“The Boreali drained the color from your eye.” Kasim shook his head violently. Evidently, he’d heard, and believed, one of the more ridiculous rumors about her people. “They blinded you from your own savagery.”

“You claimed you know the girl’s mistress,” she said, considering the other al’Haidren. She nodded, appearing to make a decision. “You will take me to her at once.”

Alora’s niece rose on her heels, secured the linen veil across her face, and waited expectantly.

“Tonight, Lord Darakai.”

“The only place I’m taking you is a dungeon, for whatever you’ve done to this poor girl,” Kasim asserted, visibly unsettled by the body at his feet.

The figure bent over the roof slats, intrigued. It was extraordinary behavior—a Darakaian caring for the fate of yet another cross-caste, especially of Boreali lineage.

“Those wounds were cleaned, but the corpse is covered in refuse. Had I any part in her death, the evidence would be on my person, which it is clearly not.” She stalked past Kasim in the direction he’d originally come. “We are speaking to her mistress tonight.”

“Ano. No, we are not. This body belongs to Bastiion. These deaths fall under the pryde’s investigation. And Boreali participation is not welcome,” he snarled.

“Neither is your own, apparently,” she shot back. “I heard this investigation was taken from your pryde. But I have a feeling you will seek out her mistress regardless, and when you do, I expect to be there.”

“I found you stalking the streets of Marketown, unescorted, at the scene of the crime.” Kasim’s son started toward her. “I’m within my rights to take you in on that alone.”

“Lord Darakai, I may not know what exactly lies in that crate, but it’s obvious you’ve gone to great lengths to avoid trafficked areas with it in tow.” She crossed her arms and stopped just short of his chin. “There are a number of goods prohibited by our allies, goods which come in bottles just like those in your care. I wonder what our prince would say about that? His beloved friend, a common criminal.”

Alora didn’t give her niece nearly enough credit, the figure decided. Were she to ease her strict governance, she might see the cleverness of her Luscia. It was one of the few traits the al’Haidren had inherited from her aunt; a quality Alora had not displayed so brazenly since their youth.

An ache panged through his chest at the memory.

“Then we are at an impasse.” Kasim glared down his nose at her, a creature his superior in so many ways, then sighed with disgust. “If I take you with me, we go my way. No arguments. None.”

She stared at him for a moment before giving a stiff nod. “Wem. Agreed.”

“Good, because you aren’t going to like it,” he muttered under his breath with a smirk, and knelt to pick up the crate.

“I am more than capable of discretion. You’ve no cause for concern,” she replied defiantly to his back.

“I have to sneak Boreal’s self-righteous al’Haidren into a house of ill repute. That’s plenty of cause for concern.” He grinned into the darkness and headed deeper into the alley, calling back, “I better see you holding two wraiths at dawn.”

The figure thrust his arm in the air and awaited the bite of Amaranth’s talons as they clutched his sleeve. It was time his mistress learned of the rebellious pattern her niece was weaving, and the young Darakaian who held her by one very dangerous thread.

TWENTY-ONE

Luscia

   Luscia fidgeted with the scarf, careful not to disturb the fine layer of cacao paste darkening her hairline and thick brows. She wrapped her hair tightly in the silky material, as Unitarian women of the lower classes often did with their own. Tucking the loose blonde strands underneath, she arranged the tail of the scarf so that it cascaded over the scar tissue carved into the left side of her neck.

“Depths, aren’t you finished yet?” her escort demanded for the second time.

“Disguising me as a cross-caste scullery maid was your idea, Lord Darakai,” Luscia bit out, picking up the dress she’d borrowed from Mila and eyeing it apprehensively. “Shtàka,” she swore. “As you frequently remind me, I’m to follow your lead without complaint.”

To avoid suspicion, they’d waited three nights since finding the corpse. She tried not to dwell on that evening, though the waiting provided ample opportunity to do so. The more Luscia pondered the series of bizarre events, the more unsettled she became. It wasn’t the first occasion she’d felt eyes on her back during a hunt through Bastiion, but it was the first night she’d heard the whispers, and the only since. The trail of voices had hummed indecipherable secrets and teased her into that alley, departing once she entered it.

Luscia’s mother had heard voices, too. They’d made Eoine laugh, and cry.

Still, the whispers weren’t the most troubling incident that night. It was for Boreal’s Haidrens to choose when to use their gift of Sight. But the Sight, of its own accord, had summoned Luscia to seek behind the veil and into the Other. While in its captivity, that otherness had revealed a cloud of fractured lumin about the corpse. Those threads had shuddered away from the defiled flesh and pooled around Luscia instead, like they were fleeing something dark indeed.

Fiddling with the stitching of the borrowed garment, Luscia suppressed an itch of alarm creeping down her spine. The benefit of Kasim’s delay was that it had allowed Luscia time to procure the items needed for her transformation, although neither she nor Mila had accounted for their variance in size. Imitating the majority of women at court, Mila had the appetite of a sparrow, the evidence of which was painfully obvious as Luscia stepped into the slim clothing. The attendant’s taut, linen dress cinched tightly at her waist, causing Luscia’s breasts to practically spill out over top.

“This is why we don’t starve ourselves like the yancy women, Mila,” Luscia grumbled, shoving her biceps through the narrow sleeves.

“What are you going on about?”

Squatting, Luscia stashed her far more practical gear under a stray wooden pallet and stepped around the corner in the vacant alley, praying the likes of Zaethan Kasim would not notice how her bodice quite literally busted at the seams.

By the way his bright eyes flicked up and lingered where they didn’t belong, he most certainly did.

“Finally.” He coughed, clearing his throat, and stomped away.

Wrapping her arms around her torso, Luscia gingerly followed.

In awkward silence, Luscia trailed him through the dancing streetlights of Marketown’s busy district. Even approaching midnight, it was teeming with traffic. Eventually Kasim stopped in front of an embellished red door fixed between shabby brickwork and heavily curtained windows, which did little to trap the revelry within.