And then, when Ranami had grown older, there had been the touching. Brushes against her shoulders and waist, lingering looks. She’d hated it, hated the way he cornered her so there was no way to get around him. Others she’d known on the streets had been through far, far worse, so who was she to complain? By then, the bookseller was getting old, and would soon die, so she’d gritted her teeth and waited it out. She wouldn’t go back to being a gutter orphan. Not ever again.

Ayesh glanced back and Ranami ducked behind a bush. The girl’s gaze searched the path but, finding nothing, she continued on her way.

She was the wife of the governor now, Ranami reminded herself. And she was hiding in the bushes. Not exactly a turn of events she’d ever anticipated. It seemed she could marry into power, she could wear the well-tailored dresses and sit at Phalue’s side – but a part of her would always still be a gutter orphan.

The greenery faded into the cobblestone streets of the city. Ayesh took one last look back and darted toward an alleyway.

Ranami swore, untangled herself from the brush and followed.

Spying would have been easier than teaching oneself to be a bookseller’s apprentice. It would have been easier than collecting trinkets to sell for bits of coin. It would have been easier than stealing purses. All it meant were a few lies, two open ears and a tongue willing to speak.

She turned the corner after Ayesh and saw only a heel disappear around the next corner. Had the girl spotted her? She wanted to know – where was she taking the information she’d gleaned? Was it to Gio or some third party?

And why the food? Phalue told her she could have all she wanted to eat when she was at the palace. Did the girl mean to sell them? Skim a little extra money where it wouldn’t be noticed? It was something Ranami might have done. Or perhaps she was being uncharitable. Perhaps Ayesh had friends she wanted to care for.

She rounded the next corner onto a busy street, filled with stalls. No sign of Ayesh – only merchants hawking their wares, the smell of onions thick in the air. Steam rose from pots, rising to the bamboo and frond ceiling above. Ranami squinted into the crowd, trying to see to the end of the street. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Ayesh had turned onto this street on purpose.

Perhaps Ranami had lost something of her old self.