But when dinner is placed before us, Glenquartz makes a point of slowly switching food with me over the course of the meal. It’s one excuse or another to trade with me: His is too spicy; green vegetables don’t agree with him; I just have to try the coffee cake. He thinks he’s being subtle, but I’m not fooled. I am impressed, though. Everyone in the room sees Glenquartz trying my food before me. If anyone wants to poison me, they have to go through him. My bodyguard indeed. And while people’s auras stiffen or sharpen in my presence, they are kind and soft in his.
When the meal is done, I watch a group of Legal servants prepare silver trays of food for the Royals to take with them to their rooms in the palace or to their homes out in the court. I watch a boy—a couple of years younger than me, in a Legal servant’s uniform—sort through the dessert table, cleaning a splash of raspberry liquor, wiping crumbs from a tray of small cakes. When I see him swipe a piece of cake, wrap it in a cloth, and tuck it in his pocket, it piques my interest. When genuine kindness lingers in his smile after he meets someone’s gaze, I slip through the thinning crowd and join him at the table.
“It must be difficult,” I say to him, “serving the Royals like this, working in this fancy world that you don’t quite belong in.”
The boy assesses the red Royal dress I’m wearing. He must figure me for the daughter of a Royal family.
“Could be,” he says in a polite tone, but he does a double take when he sees the crown tattoo on my arm. His aura spikes silver with fear.
“Your Highness!” He does a clumsy bow and looks me up and down before adding, “You’re…Is it true that you’re Nameless?”
I sigh serenely as if this is my favorite question to answer in the world.
He hurries to regain ground. “If you’d like to take some food with you, I can prepare a tray, or I can leave word with the kitchen staff to have something sent to your room.” His whole body is angled to keep his stolen cake a secret. He is not a good thief. Not yet, anyway.
I shake my head. “That’s not what I want. I want to do something while I’m here,” I say. “I’ve got…a little over five weeks? Until the Assassins’ Festival. I can’t solve every problem, but maybe I can help with just one. At least one.” I reach around him for a piece of fruit, but instead I pluck the cake from his pocket. I set it in front of him, and his cheeks turn scarlet.
“It’s for my little brother,” he says. “My family can’t afford to…We don’t have cake like this out in the North Residences.” His shoulder is pinned up in a shrug, and he takes the cake when I nudge it toward him with a conspiratorial wink.
“If I give you a place and a name, will you be able to divert some of the food being prepared out into the city? Not so much that it goes noticed, but something. Since you live in the Legal residences, it could very well be on your way. Queen-sanctioned theft, what do you say?”
He chews his lip. “For who? To where?” He doesn’t say no.
“For people who are starving. The Nameless.”
He stares at the food for a while. “Yeah.” Then, excited: “Yeah! Where do you want it taken? How do we do this?”
“First you have to get a lot better at stealing,” I say.
It doesn’t take long to talk him through the basics, and I make a show of picking at a tray of skewered vegetables while we talk so that no one finds our discussion suspicious. I describe the part of the Inner Ring that Devil frequents, and when I give him her name, he scrunches his nose in confusion. I reassure him that, yes, Devil is the right name. Yes, she’s a woman. Yes, I’m sure.
If I had a silver ring for every time a Legal or Royal looked at me funny upon hearing one of the strange names of the Nameless, I’d have enough to buy a house in the North Residences.
The Legal writes down the details on a pad of paper from his apron pocket. He keeps agreeing enthusiastically.
“This is good. Confusing, but good,” he says.
“If you think Devil is a confusing name, there’s a man who lives near the docks called Narms. It’s because he has no arms and a habit of slurring his words.”
“No, I meant confusing in a good way. It’s good to have a sovereign who cares about people outside the Royal class, about both the Legals and the Nameless. We’ve never really had that in a sovereign before.” He adjusts the straps of his apron. “I mean, I’ve heard that in the past, if a Legal got the crown, things would get better for a little while—lower taxes, fairer laws—but you. You’re something different.”
“Check with me tomorrow morning,” I say. “I want to know they got it safely.”
“I’ll bring you some breakfast,” he says, delighted. “Any special requests?”
I shrug, not wanting to feel as if I’m taking advantage of his goodwill. “Something with a lot of protein, but be careful not to tell anyone you’re preparing my meal. I’m sure I have no shortage of enemies here.”
“You can count me among your allies,” he says. “And once the other Legal servants hear of this, you can count them among your allies too.”
“If you can keep this between us,” I say, “the fewer people who know, the better. I don’t think the council would take too kindly to our actions.”
“Well,” he says, “I take kindly to it, and so will your friends out there.” He stows his pad in his apron and hurries off with a tray of leftover food.
I watch him go, wondering what he must think of me. He assumes they’re my friends, the Nameless out on the streets. I trust Devil with this, but I wouldn’t quite call us friends. She may keep some of the better food for herself and sell it to those who can afford it, and she plays at being a hardened smuggler and fence, but she’s as soft as the pillows I left in the dungeon. She’ll get it in the hands of those who need it most.
I return to the guest quarters for the rest of the evening. I’m sapped of energy, and it’s all I can do to sit still when the tailor visits with his measuring tape. I threaten his fingers when he comes too close to my boots, but he manages to take my measurements anyway. The next morning, the Legal servant brings a meal of strips of beef alongside slices of gravy-soaked bread, and I’m in heaven.
Glenquartz outlines a day of tours through the palace, and he promises to have news of Hat’s release within a week. I half suspect it’s a ploy to put me in front of more Royals. Mostly, we pass undisturbed. Occasionally, someone wants to shake my hand, and I have to take a moment to brace myself for whatever images or imaginings are coursing through their mind. Two people dodge me entirely, ducking into rooms to avoid me, their auras sharp and clear with fear and disdain. As much as I want to be frustrated that there are people literally running away from me, I have as little interest in interacting with them as they do with me.