“Why don’t you go back,” Kyra told Flick as they stood outside Miranda’s house. “I’ll take Lettie straight to Idalee. I don’t want to keep them apart too long.”

“You know your way from here?”

“Well enough.”

Flick straightened, a sly grin on his face. “Well then, I might stop by the wool district on my way back.”

Kyra raised an eyebrow. “You still courting that merchant’s daughter? She’s a mite above your station, don’t you think?”

“Above my station? I’ll remind you that I am the son of a nobleman.”

“Bastard son.”

Flick raised his arms in an exaggerated stretch as he walked away. “I’m still closer to the wall than you.”

Kyra watched him go, buoyed slightly by his good spirits. Flick hadn’t seen his father since his mother died. She’d been a merchant’s daughter as well, but was thrown out by her family when they found out about her affair with Flick’s father. She managed to get by for a while as his mistress—until she became ill and the nobleman lost interest. Any mention of his father used to send Flick into low spirits, but it seemed that even deep wounds healed with time.

Kyra tied the medicine to her belt. “Want to try walking?” she asked Lettie.

Their progress was slow, but they weren’t rushed for time, and it was interesting to explore a new part of the city. These streets were quieter than the ones around The Drunken Dog, the houses more spread out. As they walked, Kyra thought over James’s offer. Flick was right. There was something unsettling about James. But still, the thought of interesting work and regular coin was tempting.

Ahead of them, the road narrowed into a footbridge. Two Red Shields stood at the bottom of the steps, and Kyra suppressed her usual instinct to run. It was unlikely that they were after her, and backing away would just draw attention to herself. One of the Red Shields, an ugly fellow with a rust-colored beard, stopped her as she and Lettie came closer. “Bridge toll. One copper.”

“Toll?” asked Kyra.

“One copper. Is it your ears or your head that’s slow?”

She knew better than to respond to his insult. “I in’t heard of any bridge tolls,” she said.

The other Red Shield, a stocky man with a wide nose, came closer. “New orders from the Palace. This past week,” he said with a smirk.

It was a farce. The Red Shields were lining their own pockets, and they didn’t care if Kyra knew. If she was wise, she’d pay the toll and be on her way. But she was low on coin already after buying the girl’s medicine.

Kyra took Lettie’s hand. “We’ll go around the other way.”