I have a little coin in my pocket. I don’t want to buy much, though. To be honest, I just want to see it. There’s a whole world out there I’ve never been allowed to see, and part of it is waiting just down the street.
I head for the stairs and go down them, not up.
I find ground level easily enough, but I don’t want the guards to see me going out one of the main doors, so I keep looking for other options. I’m on the way to the bathing chambers again, so I follow the path the guard gave me for a bit until I see a nondescript door that seems to be on an exterior wall.
It's a perfectly reasonable door for me to try, so I try it. Locked.
Not a problem. The hallway is empty, but I deepen the shadow around me just in case. Then I retrieve a small metal rake from my pocket and a pin from my hair, and in just a few seconds, the lock is open.
Thanks, Mom, for teaching me that one.
The door opens into a darkened corridor, which is something of a surprise, but I can smell a hint of salt on the damp air, so I walk inside, locking the door behind me.
Some brooms and cobwebby crates line the narrow walls, leaving only enough room for one person to walk at a time. Thankfully, I don’t meet anyone as I travel the passage, and soon I reach another door, this one locked from the inside.
I turn the lock and open the door out into the light of day.
I’m in an alleyway, and judging by the buildings that line it, I’m outside of the palace walls.
I’ve found an unguarded way out of the palace. Adria will be so pleased with that, I doubt she’ll even mind that I visited the market.
Not that I intend to tell her.
The raised voices and the sound of carts rolling on stone give away the market’s location even though I can’t see it from here, so I make my way through the alleys in its direction. These aren’t the streets of Faros that King Ronan wants us to see. They aren’t paved with gold or polished to perfection like the palace. They’re real, lived-in streets, a little dirty and worn but well-trodden in a way I can’t help but find charming. Thousands of people have lived out their lives in these streets over the centuries. Millions, maybe.
They’re Selaran, but I don’t think of the common Selarans as our enemy. They’ll be our people too, once Adria takes the palace.
At the thought, I glance back in its direction. Part of me hopes Ronan can’t feel what I’m feeling.
Part of me hopes that he can.
I turn a blind corner, and something moves behind me.
I can feel the heat from their body on my back—they’re small like me, possibly a woman—and I can smell something sweet on their breath as they pull me to them, placing a knife at my throat.
Again?
Our encounter on the road yesterday flashes back into my mind. Of how I’d failed. Of how I got away with my life by lucky chance, not anything of my own doing.
This time is different. I will not be a victim. I will learn from my mistakes.
I plunge the alley into darkness and pull my dagger from my belt, driving it right into my attacker’s gut before they can even flinch.
Chapter Eight
“Ow! Ow! She stabbed me! She stabbed me!”
My attacker is screaming behind me like a child.
No, not justlikea child.
Theyarea child.
“I’m dying. I’m dying! Help! HELP!”
The child bends over, clutching his stomach. He’s a boy or maybe a short-haired girl, skinny and no older than twelve or thirteen. His ratty tunic is rapidly turning from tan to blood red.
I look around the alley, but no one is there. The market is close. I’m not sure anyone could have heard him over the noise.
