By the time darkness falls, Lochlan and I are down to our last two coins. We’ve paid to keep the room for the night, as we’ll need a place to return to once we’ve taken care of Ford Cheeke. It also provides us with a meeting point if we get separated—though I’m beginning to reach a point where I long for separation from him.

We’ve also spent a bit of silver in a few taverns, trying to learn about the people here. As we discovered in the clothier’s shop, the king is well loved, and it’s impossible to hide our accents, so I don’t bother trying. Everyone seems happy that their king has returned safely from Kandala, but everyone seems wary of Harristan and what the future might hold. The people really are distrustful of my father—and my grandfather, I learn in one tavern—which makes me wonder about the trade agreements that went wrong so many years ago. But Rian’s influence is strong, and it’s clear that they’re ready to take a chance on Kandala if it means they can access steel to rebuild their bridges—especially since Rian is back, and our presence is evidence that Kandala sent people with him. When we mention that we’re seeking passage to Fairde, we’re often given the same names to contact that we were given by the tailors.

One barkeep near the harbor slid our silver back across the bar before we could say a word. “Gossip already made it this far, and you boys should know Crane’s people are in the back room. Run afoul of them, and they’ll be selling your body parts back to Kandala in exchange for their precious steel. Come back after dark. They’ll be gone by then. You need to find a new tavern for now.”

We didn’t have enough silvers for another tavern, so we walked loops through the streets, mapping the turns, learning the paths to the harbor, finding convenient places to hide if the need arises.

Well, that’s what I’ve been doing. Lochlan hasn’t said much, so he could be singing nursery rhymes in his head for all I know.

I should probably be figuring out how I’m going to kill some man I’ve never laid eyes on, but I don’t want to think about that.

Instead, I’m thinking about what Lochlan said earlier.

You told Crane you were an assassin. Let’s go find this man so you can do what you do so well.

The words are like a handful of thorns stuck to the inside of my clothing, and I can’t escape them. They needle me at every turn. He acts like I was a heartless executioner. I know this is an image I spent years cultivating for myself, but I hate it. I hate that he sees me that way. I hate that everyone in Kandala sees me that way, and I can’t even escape it on an island where no one knows who I am.

I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter what Lochlan thinks of me. I’ve had hundreds of prisoners in the Hold spit their hatred right in my face.

But every single step pokes me with a reminder.

Once the sun eventually drifts behind the buildings, we come to a stop in a shadowed alley near the tavern.

“Should we go back inside?” Lochlan says. “Was he trying to tell us he could help us?”

“We’re going to have to ask someone directly about Ford Cheeke,” I say. “No one has mentioned his name yet, which is concerning. I wouldn’t put it past Oren to trick us.”

“Crane said he monitors shipping logs. It’s also possible that Ford just doesn’t sail himself.”

Yes. That is also possible. I chew at the inside of my cheek. The food from the boarding house seems like we ate it days ago, and hunger gnaws at my gut. I’m tired from walking all day, too. I hurt my ankle weeks ago when the rebels captured me and Tessa, and though I thought it was healed, it seems that a day of trudging along cobblestones brought more of a strain than I was ready for. At this point, I’m tempted to steal a boat and sail it to Fairde myself.

I just don’t know how.

But is that an option? Have I been overcomplicating things?

I look at Lochlan. “If we stole a boat, could you sail it to Fairde?”

“I thought you were worried about Rian capturing you and holding you for ransom.”

“I am. But if we stole a boat, we wouldn’t have to worry about anyone warning him that we were coming.”

He regards me silently for a long moment. “Do you remember how many sailors Rian had manning the Dawn Chaser?”

“Yes.”

“Do you see that many people in the alley with us right now?”

“I’m not talking about a ship of that size,” I snap. “Obviously.”

His eyes flick toward the sky. “Well, it’s nighttime, and if you wanted to be this reckless, it might have been a better idea this morning. I don’t know what the sea is like between here and Fairde, and we’d have no warning of hazards in the dark. It’s not like we can just—” He breaks off, then clears his throat emphatically. “I mean, it’s not like I can just start rowing. I also don’t know if it’s five miles or fifty, since we don’t have any maps.” He rubs at his jaw. “Or more than one person who knows their way around a boat—”

“All right, enough.” I drop to a crouch and brace my forearms on my knees. I miss home so much that it aches, and I have to shove the feeling aside.

