Page 29 of Kingdom of Dance

“Where’s your letter?” he demanded.

Obsidian rolled his eyes dramatically. “You thick in the head, or what?” He deepened his voice a little, made it rougher. “I’m with him! His letter’s my letter.”

A woman’s laugh, high-pitched and not entirely sober, if Obsidian was any judge, sounded from a nearby street. Glancing nervously behind him, the guard waved Obsidian through, shutting the gate quickly.

“Don’t fall behind next time,” he grunted, standing at attention again.

Obsidian didn’t bother to reply, taking off at a quick trot in the direction the man’s eyes had strayed. When the alley reached a fork, with still no sign of the princess, he thought he’d lost his quarry. But a drunken shout from one of the paths made him pause.

“Hey there, sugar. You look like my kind of lady.”

Obsidian hurried toward the voice, part of him hoping that he’d found Princess Zinnia, and part of him hoping that she wasn’t the subject of the lewd advance. He peered around a corner to see the figure, hastily pulling the cloak around herself again, racing on nimble feet past the doorway to a tavern. The man who’d spoken wasn’t the only one grinning at her from the darkness.

Obsidian put on some speed, closing the distance between them a little, then pulling up to approach the tavern entrance at a calm pace. A couple of the men, nudging each other with their elbows, had stepped out into the street, looking after the fleeing figure with the light of the hunt in their eyes.

As Obsidian strode past them—his gaze also fixed on the princess—one of them grabbed his elbow with a meaty hand and held fast.

“Not so fast, stripling. We saw ’er first.”

Obsidian swung his arm downward in a movement so swift his captor didn’t seem to register his escape until Obsidian’s knife was out of its hidden sheath and against the man’s neck.

“Keep your hands to yourself, friend,” he said tonelessly.

His eyes passed meaningfully to the figure, who was almost out of sight, but seemed to have stopped to glance back. Obsidian angled his body quickly, so that his face wouldn’t be visible to her. Looking back at the man now attempting to keep his wide, bloodshot eyes trained on the dagger against his neck, he raised an eyebrow.

“Take my meaning?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, but Obsidian didn’t wait for a reply. He wouldn’t be able to fight off this man and all his drunken companions, but he could certainly outpace them. He pulled suddenly back, already several paces away before the man realized the blade was no longer against his neck.

Obsidian sprinted down a side alley, aware of the angry shouts following him. It galled him to run away, but these men weren’t his mission. The princess was.

With the state his pursuers were in, it wasn’t difficult to lose them. A duck down a side alley, a scramble up and over a pile of foul-smelling crates, and the thing was done. As soon as they blundered past, Obsidian slipped back out, returning the way he’d come and sprinting as he made for the street the princess had taken.

He didn’t doubt he’d find her. He was motivated not just by his assignment now, but by his raging curiosity. He may not know Tola, but he’d summed up the neighborhood in a moment. And when the princess had turned to look back toward him, he’d caught sight of her garb. No wonder the men had taken notice of her. She’d obviously let her cloak slip from her hand before she passed them, revealing not the gown of a fine lady, but tight leggings, and what seemed to be a man’s tunic, although it fitted her well enough that Obsidian suspected it was made for an older child.

What in Solstice was Princess Zinnia doing in the seediest part of the city, running amok in such an outfit? And if this was what she did during all of her mysterious evenings, how had she survived this long?

Chapter Six

Zinnia’s heart raced as she ran, putting as much distance between herself and the men as she could.

“Stupid,” she muttered. “Stupid, Zinnia.”

It had been months since her last excursion, thanks to her journey into Albury, but not long enough that she could be excused for forgetting her way so foolishly. She should have remembered there was a reason she didn’t generally take that shortcut. She usually made a point of avoiding all the taverns.

After a few streets, she ducked behind an abandoned cart and crouched, listening. To her relief, there were no sounds of pursuit. It seemed she’d gotten lucky. She hadn’t noticed the darker-haired man as she’d passed the tavern, but she could only be thankful for whatever quarrel had caused him to divert his companions’ attention from her. She tightened her cloak around her and made sure the hood was pulled low before continuing more slowly. She needed to be more careful.

By the time she reached her destination, she’d composed herself. She knocked at the door of the rundown workshop, twining a length of fabric around her face as she did so. It wouldn’t do to take chances.

There was no answer, but she pushed the door open anyway. A man sat in the corner, carving an intricate pattern into a bedhead, the furniture much too ornate for the humble dwelling. Likely he was disguising a stolen item, making it look different enough to be resold without suspicion. That seemed to be his specialty, from all Zinnia could gather.

The man glanced up unconcernedly, grunting at sight of her. “You, is it? Haven’t come to visit in a while, have you?”

“Any new information?” she asked curtly.

He cast an eye over her person. “I trust you’ve come prepared?”

“I always do.”

---