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“The meeting place I promised. A representative will be there tonight when the moons set.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“This is the only chance we have. If we don’t show for the meeting tonight, we lose their trust and we won’t be given another chance.”

“Good,” Flor said, picking up the paper, throwing it in the small fire burning beside them. Sofia didn’t flinch.

“I already memorized it.”

“They’re trouble. We don’t know if this boy you’ve been talking to is even a part of the real resistance. For all you know, this is a trap set up by the king.”

“He knows dragon-tongue and the old prayers!”

“And where did you learn those?” she asked pointedly.

“We’ll be careful. They didn’t say we had to come unarmed, and we can stake the area out beforehand. We know the roofs of this town better than anyone.”

“I am not putting our lives in danger for a chance to join some cult! Did you hear about the bombings over the last few blinks? They’ve killed hundreds.”

“Of soldiers!”

“And civilians.”

“I’m going, with or without you. I’m sick of watching the city fall to ruin while the king and his son hide behind their gilded walls.”

“And I’m not going to let you go on a suicide mission,” Flor snapped.

“Perfect!” Sofia’s smile was wide. “It’s settled. We’ll leave when the first moon hits the horizon.”

* * *

Sofia might have beenoverconfident when she suggested they stake out the meeting place first. As soon as they were a block away, she spotted a shadow on the roof watching them, his tall, lithe silhouette unmistakable. She averted her gaze quickly, but not before Flor noticed. Her face twisted into a scowl and Sofia practically felt her muscles go rigid beside her.

“I am going to kill you if they don’t,” she muttered.

“I trust him.”

It had been almost the blinks since the first time Sofia had made contact with the boy—Pelo—and started the process of convincing him to set a meeting between them and the resistance. The rebels had done more for the Dragonborn over the past few cycles than the king ever had. They’d been sneaking food into the city and passing out supplies to those who needed it most, even when the rains were rare and the Dereyans had turned a blind eye to the impact of the drought. Still, she understood Flor’s hesitation. Trust wasn’t something built easily on the street. It had taken blinks for Flor and Sofia to trust each other enough to sleep in front of the other, but Sofia had had time to study Pelo with his open face, crooked smile, and always messy hair. She knew how to read people, and she did trust him. At least enough for this.

When they made it to the alleyway, Pelo jumped down, the shadows obscuring everything but his eyes.

“This is Flor?”

In the same moment Sofia nodded, Flor let out a harsh, “No.”

“Well, if you aren’t Flor,” a voice from behind them said, “we’ll just need to slice your throat and throw your body over the wall. I don’t meet with unexpected strangers.”

“Jag,” Pelo said. The word was a rebuke, but given the look on the much older man’s face as he stepped forward, Pelo had no authority to do so. The younger boy looked down, admonished by the silent glare.

“This is Flor,” Sofia said, firmly. “She’s a little paranoid. I think you can relate.”

The man looked them up and down.

They hadn’t come overly armed, but they both had daggers tucked beneath the waistband of their pants, which thanks to their recent influx of stolen coin, were freshly sharpened and cleaned.

With the reflexes of a snake, the man moved, catching Sofia’s wrist and pulling it forward to stare at the scar set into her skin—the crooked and red “T”.

“What did you do to earn this?” His voice was gravelly and she felt it in her chest as he spoke.