“You’re Simon Silvis’s son. You wear the same signet. And how else would you have such close access to the prince that he’d provide you with stacks of blood-marked invitations to sell in the camps? You’re his cousin.” I lifted my chin. “You look exactly like Simon, too. That’s where the similarities end, though. He was kind and you’re a bastard.”
“You met him? When? Wait!”
I had already exited the courtyard and was trying to disappear into the din on the street, just like I’d so often done back in Renalt. But Zan was not deterred. “Emilie!” he called. “Would you just stop?”
I did stop, but not because he told me to. Nathaniel stepped out in front of me, as impassable as Achlev’s Wall. His arms were crossed in front of him like a mother about to reprimand a child, but his dour expression wa
sn’t directed at me; he was looking at Zan.
Zan said breathlessly, “She knows my father.”
“She what?”
“Simon.”
“Simon . . . your father.” He cleared his throat. “Okay . . . how?”
“She met him in Renalt before coming here.” To me, Zan said, “Please, Emilie. You have to tell us how he is. We’ve heard all kinds of rumors . . .”
I’d made a mistake. I never should have said anything. It was a bread crumb: small and seemingly insignificant, but if I dropped too many, Toris could follow them right back to me. And then he could finish what he’d started before the Harbinger intervened.
She was here now, too, standing still among the tumult of the market. With my attention on her, she turned and walked away, toward the castle and the jutting tower behind it.
“Well?” Zan was asking. “What do you know about Simon Silvis?”
I shook myself, coming back into the moment. “Nothing. I know nothing.”
“We need to find another place to have this conversation,” he told Nathaniel. “Pick her up if you have to.”
Nathaniel moved in but won my nastiest glare. “Don’t even try,” I warned.
They herded me to a side street without any prying eyes, and Nathaniel went to stand watch while Zan questioned me, pacing in front of me while I leaned, arms folded, against the brick. “It’s been several weeks since we’ve heard from him,” he said. “Simon. My father, as you so cleverly deduced. He was supposed to send word when he arrived in Renalt—?he didn’t. Or at least he hasn’t yet. And now we’ve been getting all sorts of troubling reports of political unrest . . .”
Frostily, I replied, “Tell me where Falada is, and I will divulge everything you want to know.”
“She’s safe. And now she’ll remain safe in my protection.”
“It’s funny how, often, when someone says they want to protect you, they actually mean they want to control you.”
“It must be terrible, having people care about your well-being.”
“I’m being held against my will in an empty alley of a heathen city. Obviously, that’s not a problem anymore.”
“Heathen city.” Zan rubbed the spot just below his lip. “Because Renalt is so civilized, right? If someone so much as breathes the wrong way, you just kill them. It’s all very organized, I’m told.” He saw my expression darken. “Oh, that hits close to home, doesn’t it?”
“Let me go. I’m not going to tell you anything—?” But I was cut off midsentence by the deep clang of a bell, not far away. Zan gave a start, and when the bell tolled again, Nathaniel raced toward us from around the corner.
“Forest Gate,” he said.
Zan replied, “I know.” He swore.
“Is that supposed to mean something?” I asked.
“The bell at the gate tolls for only two reasons: an army is approaching, or there’s royalty coming.”
Ah. It seemed as if Toris, Lisette, and Conrad had finally arrived.
Nathaniel asked, “What about the king?”