Lucien lowers his cowl and raises his fingers to his mouth and makes a distinct, birdlike whistle comprised of three notes. There are nearly thirty seconds of quiet, Lucien and Malachite and I standing still in the alley. Suddenly, seemingly from out of nowhere in the dense crowd, a child emerges, grimy and no older than Crav’s twelve years. He grimaces like Crav does, too, but when he sees Lucien, his face brightens. This isn’t the first urchin I’ve seen Lucien with—there was a little girl he gave trinkets to, trinkets he’d stolen from nobles. How many of them does he know? And do they all look this happy to see him?

The prince kneels at the boy’s eye level and hands him a few gold coins, murmuring a question. The child points toward West Gate and then disappears into the crowd again.

Lucien turns back to me, a smile outlined in the dark fabric of his mask. “Gavik’s near the old brewery around West Gate. Come. We can still catch him if we’re quick.”

“Again, with the ‘we’!” Malachite exhales. Lucien just starts off, and of course Malachite follows. I trail behind the beneather, catching up with Lucien as best I can.

“You never told me your information network was comprised entirely of urchins,” I say lightly.

“Not entirely but mostly,” the prince agrees. “They don’t try to lie for their coin as much as the adults do. And they tend to notice things adults overlook. Besides, the city is hard on them most of all. It’s all I can do right now to ease that.”

I scoff, but the sound has no teeth. My unheart feels somehow warm. Proud. I shake it off, and a sudden jostle in the thronging crowd shakes me, too. I stagger back, losing Lucien and Malachite quickly in the swarm of heads. They might be tall, but I can barely see over the sea of people.

“New God’s tit,” I swear. Someone else bumps into me, this time so hard that cobblestone rushes up to greet my face. I brace myself, but something catches my hand at the last minute, and I make a frantic clutch onto it for dear life. I blink up at the help, only to see black leather. Lucien’s hand, holding my elbow. He pulls me up, the smile under his mask so lopsided, it makes my unheart skip a beat.

“Don’t fall behind,” he says.

I’m so stunned that I can’t get words out, and the few words that start to come are cut off by the feeling of his gloved hand slipping into mine. He holds my hand, guiding me through the crowd as I stare at his back disbelievingly. The old affection for him starts to rear its head, my whole body punctured pleasantly by the fizzy, sugary sensation.