messages for my mistress. Justice Méndez trusted me. I’m no rebel or leader, but I do what I can.”
The truth at last. We’ve danced around it enough times. I’m relieved that through all the confusion of the Gray, my memories, the politics of the palace, my instincts were correct: He was never one of them.
“I’m sorry about what happened to your husband,” Sayida says in her gentle way.
“We won’t get far once they notice we’re gone,” I say.
“You will if every guard is busy chasing after the other escaped prisoners.” Leo holds out a hand for the master key. The skin-on-skin sensation startles me for a moment when I hand it over, but he doesn’t even flinch.
You don’t deserve his trust, a voice whispers at me from the bleeding Gray.
“Do you know where the weapon was moved to?” Margo asks in that demanding way of hers.
“No, but maybe Méndez’s memories will help.” He looks at me questioningly.
I shake my head. There are so many. It would be too hard to sort through them. “No need. I know where to go. It was Lady Nuria who told me.”
Lady Nuria who gifted me this dress and told me a story she’d be jailed—maybe executed—for uttering out loud. The traitorous girl from Tresoros, daughter of queens. I bunch up my ruined dress stitched with platinum. I think of her warning to me during the queen’s garden party. How she could try to help us and love Castian so much, I still don’t understand.
“And we can trust her?” Esteban asks, his voice hoarse, like he’s spent hours screaming.
“Yes. Lady Nuria is”—Margo nods sharply in understanding before I need to go on—“a friend.”
Leo glances between us all and clears his throat. His features are grave, pleading almost. “Your secrecy is most important to my lady. It is the only way we can keep helping others.”
We turn to Margo, who extends her hand to Leo. For a moment, my worlds feel settled, bridged together.
“Which reminds me.” He reaches into his jacket and brings out a velvet pouch. “She can’t leave the palace without raising suspicions. But here is a parting gift.”
“Thank you, Leo. Thank her for me.”
“Lady Renata,” he says, and pulls me into an embrace. I breathe in his warmth, his laughter. He brought me back to life in a way I never expected anyone to. I owe him a debt and I promise to repay it. “I hope our paths cross again.”
“I have faith they will.”
“Thank you, Leo,” Sayida says, hugging him, even with her injured arms.
“May the Lady shine bright on your path,” Esteban says, and Margo shakes Leo’s hand.
My feet won’t budge because I am not ready to say goodbye to him.
“What will you do with Méndez?” I ask, buying time.
“I’ll bring him back to his chambers. Someone will find him there. It should give you a head start.”
As we leave the palace walls, I turn around just as he’s about to lock the door.
“You’re wrong, you know.”
“It was bound to happen,” he says, “but whatever about?”
“From where I’m standing, you look like a rebel to me.”
Chapter 27
The fish market is rank with dried guts, and scales glisten on the street like winking mica in a mine. The merchants and mongers are just rising, brushing wooden tables down with lye water.
Cool dry air fills my lungs as we keep to the shadows. The day after the festival has left the streets of the capital reeking of wine, piss, and vomit.
At least we are not alone in our bedraggled states—late-night revelers leave cantinas and brothels that have not stopped the celebrations. The cathedral and palace are looming shadows over us all.
“We have to move quickly,” Sayida says.
I shake my head. “Not on foot. We won’t make it.”
“What do you propose?” Margo asks, her head turned toward a rowdy street. Her fingers trace the hilt of her knife.
“Stay here,” I tell them, and break into a run out of the market and in the direction of the very place we want to get away from.
With the guards in different levels of disarray, this is the best moment we have. The courtyards at both entrances are filled with coaches and wagons, all left unattended. As a Whisper, I’ve learned bits of all trades, but the one I’ve always loved has been spending time with horses.
Or stealing them, rather. I spot two restless stallions with shimmering brown coats attached to a closed carriage. It’s modest enough, most likely belonging to a wealthy merchant or lord. When