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Valdus’s answer is no louder than a breath in my ear. “We pray they won’t notice it and leave before we inevitably screw things up.”

I lean into him, and he wraps his hands around me, offering me as much comfort as seeking some for himself.

Minutes stretch into an eternity. My body—having spent the last two weeks with almost no activity—protests with strain I’ve put it through, but I don’t even dare to shift my weight from one foot to another.

“We must have lost them a few streets back,” says one of the guards as his fingers tug on the metal panel with no success.

I close my eyes and grip Valdus’s hands a little tighter. His heart thumps chaotically against my back, and I know he’s as worried as I am that the metal will give. A prayer to Livith echoes in my mind in an endless loop as the guards keep searching for us.

It takes another ten minutes for the guards to abandon the alley. I know because I’ve counted each second in my head. Another five before we finally dare to move.

Valdus puts his hand on the metal again, and it unfurls from the wall much slower than it did last time. I stumble out of the crumbling house and find my backpack hidden in the shadows of abandoned crates piled high. With my swords packed inside, we creep back toward the crowded streets.

The last time I crossed these streets, Rev had escorted me to the train station in a tight circle of his and Siro’s squad. This time I walk next to The King of Rebels with our heads down in fear someone might recognize us in the masses.

The air is unbearably hot, making me uncomfortably warm as we make countless detours. We’ve lost the guards, but Valdus is as nervous as I am that someone else is watching us.

I can feel a tremor settling in my legs, not sure how much longer I’ll be able to keep the fast pace before I fall down. I’m ready to tell that to Valdus when he stops.

A range of old sagging houses stands on the edge of The Slums. On the other side of the street, a bridge hovers over a deep trench overflowing with sand. Guards cluster at each entrance, and behind them, The Eternal Enclave rises with its golden domes and twisting columns of blue and red bricks.

The bridge is nothing but another border not everyone can cross. With a smelly shirt on my back and my skin coated in dust, the guards armed to their teeth would never let me on the other side, where a throng of women leave the temple with their kaftans twinkling under the bright sun.

Before we can draw any attention, Valdus pulls me toward a house with an old door painted blue. The paint has faded and chipped, revealing another layer of stark yellow. It’s Numair who welcomes us into the small entry with a staircase of uneven stones sitting on the right and a cramped kitchen dusty-green tiled walls on our left.

“What is this place?”

“One of many houses the rebellion possesses.”

I turn around to find a girl dusting sand from her scarf. She looks me up and down with narrowed eyes that remind me of Numair, but when her soft features split into a warm smile, it’s Inara I’m thinking about. “The Rebel Princess in my home. I can’t say I’m surprised, but I’m still honored.”

“Elin,” Numair groans, taking a heavy bag from the girl.

“You have the right to call her that, but I don’t?”

Numair sighs. “Were you always this irritating?”

Elin only gapes at him, and it’s Valdus who interrupts the bickering.

“Neylan, this is Elin, Numair’s sister.”

“And your cousin,” Elin says, and rolls her eyes. “He always seems to forget that he’s part of the family.”

Valdus doesn’t take the jab the way Numair would have and only helps me take the backpack off my shoulders.

Elin sighs. “You and your secrets. It’ll bring you trouble one day.”

I chuckle when Valdus pinches the bridge of his nose, and Numair clicks his tongue. Elin seems to be eager to annoy them even more than I do. She proves me right when, even before dinner, she pushes them to exasperation, but after two weeks of cabbage patties and dried fruit, every conversation ceases at the smell of soup wafting from the kitchen. The clanking of spoons on the metal bowls is the only sound as we huddle around the small table and enjoy our meals.

When the night births shadows in the corners of the house that not even the candlelight can chase, we drift to our rooms.

I spend a better part of the next hour in an old bathtub with a sponge and a chunk of soap for company. It’s only when I’ve scrubbed the horrid smell of the train from my skin, and put fresh clothes on my back, that I feel alive again.

A knock on the door makes me turn on my heels before I can sink into the bed that looked so appealing. Valdus stands on the other side with two cups of steaming tea in his hands. I let him in without a word, and we settle on the bed, our shoulders brushing with each breath we take.

“We’re going in tomorrow at nightfall.”

A tingle of confusion creases my brow. “You said we’d spend a week in the city.”