Celeste

  The lower district had a way of making you ready to leave this city.

  By the time the sun climbed high enough to warm the stone, I’d already learned which streets stayed crowded no matter the hour.

  We’d been walking long enough that my feet had stopped complaining and started going numb on the cobblestone.

  Art kept to the edges of the flow, guiding us through the crowd without looking back to see if we were still following. He never hurried, but I did catch his eyes track the doorways, windows, and the line of people moving around us.

  I pulled my hood tighter around my face, hiding my red hair that might give me away. Lioren trailed a step behind, fingers tugging at his unbraided beard, still sulking over Art’s “disguise.” Art had originally suggested he shave it off, before Lioren declared he’d rather cut of his own hand before he’d cut his beard.

  But that didn’t stop him from mourning the braid like a fallen friend.

  I tried to pay attention to where we were headed. Instead, my mind kept snagging on the night before.

  Lioren had taken the bed like it was owed to him, while I waited awake on the chair for Art to return. I couldn’t sleep until I knew he had.

  He didn’t return though until late in the night. The lock had clicked softly, the door easing open as if he were trying not to wake us. When he came inside, he was carrying both our packs.

  When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he looked between me and Lioren’s large presence taking up the whole bed.

  “Why aren’t you sleeping?” he’d asked.

  “I never sleep much with him around anyway,” I said. “He snores. Loudly.”

  Art huffed a quiet laugh. “You should’ve at least taken the bed. And put him on the floor.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll survive. The floors never bothered me before.”

  He set the packs down, then rolled out our bedrolls, before looking at me again.

  “Come on then,” he said.

  I laid down beside him on the thin roll, shoulder to shoulder on cold boards, and my body eased at the thought of being so close to him again.

  I stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the city slowly die around us. Distant voices. A cart rattling over stone. Lioren’s ridiculous snoring shaking the room like a blacksmith’s bellows fighting for its life.

  I rolled onto my side, turning to face Art.

  He was already there. Lying on his side, arm tucked beneath his head, eyes open and watching me like he’d been waiting for it. The faintest smile curved at the corner of his mouth, soft in a way I’d missed.

  “I’m really glad you’re safe,” he said quietly.

  I felt his words run through me, both stirring and calming me all at once. Warmth spread where the cold boards met my body through the thin roll. “I’m glad you are too.”

  Silence fell between us again. My thoughts scattered the moment I tried to gather them.

  “Saints,” I whispered, the word slipping out on a breath. “There’s so much I have to tell you.”

  Art’s smile waned, gentler now, as if tempered by a private thought. “As do I.”

  I swallowed, staring at his chest instead of his eyes, and focused on the thought that felt most important. “Lioren. He’s from the Greywatch Brotherhood.”

  Art’s brow creased slightly. His eyes narrowed, like he was turning the name over in his head.

  “They found me on the road. I was being chased down by a large group of reavers. I fought them off, but they were going to kill me… or worse.”

  His gaze hardened at that.

  “The Brotherhood stepped in and fought them off,” I said quickly, not wanting that moment to take root between us. What almost happened mattered far less than what did.

  I hesitated, my fingers curling into the blanket. “They saw me Cast. All of it. They know what I am, Art.” I met his eyes. “They know I’m an Aberration.”

  He studied me for a moment, then nodded once. “You’re not careless with trust,” he said quietly. “If Lioren has yours, that’s enough for me.”

  A knot formed high in my throat. He trusted my judgement without question, and placing the weight of his own secret in my hands without hesitation. That alone made me feel closer to him than anything else so far.

  His gaze lingered on me a moment longer, the warmth in it fading into something more serious. “I didn’t leave on my terms. And I didn’t come back untouched by it.” He paused, then added, quieter, “I don’t want this night to be about that. I promise to tell you the rest tomorrow.”

  He rolled slightly on the bedroll, the boards creaking beneath us. “For now, we should get some rest.”

  I nodded. He’d given me enough to hold until morning.

  The city quieted around us as sleep crept in. His breathing evened beside mine, slow and unguarded. I watched him for a moment longer than I meant to, noting the way tension finally left his face, before sleep claimed me too.

  A cart rattled past close enough that I nearly collided with it before Lioren caught my arm, pulling me back from the street.

  Art had paused, his face turned sideways. I guess he’d been paying attention to us after all.

  Lioren bumped my shoulder. “You reminiscin’ about last night?”

  “If you mean reminiscing about a good night’s sleep? Then yes, since I didn’t get one.”

