Despite the urgency that clawed at her heart every time she heard a dog wail, the assassin moved slowly between the shabby buildings at the city’s edge.
“We have few choices,” he said after a time. “We have to leave Kentoria.”
Thea could have sputtered. In another time, her family had been well off enough to travel. Her father had been a noble, part of the merchant class, a man who traveled widely and forged connections along most of the eastern sea. But those connections had been lost with him. Beyond Kentoria’s borders, she had nothing.
“I don’t hear you making any suggestions otherwise,” he continued when she did not reply. Had they not been in such a dire situation, she might have sworn he sounded playful.
“I have nowhere to go.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“Family beyond the kingdom’s borders?”
Thea shook her head.
He stared at her, his storm-gray eyes unreadable. Eventually, he glanced away. “Kentorian, born and bred. Few like you outside the upper castes.”
The comment dug under her skin. She followed him to the shadowy side of the next building before she spoke again, her voice a harsh whisper. “What makes you think I’m not upper caste?”
“You’re a working woman in a peasant’s dress. There are chalk stains on your skirt and a piece of string in your hair.”
Thea fought back a gasp, but she couldn’t stop her hand from snapping up to her auburn locks. Searching for it with her fingertips was futile, but she still probed her loose curls, just in case. “What shame is there in working to support myself?”
“None.” He peered around the corner, then gave her an earnest look. “It just means you aren’t upper caste.”
Not anymore, at least. That lifestyle had perished with her brother. She bit the insides of her cheeks and made herself exhale. How many times would Ashvin’s execution plague her today? For as long as she was in peril, she supposed.
Instead of moving on, the assassin lingered at the corner of the building, his brows knit with frustration. Thea tried to follow his line of sight, but she saw nothing to warrant such concern. Whatever it was that vexed him, it existed only in his thoughts.
She cleared her throat. “Say we were to leave Kentoria,” she ventured. “Where would we go?”
“Why? Have you suddenly thought of some wealthy distant relation you’d like to drop in on?” The question earned her a grim look, but the sarcastic note had returned to his voice. He was proving to have far more personality than she supposed an assassin ought, but she paused to consider that she’d never encountered any before. At least, not outside of fiction. The sudden thought of her bookshelves at home put a new sort of grief in her heart. Books were expensive. How would she ever replace that collection?
“It’s more that we can’t travel without supplies,” Thea said. To her frustration, he moved as she spoke. She picked up her skirt and hurried after him. “We’re a good twenty miles from somewhere we might be able to shop.”
“Shopping should be the least of your concerns.” Instead of leaving the city, he skirted its edge through the same alleyways they’d only just escaped. Or, perhaps these were different alleys. They all looked the same to her.
“We could return to my shop,” she suggested. Maybe then she could save a favorite book or two.
“That is the absolute worst place we could visit, barring a trip back to the palace itself.”
“Then where are we going?” They’d already ventured some way through the alleys, with their disorienting twists and turns. “Shouldn’t we be headed the other direction?”
He sighed. “We are deliberately leaving a difficult trail. We’ve gone all the way to the water’s edge. It might gain us time. Leaving from that side of the city would mean circling the lake, and that’s far too exposed. We’ll go by way of the groves.”
“With all the workers there?”
“It’s a better suggestion than your shop.” He snorted softly. “What sort of plan was that? Do you mean to barricade the door while you sew up some disguises?”
She could. Disguises she made with her own two hands would be unparalleled, but that sort of magic was forbidden, and for good reason. The thought was there, but fleeting. The time it would take eliminated the possibility.
She hesitated too long.
He paused and turned to face her, his expression both thoughtful and wary. “You are a dressmaker?”
Thea opened her mouth to confirm or deflect, but no sound came out. He was observant. The chalk, the loose thread stuck in her hair. Had he pieced it together from that alone?
He took a step closer and reached for her. She flinched, expecting to be struck. Instead, he pulled the long blue thread from her hair and twisted it between his fingers. He studied it, then clasped it in the palm of his hand. “No,” he said slowly. “A Threadmancer.”
Her pulse quickened and she moved backwards out of reflex. How did he know? The power she stitched into clothing was undetectable, save by other Threadmancers or the most skilled of artificers. Surely he felt nothing from a single strand of leftover thread.
“You are,” he continued, a new gleam in his eyes. “You could sew disguises like no other.”
“I’m just a seamstress,” she lied, though with the way her heart hammered its way up to her throat, she knew it was too late.
“Can you sew in illusions?”
Offense twisted her face. “I am a law-abiding person.”
“You aren’t abiding by the law right now.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” she protested.
He moved closer. “You’re running from the guard.”
“Because I have no choice. You’ve essentially kidnapped me.”
“Essentially.” A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “And now, you’ll make what we need so we can escape the kingdom.”
Now she felt faint. “Sewing illusions is a criminal offense punishable by death.” Virtually every kingdom had outlawed it, a choice with which she happened to agree. An assassin with illusory garments could be an unstoppable force.
