I open my mouth to take the deal, but something in the noble’s eyes makes me hesitate. If he folded so quickly on the last offer, maybe he’ll fold again.…
Take it, I imagine Tzain warning. It’s more than enough.
But I’m far too close to stop now.
“I’m sorry.” I shrug and finish wrapping the sailfish. “I can’t waste a meal for a king on someone who can’t afford it.”
The noble’s nostrils flare. Gods. I may have gone too far. I wait for him to break, but he only seethes in silence. I’m forced to walk away.
Each step lasts an eternity as I crumble under the weight of my mistake. You’ll find another one, I try to calm myself. Another noble desperate to prove his worth. I can do better than three hundred. The fish is worth more than that … right?
“Dammit.” I almost ram my head against a shrimp stall. What am I going to do now? Who’s going to be stupid enough to—
“Wait!”
As I turn, the plump noble shoves three jingling purses into my chest.
“Fine,” he grumbles in defeat. “Five hundred.”
I stare at him in disbelief, which he mistakes for doubt.
“Count them if you must.”
I open one purse and the sight is so beautiful I nearly cry. The silver shines like the scales of the sailfish, its weight a promise of things to come. Five hundred! After a new boat, that’s almost a year’s worth of rest for Baba. Finally.
I’ve done something right.
I hand the fish to the noble, unable to hide my glowing smile. “Enjoy. Tonight you’ll eat better than the king.”
The noble sneers, but the corners of his mouth twitch up in satisfaction. I slide the velvet purses into my pack and start walking, heart buzzing so quickly it rivals the insanity of the market. But I freeze when screams fill the air. This isn’t the sound of haggling. What the—
I jump back as a fruit stand explodes.
A troop of royal guards charges through. Mangoes and Orïshan peaches fly through the air. Second by second, more guards flood the market, searching for something. Someone.
I stare at the commotion in bewilderment before realizing I have to move. There are five hundred silver pieces in my pack. For once, I have more than my life to lose.
I push through the crowd with a new fervor, desperate to escape. I’m almost past the textiles when someone grabs my wrist.
What in gods’ names?
I whip out my compacted staff, expecting to meet the arm of a royal guard or a petty thief. But when I turn, it’s neither a guard nor a crook who’s grabbed me.
It’s a cloaked amber-eyed girl.
She pulls me into a hidden opening between two stalls with a grip so tight I can’t fight my way free.
“Please,” she begs, “you have to get me out of here!”
CHAPTER FIVE
ZÉLIE
FOR A MOMENT, I can’t breathe.
The copper-skinned girl shakes with a fear so visceral it leaks into my skin.
Shouts grow louder as the guards thunder by, getting closer with each passing second. They can’t catch me with this girl.
If they do, I’ll die.
“Let me go,” I order, almost as desperate as she is.
“No! No, please.” Tears well in her amber eyes and her grasp tightens. “Please help me! I have done something unforgivable. If they catch me…”
Her eyes fill with a terror that is all too familiar. Because when they catch her, it’s not a matter of whether she’ll die, it’s only a question of when: On the spot? Starving in the jails? Or will the guards take turns passing her around? Destroy her from within until she suffocates from grief?
You must protect those who can’t defend themselves. Mama Agba’s words from this morning seep into my head. I picture her stern gaze. That is the way of the staff.
“I can’t,” I breathe, but even as the words leave my mouth, I brace myself for the fight. Dammit.
It doesn’t matter if I can help.
I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t.
“Come on.” I grab the girl’s arm and barge into a clothing stall larger than the rest. Before the cloth merchant can scream, I put my hand over her mouth and press Tzain’s dagger to her neck.
“Wh-what are you doing?” the girl asks.
I inspect her cloak. How did she even make it this far? The girl’s copper skin and thick robes scream of noble blood, rich with velvet and golden hues.
“Put on that brown cloak,” I order her before turning back to the merchant. Beads of sweat drip down her skin; with a divîner thief, one wrong move could be her last. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I promise. “I just need to make a trade.”
I peek out the front of the stall as the girl changes into the muted cloak, tightening my grasp when the merchant lets out a muffled yelp. The market’s crawling with enough guards to fill an army. The scrambling traders and villagers add to the chaos. I search for a way out of this madness, but no escape route emerges. We have no choice.
We’ll just have to test our fortune.
I duck back into the stall as the girl pulls the hood of her new cloak low over her forehead. I grab the fine robe she was wearing and shove it into the merchant’s hands. The fear in the trader’s eyes dims as the soft velvet passes through her fingers.
I lower the dagger from her neck and grab a cloak of my own, hiding my white hair under its dark hood.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
The girl manages a nod. A hint of determination flashes in her eyes, but I still detect a paralyzing terror.
“Follow me.” We exit the stall and step into the pandemonium. Though guards stop right in front of us, our brown cloaks act as a shield. They’re searching for noble blood. Thank the gods.
Maybe we actually have a chance.
“Walk quickly,” I hiss under my breath as we move through the spaces between the textile stalls. “But don’t—” I grab her by the cloak before she goes too far. “Don’t run. You’ll draw attention. Blend into the crowd.”
The girl nods and tries to speak, but no words come out. It’s all she can do to tail me like a lionaire cub, never more than two steps behind.
We push through the crowd until we reach the market’s edge. Though guards cover the main entrance, there’s an opening on the side manned by only one guard. When he steps forward to interrogate a noble, I spot our chance.
“Quick.” I squeeze behind a stock trader’s stall to slip from the crowded market down the stone streets of the merchant quarter. I breathe a sigh of relief as the girl’s petite frame breaks free, but when we turn, two hulking guards block our path.
Oh gods. My feet skid to a stop. The silver coins jingle in my pack. I glance at the girl; her brown skin has lost most of its color.
“Is there a problem?” I ask the guards as innocently as I can.
One crosses his treelike arms. “Fugitive’s on the loose. No one leaves until she’s caught.”
“Our mistake,” I apologize with a respectful bow. “We’ll wait inside.”
Dammit. I turn and walk back toward the stalls, scanning the frantic market. If all the exits are covered, we need a new plan. We need a new way to get—