“Did you just punch me in the sternum?” he asks between gasps.
“My reflex is to go for the throat,” I explain. “But that seemed kind of rude.”
He reassesses me. “Thank you, I guess?”
“You think I never got in a fight before?” I say. “Though I could do with some proper sparring tips. All my moves are to incapacitate and flee. Stomp on a foot, punch a throat, and escape into the night with a solid gold harp.” I stare through the window wistfully.
Glenquartz’s eyes bug out. “That was you?”
I shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No,” Glenquartz says. “I know it was you, because that was me.”
I stare down my nose at him where he still sits on the floor.
“I was guarding a shipment as it was being unloaded at the docks,” he says. “We were accepting a Royal gift from Lady Sovereign Olefar, and I was transporting it personally when some Nameless bandits attacked us.”
“Nameless bandits?” I say as if I’m unfamiliar with the word. I study him for a moment, trying to stay serious.
Then we both burst with laughter.
“No more distractions,” I say, smiling. “Show me how to fight.”
I enjoy fighting far more than I should. Striking fists is an outlet for every anger that has made a home in my chest, every anxious fear in my head. What it does best, however, is clear my mind before I join Esther at Med Ward.
I’m baffled by why Hat would want to spend her time here. But she’s happily buzzing between cots, checking on injuries, changing medications, and learning words like “aspirate” and “suture.”
When Esther and I take a break, I join her where she’s sitting on an empty cot in the corner of the room. I’ve since caught her up on the whole “Esther and I both have magical tattoos” secret, and she helps distract Dr. Rhana when Esther and I visit Med Ward to practice my abilities.
“I kind of feel like I’m cheating, coming to this place,” I say to Hat.
She cocks her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“You’re helping people. I’m practicing my magical hallucination-inducing abilities.” When I say it out loud, it sounds silly.
Hat’s chin lifts. “I’m here for selfish reasons too. I’m no longer on the streets or in prison. Rhana is looking after me, and I’m helping people. And I’m learning a lot.”
I remember rescuing Hat from execution. No shame in truth, I told her.
“I think it’s time I take a page from your book,” I say.
Hat nods approvingly. “I’m about to impart some sage wisdom, okay?” She holds my shoulder as if to comfort me.
I hide a humored smile.
“You could be doing whatever you want with your magic,” Hat says. “Stealing from annoying Royals like we used to, or burning down the palace from the inside. But you’re not. We’re not. That’s good, isn’t it?”
Hat pulls me to the cot of a patient whose arms are tied to the bed frame with cloth.
“Is this one of the rioters?” I ask, gesturing at the restraints. I can sense the man’s aura, sharp and pained.
Hat shakes her head. “He has burns on his arms, his wrists, his hands, and his chest. And he keeps scratching, which is bad for the burns, which is why he’s restrained. If you could calm him down, I can put some ointment on his wrists.”
She holds a dark glass jar filled with cream and a small wooden applicator.
I let out a small breath. I haven’t done this without Esther yet.
The man is clearly agitated, restless and unaware of my presence. I place my hand beneath his ear, at his jawline.
His skin is hot, and I pull my hand away, as if touched by fire.
“He has a fever,” Hat says. “It’s one of the reasons he really needs the medicine.”
I again place my hand on his neck. At first, it’s a sharp tug of fear in my gut. Then I see a wall of fire so close it sears my skin.
I try to pull away, but the sensation is too strong.
The man stumbles away from the fire. His body isn’t yet burned. This is his house. For a moment, he wants to go in, but a flash of movement steals his attention. A man in gray clothing flees the fire.
Suspicion and anger flare through the man’s chest. He follows after the man in gray, who seems to be carrying fire in his hands. That can’t be right.
He pursues as the gray man slinks toward the next house. He’s holding a torch. From a bag, he pulls out a book. He fans the pages and touches them to the torch, then hurls it through the window. There’s a shatter of glass, and then a low glow emanates from within. More screams from inside. The man heads toward the screams and toward the heat.
Pain sears my arms in the memory, and I turn us away from the terrible sight. I take us to West Market—my familiar hunting grounds. I imagine the scent of freshly seared chicken and spiced peppers. I share the feeling of sweat against my chilled skin and warm gloves on my hands.
As I withdraw, the man calms down. He takes the memory from me, and suddenly he’s sitting on the rooftop with a small child—his son.
I remove my hand, and I’m standing beside Hat again next to the cot. She has finished applying the medicine, and she bows her head in thanks.
“I saw part of his memory from the fire,” I say, shaking my head as I try to recapture the image in my mind.
“That must have been hard,” Hat says.
Esther joins us, an eyebrow arched skeptically. “Did you do it without me?” she says, trying to be surreptitious around Hat.
I don’t answer her. “Hat, what did you say about the people who took that Nameless boy from the prison?”
Esther’s aura perks up, and I realize she hasn’t met Hat yet and probably didn’t know she was Nameless. “Hat? Are you…the girl from the execution?”
Hat tilts her head. “And you’re the king’s daughter?”
I wave my hand as if to brush away their conversation and the sensation of Esther’s curious aura—like the prickling of mosquito legs on my arms. “Hat. The people from the prison. What did they look like?”
“Right. Yes. It was dark and I never saw their faces, but I thought they were maybe wearing uniforms.”
“Is it possible the uniforms were gray?” I ask.
Hat shrugs.