Three
T he war-drums of Cin’s heartbeat seemed to follow him all the way to the cobbler’s.
He waited awkwardly while his brother’s new shoes were retrieved and packaged by the old woman who’d owned the place since before Cin was born.
She grunted as she handed him the final bundle, scowling down over the side of the counter.
“Your shoes look like they could use attention,” she said, clearly eying the popped seam in the side of the right boot’s toe.
Cin tried not to grimace. If his slip at the Earharts’ was any sign, the cobbler was more right than she knew.
But Louise wouldn’t pay to replace Cin’s boots any more often then the rest of the household, even if he left the house more…
including in the middle of the night, over walls, and atop roofs.
Cin had once made the mistake of letting Floy borrow his boots to go collect their science specimens, back when they were young enough that Cin still believed the two of them might be friends—the bright, curious sibling Manfred had never been for Cin— and he was fairly sure the mud he still found caked on his soles was from them.
Maybe that was what had prompted the popped seam in the first place; Floy’s feet were a size too large for comfort now.
They’d have to curl their toes up against the tips if the bulk of their heel were to fit.
“I have a spare afternoon,” the cobbler added. “I could get it fixed for… say a quarter of what your brother’s new pair cost.”
Cin laughed awkwardly, avoiding the cobbler’s eyes. “If I got these repaired every time they broke, you’d never be rid of me,” he joked. “It would be a feat of magic just to keep them together for long.”
The cobbler huffed. “If I had that talent, I wouldn’t be here, now would I?”
“No, ma’am, I assume not.” Cin turned to go, and he felt a fresh bit of his boot tear. Before he could step out the door proper, the cobbler raised her voice.
“Heard through the guild that there’s a pair of free elves setting up shop in the border forest,” she called. “You could try them. They probably work on favors or some nonsense, knowing that lot.”
“Thanks,” Cin replied, unsure that he was thankful.
The way she had said it sounded as though she was lumping these elves’ magic in with the likes of the mythical shape-shifting Herr Candy or the illusive, bartering Frog Prince, but from what Cin knew of elves, they were a group of people more like humans than any monster of the woods.
If there were magical creatures worth risking a favor to, it was likely them.
Cin had seen elves before, a time or two—occasionally they traveled through Hallin for business, though just as often these days they were moved illegally through the country in magic-dampening chains—but each time he met one felt like the first. They should not have been such a wonder, he knew.
They had a country of their own to the north—a land of long winters and vibrant magic, so Cin had heard—and at one time they'd been allies and trade partners with the kingdoms of Hallin and beyond.
Now though, the danger of the Falchovari slave trade meant that most were better off keeping to themselves than risk traveling through the human kingdoms, where they might end up in a Falchovari factory if they strayed too close to the border.
With their lives so restricted, these cobblers in the woods were likely more open to any kind of bartering.
But there were other magical things besides elves in that forest. Cin would not be the first person to wander too far off the safety of the main road and never return.
Not even the late Prince Adalwin and his assembly of guards had managed that, despite the lies that had spread of the incident later—what chance did Cin have, alone?
Louise would allow him the money to buy a new pair of boots by next summer. That would be enough. It always had been.
Arms now laden with goods, Cin made his way back through the town in the direction of home.
His route took him past the main square, and he gave one hasty glance at the announcement board situated at one end.
He knew what would still be hanging there—hanging in every town in Hallin within a day’s ride of the nearby capital.
The wanted signs were replaced each month that Cin washed the blood from his blade: reward for information accurately identifying the murderer known as the Plumed Menace of Hallin.
The exact price tag rose with every few killings, as did the ferocity of country’s opinions on the matter.
The Plumed Menace was a vigilante, some said, ridding the country of the scum that slid through the cracks of justice.
Or they were a serial killer, others claimed, obsessed with the joy of the hunt.
And then there were those who stated it didn’t matter; that no random citizen should have the right to decide who got to live or die.
Cin thought they were the most right of the lot. Murder was murder, whether or not it had to be done. There was no goodness in killing, no piety in taking a life, only rage and justice.
From the look of the announcement, it seemed there wasn’t any new information posted—though Cin couldn’t be certain, his ability to read limited to the few words he’d memorized over the years.
There were no attempts at a picture of him, at least, and no lengthy paragraphs of description.
More confirmation that Dorthe hadn’t spoken to anyone of their encounter.
As Cin left the announcement board behind, he headed for the highpoint in the square.
If the day was clear enough, sometimes the peaks of the castle towers from the nearby capital city could be spotted from there.
It was good luck, his birth mother had told him as a child: a chance to change their fate for the better.
As she’d grown sicker, she’d begged to be brought to the square just to see it.
The sight hadn’t cured her, nor had it saved Cin’s remaining family from their slow financial ruin, but he found himself drawn to it all the same, especially on days like these—days where he knew he’d not become the child his mother had wished for.
The blood might wash out of his cloak, but the murder would not.
It was as though seeing those towers meant he was forgiven in some small way, forgiven by more than simply Dorthe.
A faint wisp of cloud cover hung low, turning the horizon to a dim gray where the farmlands connected Cin’s sleepy outskirts town to the bustling capital.
Cin’s heart sank despite himself. It was a ridiculous superstition.
But so had been the gleam in his mother’s smile as she basked in this very square, giggling, “See, my little Szule? Our God is smiling on us! Only good things will happen today.”
