It reminds me of who I am. A gutter rat, a street thief, a kitchen maid.
Eban motions toward figures who stand near a horse and cart on the drive up to the property. They’re unloading crates overflowing with fruit, bags of flour and rice, and bottles of wine. The parade of crates travels to and from the east side of the house.
“That must be where the kitchens and storerooms are,” he says. “Looks like they’re preparing for the holiday. Lots of coming and going for the next few days.”
Once the cart’s empty, and the last of the deliveries are being carried into the storerooms, some servants walk out empty-handed and get in the back of the cart.
“I’ve got an idea,” Eban says, watching the procession of goods. “Let’s follow them.”
Darius agrees. “Lead the way.”
It’s nearly dusk. The impending darkness is a good thing, though—we’re less likely to be noticed. We push our way through the overgrown brush, away from the palace, until we come to the road that weaves through the estates and eventually leads back into the Sleeve.
All three of us put our hoods up as we walk down the road. If anyone sees us, they’ll assume we’re just three more servants procuring goods for the festivities.
The cart is slow, but well ahead of us.
Once we’re close enough to hear the wheels squeaking and the horse hooves clapping against the ground, we slow our pace. The cart turns down the same road I took when I fled from House Eternal. We sneak alongside well-manicured trees and landscaping that keep the estates apart, maintaining their fantasy of a perfect, beautiful world, so they don’t have to look directly at the poverty they benefit from. The path leads to the nearest village, a tidy collection of shops and cottages. The cart stops in front of a pub. Soon a few barkeeps are loading the cart with barrels of wine.
“Right, this is where I leave you,” Darius says. “I have some business to take care of with a few of my sources.”
“You’re leaving us?” I ask, surprised.
“I need to make some inquiries. Make sure Lacon hasn’t discovered the Lashing’s new location. Besides, your boy says he’s got it covered.” He looks at Eban with a challenging smile. “Right?”
“If the relics are at House Dominant, yes,” says Eban, matching Darius’s nonchalant tone.
“I heard there’s a bounty on your head. Some situation with a gaming hall hit that went bust?” Darius says with a slight smirk.
“They didn’t catch me, did they?” Eban lifts his chin.
Darius looks at the sky, where the moon is low. “Make sure they don’t. Get the relics. Send a flare when it’s done, and we’ll pick you up where we were dropped off.” He hands us a few sticks of combust.
“What about the Blackcoats?” I whisper.
Darius shakes his head. “I wouldn’t worry about Blackcoats. This place is supplying an estate, which means it’s protected by them. They’re not going to look for trouble here.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Yes,” Eban chimes in. He narrows his eyes at Darius. “Howdoyou know that?”
But Darius ignores the question. “Send a flare and my crew will come get you. Good luck.” He looks directly at me. “Actually, Gin, I might need your help. A woman’s touch is always helpful when trying to get information. Your choice—do you want to stay with him or go with me?”
I hesitate. I’d volunteered to retrieve the stolen relics with Eban, but let’s be honest, he doesn’t need me. He is the Shadow of the Sleeve after all, the thief no one can catch. I hesitate, unsure of where I’m not needed.
“She’s coming with me,” Eban practically growls.
Darius shrugs when I don’t move. “Well, good luck, then.” Then he disappears into the night without another word.
Eban grumbles underneath his breath, but I don’t catch it. My cheeks flush at how possessive he was just then, especially since I liked it.
When we step inside the pub, there are a few people hunched over at the bar. A mechanical contraption is bubbling away, while an automaton pours drinks into tumblers. A couple of heads turn our way, but mostly we’re ignored. We take a seat in the corner. It reminds me a little too much of the last pub and what happened there. My heart speeds up.
A frazzled barmaid approaches us. She has her curly hair wrapped up with linen, and an old apron tied over a simple brown dress. She looks familiar and I swear I’ve seen her somewhere before.
“What can I get you?” she asks. Then she raises her eyebrows and looks directly at me. “I know you, don’t I?”
My heart begins to race uncontrollably. “No, I don’t think so…”