  “Couldn’t have been that bad. You even had company to keep you warm,” Lioren said with a wicked grin.

  I shot him a glare.

  Art glanced back once, just a brief look. His eyes met mine for a moment before he turned forward again and started walking.

  Lioren and I started following him again.

  It reminded me of Greyfen, of trailing after him through the streets like a lost puppy, watching his back, trusting him to lead. The difference now was that I wasn’t alone in it.

  This time, Lioren was the one being dragged along with me. And I found that I was quietly grateful for it.

  We kept our distance from Art while he stopped at random places. Or at least, what looked random to me. A spice stall. A tanner rinsing hides in a trough.

  He never stayed long, making quick conversations too far away for me to catch.

  I tried to map it anyway.

  At first, I thought he favored people who stayed put. Then I noticed he spoke just as often to those passing through. He avoided guards. Didn’t linger in open places, but didn’t hide either.

  There had to be a rhythm to it.

  I’d told Lioren how easily he found answers back then, and told myself that I’d learn it the next time I was around him so that I could do the same.

  And now here he was, doing it again.

  Only this time I had to keep my distance, close enough to watch but not close enough to hear. It was maddening. Every stop felt intentional and every question just out of reach.

  Fine. I’d memorize the pattern and the order, and who he chose to speak to. And when this was over, I’d be sure to ask him exactly what he asked, and why.

  I was still trying to fix the order of his stop in my head when Lioren exhaled sharply beside me.

  “I give up.”

  I looked up at him. “Give up on what?”

  He stopped walking for a moment, forcing me to slow with him, then jerked his chin ahead toward Art’s retreating back.

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  “Your shadow,” he said. “I can’t figure him out.”

  I frowned. “Figure what out?”

  “What he’s doin’ different. What we missed. What I missed. Starting to get frustratin’ really.”

  I followed his gaze, watching Art pause again near a baker’s doorway, exchanging a few words with a man kneading dough. The man shrugged and Art nodded. Then parted like strangers who’d never spoken.

  “He doesn’t look special. Doesn’t flash coin.” Lioren went on. “Hell, half the time he doesn’t even look like he cares what the answer is.”

  “That’s probably part of it,” I said with a sigh.

  Lioren snorted. “Aye, well, that’s helpful.”

  Art was speaking to a woman selling wrapped bundles of herbs from a low table, her hands stained green and brown. He stood there talking to her for awhile. Then, I noticed as the woman’s mouth tightened, and she shook her head once.

  Art seemed to thank her and began walking again.

  As he turned away, he lifted his arm and stretched it back over his shoulder like he was working out a kink between his blades.

  Lioren’s posture changed instantly.

  “That’s us,” he murmured.

  We’d agreed on it before we headed out for the day. The signal that he was to throw when it was time to catch up and reconvene.

  Art’s movement didn’t slow.

  He cut ahead through the crowd, weaving between carts and shoulders, taking gaps I would’ve hesitated at. Lioren and I picked up our pace, careful not to look like we were chasing, slipping through the flow as best we could.

  The street noise rose and fell in waves as we moved.

  The road started to look familiar, and then I realized why. We’d been here before. The same long stretch of stalls packed tight, a burned canvas awning riddled with holes strung low to keep the sun off the drying goods as best it could.

  Art veered off the main line without warning.

  I followed at once, Lioren close enough behind me I could feel his presence at my back.

  We slipped into a narrow market-side lane splitting between stalls, the aisle tightening as we went.

  Art then immediately turned right down a market side alley and we followed after.

  Behind us, the vendor at the mouth of the alley dragged his table farther back, blocking the street beyond. He reached up, and one side of his canvas dropped, shrouding the entrance in shadow and blotting out the sun.

  The vendor didn’t spare us a glance.

  Once we were through, he turned back to his work, hands moving methodically through folded rugs, straightening fringed edges and smoothing creases as if he had all the time in the world.

  Lioren glanced back over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as the canvas settled into place and the noise of the street dulled behind us.

  “Well,” he said. “That’s new.”

  From this side of the canvas, the market might as well have vanished. The strip of shade behind us looked like nothing more than a closed stall. Anyone passing would keep moving without a second thought.

  Art finally stopped.

  He turned and walked back toward us, his pace easy, like this had always been the destination.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Insurance,” he said. He glanced toward the canvas, then back to me. “I’ve spoken with that vendor a few times since I got here. This morning, when we passed through earlier, I asked him if he’d be willing to take a paid break.”

  “You make friends fast,” Lioren said still looking at the vendor. “Useful ones too.”