I’ve had to do terrible things before. I can do them again.

Tessa, I’m coming. Forgive me.

“I’m ready to be done,” I say, straightening. “Let’s go talk to the barkeep.”

I expect Lochlan to fire back at me with another sharp comment, but he doesn’t.

Now that it’s nighttime, the tavern is packed with bodies, and the stench of sweat is overpowering. The sound is overwhelming, too, with musicians on a stand in the corner, the off-key whistle of a flute making my head ache. When someone starts pounding on a drum, I want to set myself on fire.

Lochlan leans in close. “Well, this seems like a good place to get some private information.”

I scowl, but we push between bodies until we reach the bar. The barkeep from earlier isn’t even here.

I sigh heavily.

The new barkeep is a young woman, not much older than Tessa, with waist-length blond hair and very pretty blue eyes. She spots us and makes her way over immediately.

“Ale?” she calls over the music. “Or something stronger?”

Lochlan inhales to decline, I’m sure, but it’s been a long day and it promises to be an even longer night.

“Something stronger, if you please,” I call back.

Lochlan snaps his mouth shut and stares at me, but the barkeep smiles when she hears my accent. “I think I’ve heard about you boys. Are you looking for sweet or sour—”

“Just strong.” I slap a coin on the bar. “Whatever that will buy.”

Her smile widens and she swipes the coin, then turns away to fetch a bottle.

Lochlan leans in close again. “Now you want to get drunk?”

I wish.“I doubt we have anywhere near enough money for that.”

The barkeep reappears, slapping four small glasses on the bar in rapid succession. She pours from a green bottle wrapped in silver threads, but the liquid is completely clear.

While she pours, she looks at Lochlan and gives him a wink. “Anything for you, handsome?”

That takes him by surprise, because he startles, then smiles—which makes me realize I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lochlan smile.

“He’s not drinking all of that himself.” Without hesitation, he snatches one of the glasses and tosses it back.

“By all means, help yourself,” I say, annoyed. But I give the barkeep a nod. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be back when you’re ready for more.” She turns away toward another patron.

I lift one of the glasses and tap it against Lochlan’s empty one. “Cheers, handsome.” Then I toss it back as quickly as he did. The liquor tastes like nothing I’ve ever had and burns like fire. I’m simultaneously eager for the second one and already worried it’s going to hit me like a brick.

I reach for it, but Lochlan takes both glasses and moves them out of reach. “No. One was a terrible idea. You don’t need two.”

“Those are mine,” I growl.

He leans very close. “Quit stalling.”

I set my jaw, but there’s nothing to say. He’s right. I am stalling. I’ve felt his judgment all day, but being confronted with this accusation makes me feel like a coward, too.

By morning, I have to prove my claims to Oren, or that cage will be the least of my worries. I can’t let Rian get a hold of me, or he really will use me against Harristan. He kept Oren’s daughter locked up on his ship; I have no doubt he’d do the same thing to me if it meant he could trade me for steel.

As usual, I’ve been backed into a corner, and the only way out is violence. It’s not fair that an innocent man has to die because of it.

I reach into my pocket and pull out our last coin.

Lochlan snatches it right out of my hand. “No more drinking.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

He glares at me and holds it up anyway, the piece of silver glinting in the night. The barkeep sees it immediately and begins to sashay in our direction.

“So you’re getting some for yourself?” I say.

“No. I’m getting information.”

I scoff and reach for one of the glasses he pushed away, and he smacks my wrist. By the time the barkeep is in front of us again, we’re glaring at each other, and it’s a miracle I haven’t punched him in the face.

But the girl’s smile is bright, and she’s looking at Lochlan. “Ready for more?”

“No,” he says curtly, and her smile falters. “We came here because we’ve heard there’s a man at the docks who can get a message to Galen Redstone. What do you know about that?”

The smile has completely fallen off her face, and she glances past us. I can’t tell if she’s worried about other patrons or if his gruff manner is about to chase her away. Likely both.

If Lochlan ever had to come to court, he’d probably end up in a dozen fistfights within an hour.

