Nin flinched away from the rolling pin brandished at her, taking a step back as her hands flew up. “Easy there, Monsieur. I haven’t mucked up your pastries just by standing here,” she protested calmly, but a slight quiver ran down the length of her arms.
“I said leave!” the pâtissier shouted, and the noblewomen jerked beside him. They flashed their fans, whispering and giggling behind the delicate, patterned lace.
Figures, they would find the hungry pauper amusing.
“Monsieur, wait,” the lady in the golden gown began demurely and took a step forward. “Surely we can showa little charity?”
Before either Nin or the pâtissier could respond, the noblewoman reached into her box and tossed something pink at her. Nin instinctively moved to catch it mid-air.
Her stomach tightened as she stared at a macaron in her palm.
The shell had cracked, leaving a jagged scar and crumbs trailing from the cookie.
“Charlotte!” her friend mock-admonished with a laugh. “Feed a rat once, and it’ll come crawling back for more.”
“It was broken anyway,” the woman said with a careless shrug.
Nin’s lip curled as she turned on her heel and stuffed the macaron into her pocket. Their laughter pealed off the damp walls of the alleyway, chasing her until she rounded a corner. Heat flared beneath her skin.
If only she had the power to wipe the smug smiles off their painted faces…
Yet she paused. She reached for the sweet she had long admired and brought it to her nose. The scent of sugar-spun strawberries filled her senses, inspiring a new wave of hunger and longing to wash over her.
The echoes of her seventeen-year-old brother’s rattling cough rang through her mind as the cold stung her cheeks. It had been four months since his illness had struck, and the image of his pale face, his body shivering in their hovel, sobered her of her purpose here. Frostlung had swept through the fringes of Bellecour and hadn’t been kind to the poor folk. It never was.
Nin sighed, stowing the macaron gingerly into her pocket. Tightening the scarf around her neck, her eyes darted from side to side, her steps swift and purposeful. As she made her way through the streets of the city, she stuck to the shadows, making sure to slump her shoulders to appear smaller than she already was.
The early spring chill stung her cold fingers through her deep pockets. Her breath came out in white puffs as she followed the sounds of bustling carriages, clomping horses, and the haughty laughter of wealthy men. Around the corner, she was met by a sea of shimmering silks, dazzling gold buttons, and expensive fur coats. Sunlight gleamed off the sparse patches of ice clinging to the slick cobblestone. Beyond the square, in between shops, lay the palace perched on the horizon like a pearly crown. The sprawling white stone, countless windows, and gilded rooftops glinted against what little light beamed through the gloomy clouds. More than a dozen chimneys poked from the roof, and each one had white smoke trailing off into the sky.
Merchants enticed the crowd with their wares: oranges, roasted chestnuts, cabbages, and sizzling butter. Nin’s stomach growled again as she watched a vendor ladle batter onto his iron plate over hot coals. He spread it in an even circle with a flat, round wooden disk—the rozell—attached to a short handle. The vendor dusted the crepe with powdered sugar and rolled it up with a spatula.
The sweet aroma cut through the damp, frosty air, drifting over the milling nobles wearing mufflers and thick, woolen cloaks. Their steps were measured, their chins lifted, and an unmistakable snobbery painted theirmannerisms. When they spoke to one another, they postured themselves like peacocks trying to outshine the other. Nin grimaced. The nobles were as much on display as the satin dresses propped on mannequins in the shop windows.
Stepping into the crowd, Nin stalked after the sound of coins clinking within a deep pocket. A man in a tricorne hat and a heavy green coat glided ahead of her, his golden-tipped cane tapping against the cobblestone. When the nobleman paused to tip his hat to a lady, Nin slunk to his right—silent, unassuming—and slipped a coin from his pocket before he could place the hat back on his head. Quickening her stride, she wove between wide skirts and bustling businessmen with newspapers tucked under their arms until she veered into the next block over.
A carriage splashed muddy water onto her worn boots. A few droplets seeped through a tiny hole in the cheap leather, falling onto her exposed toe. She reached for the coin, tracing each groove under her fingertips.
Copper.
Cursing under her breath, she released it back into the depths of her pocket. It wouldn’t even be enough to buy a loaf of bread, let alone new socks.
From the corner of her eye, two well-dressed gentlemen halted in the middle of the paved sidewalk. The crowd parted around them as if they were a stone wedged in the middle of a stream. The men edged toward the adjacent alleyway, their faces turning obscured within the darkness as they spoke in hushed tones.
Sometimes, Nin eavesdropped for her own amusement, but the snorting horses and the chattering crowd drowned out their voices. Curiosity drove her forward, and she kept to the walls until she hid behind a cart of cabbages.
One man had his back against the alley wall, while the other faced her, his form half swallowed by shadows. A blue, velvet coat hugged the man’s slender frame, adorned with a long-skirted, gray waistcoat. The crisp breeze pushed through his midnight blue cape around his legs, and his arms folded over his chest as though he were safeguarding himself against an invisible enemy. Round, eloquent spectacles framed his shrewd, dark eyes, making him appear stern but scholarly. He whispered something, and the lenses grew foggy with the frigid air. He removed them, wiping them with terse swipes of a handkerchief.
A stubborn black strand of hair fell into his eyes with the movement. He did not wear a fashionable wig as most noblemen did, but it was short and trimmed around the sides. The dark, wavy locks were tousled, perhaps windswept, or disturbed by a hand running through them in frustration.
He was attractive—maddeningly so for someone of his pompous status.
The conversation came to an end, and the other gentleman took his leave. The man she’d been spying on between the cart slats withdrew a small notebook from his inner jacket pocket and began scribbling within its pages. A flash of a red velvet coin bag from within his coat caught her eye.
As handsome as the man was, his coin was more attractive to her.It was now or never.
She made her move, standing quietly with her head bowed. Hunching her shoulders, she strode in his direction before throwing her shoulder out to bump into him.
Two seconds was all it took to free the bag from the damask lining of his coat. “Sorry, monsieur,” she mumbled, shoving the bag into her pocket before dashing away.
