Kudera had been in the Prince’s Company when the edict against shamanborn went out. All shamanborn students were taken into custody without explanation and imprisoned in the dungeons of the Grand Palace until the mountain prison was established. Later, she’d found her brother in the labor camp through sheer chance. Their father had died years before, but the camp had taken their mother. Morun hasn’t spoken since.

Maiya tells me that when they fled south, they were a group of twenty-three. They’d split once they hit the coast, most choosing to try their luck among the scatter of fishing villages. Stealing a small boat would be far easier than stowing aboard a ship. But Kudera’s group of ten hadn’t wanted to risk a small vessel on the open water.

They regretted it now, of course. The density of Vos Gillis’s population hadn’t concealed them as they’d hoped. Now they’d never know what became of the others.

After our evening meal, I grow restless with anticipation. As the hours stretch on, I worry that something has gone wrong with Phaut.

I glower at the darkness beyond the window slit just as the door to the guardhouse bursts open, slamming into the wall with a bang. I jolt upright.

“Fire!” a voice shouts. “The Queen’s Wharf is on fire!”

EIGHTEEN

There’s a confusion of sounds: the heavy clomping of hurried feet, the shuffling of hands snatching up coats and weapons, and then another slam of the door, followed by a ringing silence.

I wait, breath held, listening. Before long, I hear the scrape of chair legs as a seat is pulled out and then the low grumble of the guard left behind to keep watch over the prisoners.

The Queen’s Wharf is a section of the coast restricted to the queen’s ships and visiting dignitaries. It’s rarely used. The queen’s most impressive vessels are docked south of Vos Talwyn within a series of royal berths in Needle Bay. Though she does keep several ships here. I spotted them this morning from the rooftops. Huge, majestic ghosts well separated from the bustling docks.

Phaut is a genius. I didn’t know what she had planned, but she’d seemed confident. Now I see why. It’s the perfect spot to set a fire and avoid causing serious injury, especially in a city as cramped and overcrowded as this one.

I turn to the shamanborn, who watch me with pale, expectant faces. I hiss at Nong, “Faint!”

His wrinkles crease in puzzlement.

“Pretend to faint.”

His mouth forms a quick “Oh!” and then he enacts an impressive swoon.

“Help!” I shout. “Please, we need help!”

Despite the urgency in my voice, the guard takes his time coming to check on us. My fingers tighten around the bars, imagining his neck.

“What is it?” he grumbles when he at last comes into view.