It doesn’t make sense. It’s beautiful. Hat pokes my arm, sending another jolt of pain to my fingertips and across my chest. I skip away, glaring at her.
“Seriously?” I say. “You see a big magic tattoo on my arm, and you poke it.”
“I’m testing a theory.” She taps her chin.
“What’s the theory? That you’re a jerk?” But I’m not really mad. I’m too stunned and confused.
Hat squints at my arm. “That it’s not a regular tattoo. That someone didn’t give it to you while you were asleep.”
“Yeah, because I wouldn’t notice that. I’ve never been that drunk.” I slept right through the night, but if someone did give me a fake tattoo, they would have had to drug me, and I don’t feel hungover or hazy. I went to sleep in the alley under the wooden pallet, and that’s where I woke up. The tattoo is definitely sensitive to the touch, except that the pain resonates deep in my bones.
Hat pushes her hair behind her ears and inspects my arm. I hope she’ll find a clasp, and the tattoo will come off like a stolen bracelet. But she lowers my arm with a quizzical frown.
Hat stares out at the flurry of bright colors beyond the alley. “How could the king speak your name if you’re Nameless?”
Her frown is filled with suspicion and accusation.
I take a shaky breath. “The tattoo probably isn’t real.”
“If it’s not real, then you’re lying and got a fake tattoo—which could get you killed if anyone sees it. If you didn’t get it, then it’s real. You’re queen, which means you can’t be Nameless.”
The alley walls press against me, my heartbeat overwhelming the steady thrum of voices in the market.
“I am Nameless!” I shout. “I can’t be queen, Hat. The king couldn’t say my name, because I don’t have one. You think I would be sleeping on the streets if I had a name? You think I’d be running bump-grabs in the markets, risking execution every single day? You think I wouldn’t be in a house, with a pet cat, and a bath, and a basement full of food, and…and you and me bartering and getting jobs…” I lean against the alley wall and slide down into a crouch.
Silently, Hat leans against the wall and sits beside me. She waits. She breathes.
She smiles.
I don’t know how she does it. She sees a feast where I see stale, crumbling bread. She sees friends among the Nameless where I see competition. Everything in me wants to see what she sees. But I can’t. I don’t know how.
Hat speaks earnestly. “You know, Coin, you could have a name. You don’t know what it is, but someone out there might! If someone, anyone, in Seriden knows it, then you aren’t really Nameless. The king must have known it in order to give you the tattoo, which proves it exists!”
I shake my head. “The tattoo is real. That’s all I know for sure. That’s why I saw into that Royal’s head in the market. I was…experiencing his memories, I think.”
“Will it work on me?” she asks excitedly, sticking out her hand for me to touch.
It won’t, but I take her hand anyway. “The sovereign’s magic doesn’t work on the Nameless. I think that’s why they’ve always hated us.”
Hat pulls her hand back. “Forget it. It was a silly idea.” Her small spark of hope burns a little less brightly.
I take a deep breath and try to push it all down. Push everything—the black crown, what it means, the terrible pain of almost wanting something—down into the pit opening inside me. I am unsettled and shaky, trying and failing to bury the fear of impossible things.
Every time I imagine my future—on those endless nights when I tell myself I’ll survive long enough to see it—I always see a house. It’s small, and dust filters from the ceiling with each ocean breeze. Maybe it’s abandoned. Abandoned and mine.
I don’t want anything special. I don’t want anything grand. I just want to survive. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I’ve never tried to want more.
“We shouldn’t stay out on the streets today,” I say, breaking the silence and changing the subject.
Hat jumps to her feet and gives a flourishing bow.
I tilt my head. “Really?”
“Consider yourself lucky.” She remains awkwardly bent, speaking to the ground. “This is probably the only time I’ll bow before Royalty.” She straightens up and extends her hand.
It’s strange to accept her help when she’s younger than me and I’m the one who’s supposed to be teaching her. I sigh, put aside my pride, and let her haul me to my feet, wiping brick dust from my arms.
She adds, “I bet you’re a princess. How else would King Fallow have known your name?”
I frown at her. We both know Royalty isn’t passed through bloodlines anymore, not since the peace treaties were signed over two hundred years ago, when the territory borders were set and fourteen crowned sovereigns took ownership of their cities. That was long, long before either of us was born into this life.
I adjust the two layers of coats on my shoulders. “Let’s go somewhere safe.”
Hat’s eyes are bright. She’s still excited about this spetzing crown. She doesn’t realize she’s daydreaming of a future where, yes, I might be safe and protected by the Legal status of having a name or the Royal status of this crown…but that is a world she can’t live in. Hell, it’s a world I can’t live in. Royalty has become a game of names instead of blood. A game someone like me isn’t supposed to win. A game I can’t win. Even if this tattoo is real, I would be killed the moment I set foot near the throne.
I can’t be queen. I can’t.
“Let’s just go straight to Devil’s. She wasn’t at West Market, so she must be lying low, which is what we should be doing. She can give us a safe place to stay.” I pull Hat down the alley, but she shakes free of my grip.
“I can’t go straight to Devil’s!” she says, almost mocking. “My things are at the crispy house.”
That’s what she calls the burned, hollowed-out shack in the South Residences where Marcher houses his crew of child thieves. When I was part of his crew, we lived in a maintenance tunnel near the northern sewers.
“Your things? You don’t need things. You need safety.” I’ve never understood what she calls her “keepsakes.” From what I gather, they’re a blanket and a few trinkets that she keeps in a box.
“Well, maybe if you let me live with you, I’d have my things with me and this wouldn’t be a problem! I won’t apologize for having things I care about!” Before I can stop her, she spins on her heel and runs down the alley. “I’ll meet you at Devil’s!” Then she’s gone.