“But you know how to do it.”
Every Threadmancer did. And every Threadmancer knew when to bend the rules. To stitch just enough magic into a bride’s gown to ensure her natural beauty was unrivaled at her wedding. To alter a wealthy old nobleman’s coat in just such a way that it slimmed him like no other garments did. But those were trade secrets, nothing a Threadmancer who valued their head might admit.
Just when she thought she had no way out of an explanation, a dog’s howl erupted at the far end of the alleyway.
The assassin cursed and grabbed her arm. His other hand went for his bag.
Her stomach lurched when she realized what he sought. “Don’t!”
He graced her with a glower before he slid the mask over his face, its surface smeared with blood. “If I’m seen well enough that my face makes it onto a poster, it’ll be that much harder to escape. Move.”
The thought of her own countenance posted on boards for wanted criminals made her sick. “But—”
“Move!” he snarled through clenched teeth. He grasped her elbow and twirled her in a new direction as the sound of the dogs grew louder.
There was hardly room to run, but he still flowed through the alleys, dragging her along behind him. Thea stumbled more than once, but he never let her fall. They darted across busy streets and behind familiar buildings, winding farther from the shopping district she’d called home since her brother’s death.
“Keep going,” he whispered. “Show me where.”
Taking him home was the last thing she wanted to do now, but when she stalled at the side of a busy avenue, something pressed against her back.
She stiffened, envisioning the same knife he’d used to kill the king.
This time, when he spoke, he leaned close beside her ear. The iron scent of death clung to his mask. “Don’t make me ask again.”
Thea turned. Instead of crossing the road, she led him back a few paces and turned into another alleyway. The angle of the sun overhead told her where they needed to go. “We have to go back into the city. My shop is in the heart of the market district.”
He made an unhappy noise, but let her take the lead.
Heading back into the city was the most dangerous thing she could imagine, aside from refusing to aid him further. His proximity to her back made it clear hesitance would be punished. She did not dare try his patience.
By some miracle, they circumvented the dogs, though she had no doubt they would not be far behind. Even she could smell the blood that stained his mask. Her stomach turned over at the thought and she put it firmly out of mind as she opened a tiny gate off an alley. It led into a small garden, a space linked across the backs of a handful of shops. Silently, she prayed the space would be empty.
She swallowed hard and stared straight ahead, holding her breath as if it might make a difference in whether or not they were seen.
The back door to her modest shop was just ahead, and the hounds and their baying were far behind once more.
“They’ll pick up our trail fast,” the assassin murmured as she retrieved her key from her pocket and unlocked the door. “We’ve been seen crossing streets. We’ll get what you need and then we must move.”
She didn’t appreciate the sentiment. “Of course.” Once again, the idea she could surrender instead of prolonging the inevitable crept through her mind as she pulled open the door and slipped into the tiny kitchen. It was idiotic at best. If she surrendered, she would surely be executed.
And if she wronged the assassin behind her, she’d die by his hand. If she cooperated and fled, she might still die trying to flee the country, but there was a tiny, glimmering possibility she could make it beyond Kentoria’s border and start over.
He slid into the kitchen behind her and wasted no time in barricading the door.
Thea watched as he moved the chairs and small table. The way he stacked them made it impossible the door would even budge. “Is that really necessary?” If anything, it would slow down their escape.
“No questions. Get what you need to work your magic.” He looked toward the front room, as if contemplating barricading that door, too.
She hurried to the front before he made up his mind.
The room was dim, but she knew the placement of everything she needed by heart. She pulled a basket from underneath the counter and opened a drawer to retrieve her best shears and a packet of good needles. A box of thread went in next, then pins and her best measuring tape, alongside a jar of buttons and toggles she’d surely need.
Last of all, she stood before the racks of fabric that lined one wall. Her collection of fabrics had become a source of pride, each one selected for quality, texture, and color. The notion of leaving them behind struck her even harder than the thought of losing her books. Which she still needed to pack, assuming he gave her enough time.
“I need to go upstairs,” she said after she folded her last fabric selection into the basket. She hadn’t seen him appear in the doorway, but his looming presence was unmistakable. He was silent, stealthy, as an assassin should be, but she still felt his eyes on her back. That he was being threatening on purpose was the only thing that made sense.
“Be swift. We have little time.”
She was tempted to grumble. It was easy for him to say; he didn’t need to decide with only a few minutes’ notice which parts of his life were important enough to pack and take with him. Thea suspected she could get away with taking a single bag, and that was assuming she could convince the assassin to carry her sewing basket part of the time.
And why shouldn’t he? She hurried up the stairs and stifled the urge to snort. He was the one who wanted her to sew disguises. He should bear at least part of the burden.
The absurdity of it all hit her hard the moment she reached the top of the steps. By now, she was wanted for a crime she didn’t commit, unable to clear her name and guaranteed to be wrongfully executed by a merciless crown. And here she was, standing at the top of her stairs, worrying about books and which pair of shoes would be best suited to running while she fled her homeland alongside a murderer.
