Grinning, I knock my shoulder into hers. After we reach the ferry pontoon, I hand the blue-eyed canal captain Marcello’s letter that explains my reason for crossing—gathering supplies for the tavern on his behalf—then extend a copper to pay for my ticket.
“Ferry’s full,” the man says.
“Um.” Sybille frowns at the empty benches. “Looks pretty deserted to me.”
“Ferry’s full.” He hands me back the note, which I unfold and read over quickly, worried Marcello asked the mannotto let me board, but the squiggly curves and loops say exactly what he promised they would say.
“That’s ridiculous.” Sybille’s cheeks puff in anger.
“Why won’t you take me?” I ask him.
I catch his gaze flicking over my shoulder and turn. Although I spot no one watching us, he’s clearly not letting me cross on someone’s orders. The commander’s?
“Better get yourself home, Serpent-charmer, ’cause no man will risk his livelihood to help you escape.”
I grit my teeth and turn, making Sybille whirl. “Silvius is behind this.”
“Why would he—Oh.The turd.”
She couldn’t have found a more befitting nickname. Perhaps I’ll start calling him Commander Turd from now on. It has a nice ring to it.
She pulls me to a stop. “You should ask Antoni. He’d surely take you.”
The ferryman’s voice rings inside my ears, and I shake my head. “I don’t want him to get in trouble.”
“I suppose you could alwaysswimacross. You’ve already had a shitty day. What’s a little more shit in your day?”
“Your humor knows no bounds, Syb.”
Although the idea of wading through dirty water turns my stomach, I contemplate whistling for Minimus and diving into the rippling blackness. But two things stop me. A, Minimus may neglect the fact that I’m no serpent. And B, I may be playing into Silvius’s hands.
I raise my gaze to the gauzy clouds twisting around the waning moon, wishing Bronwen would proffer a third option my way. When no rope or iron crow tumble from the sky, or black bird swoops overhead, I lower my gaze back to the murky forest dotted with torchlight beyond the barrack island.
I’m aware it’s an illusion, but Racocci seems to be floating away from Tarelexo.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” Sybille untangles our arms.
As she leaves me standing alone on the wharf to contemplate my crumbling future alone, I lower my lids and think, but instead of ferreting out solutions, my thoughts stray to Isolacuori and the princess Dante’s apparently courting. Here I thought he’d rejected Beryl and the others for me.
Why am I risking my neck and sanity to get him on the throne if he intends to sit a princess down beside him? He promised there’d be no other woman. After anger, jealousy pelts me, but then another wave of anger washes out my blazing rancor.
Why am I taking Commander Turd’s word? Perhaps he too is resistant to salt. Perhaps he thinks he saw them kiss, and that’s why he was able to speak the words under—
“Come on, person of great interest.” A thin arm snakes around my waist. “I found you a solution.”
My eyes open and settle on Sybille. “Which one?”
“You’ll see.”
When I dosee, I dig my feet in. “I told you, I won’t involve Antoni.”
“That’s why I asked Mattia. I even struck a bargain on your behalf.”
“Sybille, no.”
“Oh, chill. It’s a win-win for me. Not only do I get to make my friend’s dream come true, but I get a date with a sexy blond.”
She drags me along while I list all the reasons I won’t set a slipper on that boat. “Stop your mutterings and climb aboard already.”
