“Slow down,” I called. “Women aren't supposed to lead."
“Oh, silly me.” Bláth stopped and dramatically spun on her heel. She made herself small at my side and took my arm. “Has anyone told you that you have pretty eyes?”
“Save the flattery for Ferris. He’d appreciate it more.”
“I am much too old for Ferris.” She sighed. “Do you think he’s okay?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” I murmured, leading her through the snow-piled roads.
Reese had given us these parting words: ‘If you find Ferris, and he hasn’t been kidnapped, kill him.’
The young prince was known to be a troublemaker. He’d been busy getting arrested for starting a bar fight the night the assassin had tried to kill the king.
What had turned him from court life to back alleys? Part of me felt I should know him better, the other understood we lived worlds apart.
Ferris and I shared something the rest of the world was oblivious to. What would the prince do if he learned?
Shoving the thoughts aside, I scanned the white city for a green-eyed rogue. There weren’t many people out this late. Most who passed us wore soldiers' uniforms, running to deliver messages or changing guard shifts.
They all looked frightened. Who could blame them?
Mare and I should have run and left this place behind. When she’d told me, back in Gwynford, that she was the cause of the black tide, I should have taken her and run.
Bláth broke the silence. “You know, I’m a half-blood, too.”
“Is that your typical ice-breaker?” I asked dryly.
“I’m trying to relate. You don’t make it easy.”
“Fantastic. We can be frowned at together.”
Bláth pouted. “Your sister is so nice. What went wrong with you?”
“Mare was raised to be a diplomat.” I looked down at her golden curls. “I’m a baker.”
She snorted. “You are not.”
“And what makes you so sure?”
“Lady Rohan keeps calling you a scoundrel.”
“She takes issue with my recipes.”
“Something tells me you’re lying.” Bláth's sly grin vanished. Her gaze lingered on a building to our right.
Two girls stood outside a two-story building, its windows illumined with firelight. High slits cut up their skirts, revealing the pale flesh of their thighs, bound in a blue ribbon.
"How scandalous." I tsked. "And here I thought Muirashins would faint at the mere idea of a brothel."
"In polite company, they do.” Bláth's golden eyes studied one girl, then the other. "Brothels are a central part of their precious traditions. Disowned daughters are sent to work them."
"How very like them."
"Oh, don't blame the Muirashins.” Bláth's smile returned. "Forlaith started it; Tsuyan merely adopted the idea."
Her fingers had tightened on my arm, and she fought to keep a grin plastered to her face. Though she spoke in coy, humored tones, her eyes returned to the girls, and I could tell she was far away.
"Interesting," I said slowly. "Were you one of these disowned daughters?"
