Lydia came running our way, her eyes wild as she squealed, “Hide me! Hide me, quick!”
Wren’s hand immediately shot to her ziethe.
I reached out and stopped her. “It’s a game, Wren,” I said quietly. “Only a game.” But my heart beat a wicked dash too.
Hide me. Please, hide me.
The screams were as vivid now as the day I had heard them, the tearful pleas as crowds ran from Blackstone Square, beating on doors, trying to hide in dark corners when the slaughter began. Hide me. It was no game. We were only eleven years old. I hid three people in my hovel. There was no door to lock. The only weapon I had was the same small stick my mother hadn’t been able to reach in time—useless against the guards’ swords and long halberds. No one came inside, but we heard the pounding of footsteps as guards hunted people down. We heard the screams. The clans had made the mistake of cheering for the princess after she stabbed the Komizar. The princess attacked him because he had killed a child—Aster, a girl who worked as a barrow runner in Sanctum Hall. Unfortunately, he didn’t die from his wound, and he sought immediate revenge on the clans for their disloyalty
“Quick!” Lydia pleaded again.
I shoved her behind us, and then Wren, Synové, and I moved shoulder to shoulder, creating an armored wall of silk and satin. Lydia giggled behind us as Nash came running up, asking if we had seen her.
“Seen who?” Wren asked, her breath still rushed.
“We haven’t seen anyone,” Synové confirmed.
Lydia squealed and tore out between us, racing past Nash. He chased after her, and we all stared, still shoulder to shoulder, watching them run away.
“Only a game,” Synové repeated and swallowed. She had been one of those who had hidden in my hovel.
Tor’s Watch was a different world fr
om our own.
The games were different.
“We were talking about dancing,” I said, trying to refocus our thoughts.
“Right,” Synové answered. Her chest swelled against the yellow silk in a deep cleansing breath. She rose on her toes, and her eyes skimmed the far reaches of the gardens. “I’m already on it. If I can just find one very tall, dark, and…” She walked away, but there was little doubt who she was on the hunt for. Eben had been temporarily displaced by Mason.
I looked to my right and saw Jase’s twin brothers walking toward us, their gazes focused on Wren. I elbowed her. “Aram and Samuel approaching,” I whispered. “Jase’s younger brothers. I think they have a thing for you. Be nice.”
“What makes you think I don’t know how to be nice,” she grumbled. She hitched up her shoulder, smoothing her scalloped pink sleeve into place, then twisted her scowl into a smile. “There. Now which is which?” she whispered.
“That’s for you to figure out—but don’t leave permanent marks.”
“You’re no fun at all,” she said and walked off to meet them.
It was my opportunity to slip into Raehouse—the only house I hadn’t yet searched. The offices were closed now, and Priya would be at the party. The front door was in shadows and as it turned out, unlocked—and tonight because of the party there were no dogs roaming, only a few guards patrolling who were easy to slip past. The dim glow from the party lanterns filtered through the windows, giving me enough light to maneuver. The offices were sparsely furnished, most of the rooms on the first floor looking like sitting rooms, perhaps for business discussions, and though there were three floors of rooms, the majority filled with storage, there appeared to be only one office—Priya’s.
This explained the quiet and solitude that Jalaine had talked about. Priya’s office took up most of the second floor and was the opposite of the rest of the house. What she lacked in companionship here, she made up for in décor. It was neat and excessively ordered, but overflowed with color and detail, as if the sum of her twenty-three years was laid out in this room. Whenever I had broken into a quarterlord’s or merchant’s home, I always took a few minutes to study their belongings. What they filled their houses with was revealing. Spiked strips beneath windows, caged rats with chopped off tails, silky underclothing in bright colors, and always knives under their pillows. They trusted no one.
In Priya’s office there were, of course, ledgers and books, quills and ink, maps and stacks of paper waiting her attention, but the collection of small polished pebbles laid out in a neat row across the top of her desk caught the light and my notice. Just below them was a tiny spotted quail feather laying precisely in the middle of her blotter. To the side were small charcoal sketches of butterflies, which revealed a softer side she didn’t readily radiate.
On the other side of her desk, a note caught my eye.
For Jase’s approval:
Supply request from BI
BI? The Ballenger Inn?
I surveyed the list—Morrighese wine, Gitos olives, Gastineux fish eggs, Cruvas tobacco, large quantities of charcoal, and several powders that I’d never heard of before. Herbs?
At the bottom of the page was Jase’s signature. Priya’s list had been approved. It was the only approval request I saw on her desk, but it was a costly one—maybe that was why it required Jase’s approval.
I heard a door click, and then a light glowed in the downstairs hallway. By the time Priya stepped into her office, I had already stepped out and found my way down a back staircase. Maybe she had remembered another supply request that couldn’t wait until morning, or maybe she simply needed a break from the party and a dose of her solitude again. She would find that here. The captain wasn’t a guest in Raehouse either.