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I lost my grip on my riven power. Only for a few seconds, and with consequences that weren’t absolutely dire—but we don’t know what the scourge sorcerers will demand of me next.
How can I promise it’ll never be worse?
A couple of days ago, I was angry with him for not trusting me. Now I’m not sure I deserve the trust he’s decided to offer.
Stavros shifts forward. “I’m going to stay close to the king until it’s time for the performance. But it looks as though you’ll have some company while you keep an eye on the rest of the festivities.”
I glance around to see two men weaving through the crowd toward us.
I’d recognize Casimir’s graceful stride anywhere, regardless of the helmet covering most of his face. His soft smile brings an answering one to my lips despite the tangle inside me.
I can’t say military gear suits him, but he manages to look stunning in his crimson-and-gold tunic even with the lump of metal on his head.
Alek’s lean form follows right behind the courtesan. He’s wearing a festival helm that extends all the way to his jaw, hiding his mask completely. His red tunic is edged with embroidery in a bronze tone, and his breaches are more fitted than Casimir’s fashionable billowy ones, but he cuts just as striking a figure.
We can explore the celebration together at least for a little while, with our identities concealed to anyone who doesn’t know us quite so well.
Stavros nods to them discreetly and heads off toward the royal procession.
Casimir slips his hand around my elbow. “How are you doing, Kindness?”
The tenderness of his tone tells me he’s not just asking if I’m enjoying the festival. Stavros was able to alert him and Alek to meet us early yesterday so I could tell them everything that happened without worrying about revealing my secret to Benedikt. The courtesan stuck close to me for the whole rest of the meeting, as if he could tell how unsteady I’m feeling.
“Wishing I was back in my room with a book,” I say with a light laugh. “But I suppose we’d better celebrate Sabrelle properly.”
Alek comes to a stop in front of me, his expression solemn. He spent several minutes yesterday arguing with both Stavros and me about whether we should call off my plan to infiltrate the conspiracy.
Not because he’s worried about what I might do. Because he’s worried about how it’s affecting me.
“Sounds like a better way to spend an evening than this,” he says. “We could go do that right now.”
I wag a finger at him to try to show I’m all right. “We’ve got work to do here. I should probably see if I can enjoy myself too. I’ve never spent very long at any festival but Signy’s.”
It never seemed like a good idea to strut around when everyone’s trying to draw one or another godlen’s attention in every way possible—not when I was trying toavoidthe gods’ notice. Unless there was an item it was an ideal time to steal or a con I needed to pull, I stayed off the streets during festivals.
Casimir’s thumb strokes my arm through the sleeve of my gown. He can probably guess at my reasons. “Does that mean you’ve never tried bloodfruit pudding?”
I give him a skeptical look. “It does. I wouldn’t have thought that was a great loss.” How good can any dessert made from a favorite field snack of soldiers be?
The courtesan chuckles and tugs me with him into the throng. “You’ll be surprised then. I don’t care for the stuff dried as army rations, but it’s got a lot to recommend about it when cooked fresh.”
We squeeze through the crowded square to a stall selling small paper cones filled with the jelly-like pudding, designed to be eaten straight out of the disposable dish. I lap up a little with my tongue, and my eyes widen at the tartly sweet flavor with a tang that’s almost spicy.
“Okay, you’ve proven me wrong. What other delights have I been missing out on?”
Alek’s smile turns a bit sly in that way that makes my chest flutter. “All the best weapons-smiths have their goods on display. I saw some skillfully crafted throwing knives for sale.”
Casimir guides me onward. “And you won’t want to miss the cavalry show.”
I release my first real laugh in days. “All right, all right. Apparently you know me better than I know myself.”
They’ve gone all sappy, Julita remarks, in a tone almost as tart as the bloodfruit.We do have a job to do here too. I hope they won’t forget.
She doesn’t say anything aboutmeforgetting it, but I immediately feel a pang of guilt. As we continue on through the courtyard, I keep my eyes peeled for any other familiar forms.
I don’t know the members of the bug club all that well. It’s hard to recognize much of anyone beneath the helms.
Over by the smiths’ stalls, a group of duelists and soldiers are putting on a series of sparring matches—some with each other with flashy moves, and others open to challengers from the crowd. While I allow myself to buy a particularly appealing little dagger that might give my current favorite a run for its money, one of the fighters plants his fists in another’s face, making blood spurt from his opponent’s nose to match his scarlet jacket.
