As the crew haul crates down the gangplank and hook up thick ropes to hoist larger cargo, we follow Magiano and Sergio off the ship. “This is exactly why I left this forsaken country in the first place,” Magiano mutters to me as we go. He still seems like he is in an odd mood. “Damn Inquisition, always swarming about. Come on. And keep your face disguised.”
I straighten my head wrap and check Violetta’s, then strengthen the illusion over my face. It’s not hard to blend in with the throngs wandering the harbor. I keep a steady illusion over my face, and my hair stays hidden inside its wrap. Behind us, several other crewmembers also make their way off the ship and scatter into the crowds. I watch them go. I recognize a few of their faces now, men I saw tying up the Inquisitors on the ship. I also see the man who had spoken briefly to me on board. All mercenaries. All loyal to me. For now.
Dead men belowdecks, sightless eyes, bloody chests. The whispers excitedly remind me of what had happened on the ship. Dead men, dead men.
Violetta makes a small sound, breaking my stream of thoughts. When I look at her, her brow has tensed. She starts to drag her feet, as if something had caught her interest. I frown, then look into the crowd.
“What is it?” I ask.
Violetta just nods silently into the milling people.
It takes me another second to spot what she’s noticed. Not far from us, walking along the edge of the street, is a girl I recognize. She seems like she’s in a hurry. Still, even in her rush, she pauses to smile and pet a stray dog. The dog starts to follow her.
“Gemma?” I whisper to myself.
The Daggers are here.
And so they huddled together, waiting, hoping for a savior that would never come.
—Tides of a Midwinter War, by Constanze De Witte
Adelina Amouteru
Already, I’m starting to lose her in the crowded street. A traveling cloak hides the top half of her face, and her figure is almost lost amid the horses and wagons.
“That girl,” I murmur to Magiano. I tilt my head in Gemma’s direction. “She’s one of the Daggers. I know it.”
“Are you sure?” Magiano gives me a skeptical look.
“Adelina’s right,” Sergio interrupts, his eyes following Gemma down the street. We look on as she stops to talk to one of the sailors from a ship. “That’s the Star Thief.”
I start to move. “If they’re here, I want to know what they’re up to. I’m going to follow her. Don’t let her know we’re here.”
Ahead of us, Gemma reaches the end of the harbor and turns onto a winding street. Sergio leans close to us, his eyes fixed on her as if she’d vanish any second. “We’ll trail her,” he says to me in a low voice. “I’d like to see what those Daggers are up to here.” I expect him to start pushing his way through the crowd without hearing my reply—but to my surprise, he looks at me expectantly.
It takes me a moment to realize that he’s waiting for my approval. “Yes,” I reply, stumbling over the word.
It is all he needs to hear. He exchanges glances with a couple of the other crew from the ship, those who must be his fellow mercenaries.
“Count me as curious too,” Magiano mutters, then nods once at me before vanishing into the crowd.
Violetta leans over to me. “Look,” she says, subtly motioning to the general direction where Gemma is heading. “The sailor we just saw her talking to. He’s heading that way as well.”
My sister’s right. I pick out the back of his head among the people. He smiles and laughs at a few children that cross his path, but there’s no doubt about it—he must be following Gemma too.
I touch Violetta’s arm. “Don’t stay too close,” I say as I start walking. I weave a subtle illusion over her face, changing her features enough to make her unrecognizable should Gemma ever look back.
Off in the crowd, Magiano flickers in and out of sight. When I look to my right, Sergio’s hair peeks out from the throngs. We move together, unorganized yet coordinated. I’m reminded of the first time I ever saw the Daggers go on a mission—and a ripple of excitement runs down my spine.
We head down the same street that Gemma entered. As we do, I see her turn around to look down at the dog still trailing faithfully behind her. She smiles, bends down, and rubs its ears. Even though I know her power, I’m somehow still surprised to see the dog turn obediently around, as if led by an invisible hand, and walk away from her without another backward glance. I slide between two clusters of people and look on, awed for a moment. There is something quiet and warm about this tiny, temporary bond between the girl and the dog. What must it feel like to harness joy and love, instead of fear and hate? What kind of light does that cast?