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For the life of her, she couldn’t keep the dejection from her voice. The whole thing had seemed like such a grand adventure, such a magnificent gesture of recklessness, but she had been a little afraid to set off all by herself. Securing Foley’s attendance had been doubly sweet. She had not only upended the traditional order of things—something always guaranteed to annoy her father—but she had also found the one companion who could make her feel safe on the journey. She had been both irresponsible and responsible at the same time.

Except she hadn’t been. Except she hadn’t outsmarted her father; she hadn’t won Foley over. She had merely behaved as they expected. She had fallen in with their plans.

It was enough to make her want to flee from the palace in the middle of the night and board a foreign ship bound for any destination—she didn’t care which one—just to prove she had the nerve to do it.
Courage.
That was what the blessings kept showering on her. Was it time to live up to the attribute?

Of course, it was going to prove mighty hard to escape from Malinqua, what with royal guards following her like malevolent shadows, and Berringey ships blockading the harbor—

Foley’s voice interrupted her self-pitying thoughts. “No.”

She’d already forgotten what she’d just said. “No what?”

“No, I hadn’t been assigned to you. Your father hadn’t yet decided whether I should be transferred from Josetta’s detail. As you say, she and Rafe were having a pretty eventful time of it.”

Her spirits lifted immeasurably at his words. “You defied my father to come with me?”

This time his smile lingered a little longer. “I did.”

“What did you think? When I came to you that night, when I asked you to travel with me? Did you think I was being foolish? Being wild? Did you think about going to my father and telling him what I was planning?” A thought occurred to her, for literally the first time. “
Did
you go to him? Did he know I was going— Did he
let
me go?”

“I didn’t tell him,” Foley said—the quickest answer he’d given all night. Apparently the accusation touched his honor. “I never said I would be his spy.”

“But what did you think?”

“I thought—” He hesitated, watching her, as if not certain how he should phrase his words. “I thought you had spent so much of your life in your sister’s shadow that it would be good for you to stand in the sun somewhere else. I thought you had spent so much time as a pawn in the royal court—”

His voice trailed off and he shook his head. It was a moment before Corene realized he was actually angry. She could guess what memory still sparked his rage.

“When I was eleven,” she said softly. “When King Vernon tried to marry me off to the viceroy of Soeche-Tas.”

He nodded. “Later I realized that Darien Serlast would never have
allowed that to happen, but at the time . . . at the time . . .” He shook his head again. “I would have been happy if Zoe had drowned everyone at court that day.”

“Well, she almost did,” Corene said practically.

“That was the first time I realized you needed a protector every bit as much as Josetta did.” That faint smile was back. “And nothing that’s happened since then has changed my mind.”

“So you came with me to be that protector,” she said softly, “and because you thought I was right to go.”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you did,” she said. “I don’t think I would have been brave enough to leave if you’d said no.”

He glanced around the room, but she thought that he was really imagining the whole palace. “Given the situation you’re in now, I’m not so sure it was the right choice after all.”

“Probably not,” she agreed. “But neither of us could have known that then.”

“When you see Leah tomorrow,” he said. “Talk to her about getting
you
out of here as well as Alette.”

“All right,” she said. “We’ll go to the market in the morning. Right after breakfast. And if Leah isn’t there—we’ll find her somewhere.”

“Sounds good.”

There seemed to be no more to say, but Corene found she didn’t want to leave the room. She was ruffled, on edge, wanting to get back to her room to think over Foley’s words, wanting to stay and make him say more. She didn’t know what she wanted. Begrudgingly, she took the few steps necessary to reach the threshold.

“Lock your door once you’re in your room,” Foley said.

“I always do.” Smiling slightly, she turned back to look at him. “Let me know if you change your mind. If you want to stay in the maid’s room and guard my sleep.”

This time he was ready for her. “When the situation is dire enough, that’s what I’ll do.”

