“Cut it,” she told Ariel in the crisp, blunt tone she’d learned from Laya. “Now, Ariel, before I change my mind.”

To Eti’s surprise, she rather liked how the cool night air felt against her nape when she and Ariel stepped back outside. The man’s shirt Ariel had found for her fit comfortably over her slight frame, a welcome change to the fine silk dresses she’d worn over the feast days. Dusk had fallen over the city, and the area around the inn was too quiet. If they wanted to learn anything about the Kulaws’ plans, they needed to roam the crowded quarters of Mariit.

They ventured deeper into Mariit than Eti would have dared when she looked like a princess. Garbed as a humble serving boy, she faded into the throng. No one spared her a second glance. She and Ariel walked a few blocks north, rounding the corner onto the busy street leading to the heart of the city. It was easy to follow the noise. Distant shouts and jeering drew them all the way to the base of the sword-fighting tournament platform.

The feast-day festivities were long over, but a crowd had gathered. Two people stood at the crowd’s center⁠—a man and a woman⁠—arguing at the top of their lungs. The woman appeared around the queen’s age, with eyes that burned with anger and a simple green sash draped over her right shoulder. The sash shone in the light of torches above their heads in stark contrast to the stripe of scarlet hanging from the man’s heaving chest. Eti scanned the crowd, picking out scraps of green and scarlet all around her. From where she stood, almost a head below everyone else, it was impossible to determine which color outnumbered the other.

“The gods blessed Maynara with the Gatdulas. When the westerners came, they fought and bled and died for us. They’re the one thing standing between us and annihilation,” the woman cried, stabbing a disparaging finger in the man’s direction. Her voice rang loud and clear over the tournament pit. “You, sir, forget who really protects this kingdom. You forget where true loyalty lies.”

Murmurs of agreement rose from the crowd, quieting a second later when the man roared, “Loyalty? And whom do you think the Gatdulas serve? Not the servants who scrub their tiles, I’d wager. Nor the men who build their ships. No, the Gatdulas care only for those who can fill their strongboxes with gold. Generations of waste and negligence⁠—and so it will continue, as long as cowards like you beg for scraps at their feet like starving pups.”

Eti stiffened at the man’s harsh words, and Ariel laid a hand on her shoulder. Tension cut through the pit. The other half of the crowd yelled in the man’s favor.