  “So,” I said, drawing my hood back just enough to let air hit my face. “What did she tell you?”

  Art’s expression changed, the easy calm turning into focus again.

  “She’s confirmed what I was starting to suspect,” he said.

  Lioren’s head snapped back toward Art.

  “Suspect what? You say it like it’s obvious.”

  Art didn’t bristle at Lioren’s remark. Instead, he rested his back against the brick wall, folding his arms loosely as if getting comfortable for a longer explanation.

  “The Veil’s using a free-lance runner who lives outside of the city.”

  Again, he’d put the pieces together while Lioren and I were still struggling to make them fit.

  “That’s something I wanted to ask you about last night. I just didn’t get the chance,” I said.

  Art’s gaze flicked to me. “Go on.”

  “How did you narrow the hideout down to a day’s ride?” I asked.

  A faint crease formed between his brows, the look he got when he was about to explain something. “I began with a wider range. About a week’s ride.”

  I frowned.

  He nodded once, more to himself than to me. “You reached Pylin Forest in just under a week when you escaped, correct? That was while running on foot, on horseback, and doubling back instead of riding straight. From this city, riding directly to Pylin takes a little over a week.”

  I thought back to Lioren and my discussion. We’d reached something close to the same conclusion, just never down to within a week’s ride from Rodin.

  Lioren crossed his arms. “That still leaves a lot of ground. How’d you cut it down to a day?”

  “Supply runners,” Art said, glancing between us. “The Veil wouldn’t send one of their own into Rodin to resupply. They’d hire a freelance runner with no ties to the city—and they’d stick to the same one, to keep the number of eyes on their hideout as small as possible.”

  “Why wouldn’t they hire someone from the city?” I asked.

  “Because city runners have to register their earnings and their routes for the city’s levy,” he explained.

  Lioren stared at him like someone studying a riddle. “How’d you come about all this?”

  Art gave a smug grin. “You’re looking at Rodin’s newest freelancer looking for work.”

  Lioren and I glanced at each other dumbfounded before turning back to Art.

  He shook his head, like the explanation should’ve been obvious. “As soon as I got to the city, I started asking around for work as a freelancer. I’ve been telling merchants that I’ve come from Orvain. Just another man trying to make a living in a new city.”

  Lioren nodded his head. “I really ought to work on my lyin’. You’re over here makin’ a trade out of it.”

  “So how did you find out it’s all within a day’s ride?” I asked, nudging us back to my original question.

  “Coin,” Art said. “That’s where I started. The Veil wouldn’t buy on credit—they’d pay for everything outright, because credit creates a levy record for the merchants they deal with.”

  Behind us, the vendor snapped one of the rugs hard against the ground. Dust bloomed in a muted cloud, drifting through the narrow lane before dissipating.

  Art went on as if he hadn’t noticed. “I then looked into what those runners were buying. Food is the constant, so any handler asking for hammers instead of grain was crossed off my list. Since the runners worked freelance, I could narrow the handlers along with them. That left eight runners, all making runs within a day’s ride of handlers who matched the pattern.”

  Lioren dragged a hand down his face. “You’re givin’ me a headache.”

  I nodded slowly at Lioren. “I think I understand what he’s saying.”

  Lioren huffed. “Well, at least one of us does.”

  I turned back to Art. “So which handler did you narrow it down to?”

  He shook his head. “Not the handler. The runner. Anyone selling goods when they came into the city were ruled out. If the Veil’s paying in coin, the runner isn’t earning on the side. There’s no time for it.”

  I frowned thoughtfully. “Because they’d have to collect the coin first.”

  “Exactly,” Art said, a hint of approval in his expression. “However they’re paid—ghost trade or meetings outside the walls—it takes time. They ride with an empty cart, buy supplies outright, and leave again. They can’t afford to linger, not if they’re meant to get those goods back quickly.”

  I tilted my head. “Why the rush to get the food back?”

  “Because it isn’t just food he’s taking back. He’s also carrying quicklime.”

  Lioren went still. Then his eyes narrowed on Art, as if sharp with understanding. “Waste,” he said slowly. “Privies and outhouses.” He huffed a breath through his nose.

  Art nodded once.

  “What do you mean? Why would they need quicklime?” I wasn’t’ even entirely sure what the stuff was used for.

  Lioren answered. “With that many people in one place, guards, slaves, you’d need it constantly. A farmer might buy it once a month to sweeten soil. A tanner more often, but they wouldn’t be buying as much food at the same time.”

