“He wanted me to go with him.”
Ethyan wiggled his eyebrows. “To Wynterborne or an inn?”
Lyana and I shrieked in unison as I gave him a playful shove.
“You never know, he could just want to ‘kiss and make up.’”
I scanned the crowd as the two bickered. Sainte was just a few paces away, his eyes locked on me. He led the small group of soldiers in our direction, bystanders ducking out of their way.
“Guys?” I groaned.
Lyana grabbed the crook of my arm. “Oh, son of a sailor.”
“Are we running?” Ethyan asked, gripping his bow.
I stood my ground, clenching my jaw, staring Sainte down. I hoped for a limp in his gait, but found none. Instead, I noticed a white cloth wrapped around his right forearm, soaked in fresh crimson.
For some reason that didn’t bring me any joy.
Ethyan bounced on his heels, ready to dart. “Perhaps the caves?”
“El can’t swim,” Lyana grumbled.
“What about the temple? Would they offer harbor?”
She ignored him, tugging on my elbow. “Shouldn’t we be running?”
My confidence faltered and I sighed. “He always finds me.”
Sainte and his group came to a stop ten paces away. His mouth set into a firm line, disapproval heavy on his brow.
“Eneyet.”
Always.
The escort made us feel like criminals—which we were—though I didn’t appreciate feeling that way. His soldiers surrounded us. Their silent, brooding gazes openly sized me up while ignoring my friends. One dared a smile and winked, as if this were all a game. Perhaps he was the friendliest of the lot.
Sainte guided us away from the port, eastward, toward the more reputable part of town. We rarely wandered here, simply because we had morals too, and the people who worked and lived here were generally good folk. We stuck to the undercity, where survival meant taking—a gritty realm of constant exchanges and murky intentions.
We entered an inn far more respectable than the ones I frequented, though I never slept in one, only tasted their fare. I narrowed my eyes at the abundance of flickering candles scattered around the room, noting the pristine condition of the tables.
Ethyan let out a low whistle.
“No layer of grime,” Lyana murmured, crowding so close she bumped into me. “You didn’t tell me he came from money.”
“He’s from Wynterborne.” I shrugged, watching as Sainte turned his head a fraction so he could hear us more clearly.
“Got his hand in the royal coffers, eh?” Ethyan jeered. “Talk about a traitor.”
“Elspeth, come with me,” he called in High Wynter.
My feet slowed to a stubborn halt, trying to appear braver than I was. “Where I go, so do my friends.”
“Where you go,” he said, stepping into my space, “your friends cannot.”
“Then I’ll stay.”
A soldier to my side snorted, and I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. He was tall and lanky, with light-brown hair that hung over his forehead in a boyish way. His amber gaze twinkled with mischief as he offered a grin in response to my study.
