Had she really?
Rone watched her face. The curve of her nose, the high set of her cheekbones. Her hair was mostly dry and fell around her face in a tangled, beautiful mess. He reached out a sore arm and smoothed some of it back. Her skin was warm, but not feverish. Soft. Smooth. Magnetic.
He rested his hand on her shoulder, then trailed it past the hem of her sleeve to her elbow. How could anyone take a brand to skin like that?
“Like every fiber of your body is being torn apart. Like it’s burning up, but the fuel never runs out. Like you’re twisting into something else.”
He should have been there. He wanted to have been there.
Pressing his lips together, Rone scooted onto the line where their two bedrolls met. Moved his hand beneath Sandis’s back and pulled her close. He rested his chin on top of her head. Closed his eyes.
He thought he felt Sandis’s fingers clutch the fabric of his undershirt just as sleep pulled him under.
Rone woke feeling gritty and impossibly sore. His eyes and mouth were dry, and his throat begged for water. His arm was stretched out in a weird way and half-numb, reminding him of the weight that had been there when he’d fallen asleep. But she was gone, her bedroll made. There was some clinking behind the door, voices—straining to listen, Rone recognized the higher voice as Sandis’s and let out a long breath.
She was fine. Still breathing. Still alive.
He groaned as he sat up, the muscles of his back, shoulders, and arms pulling in all the wrong ways. He managed to rub some kinks from his neck, at least. The fabric of his pants was stiff and rough, reminding him of his sewage days. His shirt was . . . not there.
Setting his jaw and thinking his usual string of morning obscenities, Rone got his feet under him and shuffled to the door that connected this secret space to the rest of Kurtz’s flat. He opened it, and the way the sunlight hit his eyes made him feel like he had a hangover.
“Rone!”
Her voice woke him from his daze. He blinked light from his eyes and found her sitting on a stool across an island countertop from Kurtz, who looked at him with a weirdly knowing smile.
Sandis hopped off the stool, peppy and healthy and very much alive. She wore a new dress, one that fit her better than the last. Simple and dark. Her umber hair was combed out and pinned behind her ears.
She was stunning.
“I’m so glad you’re awake. Here.” She grabbed a bowl at the end of the counter—some sort of porridge—and set it in front of the stool closest to him. She beamed like she was presenting him with the key to Gerech. Then she returned to her seat and grabbed a piece of parchment Rone hadn’t noticed before—a torn map of Dresberg, with pencil scribbles all over District Three.
Rone sat, grunting as he discovered sore muscles in his backside. The porridge smelled like cinnamon and was slightly overcooked, but two still-warm spoonfuls made it down his throat without complaint.
Sandis set the map next to his bowl. “I’ve been talking to Arnae about Talbur. I think we should cover the most ground in the mornings—Kazen always slept in the mornings. The others probably do, too, I think. And we’ll be far from the canal.”
Her words slowed for a moment. Why? Was she thinking about her close call with the scarlets? About Kazen and the numina? About nearly drowning? It was probably guilt over the scarlets.
He almost said, They’re not good people, either, but Sandis’s energy quickly returned, taking away any chance to speak. She pointed at the north border of the city. “I think we should start here. There’s a mortgage broker . . .” She searched the map, then replanted her finger down and to the east. “. . . here. Arnae said that might be a good place to start. If Talbur had or has a mortgage in one of the richer neighborhoods, they might have record of him there. Trick is getting the brokers to tell us—”
“Whoa, all right, slow down.” Rone let his spoon sink into his porridge. He gave his old master a pointed look. “You want her to steal brokerage records?” It wasn’t a bad place to start. Maybe they’d luck out. Rone could be pleading with this man for money by the end of the day. Or, if necessary, stealing it from him in the morning.
Kurtz lifted his hands in mock innocence. “I said nothing of the sort.”
“It can’t hurt to ask,” Sandis said.
Rone studied the map and nodded.
Sandis grinned wider than he’d ever seen her grin. “I can help with our funds, a little. Arnae said he would pay me to clean the flat—”
“She is not your maid.” Rone stared hard at Kurtz, who merely shrugged. Rone took a deep breath and wiped his hand down his face. “Yes, we can try. I need to check two more places for work today first.” Maybe he’d find the answer to his problems there and avoid a possible dead end with Talbur Gwenwig. “If I can get a job, we’ll be set for the immediate future.”
Sandis nodded. “I’ll pay you back for everything, Rone. I promise—”
He raised a hand to stop her. “You don’t have to pay me back. All this exercise has made me the fittest I’ve ever been.”
Kurtz snorted. Sandis glanced at his bare chest and looked away just as quickly, the slightest flush of pink dusting her cheeks.
Rone smirked and took another bite of porridge. “I want to check my drop-off points soon, which means going in daylight.” He hesitated. “It will be easier if I go alone.”
Something flashed in Sandis’s eyes, but it quickly vanished. She nodded and turned to Kurtz. “Do you mind if . . . ?”
The old man nodded. “You may stay here one more night, Sandis. But after that . . .” He frowned.
Sandis smiled like it was her profession. The gesture still carried her usual sincerity.
“I should go now.” Rone scooped the last of the porridge into his mouth, swallowed, and slipped off the stool. “If I don’t change, people will think I’m in hard times and sniffing around for coin.”
“Good plan.” His old master sounded more amused than anything.
Rone ignored the tone and nodded his thanks. “I won’t be long.” He glanced at Sandis once more before grabbing his magically laundered shirt off the edge of the counter, slipping it on, and stepping outside.
Rone didn’t bother with the rooftops today—he honestly didn’t think he was spry enough to safely navigate them, and the amarinth hadn’t reset, though it weighed down his right pocket as usual. He took a winding route through Kurtz’s neighborhood and stole a hooded jacket from a laundry basket on someone’s porch. He slipped it on—it smelled like vinegar and was a couple sizes too big—and pulled up the hood. The morning hour was cool; he didn’t look out of place.
Normally, with his funds nearly depleted, he wouldn’t hire a cab. But he had a long ways to go for drop-off point one, and though his morning walk had loosened his muscles, he’d said he wouldn’t be long. He didn’t want to keep Sandis waiting, again, even though she was in good hands.