Chapter 34

I dumped the coins from my pouch onto my bed, vaguely hoping they might have reproduced while I wasn't looking. They hadn't. With a sigh, I stood and contemplated my depressingly few options. Jobs from the guild and petty theft would be impossible with Enforcers blanketing the city. But I had no other talents. I was too small to work at the docks, wasn't skilled at sewing or cooking, wasn't particularly well educated, and had no experience with children.

My pride wouldn't let me borrow money from Lorget, and I didn't know anyone else I could even ask. Well, I did know someone else, but I'd starve before I asked Remy. That left trying to find a shopkeeper that might hire an inexperienced stranger. Taking a deep breath to shore up my courage, I left my room before the futility of this endeavor set in.

I started with a nearby grocer. Normally, there were displays of fruit and vegetables outside the shop with customers examining produce and discussing freshness with the proprietor. Today, there was nothing on the sidewalk and I thought they might be closed, but when I tried the door, it opened. A small bell jingled above the door, and a gnome with a kindly, wrinkled face came out from the back, wiping his hands on his apron.

"May I help you?"

"Good day," I began, my voice steadier than I felt. "I wondered if you might need an extra pair of hands around the shop?"

The gnome shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm a one-gnome operation. I might have been able to use the assistance of a strapping lad, but not a slender lass."

"I'm stronger than I look," I objected.

His eyes were compassionate as he said gently, "I'm sure you are, but it wouldn't be enough."

I thanked him and walked down the street to a haberdashery. Like the grocer's, there were no customers, and I wondered how long the Enforcers could keep the city's population cowed. As I entered the shop, a tiny bell announced my presence with a chime that seemed overly optimistic for my prospects. The haberdashery was a riot of colors and textures, with rolls of fabric stacked on shelves and hats perched on mannequin heads like exotic birds.

A pixie, no taller than my elbow, fluttered up from behind a fortress of pincushions and spools of thread. "And what can we do for you, dear heart?" she asked, her voice a melodic tinkle that matched the bell.

"I'm looking for employment," I said. "I'm a hard worker and I don't cause trouble."

She landed lightly on the counter, her feet making no sound on the polished wood. "Employment, you say? Well, this is a haberdashery of a certain repute, my dear. Skill with a needle and an eye for fashion are prerequisites." She studied me with a gaze that took in every detail—from my scuffed boots and plain tunic to the desperation I tried to hide behind a hopeful expression.

My shoulders drooped before I hitched them back up. "I can learn," I offered, but the words tasted like day-old stale bread in my mouth.

"I'm sorry, but there's an art to haberdashery that can't be learned overnight."

After similar results at a bookbinder, a bakery, and a chandler, I was thoroughly discouraged. I could try some of the dockside taverns, but I was loath to spend my evenings juggling heavy trays while dodging drunken, groping hands.

Ralph protected his servers at The Stony Mug, but he was the exception. Most barkeeps wanted to keep the customers happy and if that meant a few pinched asses and squeezed breasts, so be it. And even if Ralph hired me, Remy would show up at some point and I'd probably dump a mug of ale in his lap rather than set it on the table.

Head down, I dragged my feet and turned for home. I'd tackle this problem in the morning—I couldn't face any more rejection today. On the way, I returned to the bakery and splurged on a bun. If I couldn't pay my rent anyway, I might as well spend a copper to eat something nice.

However, the thought of sitting in my dingy room was depressing and leeched some of the joy from my extravagance. I usually found solace up on the roofs, but even that was less appealing when the view would be of empty streets except for stern-faced Enforcers. On a whim, I veered toward the docks where I could watch the sunset and listen to the murmur of the sea.

I sank down on a bench facing the harbor to sit quietly while the gulls squawked and squabbled above me. Stretching out my legs, I unwrapped my prize. A lick of the glaze sent a rush of brown sugar and butter dancing across my tongue, followed by the taste of cinnamon as I bit into the soft dough. I sighed in contentment.

The setting sun painted the water with strokes of orange and pink, creating a masterpiece that glimmered across the gentle waves. A playful breeze ruffled my hair, and I inhaled the scent of brine and fish. An intrepid gull landed on the weathered wood of the quay and waddled toward me with one beady eye fixed on my treat.

"Sorry, not sharing," I said to the bird.

"How about with me?" a rich, deep voice spoke behind me.

I spun around to find Keillan leaning against a lamppost, hands in pockets. His silver-gray hair danced around his shoulders in the light wind and the warm sunlight burnished his bronze skin.

"I already licked it." I lifted one eyebrow as I took another bite.

"Maybe I like licking." His large, dark eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Too late." I shoved the rest of the bun in my mouth and gave a little moan of pleasure.

Keillan laughed and pushed away from the pole with a fluid grace. He had seemed so serious and intense every other time I'd met him, this lighter side came as a nice surprise. Although I supposed jail breaks and toxic waterways might darken anyone's mood. He strolled around to the front of the bench and paused next to me.

