The urgency of my mission leaves my reeling mind unable to settle enough for sleep. All night, I am resigned to tossing and turning on my soft mattress, wondering what my next step should be.
I think I disagree with Victorâwhile it would be easy enough to bed the prince, I don't believe it would help me learn anything about him. He seems entirely unaffectionate towards Cordelia, so I'm sure I can expect the same treatment towards me. No; I don't think he'll have any desire to tell me his secret fears.
By the time the sun rises, I realize what I need to do: I need to visit the black market.
Giving up entirely on even an hour of sleep, I tear out of bed and rifle through the gowns in my wardrobe. All of them are extremely conspicuous, and will paint me as a target at the market. Vendors know who they're dealing with, and if I arrive dressed as some idiotic noble, I'll have no chance of being given a fair price for whatever useful wares I can find. I have no interest in being taken advantage of, so I decide to visit my room on Lockard Alley so I can change my clothes beforehand.
I dress in the duchess's old riding habit and step into her room, hoping she isn't awake. But she's sitting up in bed, sipping the tea that Morwen has served her. They both stare at me for a moment, doubtless wondering where I'm going so early in the morning.
"Did the prince invite you on another ride?" Ethel asks, her thin eyebrows arched.
"No," I say. "I'm riding on my own. Do you suppose they'll let me borrow a palace horse?"
"Certainly. That's what they're for."
"Good." Before I can escape, Ethel is speaking again.
"Where are you going?"
I turn back to face her. "I still know nothing about the prince, so I hope to find something in town to aid me in fulfilling my assignment."
Ethel nods. "I see. I knew that Victor made a mistake, choosing a girl like you for this task."
At least I'm not reliant upon a marriage promise to secure my future, I think scathingly. But I need Ethel, so I can't say this to her aloud. "What do you mean?'
"Look at you." Ethel's critical eyes look me up and down, slowly taking in every inch of my body as she judges my appearanceâand probably my character as well. "I know his plan is contingent upon the ease with which you can trick the prince into revealing himself to you at his most vulnerable. But when I look at you, all I see is a ratty street girl that not even the most extravagant of clothes can hide."
"I agree," I say, surprised by how much her words sting, despite how accurate they are. "If you could offer any advice, I'm glad to hear it."
She blinks. "You want my advice?"
"Yes," I say. "You know the prince better than I do. How can I earn his trust and learn his secrets?"
Ethel passes her now-empty teacup to Morwen, who scurries out of the room to return it to the kitchen.
"Adrian knows better than to reveal too much of himself to others," she says in a soft voice. "All of us have been taught since birth to be careful. We have so many enemies in this world, you seeâkings of other nations searching for our weak spots, armies threatening to encroach upon our land. Even within Itoria, we squabble with one another over the boundaries of our provinces, prices for trading our respective goods, et cetera. But the worst of it is the danger our own people pose to us." She gives me a meaningful look.
I don't tell her that, while I have come close to killing before, I have never actually gone through with it. Though I am the best disenthraller in Itoria, I only use my skills for survival. At least, I have until now. But stealing the prince's shadow will help everyone in Durnwall and beyond not only survive, but thrive.
"As a result, Adrian is abundantly cautious," Ethel continues. "He guards his mind and his heart as the priceless treasures they are. I don't see a girl like you breaking through these locks."
"But he's so free with himself," I say.
"Free with his body, Nyx. Not so much with his heart. I think you'll have trouble drawing the information you want from his lips. He is reticent even when speaking with me, someone who understands the troubles of his situation. We are only staying here a month, and a week has already passed. It would be best for you to employ other methods of loosening his tongue."
I nod curtly. "I have some ideas."
"Good."
I don't wait for her to speak again before I slip into the hallway and make my way to the royal stable. The grooms look surprised to see me again, and I wonder if they heard of my unfortunate incident with Burr. I spy the half-tamed mare in her pen, tossing her head and snorting impatiently. Though difficult to control, she's certainly fast, and I'm eager to carry out my errand.
"Do you require a horse?" one of the grooms asks.
"Yes," I say. Pointing to the gray-speckled Burr, I say, "Saddle that one for me, please."
His mouth falls open, and he pauses for a moment before saying, "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
The groom obeys, and passes me the reins once he's finished preparing the horse. I lead Burr into the grassy field, unnerved by how much she stamps and tugs on my arm. Clumsily, I mount her and kick her into action.