Not until she had opened the door and taken one step into the hallway did she offer a parting shot. “Sometime, when you want to hear the answer, ask me why I invited you to come with me to Malinqua,” she
said. She didn’t wait to see his reaction. Just closed the door behind her, quickly crossed the hall, and let herself into her own room. Shutting and locking the door, she found herself unable to move another inch inside the room. She stood there in utter darkness, trembling, leaning against the door for support, until it seemed half the night had passed.

SEVENTEEN

L
eah’s conversation with Corene did not go at all as she had expected—although she supposed that was typical of a conversation with the princess. The two of them huddled behind the curtain at Chandran’s shop and whispered in Welchin, a language that was quite suitable for expressing surprise.

“You want me to spirit someone
else
out of the city? Not
you
?”

“She’s in more danger than I am.”

“Your father might not agree.”

“Right now I don’t care what my father thinks. Will you help me?”

Of course she would. Staying in Corene’s good graces was part of her job. And this little adventure was unexpectedly appealing—in a stupid, crazy, dangerous way.

“The day after tomorrow, then?” Corene asked as she lifted her hand to pull back the curtain.

“I might need more time. Two days after tomorrow.”

“We’ll meet you then.”

Leah ushered Corene out of the stall and watched as the princess mingled with the rest of the shoppers and faded from view. Then she turned to Chandran.

“I need the rest of the afternoon off. And the next couple of days.”

He was silent a moment, studying her. When he spoke, his voice was troubled. “I understand that the atmosphere at the palace is toxic. But if the princess is attempting to leave undetected, her options are not good. The illegal ports are not safe.”

“I know. She’s not leaving.”

“And yet she has a commission for you. A dangerous one, I take it.”

Leah spread her hands.
What isn’t dangerous?

His next words surprised her. “Do you need my help?”

“It’s a kind offer,” she said. “But I don’t think so.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust anybody. And you did try to poison me once.”

He smiled. “But that is how things are done in Malinqua.”

“If I ever do need help, I’ll turn to you,” she said. “If it makes you feel better to know that.”

“It does,” he said. “Whatever task you’re engaged in, stay safe.”

The words warmed her all the way to her toes, a useful response to the chill of the day. It was no use reminding herself that she’d known Chandran less than a quintile—and that he might be an even better undercover agent than she was. He could be spying for Filomara or the Coziquela queen or any other nation with full coffers and a curiosity about its neighbors, but she had come to believe in him. She knew better, but that hadn’t stopped her. She couldn’t decide if trusting Chandran confirmed she would always be a fool or proved that there might still be hope for her bruised and suspicious heart.

She made her way to the harbor and paused a moment to study the scene. With the blockade in place, it seemed oddly empty and strangely quiet. Where there were usually close to a thousand ships lined up along the wharf, and hundreds more hovering off in deeper water, today there were only fifteen ships snugged up against the docks. Most of them were small, fleet vessels that could outrun the heavy Berringese destroyers patrolling the waters. Few of them would carry much cargo, except the most precious and the most expensive; most of them would trade in information instead. Just as precious and equally expensive.

Leah drew her jacket closer against the chill and followed the narrow, twisting roads that spoked off the harbor with no discernible
pattern. She was looking for a specific address that Corene had supplied, though she doubted the princess knew just how dicey this particular neighborhood was—filthy, tumbledown, stinking of fish and garbage and urine. It was the district where the most transitory of visitors resided: the sailors on land for a single night, the women and boys who serviced them, the thieves and pickpockets who preyed on them. Leah had stopped at her own quarters to change into her oldest clothes and sturdiest shoes, and she’d loaded up on weapons she could tuck into a pocket or a waistband. She kept one knife in her left hand, pressed against her thigh but ready to use. In a locale like this, it was not possible to be too careful.

She finally found the place she wanted, a two-story building with broken shutters, peeling wood, and a front door that sagged off its hinges. Judging from the stench boiling out through the door, there was nothing resembling plumbing inside and none of the inhabitants cared. Or someone had died here in the past three days—and none of the inhabitants minded that, either.

