Temple domes and cathedral spires clawed against the waning sunset, ripping bloody streaks through the sky. The storied walls of Ascal, yellow in sunlight, gold at dawn and dusk, held in the bloated city like a belt. Smoke rose from the slums, a thousand plumes from a thousand hearths. Corayne squinted, searching the roofs and streets for what could be the palace, but found nothing. It must be buried deep in the city, guarded and walled again. Her stomach dropped at the thought of navigating their way to the palace, let alone getting inside.

Boats and ships of every flag skittered over the water, ants in a row, making for the teeming port of Ascal. The bridges and water gates forced all but the smallest vessels to use the same avenue. Their own ship fell in line, and the jaws of the city opened to them.

The assassin wrinkled her nose. “Brace yourself for the smell.”

They sailed past a great fortress for the city garrison, big as a lord’s castle, with stout towers and guarded ramparts. The green banners of Galland flew from its walls, the golden lion proud and massive. Corayne stared openly at the stone towers on either side of the delta channel. Both spat out gigantic chains that sank into the water, looping under the sea traffic and over the riverbed. She knew the chains could be raised, effectively cutting off the port and city within if need be. She could not help but think of Taristan’s army, the soldiers of Asunder, crawling over the chains like skittering white spiders.

“Those are the Lion’s Teeth,” Sorasa murmured, pointing at the towers guarding the river. Corayne leaned close, eager to hear more. “All must pass through except the navy of Galland, bound for Fleethaven.” She waggled her fingers at another island in the river mouth, then at a canal. “That goes to Tiber Island, for merchants and traders.”

Tiber. The god of gold. Corayne knew him intimately. Her mother’s crew sent prayers to him before every voyage.

“And what about us?” she asked, watching the city grow.

Sorasa pursed her lips. “Wayfarer’s Port. It’s first place anyone journeying by water arrives in Ascal,” she said. “Always crowded with weary travelers, pilgrims, runaways, and anyone else seeking their fortune in the capital. In short, a mess.”

The smell hit hard, falling in a stinking curtain. Manure, spoiled meat, bad water, rotten fruit, sweat, butcher blood, sewage of all kinds. Oversweet perfume, spilled wine, beer gone stale. Smoke, salt, the rare brush of a fresh breeze like a gasp of air to a man drowning. And, beneath it all, the incessant cling of damp, so deep Corayne wondered if the entire city had gone to rot. She pressed her sleeve to her nose, breathing in the familiar scent of home still holding to her cloak. Oranges, cypress, the Long Sea, her mother’s precious rose oil. For a second, her eyes stung with sharp, unshed tears.

“Where is the palace?” she asked, blinking away the sting. “I assume we can’t just walk up to the gates and ask to speak with a squire.”

The crew began their work in the sails, while the oarsmen below slowed their pace. The drumbeat keeping their time boomed like a heart.

“No, I doubt we can,” Dom said, taking an experimental breath. His face pulled in revulsion. “I’ve never smelled anything so foul,” he mumbled. Corayne had to agree.

“You’re an Elder prince,” Sorasa scoffed. She tied off her hair in a neat braid, careful to let it hang so her neck was still covered. “If anyone can knock on a palace gate, it’s you.”

Dom shook his head. “I did not suffer a week below deck to be spotted now. Taristan knows Andry Trelland escaped with the sword, and a squire of Galland is easy to track home. They could be watching the palace and the Queen.” He spat the words out like a poison. On the rail, his fingers curled.

He wants to wring Taristan’s neck, Corayne knew.

She shoved her own hands into her pockets and bit her lip. “He could have the sword already,” she said softly. Her fingers brushed the Jydi charm, useless and dusty, the beads smooth and cool. It slowed her thrumming pulse. “And all this is for nothing.”

Dom frowned. “We can’t think like that, Corayne.”

Banking on hope without sense is a certain path to failure. “Well, I do.”

“The alternative is to accept the realm is doomed,” he replied, forceful. “I will not.”

Torches flared in his eyes, reflected from the docks jutting out on either side of the river. Their own berth was near, cleared and waiting on the north bank of the waterway.

Again Corayne saw white faces, skin worn to bone, blood, and black armor. The silhouette of a man with her own eyes. Even now she could not believe it. I stand on a ship that is not my mother’s, in a kingdom not my own, chasing a quest the man who abandoned me could not fulfill. The last week caught up with her in a blur. It did not seem real. It did not make sense. Not like the stars or her charts and lists. This did not balance. Her nerves prickled.

Adjusting his green cloak, Dom fixed Sorasa with a challenging glare. His sword, bow, and quiver were hidden, giving him a hulking shape. “So, assassin of the Amhara, legend of the shadows, quick with tongue and blade, what do you suggest we do now?”

“I suggest you bribe a guard at the kitchen gate like everyone else,” Sorasa said.

Dom grumbled in annoyance. “Less conspicuous?”

The Amhara did not answer, eyes on the dock. Her thoughts were elsewhere—in a tavern, a gambling hall, a brothel, with friends in Ascal. Though Corayne doubted Sorasa Sarn tolerated friendship. Or she’s looking forward to getting rid of us. Her job is nearly done. We need only set foot on the dock and she’ll be gone. She didn’t agree to anything else.

With a sigh, Corayne nudged Dom in the side. It was like being a ship’s agent again, haggling a price between two opposing sides. If both sides despised each other, and one didn’t quite grasp the concept of currency to begin with. An exhausting proposition.

“You’re going to have to give her more money,” Corayne explained, “if you want her to get us into the Queen’s palace.”

“I’ve paid quite enough,” the Elder snapped. Corayne elbowed him again, shoving against the granite wall of his abdomen. He didn’t seem to notice. “We’ll find our own way.”

“Fine,” Corayne huffed. Then she put her hand to the Amhara, palm out in a gesture of goodwill. “I suppose this is goodbye, Sorasa Sarn.”