CHAPTER 1
I wake up the same way I fell asleep: knife in hand, boots for a pillow, and Nameless.
When I push away the heavy wood pallet, a shiver runs up my arms. My shoulder aches from sleeping on my side, but the best way to stay warm is a small space and a good coat. I pull on my boots, wiggling the numbness from my toes.
Curling my fingers into my threadbare sleeves, I leave behind the pungent puddles and uneven alley brickwork for the smoother cobblestone street bearing the morning foot traffic. Passersby shrug off yawns as vendors shout their prices. Two iron rings for a jar of dried apples, three copper coins for a cut of a morning pastry.
The city of Seriden is waking up.
Hat waits for me at the corner. Usually she’s leaning against the dark bricks and staring out at the morning crowds, her shoulders even and strong, a small smile on her lips that she doesn’t notice. She’ll trade our stolen coins for a breakfast of stale cornbread or day-old fish and oats while I pick out bump-grab marks. The easiest are pudgy-faced Legals with leather purses flaunted at their waists or flashy gems dangling past their stiff, starched collars.
Today she’s fidgeting: shoulders pinched, fingers twitching. Never a good sign.
“Bad news?” I ask. Fresh air, sharp with ocean salt, chases away the last of my morning lethargy.
She grabs my hand and pulls me back down the alley. So much for fresh air.
“Bad, then.” I wrinkle my nose, but she doesn’t seem to notice the smell. She’s surprisingly resilient for being twelve or thirteen years old. “Did the bread caravan break down again? Last time that happened, the markets were a mess. Legals can’t survive without their sugar rolls, can they?” I laugh, but Hat shakes her head.
Her bright red hair frizzes in an energetic halo around her face, and a rare frown curls her features. Somehow Hat easily manages what I can only strive for: optimism. On days when we see a little kid starving in an alley, my stomach twists. Hat always hands over her breakfast with a smile. If Hat’s frowning, it’s serious.
“Two more Nameless kids went missing last night,” she says. “It was Judge and Spinner. And you know Anchor, that kid who disappeared two weeks ago? He turned up this morning. Dead. It was…I don’t like it, Coin.”
I give her a soft pat on the arm. “It’ll be okay, Hat. You just have to come straight here in the mornings from now on, okay? And keep your knife handy.”
Hat scans the edges of the rooftops, distracted.
“What else is wrong?” I ask.
“I didn’t see Devil this morning,” she says.
Devil is a Nameless girl a bit older than me who always has the latest gossip. Want to know which guards are good for bribing? Looking to hire a thief? Ask Devil. She’s posted in the same place every morning, and she’ll trade news for food or trinkets. That’s how she makes her living as a Nameless. Instead of thriving on thefts and cons, she thrives with information. That and a smuggler’s business.
Hat visits Devil early in the mornings, staying in her good favor by sharing any gossip. If Devil’s not around, she knows something we don’t, something bad. Or…
I ask the question I don’t want to ask. “Do you think she’s gone, like the others?”
Hat’s frown deepens. “She’s older than most of the ones who’ve gone missing.”
“Devil’s strong, though. Smart. A fighter. She once robbed a Legal’s house of all its doors and windows for cheating her out of a deal.” I try to keep the mood light. “She’s probably off sweet-talking the new Royal Guard recruits.”
“I doubt that.” She struggles to keep the frown.
I rub my sore shoulder. “I can see that from the excellent unibrow you’re working on.”
She breaks into a grin. “Is this better?” She furrows her brow even more, and a few strands of hair come loose from behind her ear.
“Almost perfect.” I place a finger on each eyebrow and scrunch inward, completing the bridge.
She laughs, her forehead smoothing back to normal. Her small shoulders descend from a pinch into their sloping, natural curves.
“Okay,” Hat says. “We’ll grab breakfast and look for Devil.”
* * *
As we near West Market, the bustle of morning vendors grows louder. The crowds are starting to gather on the streets. The air is layered with cardamom and cinnamon, vanilla and rose perfumes, and the subtler scents of ash, dirt, and salt. As Legals arrange their wares and unpack shipping crates, Hat and I linger between a stall selling early spring harvests from local farms and a shop selling imported and strenuously taxed goods from inland cities.
Hat says, “It’s pretty scary, right? These Nameless going missing, I mean.”
She doesn’t sound scared. She sounds as if she wants something. I groan, already knowing what it is.
“It’s not safe for you or me to be walking out here alone all the time,” she says. “You should let me live with you.” I trudge a bit faster as if to escape the conversation, but she keeps pace nimbly.
“We’ve talked about this,” I say. “I can’t look after you all the time. It’s better that you stay with Marcher. I move around a lot. I get into a lot of trouble. I create a lot of trouble.”
“Do you really believe that?” Hat says. “You think I’m better off in Marcher’s crew? You should know that’s not true. You used to be one of us. You left when you were my age. The way Marcher tells it, you were the best grifter he ever trained. And yeah, I’ll miss the kids and having my own spot to sleep—not to mention I have all my keepsakes—but I want to be on my own with you. I’m sick of going back there. Giving him everything I steal. I’m sick of him. Isn’t that why you left?”
I roll my shoulders uncomfortably. I hate this conversation every time we have it.
“Marcher may be a spetzing bastard,” I say, “but he knows how to keep you safe. Most of you, anyway.”
Hat frowns at me, confused.
“You’re getting good,” I say, redirecting the conversation. “Really good. Won’t be long before you can strike out on your own. Just like I did.” I try for a reassuring smile, and she offers a half-hearted shrug in response, but I know better than she does how hard it can be to leave Marcher’s crew and how difficult it can be to go it alone. I can’t spend every night and morning with the weight of her life in my hands.
I spy a heavily guarded shipment of jewelry from the mountainous city of Tuvo, but most Legals can’t afford pricey gems like that, not as they’re losing their jobs every time the paper mill cuts its workforce. There’s been a rising tension in the air, and I’ve been getting more dirty looks than usual—it’s not my fault that being a thief and grifter is steady work. They’re jealous, I’m sure.