Page 6 of Heir

“The last time I said the wordabdicate”—Quil moved on from the jewel merchant, Sufiyan following—“she didn’t speak to me for a month.”

“You’re twenty, Quil,” Sufiyan said. “Keep dillydallying and you’ll have a crown on your brow, an empress who bores the hair off your head, a brood of bawling babies, and no desire to hear the wordabdicateyourself.”

An empress…A face flashed unbidden in Quil’s mind. Short dark hair, wary eyes, and a rare smile. Ilar’s quiet self-assurance had fascinated him from the moment he met her. She was never boring. She’d have been a great empress.

But she was dead. Had been for more than a year. Grief reared its unwelcome head, but Quil was no stranger to it. He pushed it down deep, where his other secrets lived.

From one of the many drum towers that speckled the city, a series of booms thundered out. Quil translated easily.Fourth Legion, Second Infantry Patrol, report to South Cothon Barracks.The prince frowned.

“Isn’t the Fourth Legion supposed to be in Antium?”

“Maybe they’re bored of freezing their backsides off and came here for some sun.”

Zacharias. Get out of the square.

The prince jumped at the voice—as sharp as if someone had shouted in his ear. Sufiyan chattered on, oblivious.

“Skies knowIwouldn’t want to run patrols in that freezing hellscape—”

Quil clenched his scim, the long, narrow blade as much a part of him as his own arms. He’d long ago been taught that if he heard voices in his head, he should pay attention.

And there was something familiar about the voice. It sounded impatient—almost peevish.

“Suf…” Quil edged toward the square’s exit. “Let’s—”

A scream from the edge of the crowd. Then another.

Zacharias, you fool child. Get out of there!

“Stay here,” Quil ordered Sufiyan, before shoving through the crowd toward the screams. He was past the edge of the market before he finally saw what everyone was clustered around.

A boy. Around thirteen, in too-big clothing and tattered boots. He was unremarkable but for the hole in his chest, and the smoking ruin of his heart within it.

Quil reared back, his memory flashing to two other bodies he’d seen a year ago. Then to the report from this morning about the Masks.

Both soldiers were murdered in the same manner, their hearts burned as if with a hot poker.

The killer was here too. In this crowd.

If you won’t get yourself out of there, get Sufiyan out!

The voice snapped Quil from his shock. He found Sufiyan behind him and guided him toward his guards, who were shoving the crowd aside to get to their prince.

“What the hells is going on?” Suf tried to look over Quil’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“Someone’s injured!” a marketgoer cried out. “A boy. He was just a boy.”

Sufiyan’s brown skin went sickeningly pale. “A—a boy? How old? Quil, what—”

There was a time when Sufiyan would have been steady as an oak, observing the situation himself with a caustic remark at the ready. But like Quil, Sufiyan had changed in the last year. He hid his sorrow with jokes and smiles. Tried to forget his shattered nerves in the arms of lovers, in the sweat of scim training. Quil, however, had known Sufiyan Veturius since his birth. Something broke inside Sufiyan a year ago. Quil hated that he couldn’t fix it.

But he could make sure it didn’t get worse.

“My prince.” The guard captain reached Quil. “It’s not safe here for you.”

“Take Suf to the palace.” Quil lowered his voice and locked eyes with the guard, cutting off his protests. “Not a request.”

The guard captain sighed and signaled to the other Masks. In seconds they were gone.

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