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I faltered, momentarily distracted from even the mouthwatering designs displayed before me. From what I could see in the smooth glass, the stranger did not have a particular reason to stop there – no shop windows to study, no other passers-by about to run into him. Only after a heartbeat or two did he start rummaging around in his pockets, as if he had belatedly realised he was supposed to have an excuse to be standing still.

Odd. Odd enough to call for further investigation, really.

With a sting of regret, I turned away from the dresses and tentatively sauntered on to the next shop. So did the figure on the other side of the street, having suddenly found whatever he’d been looking for in the pockets of his patched-up jacket.

I paused again. So did he.

Fuck.

That settled it, then – so much for anonymity. Was this a guardsman, following me on the consulate’s orders? But he was so bloody clumsy I’d noticed him within five minutes, and what I had seen from Delwin so far did not suggest he’d set such a poorly trained individual on my tail if he did not want me to know he was keeping an eye on me.

So what were the alternatives? Nervous civilians? Supporters of Halbert, hoping to catch me in the act of … well, anything forbidden?

I ambled on, mind whirring, making sure to look as innocent as possible. Was it really aproblemif someone was following me? I wasn’t planning to commit any crimes. If watching me wasthe worst they would do, that was annoying but not necessarily dangerous. The question remained, though …

Wasit the worst they would do?

Something about the glimpses of a broad-necked, scruffy-bearded man following me down a luxury shopping street did not inspire great optimism about his motives.

Which meant I needed a way to get rid of him. I kept my pace deliberately leisurely as I strolled down the street, around the corner, and around another corner, my shadow never more than forty feet behind me; hard as it was, I took care not to glance over my shoulder or acknowledge his presence. I would likely get only a single chance to shake him off. As soon as he realised I was aware of him, he’d be twice as alert.

Finally, three blocks away, I found the opportunity I’d been looking for – a small, not too formal-looking restaurant, not yet open to guests but with staff already moving inside. The door stood ajar. Good enough for the half-plan taking shape in my thoughts; I wouldn’t get any closer to a full strategy anyway, in this unfamiliar territory.

I swivelled off-course at the very last moment. The reflection in the polished wooden door told me my pursuer was knocked off-balance for a moment, staggering to a halt as I nudged open the door and slipped into a white-and-green dining room smelling of fried garlic and fresh bread.

‘Miss?’ a middle-aged server called from the other side of the room, a tray of clean glasses in her hands. A woman. Good. ‘I’m sorry, we’re not open yet. If you’d like to make a reservation …’

‘Oh, no, no,’ I hurriedly said, tiptoeing awkwardly towards her. ‘No, I was wondering— I’m so sorry, this is very embarrassing— Do you perhaps have a bathroom I could quickly use? It’s, er, a bit of anemergency, if you …’

‘Oh, dear,’ she interrupted, deducing the nature of the emergency with the swift feminine intuition I had hoped for. Herglance at the tiles around my feet didn’t escape me – as if I’d be bleeding all over her freshly mopped floor. ‘Yes, of course. Back of the room and up the stairs; there’s a sign on the door.’

I thanked her profusely and hurried off, risking one glance out the window in passing. The bearded man had acquired an equally broad-shouldered companion in the meantime. Judging by their glares at the door through which I’d just entered, they were impatiently waiting for me to come out again.

A shame I had no intention of doing any such thing in the foreseeable future.

Up the stairs I climbed, scanning the dark but tidy attic hall with a rattling heart. There was the door with the bathroom sign – clearly visible, and not what I needed. It would be the first place they would look. The broom closet was far too obvious an option, too, and a quick investigation told me the other doors were locked. I could use magic to open them, of course, but the bastards might notice, and wasn’t that exactly what my opponents would be hoping for?

Which left about one option.

Humans never look up, Creon had once signed during a long day of magic training, discussing the tricks and pitfalls of fighting fae.It’s the wings, I suppose. They never seem to realise the danger could be coming from above.

‘You’d better be right,’ I mumbled at him, clambering onto the banisters to reach for the sturdy roof beams. ‘I’m really not in the mood to murder anyone.’

I could have sworn he was laughing somewhere, somehow.

Hauling myself onto the beams was not an elegant affair: they were dry and dusty, and my legs insisted on flailing in all possible directions as I moaned and groaned my way up onto the wood. At least the damn things were broad enough to hide most of me if I took care to tuck my skirt beneath my legs. I rested myhead on the beam and closed my eyes, waiting – ear pricked for any sound coming from downstairs.

They did not make me wait long.

Five minutes, perhaps. Then the shocked shrieks of the middle-aged server rose from below, telling me exactly what was happening. The conversation came through muffled, only shreds distinguishable.

… consuls themselves … most irregular … will have no part in …

The footsteps thundering up the stairs left no doubt on the outcome of the discussion, though.

I held my breath as one of them yanked open the bathroom door and bit out a string of heartfelt curses. Another door flew open. Rummaging sounds, brooms falling over each other, and then a hissing voice – ‘She’sgone!’

‘Yes, I can see that,’ the other man bit out in that same hushed tone. ‘The question is where the hell she’s vanished to – has she flown out through the fucking walls?’