"Mind if I join you?" He waved at the bench.

It was public seating and as a harbor resident he probably had more right to it than I did, but it felt nice to be asked. Mouth still full of pastry, I nodded and scooted to one end. Keillan sat, crossed one foot over his knee, and gazed up at the gulls hanging on the air currents.

I stole glances at his profile—the sharp, yet elegantly curved line of his jaw, the high cheekbones, and the soft, almost tender curve of his lips. He exuded a quiet strength, yet there was a palpable aura of melancholy about him. I wondered what life must be like for the selkies with their homeland so vulnerable to inconsiderate land dwellers.

Swallowing the last of my cinnamon roll, I contemplated licking my fingers but decided that was a little too undignified. It was odd that should bother me. If it had been Remy sitting here, I wouldn't have thought twice. Unfortunately, the one person I could comfortably be myself with didn't want me around.

After a few moments of silence, Keillan turned to me. "I wanted to thank you for your help with the harbor poisonings, but I had no way to reach you."

"I only did what anyone else would do. Who could ignore people dumping a barrelful of nasty green goo into the harbor?"

He gave me a small, sad smile. "You'd be surprised."

"I also had help."

Keillan raised his brows, but I didn't say more. It hurt to think about Remy, and I didn't want to get all weepy. Instead, I continued, "I do need to find a way for people to contact me. My landlady would toss me out on my ear if visitors showed up. Especially men."

"Well, I am twice indebted to you. If I can ever be of assistance, I hope you won't hesitate to ask."

Warmth spread through my chest at the idea I could find friends outside the guild. I had thought I might be able to find friendship with Ellia or Petra, but they were Remy's friends, not mine. My pleasure dimmed as another pang of regret gripped me.

"Thank you," I said.

The sun was fast disappearing below the horizon, and shadows stretched across the docks. The seagulls had retreated to the far end of the harbor away from the ships and human activity. Heads tucked into their backs, they huddled together and hunkered down for the night. I decided to follow their example and stood.

Keillan also rose and looked down at me. "Would you like to have that drink now?"

I was tempted. Keillan was handsome, considerate, and protective of those he cared about. I was certain most women would jump at the chance of getting to know him better. But an angular face with bright blue eyes, an unshaven jaw, and long, black-tipped hair crept into my mind. My brain insisted I forget about him, but my heart disagreed.

"Thank you, but I need to get home. The Enforcers are harassing anyone they catch out after dark."

"Do you need an escort?"

"I'll be fine." I gave him a cheeky smile and winked. "Besides, you are more likely to be stopped by the Enforcers than me. And then I'd have to rescue you again."

Keillan laughed deeply. "And then I'd be even more in your debt. We can't have that."

I left him standing by the bench, the last rays of sunlight glinting on his hair, and hurried back across the city.

As I climbed the stairs to my bedsit, the landlady emerged from her ground-floor apartment. She stood like a gorgon, her brow furrowed in what could have been disapproval or chronic discontent. I could never quite tell. The skirts of her gown filled the narrow hallway, a sharp contrast to the dilapidation around her.

"Ah, Ziola, you're back," she noted, with an edge that suggested she found my presence only marginally less annoying than a pebble in her shoe.

"Yes, Mrs. Crozet," I said, mustering a respect I didn't feel.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Well, someone has made a mess upstairs in your room."

My chest tightened. "A mess?" I echoed faintly.

"Yes, someone broke in. I called the Enforcers, but they are too busy for petty vandalism. It's given me quite the headache."

"But my things…" I rushed past her before she could say another word, taking the stairs two at a time. The sticky bun, once a small comfort, became a lump in my stomach.

The door to my bedsit, which I'd left closed and locked, was now ajar. I pushed it open, and my breath caught at the sight inside. My few belongings were scattered like leaves in a storm. The mattress was slashed, stuffing erupting from its cotton innards, and my little wooden table was overturned with one leg splintered.

A strangled noise escaped me as I stepped through the wreckage. The wooden chest I used to store my clothing had its top ripped off and the contents dumped. Noticing my bow sticking out from under the lid, I quickly scooped it up, only to discover it had been snapped in half. I found the green shirt that Remy had given me and clutched it to my chest, pitifully grateful it was undamaged.

"I expect you to pay for the damages," Mrs. Crozet's voice cut through the devastation, devoid of sympathy. "The room was leased furnished."

Angry tears threatened to spill, but I held them back. Pride was the one thing they hadn't managed to destroy. "You'll get your money," I said with a cold calm.

After the door clicked shut behind her retreating figure, I allowed myself a moment of grief. This room hadn't been much, but it had offered the semblance of a home. I turned back to the door and examined the lock. It and the door jamb were intact. The door hadn't been kicked in; the lock had been picked.

