The last time Juliet had gone to the Lower City, she had been with Romeo. He had kissed her as they sat on the rooftops together, and he had asked her to marry him.
It was very different now, and not just because Runajo walked silently at her side. The streets were the same seething, chattering chaos of people. The buildings were the same maze of dead stone, no glowing traceries lit by the power of the city, painted bright colors or covered in grime or both.
But there was a tension now to the people as they bustled through the streets. There were City Guards standing at corners. When a corpse wagon rolled past, people shrank away from it.
The Lower City was afraid. Lord Ineo, with all his sacrifices, couldn’t stop the dead from rising faster than they ever had before, and people were afraid.
They were also, possibly, starting to resent those sacrifices. Juliet had seen some of the looks that people gave Runajo, who might be wearing a threadbare tunic she had stolen from the laundry, but who still had clearly Mahyanai features and the briar tattoo of the Sisterhood.
Suddenly, above the din of the crowd, Juliet heard the strumming of a lute, and a voice raised in song. It was a street musician, sitting on a corner and singing to passersby for coins.
“O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear, your true love’s coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man’s son doth know.”
For a moment, she couldn’t move. Her throat ached. She had heard another musician sing this song once, but she hadn’t been able to make out the words, and Romeo had sung them to her.
“What is love? ’Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure.
In delay there lies no plenty,
Then come kiss me sweet and twenty;
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.”
She had kissed Romeo after he finished singing, kissed him twenty times over, until she was breathless and drunken with delight. It was the first time she had truly, truly felt that she was only a girl in his arms, and he was only a boy, and all the walls their families put between them didn’t matter.
She was wretchedly homesick for that sunlit afternoon, for that easy peace. But she had kissed him, and sealed their journey’s ending, and now she had to pay the price.
“Juliet?” Runajo asked softly.
She meant to say, It’s nothing, but what came out instead was, “Romeo sang that to me.”
Runajo stiffened, dropping her gaze as if she were ashamed. Juliet felt abruptly sick, because for once she hadn’t meant the words as a rebuke or punishment.
“Come on.” She seized Runajo’s hand. “We haven’t any time to lose,” she said, and dragged her forward down the street.
Justiran’s house was in one of the better neighborhoods of the Lower City, where the streets were mostly clean and the houses were carved from a warm, golden stone. Juliet didn’t hesitate as she strode to the door and knocked sharply.
Justiran answered the door. His eyes widened.
“Is Romeo in this house?” Juliet demanded. She hadn’t felt anything, but she wasn’t sure, this long after his crime, how easily she could sense him without seeing him. She had never before gone so long without killing somebody who was guilty.
“No.” Justiran was still staring at her as if she were the dead come back to life—and Juliet supposed that she was, but she had been no secret for the past month. Surely he’d gotten used to the idea by now.
“I need you to give him a letter,” said Juliet. “Will you let me come inside and write it?”
She had brought paper and ink with her; she hadn’t dared write the letter out in advance, in case she got searched.
“Come inside,” said Justiran, pulling the door wide as he gave the street a worried look. “Who’s this?”
“I’m her Guardian,” Runajo said flatly.
“She’s helping me,” said Juliet, stepping into the house.
Then she stopped. Because Justiran hadn’t been alone: there was a boy sitting at his table, leaning lazily back in his chair. He wasn’t Mahyanai or Catresou; he dressed in the style of the Lower City, and his dark hair was in braids, decorated with blue beads.
He was looking Juliet up and down, much too carefully.
“Well,” said the boy. “I suppose that answers whether I’ve ever accidentally killed a Mahyanai.”
Juliet had appeared unmasked at two public sacrifices now; it wasn’t impossible for the boy to recognize her, but her skin still prickled with unease.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
He grinned as he stood. “I’m Vai dalr-Ahodin, captain of the Rooks and King of Cats.”
“You can trust him,” said Justiran. “He’s a friend of Romeo.”
“Romeo would befriend anyone,” said Runajo.
“Very true,” said Vai, stepping forward.
The next moment, he had Runajo shoved against the wall, a knife at her throat. “I can gut you before you get a word out. Juliet, did you bring her for us to kill?”
It had happened too fast for Juliet to react and now—her heart was pounding with the need to move, move, move, but she didn’t know if she could pull Vai off Runajo before he cut her throat.
Looking over Vai’s shoulder, Runajo met her eyes, and Juliet knew they were thinking the same thing: that she wouldn’t have to move until Runajo was already dead. Then she would have to kill Vai, and then she would probably go insane as so many Juliets did when they lost their Guardians—but she would be free. Truly free, not just without orders as she was now.
It would be a really excellent plan.
Juliet was still carefully not touching Runajo’s mind, but she was absolutely sure that Runajo was thinking this, and approving.
“Vai,” said Justiran, in an infinitely calm voice, “what is this?”
“Either a rescue or a really amusing story to tell later. I know what a Guardian is, so I know what that means she’s done, and I don’t mind shedding her blood.”
“No,” said Juliet.
“Are you sure?” asked Vai, not moving his knife.
“I am a Mahyanai now,” said Juliet. “And I don’t want her dead.”
The second part slipped out before she was aware of thinking it, and her hand went to her mouth as if she were still a child who thought covering her mouth could make people forget what she’d said.
At the same moment, Justiran reached out. His hand touched the side of Vai’s throat for barely a moment—she saw his thumb trace some sort of pattern—and then Vai fell to his knees, barely managing to catch himself with his hands so his face didn’t hit the floor.
“There will be no killing under my roof,” said Justiran.
“What did you do?” Juliet demanded. Her knife was out, she wished she had brought a sword, and her heart was pounding as hard as when there had been a blade at Runajo’s throat.
“That was obviously magic,” said Runajo, sounding breathless and annoyed at the same. “What, was that more of the sacred words?”
Justiran knelt beside Vai. “Ready to behave?”
“He’s not the first person to put a knife to my throat,” said Runajo.
Justiran laid three fingers against Vai’s forehead. And Vai, whose face had been blank and slack, stirred and straightened.
“That was a little more than necessary,” he said.
“You were a little more than necessary,” said Justiran.
“That’s what everyone always says. But I was waiting for the Juliet’s word.”
“What,” said Runajo, “are you a friend of the Catresou?”
“No,” said Vai. “The Juliet’s nothing to me and so are the Catresou. But she was everything to Paris, and he was my friend.” He grimaced. “And I might have opinions about people who force other people to slaughter their families.”
“Well,” said Runajo, “she’s already sworn to have her revenge on me, so you don’t need to worry about that.”
“Enough,” snapped Juliet. She looked at Justiran. “What was that?”
“Magic, obviously,” said Runajo.