She takes off at a rapid pace, and together we streak across the field. The wind tugs at my braided hair, and with the wind rushing in my ears, it almost feels as though I'm flying. I urge her along faster, until we're a good distance into the woods. Then, I turn her in the direction of Durnwall. We ride through the woods to circumvent the guards at the castle gates, entering town at a far slower pace once I manage to control Burr's speed.
Today, she's behaving much better than last time. I wonder if being around the prince's guards made her nervous. Even I felt a little uneasy, having them so close. It made me fear that one of them might see through my guise and recognize me as what I was due to my ineptitude at riding. Perhaps it was a good thing, then, that I picked one of the stable's most difficult horsesâeven a skilled rider could potentially struggle to control Burr, which made my own lack of skill less conspicuous. Still, I have to wonder how perceptive the guards are. The prince might not be very clever, but his men could be.
As we race through the woods, the wind tugging gently at my hair, I marvel at how quickly Burr can run. With her, I feel as though I could outrun even the swiftest of the gods. The trees, too, offer a layer of safety. Here in Itoria, where the summers are bright but ephemeral and the winters as dark as they are wicked, everything must be practical, down to the trees and plants. The trees are tall and dense, their verdant leaves brilliant in the summer sunshine, but when those leaves die off in the winter, the brittle, unfriendly branches are exposed. Their bark is tough to burn, protesting with smoke until the outer layer has charred away to ashesâpart of the reason why they are commonly known as smoke trees. Roses protect themselves with angry thorns; persistent clovers burst through cracks in cobblestones, fighting to see the sun; and ivy grows fast and unforgiving over any surface it can grapple. Even the grass is different than warmer southern countries; here it's particularly tough, often difficult for cows and horses to chew.
My thoughts turn to Ingram, the man brave enough to defy the prince and speak to him without employing a title. I'll have to keep an eye on him; he might be smart enough to pose a threat.
Once I reach Lockard Alley, I hurry to the back of Blythe's building and tie Burr to a broken lamppost. Then I go to my room, my urgency instantly quelled by the relief of being in a place that I consider home. There's something incredibly inviting about my shabby furniture and the room's complete lack of grandiosity.
I take a moment to breathe in the familiar, musty scent of the place, which is completely at odds with the pristine, perfumed odors of the castle. Then I dive into my dresser, pulling out my spare set of clothes. White shirt, leather pants, and leather vest. I transfer what weapons I could conceal under my riding habit to my regular clothes, then supplement them with the spare weapons I keep stored under my bed. My spare knife is strapped to my thigh holster, and another one is tucked into my belt. I grab the sack of gold that Victor gave me as an advance and secure it inside my belt pouch. Finally, I'm ready.
The black market is impossible to find, unless you know where you're going. The location changes from time to time as well, so once in a while it'll take a few tries to find it. I was first introduced to it by an old friend I met on the street. She was a kind girl who told me that occultists could brew us a potion that would keep our stomachs feeling full for a week. Before we could earn enough money to buy one, though, she succumbed to a combination of cold and disease.
I did manage to try the potion once, and immediately swore it off afterwards. It made me forget my hunger, so I was completely unmotivated to eat for an entire week. By the time the potion wore off, my malnourishment caught up to me and I almost collapsed in the street. Though I can't deny the usefulness of the magic, I also have to acknowledge the danger of it. Every other spell I find today will likely have similar drawbacks, so I have to be careful.
The first place I check, the abandoned sawmill, is empty. The second place, the basement of the large Moonlight Inn and Tavern, is bustling with activity. Here, the ceiling is made of the ancient floorboards of the tavern above allows one to see the patrons above through the cracks if you look closely enough. Like everything else in Durnwall, it is crumbling. But it is sturdy enough to hold the two dozen or so vendors that are here, hoping to make enough money to get them through the week. I recognize some of the vendors: Tilly Carver, the occultist; Cael Hunt, the sorcerer; Marley Howard, the collector; and many more.
I go to Marley first. I trust in his items, since he supplied my trapping jars and the one I used didn't fail me.
"Good morning," he says. His voice is so low that it's almost inaudible beneath the chatter of the other patrons. Underneath his hood, I can just make out his grim mouth and scarred face.
"Hi, Marley." I stare at the table before him, examining his enchanted weapons, varied potions, and pieces of jewelry. All of them have some sort of magic attached, but it's impossible to tell simply from looking at them. My own skills don't allow for such discernment; it takes a cleverly trained eye, like Marley's, to see them for what they truly are.
