The Hawk maneuvered Anji and the horse to a hitching post on the tavern’s far side, away from the front door and the figures on the porch. She looped the reins around the post once and adjusted the mask. Anji noticed the woman’s hands were shaking, but she couldn’t bring herself to judge. Her whole body was quivering despite her oversized coat. The cold down here seemed to dig deeper than it had on the ridge with the bats. The Hawk spun on Anji, a slender finger pointed at the ground.

“You stay put, and keep your mouth shut.”

“What was that he said about the Tide?”

“I said no more questions,” said the Hawk, turning toward the tavern’s steps. “I’ll only be a moment.”

“I want a cigar,” Anji said.

The Hawk raised her hands. “I want you to stop talking,” she said, her voice muffled against the mask. She tugged at her gloves and marched toward the tavern.

“I’m just going to steal the horse,” Anji called, hating how petulant she sounded.

A gust of wind swirled between them, and the Hawk turned with it to face Anji. Anji shivered despite herself, though she kept her chin raised.

“Do as you will,” said the Hawk. “You did so this morning and left your nose a wreck. If I were you, I’d conserve that energy for the pass and cherish what remains of my face.”

Anji ground her teeth and watched the Hawk mount the steps and stride past the silent stares of the porch patrons. She pushed into the tavern, the chorus of voices lifting and dying as the door closed behind her.

As soon as the Hawk was out of sight, Anji snatched at the blue pack on the horse’s flank and felt for a fastening. She flipped the bag over, turned it side to side, and dug her ragged nails into the silken fabric.

Nothing. No buttons, no buckle—no discernable way to get inside.

She cursed and slammed the satchel against the horse’s stomach, eliciting an annoyed whinny from the mare.

“Sorry,” she said, wiping at her face with her bound hands. Anji tried the bag again to no avail. Sealed like a bladder. Likely maxial. Not a Maxia, she thought, frowning. Right, and I’m not tied up to a horse like a common thief.

But no. She wasn’t a common thief. She was an assassin now. A king killer. A regicide. And indeed, she was bound to a horse, and to the Hawk herself—but not for long. In a few days she’d be back in Linura, carved and flayed while still breathing, at the mercy of a hundred old men in silken robes, their faces passive and sweating, watching as she pleaded and cried and begged for mercy.