She didn’t even know his name.
Thea shook her head as if it might clear her madness, then stuffed her two favorite books into a satchel she’d made herself. It was shabby, one of her first sewing projects, but she was fond of it. Then she changed into a clean dress, just in case her skirt had picked up blood from the guards. Or the king’s head, as her companion toted it around. She fought back a shudder as she put on her most comfortable boots, crammed extra undergarments into her bag, and returned to the stairs.
The assassin waited at the bottom, already holding her sewing basket, his mask in one hand. “Is that everything?” The question was low, urgent, yet not as sharp as she expected.
“Chalk.” She snapped her fingers. “I forgot my chalk.”
Before she could descend the stairs, he turned to retrieve it for her. Her drawers were always tidy, so it wasn’t hard to find.
He slipped it into the basket. “Now, we must—”
A knock at the door cut him short. “Thea?” a soft voice called from outside. “Are you in? I’ve brought either a consolatory cake or something to go with celebratory tea, depending on how your audience went.”
Forget the assassin’s knives, Thea thought. The look he sent her was enough to kill on its own. “My cousin,” she whispered.
He drew breath to either tell her to sneak away or pretend she wasn’t home, or perhaps curse at her or threaten her in some way, but a jingle and clatter announced that the door would soon be unlocked.
Thea grimaced. “She has a key.” It had never been a problem before. Elia helped her around the shop from time to time and was the only member of Thea’s family who still seemed to care for her. Why wouldn’t she have her own key?
His murderous glare darkened, but he dipped backwards into the kitchen and out of sight.
Thea hurried to greet Elia at the door.
“Oh!” her cousin exclaimed. “You are in. Oh, is that a good thing? Or bad? That means your audience was rather short.”
“The king was unable to see me,” Thea blurted. It wasn’t a lie, but her cheeks still colored.
To her good fortune, her cousin mistook it for anger. “After all this time? By the Light, he really is the worst of the Rothalan kings, isn’t he?”
Thea reddened even more. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, you don’t have to. I’ll make us some sulking tea.” Elia tried to step inside, but Thea crowded her back out the door.
“I don’t want company, either! I just want to be alone. This day has been terrible for me, Elia. You can’t even imagine.” Thea’s voice cracked and tears threatened her eyes, but she refused to cry over how fast everything had gone wrong.
Her sweet cousin’s face crumpled with dismay. “Oh, Thea. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to… I forgot. The last time you went to the palace was…” She trailed off and gave a resolute nod. “I understand. I know it’s hard, but we’ll work through it tomorrow, after you’ve had some time. Here.”
Thea hardly caught the paper-wrapped cake Elia shoved into her hands. She fumbled it close against her stomach while her cousin seized her face and kissed her soundly on both cheeks.
“You eat this and I’ll stop by to see you tomorrow, all right?” Elia said.
“Yes,” was all Thea got out.
“Bless you, you poor thing. Don’t worry about it at all. We’ll sort it out. You know, I’m going to go right over and tell my father about this. He’ll know what to do, and we’ll get you in to see the king in no time. And next time, I won’t let you go alone.”
“Thank you,” Thea managed.
Elia patted her cheeks and picked up her skirts to tromp down the street, toward where her father would be drinking the afternoon away in a private parlor, likely with all the rest of the city’s politicians. Had they heard by now? Thea didn’t want to stay long enough to find out.
She slammed the door and locked it tight.
“Within minutes, she’ll know what’s happened in the palace,” the assassin’s deep voice offered from the shadows.
Thea exhaled hard. “Then we’d better go before she gets back. Out the back door?”
“Better than being seen going out the front.” His eyes fell to the wrapped parcel in her hands and one of his brows drew upward.
She shoved it into her satchel and hurried to join him without a word.
“The city will be thick with guards. This is our one chance to escape. Once we’re past the maple groves, we’ll be able to slow down, but we cannot afford any missteps.” He removed the barricade from the back door as swiftly as he’d put it up.
Thea gripped the strap of her bag. “What’s your name?”
He fumbled a chair, but caught it before it hit the ground. Of all the questions she might have asked, he hadn’t expected that one.“What?”
“Your name,” she repeated. “What am I to call you?” Or call for help, when the guards inevitably seized her? She grimaced. What a foolish notion. As if he would ever turn around to help her.
His mouth worked a moment before he answered. “Gil.”
A name far too ugly for a face as handsome as his. An alias made sense, but she felt a tingle of curiosity over why he’d chosen that.
“Very well, Gil,” she said, as breezily as she dared. The last of the barricade came away. As she held open the door, she had the fleeting thought that her sewing basket on his arm made it look as if they were departing for a picnic.
Just the three of us, she thought with a wry smile.
Her, her peculiar savior, and the dead king’s severed head.
