And I do. Legs aching. Lungs burning. Skin alive and aflame. Wind whips past me, around me, as I catapult outside, into the temple. Then down the stairs. Flying, soaring.
Free.
Midnight alleys bustle with the worst of Crestfall: salt dealers, rumrunners, thieves’ guilds, rival gangs. Criminals of every nefarious background huddle in small clusters, parasites that leech onto the weathered buildings of old aristocracy, sucking their luxuries dry in the darkness when the king’s soldiers are thinnest and corrupt guards watch over these streets. Though the Ador Palace glitters like a tiara near the shorewall, most of its once-bejeweled surroundings have fallen into disrepair. Chipped and dull, if not outright shattered. While the nobility fuck and drink their lives away, the commoners are either surviving in ramshackle hovels, often starving and plague ridden, or murdering one another in the streets. There isn’t much the people here wouldn’t do for money.
Six months in Mortia’s capital has taught me to spot thepermanent ink engraved on the hands and necks of killers, has taught me to notice the difference between a shallow cough and a bloody rasp. Six months, and I’ve learned exactly who to avoid in this goddess-forsaken place. Almost all are here. Now.
I tuck my pink hair into the collar of my long-sleeve tunic and force my way through a crowd gathered around a game of dice. The players sit on the dirty ground, scarlet trickling from their lips as Mortem’s Claim takes hold. They roll twelve-sided dice while others pass bets and meager coppers back and forth. No one worries about contracting the plague. That’s just another fact of life here. Like forgoing breakfast, walking barefoot through broken glass, and being assaulted by the king’s guard—commoners do not survive long. And that’s probably for the best.
It certainly works out better for me. Merrow are immune to the plague. And everyone here can be bought.
Sliding past the futile game, I step over two bodies—sleeping? dead?—and continue to the end of the alley, where a rotting four-story building has begun to sink into the earth. Two men stand in front of the large iron door. Their fat fists grip matching spears, the hilts engraved the same as the door knocker: with the gnarled face of a lion, one scar slashed through its left eye.
“I want Magnus,” I say without any preamble. There’s no fucking time for it. I need to get off this continent before it ensnares me.
The men don’t bother to glance at me, however. They also don’t bother to respond.Fucking brutes.Panic still stings my chest, as if I’ve been struck by lightning and the residual zaps are pumping my heart faster, faster.I don’t have time.With a snarl, I dig through my tool belt and pull out the moonstone bracelet. It dazzles in the night air, the starlight above reflecting off the iridescent gemstones.Thatcertainly catches their attention. Hungry gazes snag on the jewelry, and I swear one of them starts to drool.
“Magnus.” I ache to snatch one of their spears, to steal any weapon at all. Being here isn’t necessarily safer than the tomb; the predators are just camouflaged. They could still pounce at any moment.“Now.”
“Zephyra,” a slow drawl echoes behind me. “That’s a new hair color on you.”
I whirl around, and the leader of the Leones gang lounges against a wall across the street. Magnus kicks off it, prowling toward me with a half smirk permanently etched onto his strong face. His left eye sparkles green, but the right is fully black—and struck through from brow to cheek with a puckering, jagged scar. I’ve delivered goods to Magnus before. He pays better than anyone else, and he doesn’t ask questions.
“Yeah, well…” I tuck an errant strand behind my ear. “I was looking for a change, and I heard pink is all the rage for summer.”
He chuckles under his breath, entirely humorless. “You’d implicate us in treason if the wrong guard found you here. Constane’s been hosting mass executions every morning in the city square for anyone who even brushes shoulders with merrow. Pretty little thing like you, I’m not certain you’d make it until dawn.”
I swallow down bile at the thought of Vesper, Eos, and Stavros fighting for their lives in that tomb. I couldn’t have saved them. I barely managed to escape myself. And this wretched guilt I feel—it’ll only get me killed.
“Good thing I’m not a merrow, then,” I hiss, challenging him with narrowed eyes to call for a guard, to have me arrested. Magnus is just as hungry as everyone else; there’s no way he passes on loot this expensive. My blood boils, but I can’t outright attack him. Magnus controls half the city. Rumor has it that the Leones gang tripled under his leadership, and eradicated three others within the span of his first week. Magnus gets a good price because he’sterrifying. Still, I keep my expression neutral. If I show even a hint of fear, he’ll know he has the power. And if he has the power, I won’t get more than a couple of silvers.
“You want this or not? I don’t have all night.”
Magnus glances between my hair and the bracelet, his hand moving to the dagger in his pocket. I track the movement like a hawk. If needed, I’ll run again. I’m smaller and faster than Magnus’s crew. I’ve spent months and months mapping this city, the hidden corners, the secret passages, the sewer system. I can get away if I must.
I can.
After a second, he removes a hand from his pocket and reachesout, as if to snatch my upper arm and drag me farther into the dark. I dart away before he can grab me, baring my teeth on a snarl.“Don’t.”
He curses, low and dark, but he runs a hand through his slicked-back hair rather than attempt to touch me again. “Why the fuck are you flaunting noble jewels in the middle of Crestfall, Zephyra? Any one of these scoundrels would slice you head to tail to get their hands on that. You’re putting several targets on our heads. I wouldn’t have helped you at all if I’d known you were a—”
I don’t let him finish. “Youdidn’thelp me. I helped you.”
He glares at me. I stare back at him, raising my brows in wait. “You’ve got seconds before I walk up the street and ask the Scars instead.”
At the mention of his most vicious rival, he growls. His eye darkens further, an endless pool of obsidian night. “You’re toying with the wrong fucking gang.” He inches closer. I step back, knocking into a wall of muscle. One of his men breathes down my neck. “Do you know how many men I have hidden in the shadows?”
Fuck. I force my breathing to remain even. Force my face to remain emotionless. “Doyouknow how many men I’ve killed?” I tiptoe forward, evading whichever men leer behind me. “I’ll add to those numbers if I have to, but I would rather not. I came to you for a reason, Magnus. I’ve loot like you couldn’t believe.”
“You wantmeto payyouso I can fence dead-noble jewels?” Magnus deduces the truth way too easily, and my stomach starts churning anew. “Doesn’t sound like a great deal to me. Like I said, the king isn’t messing around. The wrong person catches a whiff of this, and we’re all good as dead.”
My jaw clenches tight as I breathe through the panic. Every bone begs me to turn, to escape, but this is the only way out. “Melt down the metals and break up the stones.” I pull out a ruby anklet, a pair of diamond earrings, and the emerald necklace, adding them to my open palm where the bracelet continues to glisten. Magnus’s green eye snags on it. The veins in his pale neck throb. “I know you have connections inside and outside the palace. No one else can fence these.”
He swallows. His throat bobs. I close my fist around the jewels, and he frowns.
When he glances up and meets my gaze again, I realize I’ve made a mistake. I’ve walked into the lion’s den, slathered myself in butter, and dived straight into its gaping maw. He knows what I’ve got. He also knows he’s the only one aware of it. I’m a merrow; I won’t be missed if I’m dead.
His hand flexes, and he smirks.