  He dragged a hand through his braidless beard. “But a camp like that?”

  “Would need both,” Art said.

  “And regularly,” Lioren finished. He shook his head once. “Damn it. I should’ve thought of that sooner.”

  Art didn’t comment.

  But I did. “I’m still not sure I get it,” I admitted.

  Lioren hummed for a moment. “Quicklime’s volatile. When it gets wet it burns hot. Hot enough to eat through wood if you give it time. Doesn’t matter how thick you wrap it. A runner hauling that doesn’t dawdle.”

  I frowned. “For their privies and their outhouses… that’s not what we used back home,” I said.

  “You did,” Lioren replied. “Just not the dangerous kind. Chalky white powder. Painted on walls. Keeps flies and spiders off. Same stuff tossed down village privies.”

  I blinked. “Slaked lime?”

  Lioren grinned. “Aye. That’s what quicklime turns into once it’s wet. Safer and easier to handle. Works fine when a place isn’t crowded. Whereas the compound—”

  “—is packed in and secluded.” I finished. For a moment, I could almost smell it again. “They didn’t take us to an outhouse. Just left pots in the cells. Every few days they would make us put our pots outside the cell so that one of us could take it to a pit outside. A guard would throw something over it afterward… a white powder that burned your nose.”

  Behind us, the vendor snapped another rug, the dull thud echoing softly in the narrow lane. This time it sounded intentionally loud. I had the sense he was reminding us not to linger.

  I caught Art’s glance toward the mouth of the alley. “We should hurry,” he said. Confirming my earlier suspicion about the vendor.

  He turned back to us. “The runner’s name is Dryke.”

  Lioren’s brows lifted. “You’ve a name now too?”

  “The woman I spoke to earlier, the one with the herbs. He comes to her stall once a week. Like clockwork.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “Honey and hound. For his son. The boy’s sick with something in his chest. Dryke came through today—which sets us on course.”

  I felt a pang in my chest, thinking about Dryke’s son, and about his father’s part in something I wasn’t sure he even knew he was involved in.

  Lioren frowned. “Why?”

  “Because Dryke only comes into the city for himself today. First the herbalist. Tomorrow, the mason’s yard for the quicklime. Then he leaves with his supplies.”

  I followed the thread as it unspooled. “So he gets paid first. Buys what his son needs today, then tomorrow morning he picks up the rest and delivers to the Veil by nightfall.”

  Lioren stroked his beard. “And the quicklime means he can’t afford delays. That’s why he makes two trips into town—he can’t travel back home with something so combustible it might eat through his cart.”

  Art shook his head slightly. “Not unless he wants to explain to his handler why his cart broke down on the wrong road. Men who take that kind of work don’t do it blind. Even if it’s only an inkling.”

  “He knows enough,” Lioren said.

  Art didn’t argue.

  “Then where do we go from here?” I asked.

  Art glanced past us toward the mouth of the alley. “Hold on.”

  Before either of us could ask anything more, he stepped away. I watched him cross back toward the rug merchant, who paused mid-fold and straightened as Art approached.

  They spoke quietly. The merchant’s eyes flicked to Lioren first, then to me, before returning to Art. More words were exchanged.

  The merchant nodded, and Art returned a moment later.

  “I’ve got you a job,” he said simply. “You’ll both work for the merchant until nightfall.”

  I frowned. “Work?”

  “Rugs,” he said, like it explained everything.

  Lioren looked past Art at the stacked rolls of fabric. “And what exactly am I doin’ with those?”

  “Beating them. Dust them out and then stack them clean,” Art replied with a wry grin.

  Lioren snorted. “Figures.”

  “And you,” Art added, turning to me, “will sort and repair the fringes. In exchange, he agreed to feed you and keep this alley closed off the rest of the day.”

  I nodded slowly. It wasn’t glamourous, but it made sense. “What about you?”

  “I’ll finish the last preparations for tomorrow. I’ll come back for you before nightfall and we’ll head to the baker’s shop together.”

  He glanced between us. “I’ll also need to collect the horses at first light. I saw what you rode in on. I just need to know whose name to ask for.”

  Lioren lifted his chin. “They’re stabled on the east side. I put them under my name.”

  Art nodded, then his gaze shifted to me. “What happened to your dun mare?”

  Heat crept into my cheeks. “That’s… a long story.”

  His mouth curved into a sad, almost understanding smile. “That’s alright. I lost my horse to the Magsiter’s men.”

  He didn’t elaborate.

  “I’ll see you both after dark.”

  How clear was Art's explanation?