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“Funny how we can feed the poor and it’s called treason, while the Crown lets its people starve and it’s the king’s divine right.”

I didn’t answer.

“If we don’t fight, who will hold the king responsible?” he asked. I froze at the words, an echo of something I had said so long ago. A promise I tried so hard to forget.

I studied his face. His eyes were kind and round, dark like his hair and skin. He couldn’t be more than twenty. So young but already filled with such anger. It was unfair what this kingdom seemed to do to those with kind hearts. They were the first to die or the first to rot.

I took a deep breath and asked, “What is your name?”

“Rylan Porter,” he said with a self-assured air, as if he could sense what was coming.

“Rylan Porter,” I repeated, picking up the anchor with one hand and the rope twisted around his limbs in the other. “The king’s Blade extends you this mercy.” I threw him off the boat with the anchor, unsheathing a throwing knife from my belt. I struck his eye before the weight pulled him under.

At least I didn’t let him drown.

IDOCKED THE BOATat one of the richer ports and paid the dock manager enough coin to keep his mouth shut. I told him a contact would come to collect the crates. I knew someone who ran a refuge in Cereliath. A friend of Victoria’s. She would make sure the food got into the hands of those who needed it.

I skulked back through the city to the House of Harvest to spy on Curringham. I crept through the shadows and around the hungry who slept on the streets. The lord slept in later than normal and did not seem to care when a servant informed him that Rylan had not arrived that morning.

“Fetch another” was all he said.

By midday I was certain that Curringham knew nothing of the Fae or that his old assistant now lay at the bottom of the canal. When his new courtesan arrived at noon, I packed up my wineskins and headed back to the inn to sleep.

I slid down one of the stone pillars and jumped onto the wall dividing the gardens from the carriage entrance. Tall trees lined the stone, their thick branches the perfect place to hide as I scurried along the wall back toward the market.

When I reached the inn, I ordered a flagon of wine to my chambers and hot water for the bath. I sat in the tub until the candles burned low, staring at Rylan’s name. I carved the tiny scrawl along the crook of my elbow. Its red lines would fade along the swirl of flame. His name completed the design along my left arm.

Amber blood pooled on my skin, turning brown as it clotted on top of the cut. I dipped my arm into the cool water and watched as the blood dissipated into the basin.

I leaned my head back against the edge of the tub and stared at the ceiling. Goosebumps erupted across my skin as the cold water stirred. I would have gotten out and dressed, but Rylan’s words kept echoing in my skull. Crashing in my mind again and again, too hard and too loud for me to ignore.

Who will hold the king responsible?

His words sent me back thirty years as I traced the only name on my forearm. The one I couldn’t bear to say.

The memories washed over me like the rush of high tide. I was in my room at the Order. The tiny space was all I had to call my own in the decades I spent training on the island. Moonlight shone across the bed where I lay awake hours after the initiates were meant to be asleep.Shelay beside me. As she always did. Her blond hair tickled my face as we whispered about our distaste for the king. For the Crown.

I had asked her the same question.Who will hold the king responsible?

Her answer still haunted me all these years later.

We will.

“Would you like any wine, miss?” The barmaid’s cheery voice grated against my skull. I held up the cup of wine I had brought down from my chambers for her to refill. Her eyes widened for a moment before she poured the red liquid into my cup. She paused when the cup was halfway full. I glared at her. She left the flagon on the table, scurrying back to the kitchen to fetch me my food.

It was hours since my bath. How many I wasn’t sure, but the suns were still up, casting a golden light across the floor. My arms were stiff from the frigid water as I lifted the drink to my lips. My stomach growled as I gulped, eager for solid food, but the wine soothed the pulsing ache in my skull.

The barmaid returned with a plate of food, her face pink and her eyes hidden behind her long hair. She didn’t say anything as she placed a bowl of steaming soup in front of me. The scent of lush spices and hearty squash swirled through the air. The inn might be a tawdry establishment, the favored post of scoundrels and rogues, but the food was some of the best in the city. A small comfort to make up for the poorly stuffed mattresses it offered.

I slurped my soup from a wooden spoon and sampled the array of cheeses and meats she had brought. My stomach settled, the food was rich and heavy in my mouth. I couldn’t remember the last time I had sat down for a meal.

I slowed down and savored it while the fire in the hearth burned low. My replacement Shades would be here within the week, until then I would keep surveilling the House of Harvest to see if the mystery male from the Faeland returned for Rylan.

Not likely, I thought to myself.

The Dark Fae were ancient. Their eldest were over eight thousand years old. It didn’t matter who had been hidden beneath that cloak. It was a fool’s wish to hope they would return to the manor. Those who lived for millennia knew a bit of self-preservation. I’m sure they knew that the boy was dead, and that Rylan’s killer would be waiting for them to make a mistake.

Which meant I was at a dead end. Unless I could think of some way to entice them—but I had nothing to offer. Their contact was dead. And even if I hadn’t killed Rylan, his usefulness ran out the moment I spotted him talking with a male carrying an Elvish blade.