The first guard narrowed his eyes. The second reached out his hand. Rone stuck half the wad in it. Seeing his companion being paid, the first gave in and took his share.
With nothing left to say, Rone turned for the street.
“Hey.”
He looked back. The second guard had spoken.
His face looked grim. “I have a shift in sector G. I know her. Nice lady.”
Rone’s pulse sped.
The guard shook his head. “It’s not going well for her, but we’ll do what we can.”
His heart nearly stopped. He forced his stiff neck to nod his head. Found some reserve of strength to move his legs. He half limped toward the main road. Remembered to breathe at some point, and the air burned his throat on its way in.
He couldn’t keep entertaining Sandis’s fantasies about finding a benevolent, rich uncle who’d help them both. A job. He needed another job. He’d take anything, even if it went against his rules. He’d kill a triumvirate member if it meant getting his mother out of prison. Not like the politicians were doing anything to improve this hellish place.
His hand clutched the amarinth until his fingers bruised, but he felt utterly powerless.
Rone’s first stop was his mother’s flat. The one he was still paying rent on. The one he’d get her back into somehow. His mother was a frugal woman; she might have something stowed away. If nothing else, there were the trinkets Rone always got her on her birthday. Those would fetch a few kol.
He knew something was wrong before he reached the door. The window was broken.
Cursing, he hurried inside, noting that the door was unlocked and the door frame had seen better days. Inside, the place was a mess.
Ransacked.
“Damn your god to hell!” he shouted, running through the first room to the bedroom. His mother’s jewelry, gone. That stupid glass lily, gone. The silverware, gone. Nothing left to sell.
“You were supposed to take care of her!” He picked up a chair in the kitchen and threw it across the room. “You preach love and charity, yet your own vows mean nothing to you! We mean nothing!”
He grabbed another chair and hurled it, cracking a window and snapping off one of the chair’s legs in the process. He grabbed fistfuls of hair and fell over the counter, the wooden countertop biting his elbows. Breathing hard, Rone shut his eyes, trying to temper the black hate gagging him. Hate for his father, and hate for himself.
He nearly ripped out his hair when he stood. Marched for the door. Slammed it shut. Locked it.
It was a good thing Sandis was the one who could summon Ireth. If he could set fire to all of Dresberg, he would.
He usually checked his “hire sites” at night, when he was less likely to be seen. But every extra hour his mother spent in that prison brought her closer to death.
At least it’s not winter, he told himself as he headed for Goldstone’s Bank. At least the guard seemed sympathetic. He’ll help her. He’ll help her.
The broken lantern behind the bank was just that—a broken lantern. No note, no coordinates for a meeting. No signs.
He turned right around and caught the back of a wagon carrying leathers. Rode it directly to his next spot—another manhole lid. He picked it up, ignoring the endless people walking around him. Nothing had been fastened underneath.
Engel Verlad only advertised through word of mouth. The city’s best criminals and wealthy elite had all heard of him by now, but there were six different drop-off sites he used. Six different places potential clients could leave a message to request his services. There were four more he could check. They were not close.
Rone slammed the manhole cover back into place and pushed through the crowd, oblivious and uncaring of whose toes he stepped on or whose balance he threw off. He jogged until he found a building with a fire ladder he could climb to its roof.
On to District Three.
The sun was threatening to set when he made it to location four. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Rone had slow periods, yes, but individual jobs paid so well it usually didn’t affect him. Before now, he’d never needed exorbitant amounts of money.
He crouched in an alley—a surprisingly clean one—and hung his head, struggling to think. His brain was cobwebs and black ashes. His whole body hurt and begged for sleep. He was going to be very, very sore tomorrow.
And he was hungry, which reminded him of how little he had at the moment.
Groaning, Rone stood and counted the small amount of cash he’d reserved for himself. And Sandis. They needed supplies if they were going to stay on the run. Rone needed to ask around for flats for rent; they could bum off the empty spaces for free until a payer came along. It would keep them moving, and keep the grafters guessing.
Or you can walk away and not look back. Hedge his bets and sell the amarinth, bribe or threaten the warden to get his mother out of Gerech, and vanish. Maybe he should follow Sandis’s advice and hitch a ride on a wagon headed out into the country. Sleep in some farmer’s barn at night and pick his corn during the day. Live a poor, boring, safe life, taking care of his mother until her time came.
“You have a responsibility,” Kurtz had said. But hadn’t he satisfied his responsibility by bringing Sandis to the Lily Tower? He had become one of Kazen’s targets, too, but he didn’t have to be. A man couldn’t hit a target he couldn’t find. And the guy was old. Rone could go out to the country for a decade or so, then come back to the city, and . . .
Shut up. Just . . . shut up. He shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking to the closest store before it closed. He could leave, yes. He would . . . eventually. But not now. Not when Sandis said “thank you” in that way she did. Not when she was waiting for him.
The time would come when they’d go their separate ways.
But it hadn’t come yet.
Chapter 18
Gerech was some ways away, wasn’t it? Rone hadn’t said how long he’d be gone. It might be all day. All night. He hadn’t told her how long they were going to stay at this inn.
Sandis began to fret as the sun started its descent. What if the grafters had followed them here and were simply waiting for nightfall? What if they’d gone after Rone? Kazen hadn’t been at the factory. He would still be out looking for them. She had a hard time believing their chase had ended at Helderschmidt’s.
She worried her lip as she stared out the window. Surely she’d see Rone’s silhouette bounding over the rooftops at any moment. He’d jump down this way and scare her. She leaned closer to the window in anticipation, but of course he didn’t come. Frowning, she glanced at the door. It had only opened once since Rone left, and that was the maid coming by to ask for lunch requests. Sandis had asked for simple bread and butter. She hated costing Rone money. She didn’t wish to be a burden. Someday, soon, she wouldn’t be.
Contrary to her thoughts, she smiled. Rone was so kind to her. She couldn’t have asked for a better ally. She hadn’t expected to have one, especially not someone like— Heat crept into her ears. She pressed her fingertips into them until the skin cooled. The sensation made her wonder, what would have happened had she not stolen his amarinth that day? What sort of payment had he had in mind?
She shook her head. Regardless, if not for Rone, Kazen would have grabbed her a long time ago.
A shiver coursed through her at the thought of the grafters’ underground lair. She wondered what the other vessels thought of Kazen’s hunt for her. Especially Alys and Rist, who had seen her since. Rist didn’t usually care much about anything, but Alys did. Did she feel betrayed? Had Kaili taken care of her, as Sandis had hoped? Relief that Alys hadn’t been hurt by the bursting steam valve still pricked cool tingles on the underside of her skin. Sandis would never have forgiven herself if she’d caused the young girl such pain.