I clap him on the shoulder and give her a knowing look. “Forgive his rudeness,” I say mildly. Then I beckon her closer and whisper loudly, “He can’t hold his liquor.”

She giggles. The smile is back.

While I’m leaning forward, I say, “We really do need to know how to send a message, though. If you had any information to share, I’d be rather grateful.”

“You’d have to speak to the harbormaster about posting messages to Fairde.” She tucks a lock of hair behind one ear and takes the coin from between Lochlan’s fingers, but her eyes are on me now. “They lock up the docks at midnight, though, unless you have a license. The harbormaster tucks in well before then, so you might need to wait till morning. But if you head that way, the night watchman might let you talk to the bookkeeper. He’ll sometimes post messages if the harbormaster is gone for the night.”

“The bookkeeper,” I say.

“Yes. He does the receipts and ledgers for the dock. His name is Cheeke.” She pauses. “Just be careful. The docks are dangerous at night.” She leans in so close that I can feel her breath against my cheek. “Crane’s people are everywhere. They watch to see who goes to see Cheeke. If your message is very private, someone might take it off your hands first.”

“Thank you,” I say.

She kisses me on the cheek like the woman in the clothier’s shop did. “My thanks go to Kandala,” she says. “A lot of people don’t trust your country, but if you and your king can find a way to help us rebuild, I know ours will be grateful.”

That makes my heart give a twist. She turns away before I can say anything else.

Lochlan is staring at me.

“You scoff at manners,” I say. “But they serve a purpose.”

That makes him scowl. “Learn anything good?”

“I know what we need to do. Let’s go.”

When he turns away, I go to reach for one of the remaining glasses of liquor, but they’re both empty.

So he took them for himself. What an ass. I glare at his back as we press our way out of the crowd.

After the heat and stench and clamor of the tavern, the night air feels like a cool balm against my skin. I’m tense and irritable after being chastised over drinking, and I’m practically stomping alongside Lochlan like a child.

He has no patience for it. “Are you going to tell me what she said or not?” he demands.

“She said Cheeke keeps ledgers at the dock. But she warned me that Crane has eyes all over the harbor, waiting to intercept.”

We’re passing a crowd of older men who are loudly arguing about a woman named Bertha, so Lochlan says nothing until we’re well past.

When he does, he comes to the same conclusion I did: “So when we kill this man, there could be witnesses from both sides. Crane said Cheeke was well guarded.”

I nod. “Very likely.”

“So Crane did set us up.”

“Probably.” I shrug a little, because I’m not surprised. “Maybe he really does want Cheeke dead, and this is an easy way to get someone else to do it. If we’re caught by Redstone’s people, it looks bad for Kandala. There are already enough people here who think my father and my grandfather defaulted on their promises and worked shady deals. It wouldn’t take much to spread rumors that my brother and I are just as underhanded—especially if I’m quite literally caught in the act.”

“But if we get away with it, Crane’s people will think we’re trustworthy. We’ll be aligned with the pirates.”

We.If we get away with it. I snort derisively. Lochlan has made no secret of who he expects to do the killing here. I could have left him on the ship with Crane, and the outcome would’ve been no different.

But Lochlan is silent, working this through. “But enough people know you’re here now. That you ‘worked’ for the prince. If we’re aligned with the pirates, then Kandala will be seen as aligned with the pirates.”

“I’m glad you’ve caught up,” I say flatly. “As usual, I’m confronted with horrific options, yet I’ll be judged for whichever choice I make. I hope you enjoyed the drinks. I rather wish you’d left me one.”

He frowns. “I didn’t drink those. We need a clear head for this.”

“Then what did you do with them?”

“I poured them out so you wouldn’t grab them when I turned my back.”

Oh. Considering I was going to do exactly that, I don’t know what to say.

He glances over. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you limping?”

I look right back at him. “We’ve been walking all day. Some self-righteous rebel told a mob to beat me to death a while ago. My right ankle is starting to give me trouble.”

“Oh, right. I know how you feel.” He holds out his hand and flexes his joints gingerly. “Some stupid prince broke my wrist a few weeks before that.”

“That is nowhere near the same and you know it.”

“It’s exactly the same.”

He’s so exhausting. I want to shove him into the wall. “I didn’t assault you out of hand,” I say sharply. “You were trying to kill Consul Sallister.”

