Page 8 of Secrets of Graves and Gold

Stavros lifts an eyebrow. “You were working on the scourge sorcerers’ behalf for weeks, weren’t you?”

“Because I was under their control. I’ve broken free from that magic—I want to stay as far away from them as I can.”

Because he’s afraid they’ll destroy the body they created for him, and for whatever strange reason, the daimon has decided he likes his prison of flesh. He told us that much when he came looking for me.

My throat tightens at the memory of his earnest appeal for my help.

He has acted in my favor before, keeping quiet when he noticed me in hiding. And his concern for the injured butterfly that landed on him days ago couldn’t have come from the conspirators—that was all him.

I glance around at my men. “King Konram would be dead if Rheave hadn’t warned us. He isn’t our enemy. And it sounds like our actual enemy is beyond the city walls. If we want to continue protecting the kingdom, prove to the king that we’re not villains, and save our necks from the gallows, our best chance is leaving.”

Casimir reaches to give my wrist a gentle squeeze. “That makes sense, but how are we going to manage it?”

Stavros’s gaze settles on me with a tick to focus his damaged vision. “We can’t count on your power to clear the way even if Kosmel would be willing to guide it this time. Not without doing enough damage that we would be villains. The guards at the gates and throughout the city will be alert to any sign of riven power—some of them have talents that allow them to detect magic.”

Julita sighs. I suppose he has a point.

He does. And the trepidation in his voice reminds me of how much he distrusts the magic that flows through my broken soul in general.

Which is fair, because I hate my demanding, chaotic power too. As mercurial as Julita can be at times, she’s a much more considerate lodger than the magic I was born with.

I pause. The fringes of the city are my domain, and I’ve navigated them without a spark of magic for years. I have to take the lead here.

My men’s lives could rest in my hands as much as they held mine in theirs when they discovered my secret.

As I grope for the right answer, my gaze catches on a crow landing on a rooftop across the square. It looks like a perfectly ordinary bird, and it might not have anything to do with the godlen crows are associated with, but it lights a glimmer of inspiration in my head all the same.

I turn to the men. “I might be able to get us out of the city today, no sorcery required. But you’ll need to do everything exactly as I ask.”

Casimir nods. “Where do we start?”

The others wait for my answer without any sign of protest. I form a grim smile. “First we head to Tangleside.”

Three

Ivy

It feels like years since I last stepped through the broad doorway of the Frolic Theater. On the threshold, I restrain the urge to glance over my shoulder toward the derelict storage building where I had the men and our horses lay low for the time being.

The gang that rules Crow’s Close keeps a close eye on comings and goings. I don’t want to give them the slightest clue where I’ve left my allies.

This negotiation is going to require the most delicate of touches. I’m just lucky that one of the head honchos owes me.

We’re going into that den of criminals again? Julita murmurs from the back of my head as I walk to the inner door with Kosmel’s sigil carved over it. Do you really think you can get them to help us?

“We’ll see,” I whisper as if to myself, and slip down the musty stairwell into the darkness below.

A right turn beneath the stairs, then a winding pattern of steps in the passage where the darkness is thick enough to suffocate. I hurry out into the matching basement room and up the stairs to the enclosed street that’s Florian’s biggest hub of criminal activity.

On the front step outside the theater’s echoed façade, I pause to take in the strip. It’s both less busy and less vibrant in the mid-day light, the kind of place that comes to life with the sinking of the sun.

The usual conjured illusions still shimmer over some of the doorways of the wooden buildings, though other shops haven’t even opened for the day yet. Their owners are probably sleeping off last night’s exploits.

A few disreputable-looking characters slink along the narrow dirt road, one ducking into the Brew & Dagger pub that’ll have just opened. My gaze lingers on the sign with a pang of longing for one of their amber spritzes.

It would take the edge off all the tension of the day, but I’ve got urgent work to do here.

On the other side of the street to my left, the largest building in Crow’s Close looms. The darkly varnished wooden structure holds three floors, the lowest one a public gambling den and the upper two dedicated to the private exploits of the most powerful crooks in the city.

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