Leah didn’t care how important this was to Corene, she wasn’t stepping inside.

She backed up a pace so she stood in the middle of the cramped street and lifted her head to shout toward the second-story window. “Cheelin Barlio of Dhonsho!” she called. “I need to talk to you!”

There was silence from the building. Silence from every sad, sorry, secretive structure on the street.

“Cheelin Barlio!” she called again. “Looking for Cheelin Barlio!”

From an open window a few buildings down, someone threw a rock and growled out something that might have been a curse and might have been a warning. The rock was so badly aimed that Leah didn’t even shift position in response.

“Cheelin Barlio! I need a word with Cheelin Barlio!”

She’d figured it could take thirty minutes for someone to get annoyed enough to come out and either help her or shut her up, so she was pleasantly surprised when, ten minutes after she started shouting, the sagging door was pushed open and a man stepped into the street. He was Dhonshon, with brown skin, black hair, and eyes the color of copper. He looked perfectly capable of defending himself against a hostile world.
He was about five inches taller than Leah, well-muscled, and holding his own dagger, which he made no attempt to conceal.

“What do you want?” he asked.

His Coziquela was perfect. Not only that, he was dressed in clothes that looked as if they had been washed sometime within the past nineday, and the stench of his living quarters didn’t cling to him when he stepped close to Leah. This was a fastidious, educated man who didn’t belong in a hovel; he belonged in a mansion.

“I have a message for you from a woman of sage and saffron.”

The code phrase elicited the right reaction. Cheelin stiffened, straightened, and looked swiftly up and down the narrow road. No one appeared to be near enough to overhear—no one appeared to be
alive
anywhere else on the street—but he still drew a pace closer and dropped his voice to a whisper.

“What message?”

“She is ready to leave,” Leah replied, just as softly. “She will meet you in three days at a place you specify.”

Cheelin’s face lit with excitement, then narrowed in worry. “How? How will she get out of the palace? I heard a rumor of an attack yesterday—”

“Not just a rumor. Truth. It is the reason she is ready to take the risk. Do you have a route to safety?”

“Yes. If she has a route to freedom.”

“Where shall I bring her?”

Cheelin stepped back a moment to study Leah. “How will
you
get her from the palace?”

“Others will bring her to me. We have a plan.”

“Why would you help her? Why would they?”

“Because they care about her,” Leah said sharply.

“I don’t know that I can trust you. That she can.”

“You don’t,” Leah agreed. “But here are the facts. We are bringing her out of the palace two days after tomorrow, and either you meet us or you don’t. If you do, you have to sneak past Malinquese guards and Dhonshon renegades and Berringese warships and who knows what other hazards as you try to find a safe haven for both of you in some other country. If you don’t meet us, she’ll probably be dead within a nineday. You choose.”

His face showed a mix of emotions—hope, fear, distrust, fatalism, and a small vulnerable light that Leah had to assume was love. Leah didn’t know much of Alette’s story, but Cheelin looked like he had formerly been a man of some wealth, some social standing, some pride. Yet here he was squatting in a fetid shack, working, starving, hoping for the slightest chance to whisk his beloved from danger. He might distrust Leah and fear greatly for Alette’s safety, but he would not fail them. Not this man.

“There is a neighborhood south of the red tower,” he said. “Not very prosperous. There’s a stable yard where hundreds of horses are kept. People come and go all day and no one pays any attention. I have friends there. That’s where you should bring Alette.”

“I know the place. We’ll be there.”

“What time?”

Leah shook her head. “I’m not certain. Probably early afternoon. We’ll be coming from the Little Islands area, but—”

“It’s best to walk, if Alette can go so far on foot,” he interrupted. “You are less likely to be noticed.”

“That’s what I thought. But it will take us a few hours to cover the ground.”

“I am worried about her feet,” Cheelin fretted. “Her shoes—they are always so fashionable and flimsy.”

Leah couldn’t help a small smile. “I’ll tell her friends to make sure she’s wearing something practical.”