He glances at me, annoyed. “Would you keep your voice down?”

We’re passing a pair of young women who give me a lingering look. Once they’re gone, I turn my head to glare at him, and I fight to keep my voice low. “I am the King’s Justice, Lochlan. I couldn’t watch you attack a consul right in front of me.”

Now it’s his turn to snort derisively. “You should have let me keep going.”

“I did.”

He looks at me in surprise.

I shrug and look back at the darkened streets. The scent of the harbor is getting closer. “I didn’t know what he was doing to the people yet, but I’ve never liked him. I could have stopped you more quickly. I took my time.”

Lochlan says nothing to that, and we keep walking in silence. Eventually the narrow roads spill into a brightly lit span of cobblestones that lead to the docks, and we stop near the corner of a building.

“The docks at Artis are usually deserted this late,” Lochlan says. “I expected it to be the same.”

“Me too,” I say. But the docks here are bustling with activity. Lanterns are strung up along posts at regular intervals, and street vendors are selling fried fish and sugared rolls and roasted root vegetables. Workers are everywhere, sweeping cobblestones, gutting fish, mending nets and sails. I can’t decide if all this activity is better or worse. Enough rumors have spread about our identity that I don’t want to be overheard down here. Not when we’re this close.

I scan the shadows along the docks until I come to a wide three-story building in the center. Most of the windows are dark, but three on the second level are flickering with candlelight, shadows moving within. On the street, four armed men in red-and-black livery are stationed near the door. A large faded sign is affixed to the top of the building:

SILVESSE HARBOR STATION

UPON DOCKING, ALL VESSELS

MUST DECLARE GOODS WITHIN.

I glance at Lochlan, who’s followed my gaze, but his expression gives no indication of awareness. A twist in my gut reminds me that he can’t read. I nod toward the building. “He’ll be in there,” I say to him. “That’s the Harbor Station. The girl at the tavern said Cheeke does the receipts and ledgers, and that he works late into the night.”

Lochlan whistles low through his teeth. “Only four armed guards on a crowded street?” He scoffs, the sarcasm heavy. “I thought this was going to be complicated.”

“Oh, please. You took on the entire Royal Sector. Surely this is child’s play for a revolutionary like yourself.”

He gives me a look. “What else did the barkeep tell you?”

“She said that Cheeke accepts messages for secret passage, but Oren Crane has eyes all over the harbor, and sometimes those messages are intercepted before people can get through.”

He looks back at the guards. “Do you think those men are on Crane’s payroll?”

I think of the guards in the palace back in Kandala. Before we left, Rocco was worried about Captain Huxley working against the king. On the ship, Rian talked about my country being overrun by sedition and sabotage—but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s similar here. He said the royal court was still shaky, and we’re not even on the same island. “At least one of them, I’m sure,” I say. “And they’ve probably already been warned to look out for us.”

“So we can’t walk right up and bribe them to let us past.”

“That was going to be your plan?”

“Not very revolutionary, I admit. But at least I didn’t drink the last of my silver.”

I ignore him and study the building. There’s a lot of light from the street, but the back is to the water and is likely pitch-black. Likely unguarded, too, because the building is set right along the dock.

“Lord, I wish I had a treble hook,” I say.

“Why?”

“I’d swim to the back and scale the rear wall.”

He looks at me like I said I could build a ladder to the clouds. “You can’t row a boat, but you can do that?”

“Weston Lark never had cause to row a boat. I had lots of practice sneaking in and out of the Royal Sector.” I study the building again. “Let’s move down to the next alley. I want to see what’s on the other side.”

We do, weaving among the crowds of people, remaining silent so no one has a chance to pick up our accent. I try to see if anyone notices us, but there are just too many people, too many voices, too many eyes. When we stop at the next alley, we pull into the shadows more deeply.

“There’s an escape ladder from the third floor,” Lochlan says. “But it’s tethered up.”

He’s right. But there are also several windows with decorative brick framework, especially close to the back, where it’s darkest. “I can climb to it from the windows.”

“Are you insane?”

“There are ledges around the frames. I can see from here.”

“That’s barely excess mortar, you idiot.”

“I’m good at climbing, Lochlan. I’ll untie the ladder for you.”

“You said your ankle was bothering you.”

