He squeezed my arm gently as we walked out the castle gates.
“What’s wrong?”
I sighed. “It’s just… You’re working so hard.”
Tibris gave me an incredulous look. “Pris, I’m working with people like us. People who came from villages to work in the castle. People who’d never imagined how much magic there was here. People who think the gods favor the king’s court and we villagers suffer because we’re simply not worthy.”
I threw up my hands as we rounded a corner. Above us, a woman hung clothes to dry on her balcony while a drunk lay below her in the alley. We were getting closer to the slums.
“You’re making my point.”
Tibris shook his head. “You deal with people who believe—down to their bones—that the gods find them worthier than us. The people who mock us villagers. The people who would stab one another in the back just to get closer to the king. So don’t feel sorry for me, Pris. I’d take a hundred more days of stacking wine bottles cheerfully if it meant I could avoid dealing with the courtiers.”
We both kept our heads down as we walked past a group of guards stationed on the street. According to Vicer, the city guards rotated through various locations each day. But the worst were the random searches. I glanced over at the man who had his arms out while the guards mocked him, searching for anything that could give them an excuse to lock him up.
My body went hot, and I itched to freeze all of the guards and teach them a lesson. “I hate this place.”
Tibris sighed. “I know.”
Even more access to magic couldn’t dull the fact that life in the city was even worse than life in the villages for many people here. I understood now–why Rythos had told me there were those in this city using fae fire right under the king’s nose. It was a small way to rebel, but a rebellion just the same. Sometimes, you had to take your victories where you could find them.
Then I was stumbling as Tibris shoved me into an alley. I opened my mouth, and he held his finger to his lips.
I went still. “What is it?” I mouthed.
He turned his head, and I watched as a group of merchants walked by, likely heading toward the market. Behind them, Madinia followed, a scowl on her face as she squinted into the distance.
Why had she been following us?
After a few moments, we crept out of the alley.
“We have to move quickly in case she circles back around,” Tibris said, his expression hard. We trotted down the street and took the next left. Ahead of us, Madinia continued to walk, clearly scanning the street for us. Was she just curious? Did she want to find something to pass on to the queen? Or had I said something to make her suspicious?
Tibris knocked, and Vicer immediately opened the door, obviously expecting us. He waved us inside, and we followed him into the kitchen. Unfortunately, Margie was nowhere to be seen. Vicer leaned against the wall, hands on his hips.
His expression was serious, his eyes solemn. So different from the village boy I’d once known.
“How’s Asinia?”
I smiled. “She’s doing better.”
Tibris’s mouth twisted. “With a little help from Prisca’s mercenary friend. But she's still not healthy enough to travel.”
Vicer crossed his arms at the mercenary friend part. “Explain.”
I chafed at the order. Telling Vicer everything I knew about Lorian would only make him more curious. And if Lorian found out, there was no way he would help me.
“I traveled with him. He needed my powers at the city gates, so he kept me alive and then we went our separate ways. I don’t know why he’s at the castle.”
Vicer opened his mouth, but I’d already moved on.
“The man responsible for the carriages,” I said. “Rothnic Boria. Is there any chance he could be bribed?”
Vicer shook his head. “He is one of the king’s most ardent supporters. His magic has made him one of the richest men in the kingdom. He could live anywhere, and yet he stays at court.”
“How do the carriages work?”
“All of the horseless carriages are on loan from the king. While noble families are given permission to borrow them, each month they must be returned to the king and the magic renewed. It’s seen as a status symbol to be allowed to borrow them. A sign of the king’s favor. According to our spies, the royal carriages are all spelled from a single map in the carriage-maker’s study. Another way for the king to keep track of who the courtiers are visiting.”
The carriages wouldn’t work. But I’d figure out another way. I had to. A feral kind of determination settled in my chest.