Still, Cin squinted through the haze to the west, hoping to prove himself wrong. As he did, Lacey and Rags landed at his side, Perdition swooping past them to drop onto Cin’s shoulder. She cooed, nipping at Cin’s ear.
He tried not to smile, not to roll his eyes and laugh at her—not in public, regardless of how little mind anyone seemed to pay Cin, even now—but he didn’t try very hard. Perdition cooed again as Cin scratched around her little cheeks, a gleam in her bright eyes. Cin chuckled at her.
“Felon,” he murmured.
Across the square, a Hallinisch solider approached the bulletin board.
She wore the green uniform of the crown’s watch, but her gold banding caught Cin’s attention.
It was delicate and embellished—a style far more elaborate than the ordinary watch members who stalked the streets after a Menace’s murder.
That signified a closeness to the royals themselves—a part of their personal guard, even.
All the watch belonged to Queen Idonia, technically, but the bulk of them did her bidding throughout the capital, venturing into the surrounding towns and beyond when her family’s need demanded it.
Whatever watch work required a personal guard member had to be out of the ordinary.
The watch member pulled a fresh, rolled bulletin from her bag and began hammering it to the announcement board. The pound of her nail sent Cin’s birds into the air. They circled, jabbering to each other, and landed on a nearby rooftop.
Cin’s gut twisted. He had sworn the Plumed Menace’s wanted poster had already been updated, the price already raised, but perhaps the crown had learned something new of him since.
What if Dorthe had seen the sugar on her counter, and thought it not a gift, but some odd kind of threat?
If she’d gone to the watch just then, could they have printed the new flyer by now?
Why give it to a personal guard of the royal family, though? Their hatred for the Plumed Menace ran deep, but that seemed out of the ordinary, even for them.
As Cin fought back his own panic, the watch member took a step back and proclaimed, “Behold, an announcement from King Warner and Queen Idonia!”
She did not seem inclined to stay and answer questions, but the nearest onlookers pressed eagerly in to view the nailed paper, Cin following anxiously in their wake, watching the faces of those nearest the bulletin for any sign that he was better off fleeing.
“What— Does that mean a marriage soon?” one of them whispered.
Marriage ? Cin felt his relief like a bucket of cold water, crackling against his skin and sliding into his bones.
It had nothing to do with the Plumed Menace, then.
Which left him with a far less panicked curiosity.
Cin crept through the growing crowd, listening as two of the nearby shopkeepers spoke in increasing glee.
“Every weekend? For six weeks?”
“There will be food!”
“What is it?” a child asked, grabbing hold of the shopkeeper’s arm.
“A ball,” he replied. Lifting his voice, he shouted out to the gathering mass as he read, “The king and queen are hosting a ball in honor of Prince Lorenz’s impending declaration of marriage to a good and gentle partner, for the bettering of our heir’s future ascension to the throne and to support his just leadership of our kingdom. ”
Heir . After growing up with the brilliant and charismatic Adalwin as Hallin’s crowned prince, Cin recoiled at the words.
He’d mourned Prince Adalwin’s loss with the rest of the kingdom.
Everyone was convinced—if not by the bloody crown, then by the long seven years since he’d last been seen—that Prince Adalwin was gone for good.
In the passing of the word heir , Cin felt more than just the weight of that crown.
It had been found not a month after he’d killed for the second time, pigeon feathers stuck to its bloody surface.
Not those of his pigeons, Cin knew, not his blade nor his rage, but the prince’s death had felt personal for it nonetheless.
He’d regretted, then, picking a calling card so easy for others to replicate.
It hadn’t stopped him from continuing it, though.
No one Cin killed, common though they were, was worth any less than a prince.
Even if that prince had been cherished as a bright and hopeful future for a kingdom who prided itself in being the gentle, kindhearted alternative to its eastern neighbor, a value which seemed to slowly be degraded with every year that passed since his disappearance.
In all that time, though, there had never been an official announcement declaring in such blatant terms that his title was passing on to the couple’s younger son.
A son who was getting married, no less.
“Do they have the match picked out?” someone to Cin’s right asked—the wife of the local blacksmith, Cin thought.
“They would not declare a marriage without one,” her friend replied.
“Then why delay the new partner’s identity?”
But the shopkeeper was still reading, “This celebration will occur for the final day of every week for the upcoming six weeks, during which all are invited to the capital to partake in food and drink from the castle’s reserves.
There will be space in the Prince’s private party reserved for eligible young—”
By then, the roar of those gathered had overwhelmed the speaker’s voice.
Cin caught only passing phrases, the excitement growing with each mention of food.
Despite his fairly regular—if often bland—meals, Cin could feel their hunger infecting him as well.
A whole banquet, for everyone. Food he didn’t have to cook, didn’t have to serve, food that Cin didn’t have to clean up after, or shop for, or spend every waking minute working around.
Maybe there would even be iced cakes or strawberry tarts, spiced veal or mutton, or even the bittersweet chocolate drink made with the legendary beans of the southern continent—all the rich and sweet food Cin hadn’t tasted since before the famine set in.
And it would be a chance to glimpse beyond the tips of the towers his mother had loved so much.
Cin lifted on his tiptoes, like that would help him see through the haze to the castle that overlooked their capital. He’d been to the city many times before, walked below the walls of the massive royal estate, but the thought of going inside...
If there was anything that had the power to make God smile on Cin again, maybe it would be that. Probably not. It was ridiculous, after all: as ridiculous as a way out of the famine and an end to the drafts in his room.
But with the blood that coated Cin’s past and future, he was willing to take any chance he was given.