I am excellent at disenthrallment, but sometimes I wish that I had been born with different magic. The life of a black market vendor would be a lot easier than that of a shadow-stealer. At least, it would be more consistent.
"Are you looking for anything in particular?" Marley asks. He sounds disinterested, but I know that that's not actually the case. While he doesn't know that I'm the Shadow Thief, he is well aware that I'm skilled at the art of disenthrallment, a rare gift that most are impressed and frightened by.
I do have some idea. "Do you have anything that might turn me invisible?"
He tilts his head up and I catch a glimpse of his amber eyes, which are almost entirely hidden by the shadow of his hood. "Invisibility? That's a very advanced sort of magic."
"Yes, I know."
"Dangerous, too."
That part, I wasn't aware of. "What makes it so dangerous?"
"Stay invisible too long, and you may lose sight of yourself."
I purse my lips as I try to parse through his warning. "I'm not sure what you mean."
"I'm telling you to be careful, Nyx. Invisibility changes the way you see the world, and no matter who you're spying on, I guarantee that you won't like what you find."
"How do you know I'm spying on someone?"
"Why else would you wish to become invisible?"
It's a fair point; the only uses for invisibility that I can think of at the moment is sneaking in somewhere or spying on someone. But I don't think I'll dislike what I find out about the Silver Prince. At least, watching him won't make me dislike him moreâI don't believe that's possible. While I do plan to take Marley's warning seriously, I don't think it applies to me. Not in this situation, anyway.
"Listen, Marley," I murmur. "This is really important. I promise I'll be careful. Now, do you have anything for me?"
He shakes his head. "Try Aliza Baxter."
"Who?" I've never heard that name before.
"She's an occultist. Has the biggest collection I've ever seen."
I glance around the room, wondering which woman he's speaking of. "Where is she?"
"Not here," Marley hisses, his voice so quiet that I have to lean in to hear him. "She owns the Compendium on Delbury Lane."
"That's a junk shop." It's full of used items, most of which are of no interest to me. I did buy my boots there, though.
"Yes, to a person like you it would look like junk." His tone takes on a critical edge that reminds me of the duchess. "Some if it is more than meets the eye."
"All right," I say. "I'll go see her, then. Thank you, Marley."
"Good luck."
Delbury Lane isn't too far, but my pace over the crooked cobblestones is quick. No one on Lockard Alley has much need of a horse, but I'm worried that someone will steal Burr and try to sell her. Poverty has made the people of Durnwall dishonestâincluding meâand it would be a grave issue to return to the castle horseless after a "ride." At least Burr is wild enough that I could potentially claim that she unseated me and bolted, but even so, I don't want to face the consequences of losing a royal horse. I need to make this trip as quick as possible.
I pass several stores with rusty, crooked signs proclaiming the services they provide: hairdressing, tailoring, herbal remedies, and many more. None of these buildings are in good condition; each one is in desperate need of repairs. I have to wonder if the king ever ventures from his throne and visits Durnwall. Surely, he must have some idea of the state this town is in, though I can hardly expect him to care. Since the Silver Prince has been here several times, I know that he's seen the dilapidation that is spreading like the plague throughout town. He, of course, cares even less. As long as the bars and brothels are operable, none of this affects him whatsoever. Why should he put any effort into fixing it?
I find the Compendium near the end of the street, before the cobblestone road gives way to a dirt path leading to meager farms and Durnwall's more rural residences. Its sign is painted in gold that at one point must have looked nice, but has now chipped away so much that it's nearly illegible. The dusty windows are difficult to see through, but I can make out several odd items: a spinning wheel, a soldier's helmet, and a large, stained mirror.
As I push the door open, it knocks into an overhead bell that lets out a soft chime. I find myself in the middle of a store piled with ancient detritus, just as claustrophobic as I remember. But there are gems among the junk, I have to remind myself. My boots, still in excellent condition even after two years of continuous use, are a testament to that.
A middle-aged woman with clouded eyes squints at me from behind a desk near the door. "You've been here before."
"You remember me?" I've only been here once, and I barely remember this woman. When I look at her, though, my first impression of Aliza Baxter comes rushing back. A half-blind woman with an uncanny ability to see deep into the hearts of her customers. She gave me a discount on the boots, her pity for me shining through. At the time, my feet were half-frozen, so my pride didn't prevent me from accepting the lowered price. Now, though, my pockets are filled with goldâand, thanks to Victor, no price is out of my reach.
"You were but a youngling then." Her squint deepens. "Still are, I see."
