I shrug. “I suppose it’s how I’d want to be treated.”
He nods. “What’s your name, son?”
“Tiyung,” I say.
With some effort, he rips a chunk off the stale bread. He turns it over in his hand. “Should I ask why you’re in here?”
“Same as you—at the king’s request.” I offer a rueful smile.
He raises his water bowl and drinks to me.
I like him, but he’s still too casual, too clean for me to trust him. It’s too convenient that he was put in here today. I decide to appeal to his mercy.
“If you’re going to kill me, please do it while I’m awake,” I say.
He pauses, slightly confused, but he nods. “Seems like a reasonable request.” He takes a bite of the cheese. “Thank you for this, Tiyung.”
I forgot to ask his name. My mother would be so disappointed that I forgot my manners this quickly.
Don’t be noble in title only, she used to say.
“What is your name?” I ask.
“Ailor,” he says. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”
Chapter Forty-One
Mikail
City of Loptra, Khitan
It took three bells of trudging through the snow to make it to a trading post where we could get horses, and then another five on horseback, but we finally make it to Loptra. Our first order of business is buying winter gear for Sora. After the avalanche, I’d cut up one of the furs and wrapped the pieces around her dress boots so her frostbite wouldn’t worsen. It worked well enough to get us here, but she desperately needs proper boots and fitted clothes.
She picks a simple dress house in the garment district, and the owner and workers can’t help but fall all over themselves. Seduction comes easily to Sora, but she is also effortlessly charming and unfailingly kind.
Well, she’d like to murder Euyn, but she has good reason.
I can’t believe he didn’t mention that her parents didn’t sell her, but then again, it’s so utterly believable.
I already deposited him at an inn, so he’s resting. Actually, I’m sure he’s setting half a dozen traps and pacing while I take care of things with Sora. I suggested she sleep first, but she didn’t want to. She’s both not tired and completely exhausted. I understand the feeling.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to drop into the messenger house and make a few other arrangements,” I say. “I’ll return for you shortly.”
She nods.
I step out of the shop and take a deep breath. Sora is never hard to be around—the opposite, actually. Even on the long trek here, she didn’t complain once. She will quietly endure nearly anything, but the waves of grief and anger coming off her are suffocating.
The fresh, snowy air feels nice as I stroll to the messenger house through the bustle of Loptra. It’s the third largest city in Khitan and the most modern and cosmopolitan. Glass and gilding gleams, and the statues are newly cut. Everyone dresses in their best, the women mostly in slacks and stylized jackets. People with new fortunes meet those with cutting-edge inventions. It even smells fresh and promising, with buildings still in construction along the banks of the Uulatar River. That’s the body of water we almost fell into during the avalanche. The Uulatar runs off the Khakatan Mountains and winds all the way past Loptra to Vashney.
It’s the same mix of people found throughout Khitan that navigates through the city. Food hawkers call out their regional specialties in various languages. Because of the weather and terrain in this frozen land, Khitan has always welcomed anyone who wanted to settle here. They have a level of tolerance not found in other places because they don’t have the luxury of being snobs. It’s one of many reasons they don’t get along with Yusan.
I pass sizzling meat and fragrant rice as I scan for the telltale color of a messenger house. In Yusan, the shops are painted cobalt blue. Here, they are a loud shade of red. Messenger houses are primarily the same in any realm—half aviary and half shop, with a large stable attached for less urgent, cheaper correspondence. Messages can take a month on horseback, and I never have time for that.
I need to send coded letters to Zahara and others. But when I arrive at the Loptra messenger house, Zahara has already beaten me to the punch. There’s eagle post waiting for me when I give the woman my (false) name. Two letters. I assume the other is from Gambria, as I sent a message letting her know I’d come.
With the letters in hand, I stand to the side, leaning against one of the many ledges. The houses provide paper, envelopes, and clay. I grab a pen and scratch paper to decode Zahara’s message. Again, it’s one word.
Alive
