“Ho, Tristam,” said Lettie, breaking into a dimpled grin.
Tristam bowed. “Hello, Lady Lettie.”
Lettie giggled, her dark brown curls bouncing beneath her headscarf.
Idalee gave Tristam a halfhearted curtsy and took her basket to the hearth without saying a word. Then she turned her back to the room, removed a loaf from the basket, and started vigorously brushing it off.
Kyra frowned and walked closer. “What are you doing?” She’d always had problems with Flick and Tristam getting along, but this was the first time she’d seen rudeness from Idalee.
“Nothing,” Idalee said. A strand of black hair stuck to her forehead as she bent protectively over the bread. The girl was standing so close to the fireplace that her skirt almost brushed the embers.
Kyra saw now that Idalee’s bread was covered with dirt. “What happened?” She put her hand on Idalee’s shoulder, but the girl shook it off.
“I dropped the basket,” said Idalee.
Kyra and Flick exchanged a worried glance over Idalee’s head. Flick turned to Lettie. “Is that what truly happened?” he asked.
Lettie had climbed up onto one of the chairs. “A fatpurse pushed me in the market,” she said, cringing at Idalee’s warning glance. “Idalee yelled at him, and he knocked the basket out of her hand.”
Kyra looked to Flick in alarm. His mouth tightened in a grim line, and he shook his head. Idalee had always been fiercely protective of her sister.
“Lettie, did the fatpurse hurt you?” said Flick. He used the low, steady tone he always did when trying to stay calm.
Lettie shook her head, and Flick looked her up and down, silently verifying her answer. Then he leaned against the fireplace mantel so Idalee would have to look at him, even if it was only out of the corner of her eye. “You’re lucky it was only the bread that came to harm,” he said.
Idalee put down one clean loaf and picked up the next. “It in’t fair,” she said to the bread.
Of course it wasn’t fair. Kyra’s own pulse was rising at the thought of any wallhuggers laying hands on either Idalee or Lettie. But acknowledging the injustice wouldn’t keep Idalee safe the next time some nobleman offended her. “Idalee, you can’t go testing your luck with the wallhuggers,” she said. “If they do something you don’t like, you walk away. They’re dangerous and unpredictable.”
The words had barely left her mouth when Kyra remembered that Tristam was standing quietly at the edge of the room. She shot a mortified glance in his direction. “I mean, not all—”
“No offense taken,” Tristam said before she could finish. He pushed away from the wall, his gaze keen. “Idalee, do you know the name of the man who pushed Lettie?”
Idalee finally stopped attacking the bread, and her eyes were slightly hopeful when she raised them to Tristam. “No. Could you do something, if I did?”
“There are no laws against pushing, I’m afraid,” he said gently. “But I would have liked to know.” He glanced out the window. “It’s about time we go. Kyra, are you ready?”
“Almost.” Kyra ran back to her trunk and finally fished out her daggers. “Everything all right over here?” she asked as she tucked them into her boots.
“We’ll be fine,” said Flick.
She supposed they would have to be. “Take care, then,” she said, and followed Tristam out the door.
Forge was laid out in rough concentric circles with the Palace at its center. The nobility lived in the ring just outside the Palace wall, hence their nickname “wallhuggers.” Wealthy merchants, including Kyra’s new landlady, lived in the ring outside that. As Kyra and Tristam set out from her quarters, they headed farther away from the Palace, toward the beggars’ circle.
Kyra tried again to apologize for her comment about dangerous wallhuggers, but Tristam waved her words aside.