“Go home. Last chance.” Romeo stepped forward, the cold tension winding through his body. There were only two of them. He could handle two.
One of the men started forward, and Romeo didn’t even think. He whipped his sword forward to slice a thin cut into the man’s cheek. Then he lunged and slashed the same shallow line of red into the other man’s face.
They stumbled back, cursing. Romeo settled into a perfect dueling position, sword ready for the moment they would charge, and he would have to—
But they fled.
Romeo’s heart pounded painfully. He noticed the sweat trickling down his neck, the cramp in his hand as he gripped the sword. There was a thin line of blood on the blade, but he hadn’t killed anyone. He hadn’t had to.
His hands shook only a little as he lowered the sword and turned back to the girl.
She still had her back pressed to the wall. “You,” she said, wide-eyed. “You’re real.”
Romeo shifted from one foot to the other, his mask suddenly a guilty weight. It was good for people to tell stories. That was half of why he’d donned the mask, so that people would think twice before trying to harm the Catresou. But he’d never expected the stories to spread so fast. In less than a month, he had become a legend.
“Yes,” he said. “You need to get home. I’ll walk with you.”
The girl didn’t move. “Is it true what they say?” she asked. “That you’re going to punish the Juliet for what she did to us?”
The words bit at him like knives, and Romeo caught his breath. Because there was a time when he would have proclaimed that they deserved to be punished for what they had done to her. He’d said as much to Paris more than once.
But that had been when the Catresou were still one of the three high houses.
“I’m going to protect you,” he said. “Come on.”
The girl watched him a moment longer; then she turned and strode forward. Her home was only a few buildings away; Romeo hung back as she knocked on the door. When it swung open and she slipped inside, he sighed and stepped back to vanish among the shadows of the nearest alleyway.
He’d protected another Catresou tonight. He should be proud, or at least satisfied.
But his debt would never be paid. Juliet was still enslaved to the Mahyanai. Makari was still pretending to serve the Master Necromancer. And Paris—
A hand clapped him on the shoulder. Romeo whirled, his sword coming up.
“You know,” said Vai, “staring sadly into the darkness is a lot safer in a locked room.”
Vai was a lean boy in a long coat, with dark skin, dark braids tipped in bright-blue beads, and a smile like a curved knife. Vai was actually a girl, but she hadn’t told him that until after Paris died. Paris knew, so I suppose you might as well, she’d said, and Romeo hadn’t understood that logic, but he knew the two of them had been close.
Vai’s only brother had died to necromancers, and the custom of her people dictated that she had to become a man in his place, so she could raise up heirs for his family. It had seemed like a cruel custom to Romeo, but it wasn’t worse than what Juliet’s people had done to her, and he knew what Juliet’s duty meant to her; so he’d said nothing.
Romeo sighed and lowered his sword. “I could have hurt you,” he said.
“I mean, theoretically you could have,” said Vai. “You were pretty formidable that one time we dueled. But honestly, were you actually going to do anything except glare at me and think of how to complain about this in a poem?”
“I don’t write poems anymore,” Romeo muttered. That was something he’d done back when Juliet was free, and he’d thought there was a chance he could be with her.
“Probably why you’re so sad,” said Vai.
“How did you find me?” asked Romeo. He hadn’t gone near Justiran again since the night a month ago, when Makari had appeared and told him to flee. He hadn’t gone back either to the underground room where Vai held court as King of Cats, champion duelist of the Lower City.
“You’re really not as stealthy as you think you are,” said Vai. “And you’ve already got a reputation.” She looked at the house. “So this is where the Catresou have taken refuge?”
“You can’t tell—”
“—anyone, I know. Do you really think I’d sell them out?” And there was no laughter at all in her voice as she said, “Paris was my friend too.”
But neither of them had been able to save him.
“It’s just one family,” said Romeo. “I’ve seen others in the streets, but I don’t know where they live.”
“Might be just as well that you don’t,” said Vai. “Secrets have a way of getting out.”
“Why did you come find me?”
Vai shrugged. “Paris was my friend. I don’t know if he’d be proud of or horrified by you right now, but he’d want me to protect you.”
If Paris had been alive to see what happened to the Catresou, he’d probably want Romeo dead.
As he thought that, somebody screamed.
Romeo jolted into readiness, whirling toward the entrance of the alleyway and bringing his sword up, before he’d even realized where the scream had come from.
It was inside the house where the Catresou girl had gone.
Now there were more screams. Muffled thuds and crashes. Romeo bolted around the corner of the building. There were no windows facing the street, only the door. He rattled the handle: locked.
Another scream, suddenly choked off. Romeo slammed his shoulder against the door. The blow rattled his teeth and sent a spike of pain through his shoulders, but the door didn’t give way.
“Get back,” said Vai, and the next moment her foot slammed into the door, rattling it in its hinges. She kicked again, and then on the third kick, the door gave way.
They were too late.
The room was in shambles. The table had been knocked over, cups shattered. And blood was spattered across the floor and walls.
One body lay by the door: a man, his short hair tinged with gray. Romeo’s stomach pitched with nausea, but he still made himself kneel and check.
The man was dead, his throat deeply cut. A few paces back was a young boy, also dead, blood pooling underneath him.
Footsteps echoed from above, and Vai charged up the stairs.
Romeo would have followed, but at the same moment, he heard a gasp from the corner of the room.
It was the girl. She was huddled against the wall, blood pooling at her feet.
The next moment he was at her side, hands trembling, hoping against hope.
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “Don’t move. It’s all right.”
But in a moment he could see it was too late. She’d been stabbed six or seven times; her face was already deathly pale.
She looked at him. She started to lift her hand, and he caught it. Wrapped his fingers around hers.
“I’m here,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
He could hear thumps from upstairs, knew that Vai was probably fighting the murderer, but the girl was still looking at him and he couldn’t leave her now.
“You’re . . . here,” she said.
There was no anger in her voice, but Romeo still cringed. “Yes,” he said.
“Don’t let them burn me,” she whispered.
“What?” said Romeo.
The girl coughed and shuddered in pain, her fingers clenching around Romeo’s. It was several moments before she quieted, and when she did, her eyelids were drooping.
Then she managed to look up at him. “Don’t let them burn me,” she said, and Romeo finally understood.
The Catresou believed that there was no peace in the afterlife for those whose bodies were destroyed. For a hundred years they had clung to the special permission that allowed them to embalm their dead and lay them to rest in chained coffins. Now they were outlaws and fugitives; their sepulcher had not yet been destroyed, but surely no more of them would be laid to rest in it.
All his life, Romeo had heard how the Catresou were superstitious fools for believing that a pickled corpse with its organs extracted and stacked in jars could preserve the soul after death. Now he could only think how this was one more harm he had done to Juliet’s people.
“I promise,” he said. “You will have a grave. I swear it.”
The girl let out a long sigh.