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“Acquaintances,” Raff echoed sharply. “You think I don’t know highborns when I see them?” He scoffed. “Get out.”

Tossing his documents onto a countertop, Raff stormed away.

“Well, he’s charming,” Keil murmured.

Lye scratched the back of his neck, wincing. “Maybe I should—”

I didn’t hear the rest; I was already striding after Raff. Because if Calytrix could help me understand the compass, I couldn’t leave without a meeting.

“Wait!” I elbowed through the workforce. “I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t talk to highborns,” Raff called, his ponytail slapping against his back.

“Who said I was a highborn?”

Raff swiveled, forcing me to halt. “There are only two types of people foolish enough to waltz in here without an invitation: thieves and highborns.” He gave me a thin-lipped inspection. “You look more like one than the other.”

Keil and Lye sidled up to flank me again, the latter muttering in my ear, “Rule one.”

No talking to the locals.

I ignored him. If I couldn’t convince this man to get me a meeting with Calytrix, how could I convince the general of Banarrat that I was Erik’s Wholeborn bride?

“I’m not an Ansoran highborn,” I said.

“Neither am I,” Raff replied. “Should we bond over it? Braid each other’s hair?” He began turning again.

“I’m from Daradon,” I said, making him pause. “We have unlicensed workrooms there, too. I recently visited a few eurium smiths, and most wouldn’t even admit to their talent. Do you know why? Because setting up a place like this in Daradon would earn you a trip to the gallows.” I glanced innocently between my companions. “Having met Rheya’s Minister of Intelligence, I can’t help but wonder . . . do you have similar laws in Ansora?”

My words sent currents of tension through the room. Names held power, and the right name could hold something even more dangerous.

My casual use of Rheya’s name, for example, had possessed the edge of a threat.

Keil and Lye inched closer to me as the workforce quieted.

“Rule two,” Lye said from the side of his mouth.

No drawing unnecessary attention from the locals.

Again, I ignored him. Because although this wasn’t my usual battleground, I hadn’t forgotten how to get what I wanted from those unwilling to hand it over.

Raff sized me up, warier but no less scornful. “What do you want from Caly?”

“She translated a symbol for me. I need to know how she recognized it.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes. I want nothing more.”

He smirked. “Then I know you’re lying. People always want more when it comes to Caly. Now I suggest that you and your friends leave before you find out what else my workers can do with a pickaxe.”

As a unit, the workers shifted, their tools transforming to weapons in their fists.

I blinked, rattled. This was not how the conversation was supposed to go. I’d once wangled a favor from Keil using a similar method of blackmail and had cashed in that favor for the symbol’s translation.

It was ironic, and somewhat alarming, that the approach would fail me now, when I was so close to the information I needed.

Lye ambled forward, his smile a perfect balance of charm and persuasion. “Come on, Raff. Don’t forget whose connections got you to the mainland.”