Then she was gone, leaving Nes on the street.
Nes walked several blocks, ensuring she wasn’t followed again. She stopped to chat with the woman who sold the beautiful scarves she sometimes tied in her hair, then made her way to the Gash, where she darted inside the bakery she and Suri loved, emerging with a powdered maple doughnut. She walked aimlessly, savoring every bite and licking her fingers clean.
It was only when she reached the sands of Varena Beach that she pulled the letter from her pocket and unfolded it. She recognized Phineas’s handwriting immediately—the elegant script had always made hers look like it belonged to a toddler.
At the top of the page were instructions for Suri.
Deliver to Keifer Harrow, 635 Front Street, Ditch.
Then, at the bottom of the page, another address and a message.
122 South Street, Wharf. Two times 24. I’ll be the one in red.
She read the message three times before tucking the letter back in her pocket. She grinned. If Phineas was taking care to disguise the time and date of his meeting, then whatever secret business he had with Keifer Harrow was well worth her while.
Harrow would not be meeting Phineas at two a.m. twelve days from now. But she would.
18
Toran
Toran rubbed at his eyes as he leaned against a dock post.
He’d told Nes to meet him at eight. If the watch in his pocket was right, it was two minutes to eight. He had yet to see a single freckle.
His eyelids felt heavy—a mix of exhaustion and keeping tears at bay. After hearing Fell’s story, he’d spent most of the previous night finally reading Loriana’s journal. He had to know if she’d suspected the Witch to be in the north, as Fell had. He’d read well into the early hours of the morning, through the stinging in his eyes and the tear in his heart. Just seeing her name signed at the bottom of the first entry had him roiling with loss again.
After reading the entries describing her hunt for the Witch, he’d had to set the journal down. Loriana had by no means been a gentle soul. She’d been fierce, with the strength and discipline of a warrior. Nothing, not even an unplanned relationship with Orlonea’s Crown, would have deterred her from her goal. But he regretted not knowing this part of her—that as much as he loved her, she’d still kept some of herself hidden from him.
With a sigh, Toran glanced down at himself, at the thick stitching along his cuffs, and realized he’d put his jacket on inside out. Shrugging out of the sleeves, he hurried to correct the mistake.
“You look like you could use some coffee.”
Pulling on the ends of his jacket, he looked up. Genna stood, immaculate in her uniform, her shoulder pressed against the opposite side of the dock post. He wiped at his eyes again before straightening.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he said. “But why here?”
The docks were busiest in the mornings, with lower-ranking guards flitting about collecting and refilling supplies for the naval ships anchored just offshore. Genna glanced around as if only noticing the packed planks now.
“The docks are close to the ocean,” she said. Her expression darkened even as the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, bathing the docks in light. “Captain Fell won’t come here. He doesn’t think the Witch would dare walk so close to the ocean.”
Toran stared out at the calm water before turning back to face the bustling city behind them. It was as if he were standing on the seam of two worlds. “Fell might be a despicable human being, but he’s not dumb. He makes a good point. If there was only one thing in the world that could kill me, I’d stay as far away from it as possible.”
“It’s a good thing you aren’t the Witch, or I’d kill you right now.”
Nes stepped into view at the same time a strong gust of wind slammed the dock. The wind rushed her, making the skirt she wore dance around her bare legs and her hair whip and twirl. If his eyes weren’t deceiving him, even her ankles had freckles.
Toran had never seen her in a skirt. Never seen skin beyond that of her hands and the freckles stitching her cheekbones. She looked as wild and beautiful as the wind itself. He was struck with the desire to run his fingers through her hair, to let them get caught in the tangles, to let her ensnare him.
“Why are we here?” Nes growled as she pushed hair out of her face.
Toran raised a hand to help her but stopped himself when Nes’s glare landed on him. He moved his hand to gesture between the two women instead. “Nes, Genna. Genna, Nes.”
“Nice to meet you,” Genna said.
Nes clutched her whipping hair and said, “It’d be nicer if we weren’t so exposed.”
“This seemed like the safest spot to meet,” Genna said. “Toran told me you wanted to discuss Captain Fell.”