I shrug. “Well, it’ll bother me a good deal more if I have to fight four guards barehanded.”

“But—”

“What do you care?” I demand. My heart is pounding, and a whip of wind comes off the water to rush through my hair. The shot of liquor from the tavern has fully hit me now, and this time I get right in his face. “Maybe I’ll fall and break my neck and all your problems will be solved. You told me to quit stalling. Now it’s your turn.”

I don’t wait for an answer. I step right out into the crowd.

I’m savvy about my path, so I don’t make a beeline right for the building. I head east a bit, lingering, studying storefronts like a casual customer out for a stroll. I think Lochlan has followed me at a distance, but I can’t entirely tell, and I don’t really care. I keep going, zigzagging across the road until I’m a good distance away from the guards, and then I double back.

I go more slowly this time, watching the guards, watching the people, waiting to see if anyone is watching me. There was a woman who seemed to be lingering suspiciously, but she moved on a few minutes ago, and now I’ve lost her in the crowd. An older man was standing under an awning smoking a pipe, and his eyes met mine at one point, but he’s gone now.

When I near the Harbor Station, I don’t hesitate. I slip right into the shadows alongside the building and stop there.

And then I realize I’ve lost track of Lochlan, too.

It feels like forever since I was last hiding in the darkness, and it’s weird to do it without Tessa beside me. I’d know her emotion without her having to say a word, whether she was feeling brave or frightened, angry or eager. I’d know the pattern of her breathing, the scent of her skin, the meaning of every indrawn breath or frown.

I’d give anything to have her here right now.

Though she would hate everything about this.

The night the rebels first attacked the Royal Sector, they first bombed the Hold. Tessa and I stood in the palace and watched the first explosions. Many of the prisoners were freed that night, but there were two who were too badly burned to make it out, and I remember Consul Sallister demanding that I execute them right then.

I’ll see to it, I said.

Tessa cried out for me to stop, and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t look at her.

I just went and did it.

The captives wouldn’t have survived the night. They were too badly burned, too badly injured. The execution was an act of mercy, really.

But in that moment, I didn’t know that—and neither did she.

I promised her I would be better, and here I am, on a mission to do my worst. I heave a breath of heavy sea air.

Despite everything, I still wish she were at my side. Maybe she could help me figure a way out of this.

No such luck.

I look at the window ledges in the shadows, and I sigh when I realize Lochlan was right. The angle of the moonlight made the ledges look deeper than they are from across the alley, but from here I see that they aren’t much better than excess mortar. Twenty feet above me, the escape ladder is tethered against the wall, so it’s high enough that it’ll hurt spectacularly if I fall before reaching it. There are three windows below that, but only the one closest to the front flickers with candlelight. I’m hopeful the highest windows aren’t locked, but I’m rarely that lucky. Even so, the streets are crowded, and the sound of the water against the harbor wall is noisy. I can break one of the windows and hope the guards don’t hear.

This is truly a piss-poor plan, but I don’t have many better options. Maybe I shouldn’t want Tessa here right now—because this is genuinely about to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

I might as well get on with it.

My boots grip the ledges better than I expect, but my fingernails protest almost immediately. I try to ignore the near-constant twinge in my ankle, too. The sounds from the street are muffled back here, leaving my breathing loud enough to echo against the brick wall. I’m not afraid of heights, though, and I’m patient, letting my feet and fingers feel for purchase each time I shift my weight. I make it to the top of the first window and brace there for a moment, feeling a gust of wind come in off the water.

My fingers are screaming at me, but I only allow myself one breath, then force myself to keep climbing. If I stop moving, I’m a sitting duck. A target. If someone comes down this alley, I’m done for.

A memory from childhood comes to me: climbing trees in the orchard with Harristan, branches tugging at my clothes. We were racing to the top. My fingernails were full of tree bark, and I had no hope of beating him—he was a young man of fifteen while I was barely eleven. But he always let me think I had a chance, so I was scrambling to keep up when a branch gave way, and I fell.

Harristan caught me. He grabbed me by the arm, and it wrenched so hard that it was sore for a week, but he kept me from a broken ankle—or worse.

I remember his worried eyes, his panicked breathing as he pulled me back onto a sturdier branch. “Always check, Cory. Always.”

