“I didn’t do it.” He sounded pitiful and pathetic.
“We’ve been over that. You’re not a half-wit, are you? I need to know if you’re up for the challenge, here.”
“No, I … What challenge?”
“Obviously, you’re telling the truth. The mage women marked you as king, right?”
“Yes.” He gasped as her fingers slid beneath his tunic, touching the skin of his back.
She could feel the rough skin around the mark, the flesh branded with magic. “Sorry, big guy. I just had to be sure.”
“It’s … it’s fine. What am I going to do?”
“Who can you trust back at the palace?”
All the air in Tollan’s lungs poured out in a rush. “There’s no one. There’s only you.”
Gemma stopped walking. She could hear the clop of horses’ hooves and people talking nearby. She ignored the fear that was trying to seep its way into her chest. “Hey,” she said, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re doing just fine, then.”
CHAPTER TWO
SIX-MAST INN
Gemma pushed aside the thin wooden panel that hid the entrance to the underground tunnels from the storeroom of the Six-Mast Inn. “Welcome to Dockside.”
Tollan blinked, his eyes watery. “Where are we?”
Gemma grinned. “You’re in the pantry of the most famous whorehouse in Yigris, my friend.”
Tollan’s jaw fell open, and he took a step backward as if the very air around him might tarnish his skin. “Oh, goddess.”
“We’re here to keep you hidden until we figure out what’s going on. I’ve got things that need doing, and you need to loosen your laces before your brain explodes.”
“What? I’ll do no such thing!” Tollan barked.
“It’s an expression, for goddess’s sake. You’re wound as tightly as a clock. But I can see that you’re not interested in spending time with the ladies, so I’ll just pay for a room.”
“Who else would I possibly want to spend time with?” Tollan said indignantly.
Gemma arched an eyebrow at him. “Let’s not get our smallclothes tied in knots, Tollan. I’ll get you a room so you can rest before you get the vapors.”
She strode through the pantry, trusting that Tollan would rather follow her than be left alone. “I need a brief audience with Madam Yimur,” Gemma said to the serving girl they passed in the hallway.
The maid curtsied. “Of course, Miss Gemma. Follow me.”
“Come here often?” Tollan looked ashen.
Gemma stopped and stared at him. “Occasionally. Why?”
“Even the help knows your name.”
She glared at him. “Does everyone in the palace know your name?”
He nodded.
“You’re in my kingdom, now. Get used to it.”
The new King of Above kept quiet after that as they wound their way through the back hallways of the Six-Mast and came to a stop at the office door of Madam Yimur, Under’s mistress of whores.
Her thin smile betrayed no true emotion as she opened the door. “Miss Gemma. What a surprise.” She glanced at Tollan and smoothed her gown as she eyed his well-dressed figure. “What can the Six-Mast do for you?”
Gemma laughed as Tollan blushed. He lowered his gaze and began to stammer, but Gemma interrupted him. “Yimur, I need a favor. Prince Tollan needs a place to hide for a few hours, and I need you to keep him here, no questions asked.”
Yimur’s smile turned into a frown. “Prince? Trouble, then?”
“The deepest. There’ll be a call to Guildhall soon, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there was word from Above, as well.”
As if on cue, a knock sounded on the door. “Enter,” Yimur commanded.
“Pardon me, madam,” a young man said. “The bells at the palace and Canticle Center are ringing. The King of Above is dead.”
“Thank you, Bellamy,” Yimur mumbled, waving him away. She turned her attention back to Gemma. “What sort of storm have you brought to my house, Gemma?”
“The worst kind, I’m afraid.”
When Yimur had situated Tollan in a poshly decorated room, Gemma turned to leave. “I’ve got a few things to address, and then I’ll be back. A fancy princeling like you doesn’t have any noblemen he can call on in a pinch?”
Tollan, who looked as if he were in shock, suddenly shook himself awake. “Yes. I mean … no. There’s Wince … Wincel Quintella. Probably my only friend.”
“He’s in the palace?”
“No. He’s … his father is weapons master. He lives on Steel Street, I think.”
“You’ve never been there?”
He shook his head.
“Would your brother think to look for him?”
“No. I don’t think so. I honestly doubt Iven even knows Wince exists.”
Gemma grinned. “Excellent. Yimur will help disguise you, and a runner will deliver a message to Wince. You’ll need all the friends you can get.”
Tollan blushed and stammered his way through the costuming like a storm-spooked horse. Knowing he was making a fool of himself did nothing to soften the rough edges of his anxiety. When Yimur’s dresser, Zin, spread out an assortment of clothes on the bed and told him to remove his finery, Tollan’s heart raced and his fingers trembled as he undid his shirt buttons.
“Now, then,” Zin said, maple eyes dancing. “Out of your breeches.”
Tollan felt his skin go warm, but he undid his laces. Zin, whose black, curly hair was trimmed extremely close to his scalp, ran his hand across his head and said, “I’m sorry, but you’re too clean. We need to get you dirty.”
The level of shame and embarrassment that Tollan felt as he swelled within his smallclothes was almost equal to the sudden ache of desire that left his mouth dry, but some ridiculous sense of pride and privilege kept him from turning his back to the man.
Zin smiled kindly at him. “You flatter me, Your Grace, but I’ve got orders from the madam, and not enough time to do the thing proper.”
Tollan followed the man’s instructions in shamed silence, running in place until his hair clung to his sweat-dampened face. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Zin, couldn’t bear to look at himself in the mirror, even after the man helped him into rough brown-wool breeches and a stained and worn cotton shirt, along with a pair of work boots. Zin tied Tollan’s hair back in a single plait, then smeared gum paste along his chin line to affix a false beard like something in a mummer’s show. He pulled a seaman’s cap low over Tollan’s brow, and then he added a padded black eye patch over Tollan’s left eye.
“I look a fool,” Tollan said. “Anyone will see the farce.”
“No, Your Grace,” Zin said, bending down and straightening the eye patch. “You look the part. All you have to do is believe it yourself.”
When Zin had gone, Tollan finally managed to catch his breath. An hour in Under, and he was behaving just like his father had always said the “degenerate, depraved animals” did down here. But he couldn’t disregard the kindness Zin had shown him. No man in Above would have treated his awkwardness so gently.
Tollan grinned rakishly at himself in the looking glass but immediately regretted it. His teeth were too pretty to be a sailor’s. Best if he kept his mouth shut.
CHAPTER THREE
GUILDHOUSE
After sending the runner off to Steel Street, Gemma went back to her own room at Guildhouse. She sagged into a chair. Who had murdered King Abram and tried to murder Melnora? She would bet her very best blade Tollan Daghan had nothing to do with it. And yet, it also didn’t have the feel of Under. If a Guild assassin came for you, it was brutal and bloody, but it was fast. Melnora was suffering. That wasn’t the way of the Under.