“Like I said. It’s hard for mainlanders to learn what happens here. The local priests are thorough, not to mention the Penitents, for proof of which see my ribs and shoulder. So we used to flag anything unusual that happened here, stuff that wouldn’t attract attention anywhere else. Even money was on him being an Iskari spy.”

“He’s a poet.”

“Means nothing. Deathless Kings built a whole literary magazine in Chartegnon back during the God Wars as an intel front.”

“No,” Izza said. “I mean, you haven’t seen his room. I have. He’s a poet. And a hungry one.”

“If you say so.” Cat stood, and Izza had to squint against the brightness of the sky behind her. This would be a hot day. “Yesterday you said I was afraid. You’re right. I’m hiding. I don’t want the kind of attention this guy attracts, and you don’t, either. If I were you, I’d draw the line here. I would have drawn it earlier.”

“I owe him,” Izza said. “I tried to pay it off yesterday, but I only made things worse.”

“I know the feeling. Just think about what your debts might cost you.” Her face twisted as if she’d just swallowed something foul. “I hate the way I sound. This cloak-and-dagger crap. One more reason to get out of the gods’ game while you can, kid.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Being so close to this guy makes my skin crawl. Shouldn’t have come here. Wouldn’t have, but for you.”

“Thanks,” Izza said.

Cat glanced up and down the empty street. “I’ll see you back at home. Think about what I said, please. And watch out.”

“Okay.”

“You can keep the newspaper.” Cat looked as if she were about to say something more, then shook her head, hooked her thumbs through her belt loops, and walked away, shoulders slumped. She glanced back before she turned the corner. Izza thought she saw a flash of teeth between the woman’s lips—the hint of a smile, maybe, at the fact Izza was still watching. Or else a trick of distance and light.

She was too far away to say for certain.

The sun rose, and the day began to burn.

Chapter 29

29

The address Mako gave led Kai to a quiet, poor part of the island: rows of tree-divided houses, stucco with highlights in pastel. A Glebland beggar girl crouched at the street corner; she watched Kai with shocking black eyes, and held out an empty hand. Kai dropped a coin into the girl’s palm, invested with a trace of soul, and walked on feeling lighter.