After all I've lived through, I feel older than I am. But she's right: seventeen years is not so long as it seems. "Marley Howard sent me," I tell her. "He said you might be able to help me."
"That depends on what you're looking for."
"A spell to turn me invisible."
Her foggy eyes widen, and she says in a scratchy voice, "He must have warned you how perilous that sort of magic is."
"Yes. He said I might lose sight of myself."
"And you appear to believe that you're in no danger of that."
"I know I'm not in any danger of that." I don't expect to stay invisible for long, and I'm completely sure of myself. Years of disenthrallment have secured my identity as the Shadow Thief, and no amount of magic can take that from me. I know who I am and what my task is. There is no danger here. Though, admittedly, I am unfamiliar with the mechanics of other types of magic. Disenthrallment is a rare gift and, while it is possible to possess it whilst being a magician, I am unable to practice more commonplace magic. Like everyone else in Itoria, I have to visit a proper magician if I want healing potions or protection charms or other such items.
"Your hubris will be your downfall," Aliza says cryptically.
Her warnings make me impatient, merited as they may be. I have a horse to get back to, and a prince to spy on. "Can you help me or not, Aliza?"
She shakes her head. "Yes, girl, I can help you." She pulls a key from her pocket and ducks down to unlock the bottom drawer of her desk. When she reemerges, a shiny black ring is resting on her open palm.
There's something about the ring that unnerves me, but I can't be sure what. I've felt this before, though, this sense of dark foreboding. It reminds me of Victor, the Lord of the Underworld, and the way he made my knees tremble.
"This is an Immaterial Ring," says Aliza. "One of only three that I am aware of."
It's exactly what I need. "How much?"
Aliza scoffs. "How much? Your gold is worthless to me, girl. No, I require payment of another sort."
My heart sinks. "All I have is gold."
"Your mind has been narrowed by your own pursuits. Gold means little in my world."
Gold is the only thing that keeps me alive. Shouldn't she, in her shabby little shop, be aware of how vital it is? It's as necessary as the air that runs through both of our lungsâtoo much will corrupt you, too little will kill you. "Tell me what you want, then, and I'll procure it somehow."
She smiles wide, revealing her crooked teeth. Combined with her misted eyes, it's an expression that makes me want to escape this shop as quickly as I can. "I will give you this ring now, if you promise to bring me three drops of royal blood in thirteen days' time."
If I have the ring, that should be simple enough. "Deal."
She extends the ring towards me, but when I reach out to take it, she grasps my hand and yanks me closer to her. My hips dig into the ledge of the desk and my body stiffens in shock, my left hand automatically creeping to the knife hanging by my side. The only thing that prevents me from drawing it and sinking it into her shoulder is the ring pressed between our hands. Though she's been holding onto it for a couple minutes now, the metal band is colder than ice. I'm shocked by the feeling of it, almost burning my skin with how biting its temperature is.
"Are you aware that someone followed you here?" Aliza whispers. Her strangely cold breath tickles my ear, and a chill runs down my spine.
"No." I can't believe the stalker escaped my notice. As always, I was hyper-aware of everyone around me. No one should have been able to pass through the tightly-woven net of my vigilance. If Aliza is right, whoever followed me is skilled, possibly more skilled than I in the art of sneaking around.
"You should be more careful." The shopkeeper releases me, allowing the Immaterial Ring to fall from her hand and into mine.
I straighten my back and tuck the ring into my pouch, nestling it beside the gold that Aliza didn't want. Maybe it's Eamon Turner who followed me, seeking to reclaim his stolen reward. But, noâit couldn't be. While a skilled assassin, I have proven to be stealthier even than he. It isn't possible for him to follow me here, unnoticed.
"Thank you for the warning," I murmur.
"Remember," she says. "Thirteen days. And trust me, girl, you don't want me coming after you to collect."
I'm certain that I don't. Trying to conceal my trepidation, I walk out of the Compendium at a controlled pace, keeping a nonchalant air about me. As I continue down Delbury Lane, I surreptitiously glance at those around me, as I always do. I pass an old woman in a worn red hat, a tall man with a heavy walking stick, a girl with two pigtails skipping over potholes as though it's a game... None are suspicious aside from the young boy whose eyes slide from side to side, discerning his surrounding the same way I do, only his methods are far more obvious are far less practiced. It's plain that he's a pickpocket, but even he is no threat to me.
As I pass an abandoned warehouse, every hair on my body stands on end. Too quickly for me to react, a pair of strong hands close around my mouth and torso, and I am dragged into the darkness of the building.