Behind the bar, Kiya caught her eye and gave a subtle nod, letting Eris know in one small gesture everything she needed to: Jemsin and the rest of the crew were upstairs, in their usual room.
Eris smiled her thanks, then headed for the stairs. But someone was already coming down, blocking her way. The moment Eris saw their face, her heart lurched and she stepped behind Karsen. A girl with a rat nest of red hair and a sandpiper tattoo on her pale inner arm headed straight for the bar.
Rain.
At the sight of her, Eris’s chest constricted. She ducked into the shadows beneath the stairs, crouching low next to stacked boxes full of whisky, watching Rain talk to Kiya behind the bar.
Had theSea Mistress’s crew survived the blaze? The notion brought a rush of relief. Despite her rage at Kor, Eris didn’twant his blood on her hands, nor his crew’s. But how had Rain gotten to Darmoor in the same amount of time as Eris? It wasn’t possible. Unless another ship had seen theSea Mistressburning and come to its aid.
Hells,thought Eris.
She heard Rain utter the words, “Death Dancer.”
Kiya shrugged nonchalantly as she wiped down a mug of ale and set it back on the shelf. “Haven’t seen her.”
“You sure about that?”
Kiya glanced up, arching one black brow in a move Eris knew from personal experience was two parts pretty, one part peril. Kiya smiled that devilishly sweet smile of hers. “She’s often at Moll’s place when she’s in town. You could try there.”
Rain studied Kiya hard for a long moment. Then glanced out over the dining room, grunted her thanks, and left.
Eris swung herself out from under the steps. She saluted Kiya, who winked, then took the stairs two at a time. Jemsin’s regular room was at the end of the hall on the top floor. As Eris approached, she stretched, rolling her neck and shoulders, trying to rid herself of the tension building all the way here.
Finally, she sucked in a breath and rapped on the door the way Jemsin taught her all those years ago. When it swung in, the orange glow of a lantern made her squint.
“Evening, comrades,” Eris drawled, forcing a lazy grin as she lifted her arm to block the light.
When they grabbed her shirt, Eris knew better than to fight back.
They yanked her inside and slammed the door behind her.
Seven
It took three hard pulls before the door came open and dust flew into Safire’s face. She sneezed, then froze, listening hard.
But no sound came from the hall behind her.
Safire let out a breath, then stepped into the room. Holding up the lamp, she found it full of dusty crates. She sniffed and the smell of old wine engulfed her. A storage room of some kind, then.
Looking upward, she scanned the ceiling until her gaze caught on the square crawl space door.
After she’d heard a red-haired girl at the bar say the words “Death Dancer,” Safire ordered a drink, found the drunkest looking man in the room, and asked the right questions. He happily told her all about hisgolden days, as he coined them. Days when he used the crawl space above the second floor of the inn to watch the patrons undress in the rooms below.
Safire forced herself to listen to his disgusting escapades, but as she stood beneath the crawl space now, she silently thanked the foul man for giving her precisely what she needed. (And vowed that if she ever found herself the occupant of an inn,she would thoroughly check the ceiling, and maybe the walls, before undressing.)
Safire began stacking boxes. When they were high enough, she climbed up to the crawl space door and unlatched it. More dust fell. She turned her face in to her elbow to stop the sneeze this time, then pulled her sandskarf up over her nose and mouth. When the particles settled, she lifted the lamp, set it inside the crawl space above, then climbed up after it.
The space was long and narrow, dark and crowded, and her palms were soon coated in dust. She swiped preemptively at cobwebs while testing each and every board before putting her full weight on it to avoid creaking.
Half crouching, she made her way toward the far end of the crawl space, pausing every once in a while to listen to the sounds below. When she heard two voices arguing, she stopped just above and set down the lamp.
Safire slid the sleeve of her shirt across the boards beneath her, wiping away dust and dirt before laying her cheek against the rough wood.
“I warned younotto wreck things with Kor,” growled a man’s voice, partially muffled by the wood between Safire and the room below.
Silently, she turned down her lamp, listening.
“I didn’t wreck it,” came the familiar voice. The one, she was sure, belonged to the Death Dancer. “I set it on fire.”
