Once she was sure he was out of earshot, she groaned. She lay back on the bed, not caring if she rumpled his pristine sheets. Holding her father’s letter above her head, she began to read.
My dearest Nes,
From your last letter, you sound well. It is nice to hear you have made a friend. Suriadne seems like a lovely young woman. I am glad you two found each other.
She knew Mikaud read all the letters he passed between them, so she couldn’t tell her father about Phineas or how close she’d been to getting him out of prison. In her latest letter, she’d decided to tell her father about Suri—the friend she had made against her will.
Have you considered visiting Lorut? It pains me to think of you staying in Gadore just for me. I want you to live your own life. And if you don’t know what it is you want, go out into the world and find out. Find someone who cares for you and spend your life with that person. There is no one way to live happily, my Nessie.
It was the same speech he gave her in every letter. Get out of Orlonea. Leave him behind. She would never do it. Even if he beggedher. There was a hole in her chest that only her father could fill. She dreamed of the day the two of them could walk side by side across the continent, father and daughter, together again.
Finding happiness can be like turning over a rock and finding a crystal on the other side. It may take dozens of rocks for you to finally see that sparkle, but never doubt that it’s there, waiting for you—
A cry split the night. Strangled and short, there was nothing but agony in the sound.
Nes’s heart clenched.
Stowing her father’s letter, she ran to the window.Mikaud.
If he was hurt, she’d—she’d what? She only had the small dagger in her boot. She didn’t know how to fight. All she knew was how to cheat. A coil behind her rib cage, a second heart beside her own, stretched and yawned. She put it back to sleep on instinct.
It didn’t matter if she was no good in a fight. She was still another person at his side.
She swung herself over the window ledge and climbed, nearly sliding, down. Following the cry, she ran up the street until the dirt beneath her feet gave way to bumpy cobblestone. There, just ahead, were three figures on the ground. She recognized Mikaud among them, his blond hair a beacon in the dark. A fourth body hovered over him.
“Get away!” she screamed. Her voice rang shrill, leaking with desperation, and she hated herself for the sound. But the other person paused, lifted their head.
Nes stumbled to a halt several paces shy of the group. She couldn’t see Mikaud’s attacker, not with the way their hood hung low over their eyes. But she could see their hands. Thin fingers clutched tight in a fist.
She drew her dagger. “Get away from him,” she growled.
Beneath his attacker, Mikaud drew a sharp, shuddering breath. The figure over him snapped their focus back to Mikaud. They opened their fist, something small falling to the ground, before raising their hand.
A strong tang of magic—a scent of sweet and tart winter berries—filled her nostrils and dribbled down the back of her throat. It wasstrong enough to choke on. Nes inhaled deep. Behind that tang was something more. Something thin and bloody.
No.
The attacker’s hand came down quickly, and the three figures on the ground lurched, their heads falling back, their necks exposed to the sky. A single line was drawn across each of their throats by invisible hands, stopping only at the end of the third man’s neck. As one, all three figures fell slack against the cobblestones.
The killer ran.
Dagger useless in her hand, Nes rushed forward. She fell to the ground beside Mikaud. Her hands trembled as she reached for him.
“No, no, no,” she hissed. Traitorous emotions controlled the words flying off her tongue. “Wake up. Come on, get up, you stupidly benevolent man. You have to help me.” She caught the sob in her throat before it escaped. “You have to tell me where to find my father.”
Mikaud didn’t stir. Her fingers skimmed his cheeks, his lips. Lips that had scolded her. Lips that had kissed her. Lips she’d kissed. They were still now. Dead.
The second sob was too much for her to swallow. It escaped, soft and abrupt, a plea the dead would not answer. Slow tears followed, and she hurried to smear them across her cheeks.
This was why she shouldn’t have let herself get attached. She knew the hollow heartbreak of having someone you loved ripped away from you. This city thrived on taking away the things you loved. She saw it happen every damned day. She knew better, and yet she’d still let herself get attached to Mikaud.
This was his fault. He shouldn’t have been so likable, so kind to her. He shouldn’t have listened or smiled or flirted back.
A third sob threatened to slip past her barriers.No. She shoved the lump in her throat down, gasping as she fought to regain control of her emotions. She was vulnerable out here in the open.
She had to leave him. She could not stay here.
All three of the dead wore the standard red-and-black uniform of the King’s Guard. Three guards dead. Right at the city entrance—unheard of.
