“I’d like to store my boat here for a few days,” Malachi said. He slipped a few coins from the pack, spoils from his trade with the men on the floating village. “That’ll cover it, I should think.”

The boatyard foreman counted the money and appraised Malachi with a quick look. “You’re two silvers short,” he said, raising a brow. His hair was thin, a nondescript brown with wisps at the top, not long enough to hide his bald spot.

Malachi handed him one silver. “I’ll pay the other when I come to retrieve my boat.”

The foreman opened his mouth to protest, but he wilted under the intensity of Malachi’s gaze. As Malachi urged Nomi forward, she almost felt sorry for the weasel-faced man.

Dawn had broken upon Porto Rosa, and the streets were full of men pushing carts toward the central piazza. Some had wives and daughters following them—women could be put to work selling wares as long as they didn’t handle the money themselves.

We do the grunt work, the backbreaking tasks, Nomi thought, staring at a thin girl carrying a heavy basket of bread on her hip, her back bowed with the strain. It made Nomi think of her own mother, hunched over her sewing machine, working for decades while her husband collected her wages. Nomi’s father was kind, but he’d never questioned the fairness of the system. He’d never asked Nomi’s mother what she thought about anything.

But Renzo… Nomi had made Renzo listen to what she thought. Her radical views had wormed their way into him, whether he liked it or not. She didn’t know if her persistence had made him different, or if it had to do with them being twins, or maybe he was just the kind of person who saw value in everyone.

His smile shone in her mind like a candle flame, drawing her forward.

Malachi marched through the cobbled streets with his shoulders back and his intense glare threatening to burn anyone who challenged him. A new beard and tattered clothes couldn’t hide the haughty confidence he’d inherited from his father. How could he not be recognized?

Nomi’s heart seized every time someone passed them and gave him a second look.

“Can you tone it down a bit?” Nomi whispered, feigning fear of a passing dog to squeeze herself a little closer to him.

“Tone what down?” he muttered in response.

Nomi came very close to rolling her eyes. “Your… Superiorness. You’re walking down the lane as if you own it. Someone is going to recognize you.”

Malachi kept walking, but gradually his demeanor shifted. He stopped glaring at everyone they passed. He let his shoulders slump a little. And he slowed down.

A loud burst of laughter made them both jump. Two men stood on the corner, their backs to Malachi and Nomi.