Page 3 of The Threadbare Queen

Because it wasn’t their city any more.

That was the root cause of all these confrontations.

She may be the former queen’s niece, but she wasn’t Kassian. As the stall holder had said, no one had even heard of her until a few short weeks ago.

It meant confusion and distrust reigned.

Ava drew out a small piece of fabric, pulled the threaded needle woven into her sleeve out, and began to embroider the fine cotton.

She tried to keep the sense of urgency out of her fingers, but it was hard to do when she saw the two Cervantes soldiers step forward in a way that said they were going to make the Kassian apologize.

“Wait.” Catja spoke up from her position beside them. “He isn’t worth any trouble.”

The Cervantes both turned to look at her, and the crowd pressed a little closer.

The delay gave Ava time to finish her rough design.

She shouldered her way through the tightening line of spectators and stepped into the open circle.

She was confident enough in her magic that she believed she wouldn’t be noticed on a busy street, but in a small space with hundreds of eyes on her . . . she worried. But as she moved toward the Kassian, no one shouted out, no one commented on her presence at all.

Except . . .

She thought she saw a man turn toward her, eyes narrowed as if trying to work out what he was seeing, but she had no time to keep an eye on him.

Things were about to get violent.

She stepped close to the Kassian, smelled the puff of stale ale and body odor coming off him, and forced herself to lean in.

“Here,” she said, pressing the scrap of fabric into his hand.

“What?” He looked down at it, then gave a sudden heave of his chest. He looked around, wild-eyed, for an escape. “Need to—”

A few of the people around him seemed to understand what he needed to do. They began scrambling back, out of his way, and he pushed wildly through the narrow path that opened up to him, lunging for the wall of the closest building and bracing against it as he vomited.

Most of the spectators seemed to realize the show was over, and began to drift away.

Ava stepped closer to the Cervantes and Catja.

“You shouldn’t back down over something like that,” the Cervantes woman was saying to Catja. “It breeds disrespect if it’s allowed to go unchallenged.”

“We’ve been told to deescalate.” Catja didn’t disagree, though.

“There was no deescalating that one.” The big Cervantes man spoke for the first time. “He was going out of his way to provoke.”

Ava didn’t doubt it.

She was about to step away, to continue her walk, when she felt a familiar frisson against her skin as her cloak told her of the approach of someone with power.

Some of it given by her.

Sewn into his very skin.

“Commander.” The Cervantes woman’s voice was clipped and respectful.

Ava turned to face the commander of the Rising Wave without surprise.

She was developing more and more awareness of Luc, the longer they were together.

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