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“I’ll enjoy it more with company.” I head for an empty booth near the hallway Zander and I used to escape last time. Sliding in, I survey the room. It’s only half full, the mood somber compared to the last time I was here. People hunch and whisper, casting sly glances around. A few have dull emblems on their wrists, marking them as both mortal and untainted. They’ll fetch a premium rate for their blood if their keepers don’t lock them in cages. With all the bodies hanging outside, I imagine that might start soon enough.
Only two more days, I remind myself.
Two more days and these people’s blood will no longer be a commodity.
But Atticus can kill a lot of mortals in that time.
Kaders is here, in a booth across the room, sharing a drink with a woman in a long, sable-colored dress. I’ll bet he’ll be sailing back to Seacadore soon.
A tall, cloaked figure catches the corner of my eye, and a wave of comfort washes over me. Jarek takes a stool at the bar. Our gazes touch only in passing, but I know he could reach my side in a split second if I was in trouble.
I’m halfway through my mead and wondering if I should order another when a mortal slips into the bench across from me, a mug in his fist. He fits the physical description Gesine gave me of Seamus—small, wiry, with bright orange hair and deep lines across his forehead.
“The south wind blows tonight,” he asks, his lyrical Seacadorian accent reminding me of Elisaf.
“And the north wind answers,” I respond without missing a beat, armed with the necessary code words passed along from Gesine.
He takes a long sip of his drink. “Been waitin’ to hear from you. How can I be of service to Cordelia?”
I dig into my pocket, relieved he won’t make me jump through more hoops to prove myself. Gesine did warn me Seamus is wary of strangers, especially elven ones. But he’s also a thief, and thieves are wary of everyone. “You can provide us with information.” I show off a stack of gold coins within my fingertips.
His eyes sparkle. Thief language is universal. “On?”
“What’s happening around Cirilea, on King Atticus and what he’s been up to, that sort of thing.”
“Nothin’ good.” Seamus collects a peanut from a bowl on the table and cracks its shell between his thumbs. “For starters, the city gate’s been sealed since yesterday, with no one in or out, not even messengers, so I wouldn’t be runnin’ around, announcin’ you’ve arrived today. That’ll earn ya attention ya probably don’t want.”
I curse, hazarding a glance toward the bartender.
“Don’t worry. Lombard’s trustworthy. Somewhat, anyway.”
“What else? What about all these dead mortals hanging everywhere?”
“Aye, the king’s guard takes down one corpse and replaces it with two.” Seamus stuffs the peanut in his mouth. “Supposed to be scarin’ people into not takin’ the poison, but it’s not workin’. People are feelin’ hopeless and gettin’ angry. And now that the caster’s comin’ around, testin’ mortals—”
“Wendeline?”
“Aye. The one who marked the tainted ones at the royal repast. The king rounded up all the others and executed them the next day. She’s all that’s left.”
No wonder the sanctum was so empty and cold.
“Honestly thought she was dead along with the rest of them. But then all of a sudden yesterday, they started bringin’ her around, from house to house, markin’ mortals. The ones that glow, they either throw up on a rope or haul ’em to the arena. Don’t know why the difference. Maybe they’re runnin’ out of lampposts. She’s at it all day and night. I assume it’ll be till every last mortal is marked.”
And every tainted one executed swiftly.
Damn Atticus. “How many mortals have been taken?”
“Enough to line the streets with bodies. But what’s worse is he’s takin’ the children. All of ’em. Any his guard comes across.”
“He’s hanging children?” I can’t hide my horror.
“Not sure what he’s doin’ with them, but they leave and they don’t come back. He’s probably keepin’ them locked up so they can’t be tainted.” Seamus chugs his mead. “People are scared. A lot of servants who aren’t tributaries took the doses, not wantin’ to get caught with the vials. They thought they’d be safe enough, and now the priestess is marking everyone. They made plans to escape before Hudem and hide in the hills.”
Memories of the marauders who captured Pan and me stir. “The hills aren’t safe.”
“Safer than what’s goin’ on in here.”
“They need to go north.” Jarek’s right. What’s the point of being a queen if I can’t share my haven with those Islorians who need it most? “There’s a city in the Venhorn Mountains that will take all of them. Every mortal. They will be free of this blood curse there. The queen who rules it will give them homes.”
