“Yeah? Knew what?”
He didn’t answer for a long beat. The silence started to loom when he finally spoke. “Knew I couldn’t let you get one up on me, obviously,” Teraeth said, looking away. “You were going to make me look bad.”
“Please tell me you didn’t volunteer to be reborn because of your ego?”
“Oh yeah,” he agreed. “That’s me. Nothing but conceit. Plus, my wife raised her hand as soon as she saw you do it, and there was no way I was leaving the two of you alone with each other for an entire lifetime.”
I stared at him. “I swear to the gods, Teraeth, I can’t tell whether or not you’re joking.”
He grinned at me and brushed ash from his nose.
“You boys ready to be on our way?” Tyentso walked up behind us. “I’ve prepped all the weather spells we’ll need to make sure we arrive back in the Capital exactly on time.”
I sighed inwardly as I saw that opportunity to get a little more information from Teraeth stand up, dust off its shirt, and mentally gag itself.
So much for that.
“I’m good,” I told her as I stood. “We’re still on schedule?”
“The pieces are all on the board.” She motioned to the black-sailed ship. “Last one to claim a bunk buys the first round at the Culling Fields.”
70: THE RAVEN RETURNS
(Talon’s story)
Faris watched the crowd mill through the streets of the Lower Circle. Most of the crowds in the Capital vanished during the monsoon months. They drained from the City to return to farms and fields, where they made extra metal helping with planting or simply escaped the floods of the rainy season. The New Year marked the official end of the monsoons, and the City’s population exploded to nearly a million people as its migrant workers returned. Everyone took to the streets for the weeklong New Year’s celebrations of thanks to the gods. Nobles expressed their humility and success with gifts and gestures of generosity. Tradesmen timed their return to the City to show off new wares. The whole event was overcrowded and frantic, filled with too many people all trying to fit in too small a space.
For a thug like Faris, it was heaven, a mugger’s market where he could leisurely pick off the juiciest targets and make every Shadowdancer quota. He watched the roaming crowds like a barn owl looking at a field of mice, a situation of such plenty that he could afford to take the time to pick the perfect target.
A flash of gold caught his eye. Faris bent forward from the rooftop where he was perched with the rest of his boys.
“Hey,” he muttered to himself, then turned his head and smacked Dovis in the arm. “Hey!”
“What?” The younger boy rubbed his forearm.
“Look at the boy in the blue,” Faris said. “The one with the guards and that other kid walking next to him.”
“Yeah? Looks like a royal.” The kid shrugged, although the embroidery on their chosen mark’s clothing earned an appreciative glance.
“That’s Rook,” Faris said. “That’s gods-damned Rook. I can’t believe it. That’s Rook!”
“What? No!” The group responded with skepticism and disbelief.
“This is our chance. Let’s get him.”
Dovis put his hand on Faris’s arm. “Are you sure, boss? Those are armed soldiers down there. That doesn’t make for a good mark.”
Faris slammed his good hand across Dovis’s face. “Shut up, rat. This is my team. We do what I say.” He pointed down to the crowd. “We follow him. We follow him and wait for an opening. There’ll be one. Always is.”
* * *
Kihrin held up a piece of elaborate jewelry decorated with hematite and silver. “Can you make this larger?” he asked the vendor.
“But of course, my lord. How much larger would you like?” The merchant leaned over with great courtesy. He could smell the sale.
“About, oh—” Kihrin held up his hands about two feet apart. “It’s for a horse,” he explained to the bemused and now wide-eyed man.
Galen blinked next to Kihrin. “What?”
The gold-haired boy nodded. “I’m sure she likes jewelry.” He kept a completely straight face, although his blue eyes danced with mirth. Kihrin turned back to the jewelry. “Let me know when you have something. Deliver it ahead. The Blue Palace, yes?”
“Yes, my lord. Uh, for a horse?” The merchant hadn’t quite gotten over his shock.
“She’s a very special horse.” Kihrin winked at the man.
Kihrin was laughing inside, thinking of how that would probably be misinterpreted.* Somehow that made it even better.
Kihrin made a show of continuing to look at the jewelry, placing brooches against his agolé or Galen’s, looking at belt clasps and jeweled shawls. He watched as the guards gradually moved to stand outside the tent, which wasn’t very roomy to begin with.
He tapped Galen on the shoulder and crooked a finger for the younger man to follow him toward the back of the tent. When they reached the very back, he tipped the shopkeeper several thrones plus the price of two dark brown sallí cloaks meant for rich merchants and then ducked through the back entrance. Kihrin gave one cloak to his brother and spread the other one around his own shoulders, covering the distinctive D’Mon House blue.
“Run,” Kihrin whispered to his brother.
Galen hesitated, but then Kihrin had grabbed his agolé and was pulling him through the crowds and the boys were both laughing as they sprinted away from their minders, losing themselves amongst the street fair. They paused, grinning and holding their sides, to catch their breath.
“Think we lost them?” Galen asked.
Kihrin nodded. “For a little while, anyway. Long enough, I think, for us to have a little—” He paused, his gaze swinging upward.
The crowd had parted to form a small empty circle around them, as if the mass of people had an innate survival instinct suggesting Kihrin and Galen weren’t safe. Into that gap stepped a familiar face, and Kihrin groaned.
“Hey, lookie here,” Faris said. “If it isn’t old Rook, all prettied up. Taking your girlfriend to see the street fair?”
“You know, even for you, this may be the worst mistake you’ve ever made, Faris.”*
Faris didn’t seem to agree. “Oh no. I’m so going to enjoy this.”
Kihrin looked around. No sign of guards who might be catching up to their location, no sign of other Houses’ guards who might be inclined to interfere, and no Watchmen who could be called in as protection. Faris smiled unpleasantly, and Kihrin saw that he had his whole gang with him. They had knives and saps and small little clubs that could be tucked under cloaks.
“What do we do?” Galen asked. His hand rested on his sword.
“Same thing we did last time,” Kihrin admitted. “Run!” He pulled a knife from his belt, flipped it up, and tossed it. The handle smacked against one of the adolescent’s hands, but several of them had ducked to avoid the possible blow and it bought them a small opening.
Kihrin ran to the side of a market stall, where boxes led to a cart that could be climbed to reach a trellis, which in turn reached the roofs. He paused when he realized that Galen was not behind him.