That seemed to indicate that the intruders had come looking for something—or someone—and when they didn't find it, they vented their frustration on my belongings. Otherwise, why waste time picking the lock? The door wouldn't have withstood a hard kick.

But there was no time to puzzle over their motivation. Assuming they had been looking for me, they'd be back, and I needed to be gone. I swiftly collected the few pieces of clothing that hadn't been torn and shoved them in a satchel, adding my broken bow as an afterthought. Shadows of Futures Past was underneath the bed, and I lay on the floor to fish it out. Pausing to flip through the pages, I wondered why the invaders hadn't taken it. Perhaps they hadn't realized its significance.

I locked the door, even though there was nothing left to steal, and tiptoed down the steps. It would be quite some time before I had any money to give Mrs. Crozet for the damages, and I didn't want her to see me leave. Slipping out into the street, I crept through the growing shadows, hoping to avoid anyone's notice. To my knowledge, there was no official curfew, but I'd be a fool to let the Enforcers find me wandering around the city after nightfall.

The Veiled Vaults were the most logical destination, but anyone from the guild would have access to find me there. And it was becoming increasingly clear that someone from the guild was desperate for the Eye. I didn't know if it was the same person who was reporting to the Enforcers or a second person, but I didn't want to find out.

Remembering Ellia's comment about Ralph offering refuge to women in need, I directed my feet toward The Stony Mug. I hoped that Ralph and Petra would keep my presence secret from everyone, including Remy, but if it came down to it, I was safer with Remy knowing my whereabouts than the guild. That realization forced me to rethink my position on giving the Eye to the guild. I didn't want to admit that I was wrong, but I had to consider the possibility.

When I arrived, it was evident The Stony Mug was feeling the effects of the draconian Enforcer presence on the streets. Only a handful of subdued customers dotted the main tavern room, and no one sat at the bar. Ralph used a towel to polish a glass with little enthusiasm, but his expression brightened when he saw me.

Before he could say anything, or worse, call my name, I darted to the bar and leaned over it. "Ralph, can I talk to you in private?"

His eyebrows lifted, but he said, "Of course, come into the kitchen."

I followed him through a set of swinging doors into the warm kitchen with a slate floor and giant hearth. A tall, wiry man with sandy brown hair was elbow deep in sudsy water washing pots, and Talya, one of the servers I had previously met, was sitting at the center island.

"Georgie, can you cover the bar for a bit?" Ralph asked the man.

Georgie nodded and dried his hands on a towel before heading out to the bar.

"Talya, go keep him company. It's boring out there with no customers."

My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly from the savory smells of cooking food and freshly baked bread in the kitchen. I hoped Ralph hadn't noticed, but he turned to me and said, "When did you last eat?"

"I had a bun just this afternoon," I replied.

Ralph huffed and began slicing meat from a pork loin roasting in the hearth. "Can't live on sweet rolls alone."

He placed a heaping pile on a plate and added roasted vegetables and fresh bread. I nearly started drooling like a St. Bernard as he set the plate on the counter.

I extracted the last two coins from my pouch and said, "How much?" Since I was already coming to beg for a room, I didn't want more charity.

Ralph waved me off. "See all this food? With everyone staying home to avoid the Enforcers, I've got too much. Some can be repurposed tomorrow for leftovers, but the rest will just go to the food kitchen. You might as well eat your fill."

Too hungry to argue, I took the proffered fork and began eating. When my pace slowed, Ralph asked, "So, what did you want to discuss?"

I put down my fork and gathered my courage. "Ellia mentioned that you sometimes provide women in need with a temporary place to stay."

"We do."

"I was wondering if I could impose on you for a few days."

"Tell me what's going on," Ralph urged.

I paused, trying to decide how much to tell him, but he must have misinterpreted my hesitation.

"I guarantee discretion," he said kindly. "I won't tell anyone what you share, but I must understand the threat to provide the best protection."

That made sense, so I told him about the anonymous informant within the guild, the compromised safe houses, and the break-in at my bedsit. Ralph stood and picked up the satchel with all that was left of my possessions.

"I'll show you the rooms upstairs. You're welcome to stay as long as you need and can come downstairs to eat whenever you want. We've got the back half of the hall screened off and don't allow men down there, so no one will bother you while using the bathroom or small kitchen."

I cleared my throat to remove the sudden obstruction and replied, "Thank you so much. I hope this will all be cleared up within a few days and I can find a new room."

As we walked up a staircase at the back of the kitchen, Ralph said, "Does Remy know you are here?"

"No!" I yelped.

Ralph paused with one foot on the next step and looked back at me. "Does he know about the vandalism?"

Clutching the banister with a death grip, I shook my head. "You won't tell him, will you?"

With a sigh, Ralph continued up the stairs. "No. But I think you should. He can help."

"I don't want his help," I said stiffly.

"He's the most resourceful man I know. If anyone can find a way out, it's him."

"I'd rather do it myself."

"As you wish. He never asks for help either, and that's a very lonely way to live."