“The captain of the royal guard doesn’t approve of the king sneaking out like a misbehaving boy?” I tease. Elisaf said Zander was known for lurking among the commoners.
He scowls. “I do as I wish.”
Ahead of us, Atticus barks with laughter. “Boaz will send the royal guard to shadow Zander while he’s doing as he wishes.”
“And any fool half drowned in a vat of mead would be able to spot them. They are not trained to be inconspicuous.”
“And tonight, we need discretion?”
“We need information that I won’t get within the castle walls or from my royal sources.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Port Street, to see if anyone there has heard about any casters arriving on a ship. Someone must know something.”
“Huh. With all those thieves and unsavory folk? I recall someone suggesting a similar plan. Who was it, though? Someone intelligent beyond her years, but why can’t I remember …”
Zander’s deep chuckle vibrates within my chest, and an unexpected flutter stirs inside me. The stone-faced king laughing seemed an impossibility a month ago, and now it is me who has sparked this genuine reaction. “Are you quite finished?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see. Aren’t you worried people will recognize me?”
“There will be as many mortals as immortals. And besides, I will keep you close.”
We cross a street and descend along a much steeper slope, and I sense the mood of the city shifting. We’ve left the quiet residential neighborhood of brick buildings and pitched roofs that surrounds the castle and are venturing into a more industrial area where wooden and metal signs dangle from posts marking various professions. I strain my eyes to read them as we pass—blacksmiths, butchers, wheelwrights, rope makers, glassblowers. Through the windows, I see nothing but darkness, but now and again, I catch the faint glow of light from someone within toiling late into the night.
A briny scent hangs in the air, and I find myself inhaling deeply, as if my lungs crave it.
“It calls to you, even with the cuffs,” Zander murmurs, and I detect a hint of awe in his voice.
“I don’t know.” It could just be the lure of the ocean.
“I’m telling you, it does. Just as that flame calls to me.” He points to a lantern that glows beside a sign that reads Currier. In the small display window below is a stretched cowhide. My nostrils catch the pungent smell of rich earth and oils, not altogether pleasant but vaguely familiar of tanned leather.
Ahead of us, torches and lanterns burn like tiny beacons down the hill. “What about all those?”
“Yes.” As if to prove his point, every flame within my line of sight flares. It’s only for a split second before they return to normal, a blink of an eye, but it steals my breath.
“Quit showing off,” Atticus mutters, earning Zander’s chuckle.
“What’s your affinity to, Atticus?” I ask.
He peers over his shoulder at me. “I don’t have one.”
I frown. “But I thought all the nymphaeum-born immortals did. Annika does.”
“Yes. She stole mine in the womb,” comes his wry response. Is there bitterness in his tone? I can’t tell.
“Atticus does not need an affinity,” Zander says. “He has a king’s army to swell his ego.”
“Yes. An army that I should be leading into battle instead of escorting my fool brother on some hunt for useless information.” He taps his heels against his horse, and it speeds up.
We’re moving away from the industrial area now and closer to the water’s edge. Raucous voices filled with laughter tickle my eardrums. I assume this is Cirilea’s nightlife that Elisaf suggested I experience.
Two royal guard members on horses linger at a street corner. We pass them without slowing. They don’t seem bothered by three cloaked figures.
Atticus stops where our lane meets a broader street. We sidle our horse next to him. Straight ahead, the silhouette of an enormous ship stands solemn, its mast reaching into the indigo sky. A sliver of an ordinary, meek moon glows above, and I find myself wishing for a blood moon to cast its brilliant light across the span of ocean.
“We’re going this way.” Zander steers Tripsy to the left.