fast.” I smile back at him and nod. I’ve never been in a city so heavily Tamouran. It almost feels like coming home.
You could rule a place like this, say the whispers in my head, and my heart fills with glee.
Once we approach his stall, Violetta digs out a couple of bronze talents and hands them over to the man. I stay back. I watch as she makes him laugh, then he leans over to murmur something and she blushes demurely. Violetta responds with a smile that could devastate the sun. At the end of this exchange, she turns away with two skewers of meat. As she leaves his stand, the vendor stares at her back before turning his attention to new customers. He switches the language of his greeting again. “Avei, avei! Forget the gambling and come have some fresh flatbread!”
Violetta hands a bronze talent to me. “A discount,” she says. “Because he liked us.”
“Sweet Violetta.” I arch an eyebrow at her as I take one of the skewers. We’ve kept our purses full so far because I can use my powers to steal coins from noblemen. That is my contribution. But Violetta’s skill is entirely different. “At this rate, they’ll be paying us to eat their food.”
“That’s what I’m working toward.” Violetta looks at me with an innocent smile that’s not innocent at all. Her eyes wander the square, pausing where an enormous bonfire burns in front of a temple. “We’re getting closer,” she says as she takes a delicate bite. “His energy isn’t very strong. It shifts as we go.”
After we eat, I follow Violetta as she practices her power, guiding us in a long, jagged pattern through the mass of people. Every night since we fled Estenzia, we’ve sat across from each other and I’ve let her experiment on me, like how she used to braid my hair when we were little. She pulls and tugs. Then I blindfold her and walk silently around the room, testing whether or not she can sense my location. She reaches out to touch the threads of my energy, studying their structure. I can tell she’s getting stronger.
It frightens me. But Violetta and I made a promise after we left the Daggers: We will never use our powers against each other. If Violetta wants protection with my illusions, I will always give it. In return, Violetta will always leave my abilities untouched. That is all.
I have to trust someone.
We wander for almost an hour before Violetta stops in the middle of the square. She frowns. I wait beside her, studying her face. “Did you lose him?”
“Maybe,” Violetta replies. I can barely hear her over the music. We wait a moment longer before she finally turns to her left, nodding for me to follow.
Violetta pauses again. She turns in a circle, and then folds her arms with a sigh. “I lost him again,” she says. “Perhaps we should go back the way we came.”
The words have only just left her mouth when another street vendor stops us in our tracks. He is dressed like all the other operators, his face entirely obscured by a long-nosed dottore mask, his body shrouded in colorful, mismatched robes. At second glance, I notice that those robes are made of luxurious silk, finely woven and dyed with rich inks. He takes Violetta’s hand, holds it up to his mask as if to kiss it, and puts a hand over his heart. He gestures for both of us to join the small circle around his stand.
I recognize the scheme right away—a Kenettran gambling game where the operator places twelve colorful stones before you and asks you to choose three. He’ll then mix the stones underneath cups. You often play as a group, and if you are the only one to guess where all three are hidden, then you not only win back your own money, but everyone else’s bet along with the operator’s entire purse. One look at the operator’s heavy purse tells me he has not lost a round in a while.
The operator bows at us without a word and motions for us to choose three stones. He does the same to the others gathered beside us. I look on as two other revelers pick their stones enthusiastically. On our other side is a young malfetto boy. He is marked by the blood fever with an unseemly black rash across his ear and cheek. Behind his thoughtful façade is an undercurrent of fear.