Mask of Shadows (Untitled #1)(4)

“But it would’ve been a fair fight—we’re thieves. It’s their job.”

I scowled. “Nothing fair about fighting armored soldiers.”

“You’re the sort for auditions.” He stomped after me, loud and breathy and full of useless opinions. He’d talked about the folks he’d like to have a shot at often enough. “Smashing people’s faces in for money.”

“I already get paid to fight.” I rounded on him, grabbed his collar, and shoved him against a tree. “They know what they’re getting into. They sign up to fight—just like me. Don’t act like you don’t depend on me winning.”

“I’m not killing people.” The spears rattled on his back.

“Neither am I. You’re rigging bets while I’m winning fights.”

“Fine.” He jabbed me in the ribs and darted around me. “Grell’s waiting. Come on.”

We hit Tulen a while later, sweaty and shaky. The guards in Grell’s pocket let us into the city. I twisted the lady’s ring around my finger, glanced down the alley, and pulled it off. Rath was my only companion in the dark, and he was doubled over his knees trying to catch his breath. Our Queen had touched this ring, had pressed her seal into the silver. I’d only ever seen her from afar.

I’d make a deal with The Lady. If I got the ring past Grell, I was clever enough to audition and serve Our Queen. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t recover in time to audition.

I slipped my knife out of my sheath, slipped my shirt off my shoulder, and drew the tip across my upper arm. Blood welled over the blade, pain burning up my shoulder, and I wiped my knife clean on my sleeve. I pressed the ring against the skin above the cut and wrapped a stolen handkerchief around it. The ring stayed in place.

A little pain, a pretty payoff.

My blood to seal The Lady’s prayer.

I wrapped it a few more times, enough to disguise the bulge but let the blood seep through and make it look real. No sign of the ring, a lot of blood, and Rath was still gasping over his boots. Perfect.

The door to the Starved Hatter swung open and Grell shouted, “Check Rath twice.”

Rath groaned and struggled to stand. Lorne, one of Grell’s chattier guards, lumbered out into the light. I leaned against the door.

Even better—people trusted you if you remembered their name and their problems.

“You’re working late.” I sucked on my waterskin while Lorne patted his way up Rath’s legs. “Thought you’d be suffering through another night with your kid.”

“Cayet got the day shift.” Lorne unlaced Rath’s boots and yanked up his pants legs, knocking his way around Rath’s calves and hips for a while before sliding up to his chest and fluffing out his shirt. “Don’t think it matters—kid never wants to sleep when we do.”

I rubbed my arm. Pins and needles crawled over my shoulder, but I nodded along like I understood. I couldn’t imagine a two-year-old being reasonable about sleeping.

“What happened to you?” Lorne slapped Rath on the shoulder and pushed him out of the way.

“Got stabbed.” I held out my bleeding arm and spread my legs, keeping my face neutral. Rath’s head jerked to me. I ignored him. He couldn’t lie to save his life. Blood kept guards away, and I knew Grell was listening. Drawing attention to a hiding spot wasn’t the brightest, but if I named it up front, he’d never think I had anything to hide. “Landed on some fancy, pointy hatpin in the coach.”

“You keep it?” Lorne checked my pockets and shoes.

“No. It was wood.”

Lorne snorted. “Mouth open.”

I stuck out my tongue and turned my head side to side. Lorne collected our purses and walked back to the Hatter, clapping Rath on the shoulder again and patting my uninjured arm. Rath and I glanced at each other. He hooked an arm around my shoulders.

“Hatpin, was it?”

I gritted my teeth. He was smart-mouthed as that noble lady. “Shut it.”

Great. Now I needed dirt on him to keep us even.





Three


“Get up.” Rath, his breath reeking of day-old tea, shook me awake. “Breakfast.”

I buried my face in my arms. A flickering, sweaty fire burned up my arm, and I cracked my eyes open. Rath, backlit and clutching a cup, elbowed me out of bed. I’d dreamed of storms.

Better than my usual nightmares of creeping darkness, dripping with teeth and blood, but dread still clung to me like it did on those terrible nights.

I snatched my good shirt from the floor, groping around the hem, and rubbed the ring with my thumb. It was safely out of my makeshift bandage and out of sight from prying eyes. Rath had cleaned my arm while I’d sewn the ring into my hidden shirt pocket. He’d laughed the whole time.

“You still on about auditioning for Opal?”

“I am, and I know how I’ll show my skill.” Bounties were plentiful, and I’d the perfect one to turn over as an invitation. Assassins dealt in death, didn’t they? “I need you to distract Grell’s guards.”

“No. Lords, Sal.” He plopped down on the bed next to me, raking a hand through his dark hair. “He kills for looking at him wrong. Whatever you’re planning, he’ll kill you for it.”

Not if I killed him first.