Quickly, I pocket the key. “Why are you doing this?”
“Believe it or not, I like you. You’re fiery. The most stubborn woman I’ve had the misfortune of meeting. You were also right. About my family not respecting me. Looking down at me like I’m some spoiled little good-for-nothing. This is me proving them wrong.” He wrinkles his nose. “If you tell anyone I’m admitting to this, by the way, I’ll hunt you down myself.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” I smile softly, still stunned.
“There’s a banquet tonight in honour of Kara and Savannah’s victory,” Cyrus whispers. “When the moons are high, there will be a procession through Rava. The royal families will all be in attendance, so most of thePrincipal Guard will be on duty in the crowds as extra security. Make your escape, then. Use the service corridors. The staff usually take to the taverns when the royal family is out.”
“How do you know all of this?” I ask.
“What can I say? I practically grew up in this place.” He stands back. “I’ll be waiting in a watercraft outside the gates. Oh, and you’ll also need these.”
I look down when he produces something else from the inside of his cloak. A small pair of shears with a bronze sigil dangling from them.Myshears.
“Where did you find these?” I ask, taking them. “I thought I lost them in the temple.”
“The Principal Guard collected them as evidence.”
“And you stole them?”
“No,youdid. I was never here, remember?” he says. “I had to call in a few favours to have it made, but I thought you’d need it – the sigil, especially. Seeing as your name is plastered across every newspaper in the Accord, and the real Maeve is … well, you know.”
Dead. I gulp, placing the sigil on my palm. The writing carved around the edge emits a warm orange glow before the stone in the centre takes on a hazy grey colour.
Maeve Seagrave. Born on the 20th Day of Crea Waning, Stellar Year 1180. No formal credentials.
“Why still Maeve?” I ask.
“I couldn’t think of another name that suited you.”
“Maybe Talia? My real name?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Do you want the new alias or not?”
“Yes, please… Maeve is fine.”
I suppose that’s me now.
“For this new alias to work, you’ll have to leave Astraloria,” Cyrus says. “Go somewhere you can blend in. Be a shadow.”
The name of a town floats to my tongue.Brim.A place where ships come and go, and where no one stays long enough to leave a mark.
“Thank you, Cyrus,” I say, but he’s already heading for the stairs.
“What for? Gracing you with my presence?” Cyrus grins, and with another swish of his red velvet cloak, he adds loudly for the benefit of anyone listening, “Soak it up, Freckles, because I’m not coming down to this hellhole again. Good luck.”
And then he’s gone, melting into the shadows, leaving me to contemplate this unexpected turn of fate.
Epilogue
Taron
I hate the Night Market. Mostly because it feels like home. The one place in the world where I can melt away andexist. Here, among the masked and hooded. Among crooks and lowlifes and swindlers.
Tonight, the Night Market is hidden in the bowels of Grimshade Keep, an abandoned fortress with ivy-choked walls on the outskirts of Rava.
I move slowly through the lanes of market stalls, cloaked in a disguise that does little to shield my bitter mood. Madame Vera strides ahead of me. Her red velvet cloak hangs low over her face, revealing only the tip of her sharp nose.
The entitlement in her stride is sickening. The way Henk uses his broad frame to force a path in the crowd for her, ushering her forward like she’s royalty. The market hums with hushed negotiations. But even in the crushof people, Madame Vera’s presence coils around me like smoke. It’s suffocating, and intoxicating, too, the way her voice is a constant echo pressing against my skull.
