Her breath quickened. “At least stay a safe distance away from me. There’s no reason to do this if no one will speak to me.”
Lorcan frowned. He flicked his gaze up and down her body, clearly considering whether or not he should haul her back to her chambers. But finally, he relented. “I’ll stay hidden. No one will see me.”
“All right.” She nodded and squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Reyna pushed the grate aside and scrambled out into the street. A steady breeze whistled through the buildings as she gazed around. This was the merchant district, where various traders came daily to hock their wares. The stalls were silent and shut now. Empty. Eerily so.
Two full moons were high in the sky, casting ominous shadows on the dirt-packed ground. With a deep breath, Reyna moved down the quiet street. Her footsteps were loud in her ears, echoing off the brick and timber buildings that rose up on either side of her. She had longed for weeks to see Tairngire, but not like this. Not when the city felt full of the dead.
She came to a crossroads where she found two street urchins with gaunt, dirt-stained cheeks squatting in the shadow of a run-down tavern.
Kneeling before them, she said, “I need some information.”
They both blinked at her with twin moons of gold, but only one spoke. “Won’t say no airing without tingle tangle.”
Reyna blinked. It had been a long time since she’d heard street slang. The urchins in Falias rarely tended to use it. With a smile, she dipped her hand into her pocket and withdrew a fistful of airgead. It was at least a hundred coins.
“This is enough tingle tangle to buy you both hot meals for a month.” She held it up. “Information first, and then I’ll give you the airgead.”
The boy frowned. “Tingle tangle halfing first.”
With a sigh, she dropped half of the coins before them. They clinked against the ground. Eagerly, the boys grabbed the gold and stuffed it into their ragged pockets.
“What airing you need?” the boy asked as he chomped down on one of the airgeads.
“Tell me how to get to The Bloody Dagger in Drunkard’s Pit. The tavern.”
The boy stopped chomping, and he exchanged a wary glance with his fellow urchin. “Whereing you from? No local. I can eye you.”
“That doesn’t matter.” She held up the other half of the airgead. “Can you tell me how to get there?”
With a shrug, the boy explained. Drunkard’s Pit was two districts over. It wouldn’t be difficult to find. She’d know it as soon as she stepped foot inside, as the buildings would transform from timber to little more than rotting logs. The Bloody Dagger would also be easy to spot. It was the only building that didn’t look run down. With a nod, she gave them the rest of their payment and continued forward.
Wingallock had spent several days seeking out information on the city’s vigilante. In the end, he’d overheard several of the low fae speaking in hushed tones about the Bloody Dagger having taken out two more criminals on the streets. And they had discussed exactly where to find him. At a tavern he owned. It seemed the Tairngire fae had chosen his name based on where they could go to him for help.
Reyna turned left, all too aware of Lorcan’s eyes on her back. She hadn’t seen or heard him since they’d left the tunnels behind, but she couldfeelhim with every step she took. He was far better at stealth than she had realized.
She came to a sudden stop. Drunkard’s Pit stretched out before her, a mess of dirt, grime, and dilapidated buildings that shook in the harsh wind. Windows were broken or boarded up with warped slabs of timber. Rickety carts had been abandoned in the middle of the streets, full of muck. Everything was grey and dark and rotting, even the clothes lines that stretched between buildings. The cloth that hung from the unravelling string looked like rags, garments in far worse wear than her own disguise. The stench of rot was overwhelming. It made her heart hurt. No fae should have to live in a place like this.
In the distance the golden spires of Dalais Castle scraped the sky. The towers were gleaming and proud. It was a stark reminder to those fae down here in the streets, barely scraping enough airgead together to fund their next hot meal. The nobility did not care.
Only one building glowed with light. There was a sign out front, creaking in the wind. The Bloody Dagger. Blinking back her unshed tears, she strode toward it with fisted hands, her boots slurping in mud.
She pushed into the tavern. It was packed, full to the brim with laughter and cheer. Everything outside of this haven might be falling apart, but inside, there was hope. All of the well-made tables were full, and the stone floor looked swept clean. A rounded bar squatted in the center of the room where a short, curvy, golden-haired female poured ale. Her clothes were clean and well-tailored. She wore a thick pair of brown trousers, laced together with slivers of leather, along with an emerald tunic that hung off her shoulders. She whistled as she worked, her long hair kept out of her face by a thick braid. Several wooden barrels were stacked up behind her, along with shelves holding a multitude of mugs and tankards.
Squaring her shoulders, Reyna went straight to the bar. The female didn’t even glance up. “Welcome. Take a seat. There’s a free chair in the corner there, but you’ll have to use an empty barrel as a table. Busy night. As always.”
“I’m not here for ale,” Reyna said quietly.
The tavern wench finally glanced up, peering at Reyna with a pair of copper eyes lined in gold. Reyna had never seen eyes quite like them before. “You don’t look like you’re from around here.”
Was it that obvious?
“I’m looking for someone. The owner of this tavern. Is he here?”
The female set down the tankard and wiped her hands on her trousers. “I own this tavern.”
