Kiva’s denizens gave her and Kit a wide berth, parting like water before a ship. Most hurried on without a second glance at the Hawk, but a few whispered and pointed as they passed. Their dress was simple, yet sturdy, their faces clean of any dirt or grime. Nobody was particularly fat, but neither were they as emaciated as the few people Anji had seen in Silverton. She wondered about the little boy with the doll, cold and frightened and missing a shoe. Where was he now? Anji’s thoughts darkened with the weather, drifting from the boy to her friends. Kaia gushing about a pretty noble she’d seen. Libby showing Anji her hidden stash of pasties she’d kept under her cot. Anji blinked at Kiva’s buildings as they rode. Libby had mentioned her dream of someday attending the university at this city’s heart. Something involving medicine or herb lore. Libby had loved plants. She’d loved helping, when she could.

She’ll never go to that school now.

Anji’s horse followed the Hawk’s through a cramped intersection and into a wide square surrounded by shops and three-story tenement houses. Below, the square’s perimeter was lined with carts and wagons selling their wares, some packing up under threat of rain and the deepening dark. Regardless of the coming storm, however, the square teemed with people. Constables milled about amid the crowd, easy to spot in their yellow capes, but they simply watched. Some of their expressions were even bored. Despite the presence of constables, the air of anxiety Anji had felt in Silverton wasn’t as thick here. It reminded her more of the natural, bustling-city energy she’d forgotten even existed in the six years she’d been trapped in Linura castle.

Anji considered her manacles, her mangy appearance. The thought of escape still tugged at her with every step toward Linura. The maxial tether around her ankle had been cut. She could chance the Hawk’s exhaustion, her ability to hold on to the rope tied to Anji’s manacles if she hopped off the horse and sprinted away. She could lose herself in the crowd … but what then? A filthy, maimed, and chained girl tearing through streets filled with constables and upstanding citizens about their business. The image didn’t inspire much confidence that anyone would lend a helping hand. This wasn’t Silverton, or some run-down bar in the far north. The people here seemed tolerant of the constables in their yellow finery, if not wholly content. And if indeed there were people, even here in Kiva, who were sympathetic to Anji and what she’d done, what could they do? Would they take her in? Give her a job? Would they lie for her when the Wardens came to their doors?

Of course not.