It was that last concern—the paying of exorbitant Cartorran taxes—that had Emperor Henrick the most concerned. With all of the nobility wrapped around his ring-clad fingers, he wanted to ensure he had Safi ensnared too.
But Henrick’s attempt to nab one more loyal domna had fallen apart, for Uncle Eron hadn’t sent Safi to study in Praga with all the other young nobles. Instead, Eron had packed her off to the south, to the Guildmasters and tutors of Ve?aza City.
It was the first and last time Safi had ever felt anything like gratitude for her uncle.
“In that case,” Iseult said, tone final and shoulders sagging, “I think we’ll have to leave the city. We can hole up … somewhere until all of this blows over.”
Safi bit her lip. Iseult made it sound so easy to “hole up somewhere,” but the reality was that Iseult’s clear Nomatsi ancestry made her a target wherever she went.
The one time the girls had tried leaving Ve?aza City, to visit a friend nearby, they’d barely made it back home.
Of course, the three men in the tavern who’d decided to attack Iseult had never made it back home at all. At least not with intact femurs.
Safi stomped to the wardrobe and wrenched it open, pretending the handle was the Chiseled Cheater’s nose. If she ever—ever—saw that bastard again, she was going to break every bone in his blighted body.
“Our best bet,” Iseult went on, “will be the Southern Wharf District. The Dalmotti trade ships are berthed there, and we might be able to get passage in exchange for work. Do you need anything from Guildmaster Alix’s?”
At Safi’s headshake, Iseult continued. “Good. Then we’ll leave notes for Habim and Mathew explaining everything. Then … I guess we’ll … leave.”
Safi stayed silent as she towed out a golden gown. Her throat was too tight for words. Her stomach spinning too hard.
It was then, as Safi fastened the ten million wooden buttons and Iseult tied a pale gray scarf around her head, that a knocking burst out through the shop.
“Ve?aza City Guard!” came a muffled voice. “Open up! We saw you break in!”
Iseult sighed—a sound of such long, long suffering.
“I know,” Safi growled, sliding the last button in place. “You told me so.”
“Just so long as you’re aware.”
“Like you’ll ever let me forget?”
Iseult’s lips twitched with a smile, but it was a false attempt—and Safi didn’t need her Truthwitchery to see that.
As the girls tugged on their scratchy apprentice jackets, the guard started his bellowing again. “Open up! There’s only one way in or out of this shop!”
“Not true,” Safi inserted.
“We won’t hesitate to use force!”
“And nor will we.” At a nod from her Threadsister, Safi scooted to Iseult’s bed. Then they both dragged the cot toward the door. Wooden feet groaned, and soon enough they had it heaved on its side to form a barricade—one they knew worked well, for this was hardly the first time Safi and Iseult had been forced to sneak out.
Although it had always been Mathew and Habim bellowing on the other side. Not armed guards.
Moments later, Safi and Iseult stood at the window, breathing fast and listening as the front door smashed inward. As the entire shop quaked and glass shattered.
Cringing, Safi clambered onto the roof. First she’d lost all her money, and now she’d ruined Mathew’s shop. Maybe … maybe it was a good thing her tutors were out of town on business. At least she wouldn’t have to face Mathew or Habim anytime soon.
Iseult scrabbled out beside Safi, the emergency satchel on her back bulging with supplies. Iseult’s weapons fit into calf-scabbards beneath her skirt, but Safi could only stow her parrying knife in her boot. Her sword—her beautiful folded steel sword—was staying behind.
“Where to?” Safi asked, knowing her Threadsister had a route spinning behind those glittering eyes.
“We’ll head inland, as if we’re going to Guildmaster Alix’s, and then aim south.”
“Rooftops?”
“For as long as we can. You lead the way.”
Safi nodded curtly before kicking into a run—west, toward the inner heart of Ve?aza City—and when she reached the edge of Mathew’s roof, she leaped for the next slope of shingles.
She slammed down. Pigeons burst upward, wings flapping to get out of the way, and then Iseult bounded down beside her.
But Safi was already moving, already flying for the next roof. And the next roof after that, on and on with Iseult right behind.
*
Iseult slunk along the cobblestoned street, Safi two steps ahead. The girls had veered inland from the coffee shop, crossing canals and looping back over bridges to avoid city guards. Fortunately, morning traffic had begun—a teeming mass of fruit-laden carts, donkeys, goats, and people of all races and nationalities. Threads with colors as varied as their owners’ skins swirled lazily through the heat.