtrustdoesn’t exist in my vocabulary. Nothing personal.” Ramson gave a small flick of his misericord. “Reveal yourself, and we can settle this in a civil fashion.”
A peal of laughter. “Depends,” the stranger said, “on how you definecivil.”
Ana stepped forward. Immediately, the stranger’s hood swiveled to her. “I’ve located your scouts,” Ana said in Cyrilian, raising her voice to the commanding tone she had learned from Papa and from Luka. “Tell us who you are and what you want, and we can speak.”
The stranger’s mouth stretched, morphing into a grin. She gave a low chuckle, and, in an unprecedented move, slid off her hood.
A slim, tanned face framed by a crop of messy auburn hair. Long nose with a snub tip, bowed lips that curved in a mischievous grin. And eyes—quick, calculating eyes the color of blacksteel.
Ana blinked. The stranger was only a girl, perhaps a few years younger than Ana herself.
Ramson had been shifting his balance between his feet; he now went completely still.
The girl cocked her head, her grin cutting her face in half. “ ‘Just a girl taking a walk,’ ” she repeated in near-perfect singsong Cyrilian, looking between Ana and Ramson. She spread her arms slightly, and her eyes took on a hard-edged glint. “Do youtrustme now?”
