to the fruit vendor.
I hold out the pot. “No, no, I’m to deliver this to your mother. Can you take it to her for me?”
“Oh! Yes,” she says. I hand it to her and she puts it in her basket.
“Enjoy!” I say, already walking away. I pull my hood forward around my face and disappear into the crowd, trying to edge closer to the road. If I stand tiptoe, I can see Caledon in the back of the cart. He sits with his back straight, defiant. I follow his piercing gaze to the palace balcony, where his eyes are locked on the queen. No hint of emotion shows on his face. Hers is much too far away to make out, even if it wasn’t obscured by the drape of her veil, but I can tell she’s holding her usual perfect posture, hands clasped in front of her long white dress. Still as a statue.
I wonder if Caledon is afraid. I would be. Deersia is a dangerous, lonely place. Most who enter are never seen again, even before they make it to trial. Few men are willing to take jobs at the prison—it’s considered a punishment just to work there—so it’s become customary for royal officials to relocate their troublesome staff to the fortress. The threat of a stint boiling linens or flushing pans at Deersia is a useful deterrent. Parents are known to threaten their sons: “Behave, or it’s off to Deersia with you!”
Caledon’s situation is especially precarious. He is charged with murdering a royal. Those who loved Prince Alast will no doubt seek revenge, and there are likely to be a few of them working at the prison. And though Caledon is known only as a local blacksmith, there have to be some, especially at Deersia, who are aware of his true occupation. He’s sure to have enemies in Renovia’s underworld. They’d probably like nothing more than to be the assassin’s own executioner.
The guard notices Caledon looking up at the queen, so he yanks him to the floor of the cart by his chains. The crowd cheers at the spectacle. “Impertinent bastard,” the guard sneers. “Keep your eyes to your filthy feet.” Queen Lilianna disappears behind white curtains in a flurry of fabric. A maid shuts the balcony door after her and draws the drapes.
Seems she can’t even bear to observe what she’s done.
My head pounds with a sudden surge of anger. I don’t know how he can stand it. How can he keep from lashing back at the guard, at the people? I doubt I could be so stoic. Fury boils up in me just from watching it happen.
Caledon saved my life, without the slightest hesitation or consideration for his own well-being. For that, I am eternally in his debt. And he’s in desperate need of a friend right now.
Then, the spark of an idea comes to me. Maybe, if I help him, if I prove myself worthy, he’ll train me himself. I won’t even need to join the Guild if he can teach me what he knows. My mother and aunts will be angry, at least at first, but once they see how well I do and on my own, they’ll be proud.
The cart approaches. It’s about to be directly in front of me, and in that moment I decide.
I push through the crowd, elbowing people aside. One woman jabs me back and curses, but I just rush to the side of the cart and grab on to the wood slats. Caledon and I make eye contact, but he looks away quickly, probably thinking that I’m about to spit at him like the rest.
I have to think fast. I wish I had time for a note, but obviously that’s not an option. I reach into my bag and root around for something. A jar of salve won’t do—he’ll have nowhere to put it.
At the bottom of my bag I come upon crushed flowers wrapped inside a handkerchief. My mother gave it to me during her last visit a few years ago, when I turned fourteen, but it will have to do. I shake the dried flowers into the bag and thrust the handkerchief through the bars. “Take it.”
Caledon glances down at the handkerchief, then scoots back and opens his hands, which are tied behind his back. His fingers close around the fabric before he slides it up his sleeve. “You’re not alone,” I add impulsively, letting go of the bars just as the guard looks in my