“What the hell are you doing here?” I approach him. There are two syringes on a nearby tray. Either of them could be in my hand one second and in Marcher’s throat the next.
“I heard about that,” he says, ignoring my demand and instead pointing at the bandage around my arm. “How our fearless queen raced into a fire to save her subjects. Did one of them owe you money?” He chuckles.
I pick up one of the syringes and turn it over between my fingers.
“Answer my question,” I say, “or I’ll have you arrested.”
He tries not to roll his eyes again. “Have you given any more thought to my proposal? The offer still stands.”
I open my mouth to call for a guard, and he holds up a hand to stop me.
“I’m looking for someone,” he says. “That’s all.”
“Who?”
He has to think about it for a second, which is how I know he’s about to lie to me. “Enough. Enough of this. Guard?” I summon a guard standing not three paces away as I grab Marcher by the elbow.
The guard hurries over to us, and I make sure my bandaged arm with the crown tattoo is facing him.
“This Royal was trying to steal some of the medicine,” I say.
Marcher puts a hand against his chest as if he’s deeply offended by the accusation.
“I saw him put something in his pocket,” I say, pushing Marcher’s elbow toward the Guard.
Marcher throws me the quickest of glances, and there’s a hint of a repressed smirk.
The guard reaches into Marcher’s pocket and fishes out a syringe.
Marcher murmurs to me, “Sleight of hand and a reverse pickpocket. Here I was, thinking you’d lost your edge.” He tips an imaginary hat in approval.
It makes me angry, but not angry enough to overwhelm the pride I feel from outsmarting him. Here I am, ever the competitor, just the way he made me.
“A night in the holding cells should do him good,” I say.
“Yes, Your Highness,” the guard answers.
“Regardless of your terrible mistreatment of me,” Marcher says, “the offer still stands. Time is not on your side. Secrets and time—always at war with each other. And the real secret? Time wins every time. Secrets don’t stay buried forever. You can hide them away in the darkness, but they’ll eventually claw their way to the surface.”
The guard gives a small salute before escorting Marcher away.
I realize my whole body is tense, and I try to relax, turning to a Legal woman in a nearby cot.
She has a wound on her head that’s been patched with white cloth, but it’s in dire need of sutures.
On closer inspection, I realize that her clothes aren’t just dirtied from the fire—they’re dark and drab from months of wear and stains. The woman isn’t a Legal. She’s Nameless. Panic wells through me, and I move closer to her as if I can hide her from everyone in the room.
“If you’ll give my patient some room,” Dr. Rhana says as she edges past me to check on the woman.
“But, I—she…” I bite my tongue.
Dr. Rhana rolls one of her shoulders in annoyance. “If you have a problem with any of my patients, I can call the Royal Guard to come explain to you that…” Her eyes catch on the tattoo peeking out from under my bandages.
“Oh,” she says in a small voice. Then, with more strength: “Oh. It’s you. You’re you.”
“When I’m not being someone else, yeah,” I say. “I was worried when I saw she was…” I point at the dark, moth-eaten cloth of the woman’s sleeve. “Is she going to be all right?”
“She’ll be fine. She was in a lot of pain, so she’s sleeping now. I heard what you did during the fires, saving that family and helping put out the blazes. Thank you. I’m Dr. Andris. Rhana Andris. Just Rhana, really.”
Rhana is maybe in her thirties, and she’s vastly outpaced anything I’ve ever accomplished. There’s an awkward moment as she realizes I don’t have a name to offer in return.
“I call myself Coin,” I say.
She touches her hand to her opposite shoulder and gives a polite bow.
“Will you send word to me when she wakes?” I ask. “I want to make sure she gets out of here safely.”
Rhana nods knowingly. “I’ll notify you when she is healthy enough to go home.”
Rhana returns to her patients, and she doesn’t even know the mistake she made. This woman doesn’t have a home. Not really. None of the Nameless do.
I turn around, searching for Hat again, but instead I see Esther standing at the bedside of a man three cots away.
I think about the fires. Esther was strong and brave—rushing toward the house before it collapsed. But there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on as she goes from cot to cot, comforting people. I approach her.
“You knew there were people in that house before it collapsed,” I say. It’s possible she saw them through a window or heard them, but as I study her face, she hardly reacts. She’s about to lie to me.
“Were there?” Esther says. “I guess we won’t know until they get through the wreckage.” She shakes her head clear of the gruesome thoughts, and her aura is like damp soot and ash.
“I considered at first that you staged the fires,” I say, “that maybe you wanted to be the hero who saved people, and the city would push for you to get the crown. I considered the same about Belrosa. But you knew there were people in that house. How did you know? It doesn’t make sense. And what have you been doing to the patients here? I’ve been watching you put people to sleep. Tell me what’s going on.”
Esther leans in close as if she’s about to share a secret. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m administering a sedative, obviously.” She picks up a syringe from the metal tray.
“Then go ahead and do it,” I say.
She holds it uncertainly.
“You’re a good liar,” I say, “but not a good grifter. You didn’t guess there were people in that house. You knew there were, didn’t you? And if you’re not administering a sedative, you’re doing something else to make these people fall asleep. Something magical.” Before I can stop myself, I grab on to her left arm just below her shoulder. She winces and withdraws, but I keep my grip.
I level a dead-set glare at her. “Are you going to pretend that’s a bruise from the fires, or am I going to have to reveal your tattoo here for everyone to see?”