I’ve lost track of how many days it’s been since we left Kandala. Since I last saw my brother. Another gust of wind stings my eyes, and I blink away the emotion.

If Harristan were here, he’d be up this wall in a heartbeat. Everyone saw him as the sickly heir when he was a child, and once he was king, I heard the whispers about weakness when he tried to hide his cough. When it came to sneaking and climbing though, Harristan was always like a cat.

He would also hate that I’m doing this. But he would understand why.

Forgive me, brother. I hope I’m not starting a war.

Then again, Rian was already angry that someone sent brigantine ships after us. He said he considered that an act of war—right before he said he was going to hold me for ransom and use me against Harristan.

So this is probably fine.

I make it to the top of the second window just as a heavy gust sweeps off the water to blast against my face, and I have to shift my weight. I’m very high now, the tethered ladder just a few feet off to my left. I set my foot on the tiniest ledge of mortar, and my ankle gives a sharp twinge. I grunt, ignore it, and shift again, and the mortar gives way.

I fall.

My fingers dig in instinctively, but I don’t have enough purchase to support my weight, and I scrape along the wall for a foot until something catches my ankle, stopping my descent. My opposite knee is pressed into the window ledge now, my fingers clinging to almost nothing, and I’m panting against the pitch-dark brick. Wind whips against me again. I’ve completely lost track of where I am on the wall, and I can’t see anything to get my bearings.

Lochlan’s voice floats up to me. “I’ve got you. Move your left hand five inches to the left. You can grab the windowsill.”

I can’t believe he was there. I had no idea he was following me. Regardless, my hand refuses to move. I’m terrified that my grip will give and I’ll fall the rest of the way.

But then he says, “We can’t hang here all day, Cory. I’ve barely got a grasp on this window myself.”

I hate that he keeps using my brother’s nickname for me. “Don’t call me that,” I grind out.

“If you don’t like it, move your ass.”

I grit my teeth and reach for the windowsill. Just as he said, it’s five inches away. As soon as my fingers close on the ledge, I have a better grip, and I’m able to pull free from the hold he has on my ankle. My heart gives a lurch, but I dig my toes into the wall and pull myself higher again. This time I’m more careful, and I make it all the way to the ladder. I’d never admit it to Lochlan, but I’m very grateful he tossed the second drinks. I pull the release cable and it swings down hard, and I’m barely able to stop the wood from slamming into the bricks. But now I have rungs to grab on to, not slivers of mortar and stone in the darkness.

“There,” I whisper-shout to Lochlan. “Can you reach it?”

He’s barely more than a shadow, but he leaps, then grabs hold.

A moment later, we’re on the landing beside the third-story window, the wind whipping hard now that we’re so high. We’re pressed against the wall, both breathing too heavily. He’s clutching his bad wrist to his chest, his jaw tight. I wonder if that’s the arm that grabbed hold of my leg to stop my slide down the wall.

“Thank you,” I say.

He scoffs at my gratitude and turns for the window. “I’m not telling the king his brother is dead.” He tugs at the sash. “This is locked. Know how to pick it?”

“I do, but I don’t have tools.”

He snorts derisively. “Of course you do. I like how the King’s Justice is turning out to be more of a criminal than most of—”

I ignore him and kick a hole through the window.

Lochlan flinches back from the glass, then nods appraisingly. “That works, too.” He glances at me, then leans out to look toward the street. “You’ll be lucky if we don’t draw the guards.”

“We’re too high up for that. You told me to move my ass. Move yours.”

Inside the Harbor Station is warm and dark. The third floor seems to be mostly storage, and we bump into everything in the darkness, hissing profanity when we trip and stumble. The candlelit rooms seemed to be on the second floor, so we’re going to need to find a staircase at some point. I’d give anything for a lantern.

Then we hear a male voice, and Lochlan and I both freeze.

“No, Mr. Cheeke, I heard it, too. I’ll take a look upstairs.” Almost immediately, feet begin thumping up a set of wood steps. They must be close, and whoever it is sounds like they’re sizable. Brave, too, if they’re volunteering to take a look.

This could be a guard or a sailor, or even just a worker—but they’re a threat.

Either way, it’s someone who knows Cheeke.

Either way, the time has come.

Forgive me, Tessa.

We’re going to have to act.