My heart raced. Each frantic, stuttering beat sent pins and needles down my fingers. “Only good things,” I choked out, registering the fact that she didn’t understand High Wynter.
“Good things?Him?” She whirled, her sun-colored hair whipping my face. Her features narrowed on me with rage-induced skepticism. “Girl, just say the word, and I’ll kill him. I swear.”
She spun back, positioning herself between us. Though shorter, her fierce demeanor was akin to a cornered wildcat. I glanced up at Sainte, his figure framed against the golden frizz of her hair.
He tipped his head, as if fascinated. “She has a low opinion of me.”
I drew in a deep breath, lifted my chin, then spoke in Common Muik to spite him. “She’s not the only one.”
I was no longer the poor little girl he left five years ago. Well, ‘poor’ was an accurate description, but that broken, fragile person he once knew, was gone.
“Curse it all, El! What’s he saying?!” Lyana stomped her foot like some spoiled child.
I sniffed. “He refuses to speak the common tongue. It’s below him.”
Amusement dropped from his handsome face, and his brow pinched in thought.
I turned my back on him. He left me. And I outgrew that version of myself. “Meet me at the usual place,” I said to my friends.
Lyana’s tone was both perplexed and repulsed. “What about him?”
As I strode toward the opposite wall, I peered over my shoulder. “He’ll disappear. He always does.”
Sainte slid both legs to the wood planking and straightened, flashing a furious glare my way. No matter his agility, he couldn’t clear the gap at the tower’s center.
Ethyan cursed from his position up in the rafters, bowstring drawn and arrow nocked. “Don’t move, pretty boy. I’ll have you pegged like a hare on a spit before you can say, ‘Squash El’s heart.’”
I tipped my chin, giving him a small smile.
“Elspeth–”
Gods. No matter how long I fought to forget that voice, it resounded in my dreams every night. I ignored him and swung my legs over the aged wall. “She’s dead.”
Gravity embraced me. Wind snapped at my clothes and hair as I surrendered to the descent.
The fabric canopy caved with the impact of my weight, and I tumbled head over heels, grunting as my neck and back contorted in ways they weren’t designed for. The shopkeeper blurted a slew of curses as I scrambled to the overhang. I hit the ground at a run, but he still managed to pelt me with some rotten fruit—a sun-baked tomato by the sound of its withered splatter.
I sped toward the beach, pumping my legs as fast as I could. On nimble feet, I maneuvered through the crowd, spinning and dodging. I leapt over a cart, snatching a starfruit along the way. A wave of insults and slurs nipped at my heels, but I ignored them as my teeth sank into the sweet fruit.
He was herebeforemy birthday?
As much as I’d like to believe he never found me after I ran away, I couldn’t lie to myself. Lyana and Ethyan quickly grasped that we had become nearly invisible on the day of my birth. We could pilfer or raid as we pleased, wander the slums ‘til dawn, or slip into a noble’s estate for the night. Regardless of the scheme’s audacity, it always worked out, and with a laugh to spare.
That mysterious luck had nothing to do with the goddess Niena, and everything to do with Sainte. He never showed himself, but I sensed him watching over me. Every year, I found it increasingly difficult to push the limits of his protection. It was a sick, twisted punishment. He would suffer by cleaning up my mess, or his preciousprincesswould be harmed. Either way, it would hurt him, and that’s what I wanted.
My petty thoughts had me scoffing at myself. I was an adult. I should act like one. My steps slowed, and I came to a halt. The crowded market swarmed around me, but the path to the beach was clear. The warm golden sand beckoned me… but Sainte knew that was my safe space. I muttered a curse under my breath and turned on my heel. I would pick a few pockets, or perhaps venture into the slums, where I blended in better. Though, if Sainte had coin to spare, I’d be ratted out soon enough.
My gaze danced over the busy stalls. Vendors hawked their wares, shouting above one another. They kept a careful eye on potential customers and any riffraff that lurked about. I ducked into a small alcove between the stalls of a crystal merchant and fishmonger. We were close enough to the port that the catch was fresh, but still carried the pungent scent of the sea.
Where would Sainte not think to look for me? He never showed up early. Despite all the years I wished he’d stay longer, he arrived the morning of my birthday and left before nightfall. If anything, he was predictable.
“Oi, lass! Git!”
The fishmonger clearly had enough of my loitering and yanked a handful of my short hair, while hitting me with a bloody carcass. I yelped, freeing myself of his hold and wiped the slime from my shirt the best I could. With a vulgar gesture, I backed into the crowd and let its flow carry me.
I cut my hair right after I ran away. The orange was terrible, and I didn’t have the funds to keep up with the potions. So, I gave up coloring it and hacked it off, instead. I left enough length to manage a small braid on one side. The short plait was thick and messy, but was better than the two-toned disaster I had before.
The crowd carried me past the lewd district, and I hesitated in thought. It was early, yet women already exposed their goods to potential customers. Exhausted patrons stumbled out of makeshift huts pressed against the port walls. The streets bustled, though far less than the main market.
