Although not from everyone.
Crouching low, Zarrah wedged herself between the two decorative walls. But before she dropped below the roofline, she looked back. The Maridrinian was already down the sheet-rope and was sprinting toward her. Shit. She needed to get out into the city, into that mess of broken buildings and its million places to hide.
When she reached the ground, Zarrah paused to watch the soldiers drawing buckets of water from the well, everything chaos and confusion.
Horses and wagons rushed out the gates to avoid the falling pieces of burning wood. She rolled under a passing wagon, clinging to the underside and cringing as bits of manure fell through the slats.
The wagon passed through the gates and into the maze of city streets, but Zarrah held on, wanting to get as far away as she could before she risked revealing herself. Then the wagon hit a large hole in the cobbles, jouncing her loose. She landed hard on her back, the skin on her elbows shredding as she skidded to a stop. Zarrah ignored the pain and rolled sideways into the shadows of an opium den, shrieks of laughter, both male and female, filtering from the rooms above even as shouts of, “Fire! Fire!” spread through the city.
Keep going. He’s not going to give up that easily. You need to get across the river.
Zarrah limped down an alley until she found an easy place to climb. On the roof, she had a clear view of the palace, the scaffolding an inferno. An impressive sight, but she knew it had done nothing more than inconvenience their efforts to repair the palace. She could only pray that the letters yielded something worth the lost opportunity to spill Veliant blood.
She leaped onto a neighboring rooftop, retreating by the same route she’d taken on her way to the palace, hoping that the alligators had dispersed or found easier quarry. Because she needed to get back across that river. As soon as dawn lit the sky in the east, the unspoken peace between Maridrina and Valcotta would shatter, and being caught on the north side of the river would not go well for her.
Soldiers and civilians alike had given up their carousing to watch the fire, droves of them heading in the direction of the palace to gawk. As she leaped from the roof of a tavern onto yet another brothel, a loud roar filled her ears, and Zarrah glanced back in time to see the scaffolding collapse, a cloud of sparks and smoke filling the air.
Then the skin on her neck prickled and she whirled, finding herself face-to-face with the Maridrinian.
11
KERIS
The glow of the fire illuminated the Valcottan woman’s face, which, if he was being honest, was far more beautiful than he’d first appreciated. Her brown skin was glossy from heat and exertion, and strands of her short, dark hair clung to her rounded cheekbones. If not for the knife that had appeared in her hand, he might have imagined the bow-shaped lips of hers engaged in a number of intriguing activities.
“That,” he gestured to the glow of flames, “is going to be a significant inconvenience for me.”
Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she said, “So sorry,” before stepping sideways, searching for a way around him. But Keris moved with her, growling, “Give me the damned letters, Valcotta. They’re no good to you.”
She opened her mouth as though to respond, but instead stepped backward off the side of the building. He swore as he heard her hit the ground, her feet pounding away before he’d even reached the edge.
But he knew which way she’d go.
Twisting, he raced across the roof to jump to the next, rolling as he hit and then on his feet in a flash, tracing a path across the city. He leapt and climbed, never hesitating because to give up momentum would see him plunge to his death.
His knees ached and his fingers were cramping from climbing by the time he reached the tap house where he’d sat earlier, and dropped into the alleyway. The tables were nearly devoid of patrons now, all the Valcottans wisely having taken their leave when they’d seen the flames.
All, except for one.
His eyes picked up motion in the shadows of a building, her slender form barely visible as she crept down the street, gaze focused on the path leading to the Anriot. But before either of them could make a move, the clatter of hooves on cobbles filled the air, and a patrol galloped into view. “Block the river crossings,” one of the men shouted. “Then we’ll begin a search of the city to find the culprit. His Highness wants the individual on the executioner’s block by dawn!”
Damn Otis and his efficiency.
Keris watched the woman stare at the patrol, weighing her chances of getting around them and across the river without taking an arrow in the back.
They weren’t good.
She was going to get herself killed, and all over Otis’s stupid letters. Don’t do it, he willed her. Think of something else.
She ignored his silent plea, body tense with the stillness of someone about to leap into action. Which left him with little choice.
Shoving his hood back, he shouted, “Goddammit, woman,” then staggered drunkenly into the open. “Where are you hiding? I wasn’t done with you yet!”
He could feel the soldiers’ eyes pass over him, marking his nationality but not his identity before they continued with what they were doing, and Keris broke into a stumbling run toward the woman, catching her by the arm. “Took my coin without earning it,” he shouted, then hauled her in the direction of one of the brothels, keeping himself between her and the soldiers to hide her from clear view.
Kicking open the door, he barely spared a glance for the room full of soldiers and naked flesh before he pressed her against a wall, pinning her wrists above her head and twisting his hips so that she wouldn’t try to knee him in the balls. “Letters. Now.”
She squirmed, trying and failing to slip his grip, but his brother had trained him well. Then she stilled, dark eyes fixing on his for a heartbeat before she screamed, “Thief!”
The shrill panic in her voice caught the attention of everyone in the brothel, and the sturdy madam presiding over it turned and fixed her eyes on them. Though she must have known Zarrah was not one of her girls, there was apparently some unwritten code that demanded solidarity among whores, for she roared, “Not in my house!” then pulled a cudgel out from under a table. Keris yelped, ducking as the heavy wood swung past his face.
The Valcottan woman scuttled into the room, sobbing, “He doesn’t think he needs to pay!”
“Thief!” the madam shrieked at him, swinging her cudgel and forcing Keris to step backward or lose his teeth. “Get out!”
Across the room, the Valcottan woman grinned, then she ran toward the stairs. Cursing, Keris dodged the madam, leaping over whores and patrons alike as he gave chase. A door slammed as he reached the second level, and a heartbeat later, he heard shouts of shock, then anger. Kicking in the door revealed the Valcottan woman on the windowsill about to jump, and he clambered over the trio of naked forms on the bed, reaching for her.