But the buskers didn’t look like they were backing down. They looked incensed.

“The other eight cities need leaders now more than ever,” he said. “And we’ve got some real good men here who can take the reins.”

“Did he just say men?” Tavia asked.

She looked at Saxony and Wesley in turn.

“I heard that, didn’t I? He said men.”

Saxony let out a sharp breath.

“No offense,” the busker said. “But the Kingpin is conquering Uskhanya while a woman is in charge, so that clearly shows—”

“If he finishes that sentence, can I kill him?” Tavia asked.

“No,” Saxony said, at the same time as Wesley said, “Sure.”

“Look,” Saxony said to them all. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m a Crafter and your business exploits my people. So let’s just focus on one problem at a time. The biggest one being, killing Ashwood.”

“Walcott,” another of the buskers said. “You’re on our side, aren’t you?”

“I’m on my side,” Wesley said. “Which is the winning side.”

“We need to be ready to fight the Crafters, not share a camp with them,” the busker said. “Tavia, surely you see it? You haven’t trusted Saxony from the start.”

Saxony felt like she had been slapped upon hearing those words. Sure, she and Tavia hadn’t been best pals these past few weeks, but that didn’t erase years of having each other’s backs.

Tavia’s nose wrinkled. “Don’t lump me into the same category as you. I might be a busker, but you and I aren’t the same.”

The busker scoffed. “You’re cozying up to them because you’re scared,” he said. “Creije’s best busker is a Crafter-lover now? After everything they’ve done to us?”

For the first time Saxony saw the bored expression lift from Wesley’s face. His back straightened.

Tavia took in a deep breath, like she was trying hard not to reach for her own knives. “I think I missed that last part,” she said. “Could you repeat it? Something about calling me a coward, which couldn’t be true unless you had a death wish.”

“Look,” the busker said. “I just think—”

Wesley tutted loudly from beside Tavia.

“Who told you that you could think?” he said.

He righted his suit, sleeves pulled down and cuff links perfectly perpendicular.

Wesley did many things well, but looking like he was about to kill someone without getting a speck of blood on himself was up there with the best.

“We’re not picking out underbosses and we’re done turning on each other,” Wesley said. “The Doyen will meet us here in a couple of days and if all goes well, then we’ll have her forces from Uskhanya’s armies to tag-team with. Their numbers, their weapons, our smarts and our magic. Once that happens, Ashwood is dead.”