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“Thank you.” I hold the square of fabric to my throbbing nose.

He stays on my level, watching as I mop the blood off my chin before it dries. I am painfully aware of his gaze, of how disgusting I must look, of the awkward silence that drowns out the riot around us.

“You’re the bread-stand girl.” There is a softness in his voice. “Amyrah.”

Mercifully, the bleeding stops, and I am spared having to answer through a bloody rag.

“I—” I crinkle my nose, which smarts, and avoid his eyes. How does he know my name? “I’m not sure what to think of that title.”

He laughs, and it’s a strange sound under the circumstances. Wrapping a hand around my elbow, he pulls me up with him. We shuffle over and take shelter in a small alcove between buildings. “Well, you don’t have to call me ‘market boy.’” Turning to me, he releases my arm and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m Belwyn Kovah. And I’m relieved to see you’re alright.”

The way he says it makes me think he means more than just from getting elbowed in the face. Maybe he witnessed me make a spectacle of myself in front of the Foremost. I sweep my hair out of my eyes and tuck it behind my ear. It springs free immediately. He keeps looking at me, and warmth creeps down my neck.

“What’s going on here?” I ask, partly to break his attention, partly to distract myself from how close he is.

The lightheartedness vanishes from his face. “Things are getting worse,” he says. I follow his gaze to the north end of the square.

“Worse?” I repeat, confused and annoyed that I’ve stayed away from Utsanek so long. All I can see is a moving mass of gray and black, with orange smudges flickering in and out of sight.

“Yeah,” Belwyn replies. His tone lowers, laced with emotion I can’t identify. “There’s been another attack.”

“Another?”What have I missed?

He nods but doesn’t elaborate.

I grab his forearm, and he turns to me in surprise.

“Tell me.”

Ignati light dances feebly across his features. His eyes slip to the necklace at my throat. I drop his arm and quickly cover the jewel with my hand.

Curiosity drags one of his eyebrows down, the other up. Before he can pursue my strangeness, I persist. “Tell me about the attacks. I don’t know anything.”

His mouth gapes. “How—”

I shake my head. “I don’t come to the city often.”

A thunderous shout from the horde interrupts us. The energy is escalating quickly, and the whole rabble pulses together, shifting closer to the person speaking, then pushing back out like a wave. Even in our tiny square of privacy, we could be crushed.

“We should go.”

Belwyn makes to grab me again, but I recoil from his reach and glare at him.

“Why would I do that?”

He regards me a moment, takes a hasty look at the mob, then leans in close and speaks so only I can hear. “Look, you want to know about the attacks, right? And I get the impression you have something to hide.”

I clamp my mouth shut. This boy is too perceptive.

A brawl breaks out nearby, and Belwyn makes the decision for me. He grabs my hand and drags me behind him. I scramble to keep my feet, unable to see anything but the heels of his boots kicking up in front of me. We duck out of reach of the flailing appendages and slip down a narrow alleyway. He doesn’t stop there but leads me down several twisting streets until the sound from the square reduces to background noise. Without my lantern in front of him, I don’t know how he can see where he’s going. I almost run into him when he stops. He glances around, opens a creaky door, and pulls me inside after him.

I yank my hand out of his. “Where are we?” I demand. It’s a low-ceilinged kitchen with a massive hearth glowing at the far end. An expansive sitting room filled with squashy chairs is visible through a cased opening.

“A friend’s.” He takes the lantern from me and sets it on a roughly hewn dining table. The scent of fresh herbs, which hang above it to dry, fills my senses.

I raise my eyebrows.

“Don’t worry,” he says in a dry tone, “she won’t mind.” He gestures to a stool at the table.