I let the door bang shut behind us.
Tugging my knit cap lower over my hair, I inspected the crowd. Pa never had trouble starting conversations with folk in bars, but he knew practically everyone in the riverlands. There was no one here I recognized. Perhaps I could ask the barmaid if the Black Dogs had been here.
A man pushed his way to the bar, jostling me. I pressed my hands over my pockets, because there’s nothing a pickpocket loves more than a crowded tavern. Tarquin just stood there, which didn’t surprise me, as he had no sense at all.
Someone grabbed me, encircling my upper arm with an iron grip.
I sucked in a sharp breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed dark hair and a beard. He smelled of wood smoke and soap and something foreign.
“You best come with me,” he said low in my ear.
“What if I don’t?” My nerves were strung tight as a line with a fish on it.
The muzzle of a pistol dug into the small of my back. “Out.” His beard tickled my cheek. “Onto the balcony. Quiet-like.”
I did as he asked, hoping Tarquin wasn’t about to choose this moment to say something stupid. Then I realized a second man had him by his shawl and was steering him outside too.
No one in the barroom seemed to notice our plight. Between my captor’s coat and mine, the pistol was hidden from view. To everyone else, it must have looked like the four of us had simply met up and walked onto the balcony together.
As the door creaked shut behind us, I was relieved to see it had a screen. Surely the Black Dogs wouldn’t murder us within view of everyone in the bar.
The bearded man bent his lips to Tarquin’s ear. “Listen, son, I don’t know what you’re doing down here, especially dressed like that. But you need to be careful.”
I jerked loose from his grip. Spinning around, I got my first good look at his face.
“Oh.” All the fight went out of me.
His cloak was so dark red it almost looked black. Like Tarquin, in his ear he wore a jewel. His clothes were cut like a wherryman’s but made of finely woven cloth, the garments of a rich man trying to hide who he is. But his dark hair and blue eyes betrayed him.
Antidoros Peregrine, the exiled Akhaian revolutionary.
“Ow! Call off your frogman!” Another man struggled through the door with Fee latched onto his arm.
“We’re all right,” I told her. She let the man go.
“I won’t tell the Black Dogs who you are,” Lord Peregrine said to Tarquin. “I didn’t like your father, but the Theucinians are worse. I don’t hold with murdering children.”
Tarquin shoved his veil back. “I don’t know what—”
“What I’m talking about. Of course you don’t.” He glanced at me. “It’s Caro, isn’t it? Forgive me for the guns. I had to make sure you would come quickly and quietly. We have no quarrel with the Oresteia family. I figure we owe you for keeping us supplied this last year.”
His words reminded me. “Oh! I can’t believe I forgot about the muskets.” I rushed to explain. “They were confiscated by the harbor master in Hespera’s Watch. It’s a bit of a mess. I swear, Pa will make it up to you—”
He held up a hand. “No matter. You’ve more important things to worry about right now. Diric Melanos was in this very tavern yesterday.”
Tarquin interrupted. “I know who you are. My father used to speak of you often.”
Peregrine almost smiled. “I doubt it was flattering.”
“It wasn’t. But he respected you as an opponent. I remember you dined at our table once or twice when I was a boy. You’re Antidoros Peregrine.”
“You probably won’t believe me, but I was sorry to hear of his death.” Emotion flickered across his bearded face. “And Amaryah’s.”
I reached out without thinking to touch Tarquin’s sleeve. He refused to meet my eyes, swallowing guiltily. He didn’t look shocked to hear that his father was dead. In fact he seemed more offended than anything else. Perplexed by his reaction, I let my hand drop.
Lord Peregrine went on. “I heard everyone was killed in the coup. I suppose there’s a grand tale behind how you came to be here in Kynthessa.”
“There is,” Tarquin said, and that was all.
Lord Peregrine gave him a respectful nod, acknowledging that he would not be hearing the story.
“But how did you recognize him?” I asked.
Lord Peregrine gestured down at Tarquin’s too-short skirt. “The hood hides your face, but I wonder you didn’t take more care about those boots.” He raised his eyebrows. “Gold buttons? The mark of the mountain lion?”
Dismayed, I stared at the boots. He didn’t mean real gold? I’d assumed the buttons were brass. I cursed myself for not throwing those boots overboard when I had the chance.
Lord Peregrine went on. “When I realized who you were, I knew I had to warn you. Melanos sprayed silver all about this tavern, telling loud tales about the wherry he was chasing.” He raised his eyebrows. “Seems it gave him the slip, up near Hespera’s Watch. But he left more than loose coin behind him. That man at the end of the bar—”
He gripped my arm before I could turn.
“Don’t look,” he hissed. “Just know this—he’s dangerous. Every man on that crew is. In the skirmishes of ’88, Captain Melanos made a name for himself as a privateer, that part’s true enough. But then he went rogue. His crew’s sunk fifty ships and killed hundreds of men. Mark my words, they don’t sail for the Theucinians—they sail for themselves.”
If he was a privateer, Captain Melanos must once have had a letter of marque. Just like I did. A funny unsettled feeling shivered through me.
“Who do you side with?” I asked. “The old Emparch or the Theucinians?”
“Neither,” Lord Peregrine said. “The day of the absolute monarchy is past. We want Akhaia to be a republic, with a senate elected from among the people. But I don’t celebrate this bloodshed. People I—” He bent his head. “People I knew are dead.”
Tarquin’s eyes flashed with anger. “How can you say that, when you were stirring up the people! You think there wouldn’t have been blood in a revolution?” A muscle in his cheek twitched. “I don’t understand how you can be a traitor to your own class.”
“Son, my position as a lord provides me with power.” Lord Peregrine set a hand on Tarquin’s shoulder. “Power is a touchy thing. You can use it to crush those without it, or lift them up. It’s a choice. I believe it’s my responsibility to use the voice I’ve been given.”
Tarquin shrugged his hand off.
“Just think on this,” Lord Peregrine continued, unoffended. “The common people of Akhaia are like ants to Konto Theucinian, to be trampled under his boot heel. That doesn’t have to be the way.”
As Tarquin stared out at the darkening river, hands in pockets, I saw his throat bob. I couldn’t say what he was thinking, because his face was painstakingly blank.
I turned to Lord Peregrine. “Where’s Victorianos now?”