Chapter 20 New Friends
New Friends
The play is still unfolding when I rise, which is precisely why I do it.
Junis glances down at the stage and then back at me, a faint crease forming between his brows.
“Already?” he asks. I fold my fan as I stand, smiling.
“I’ve seen enough. I love the theater. I simply have no desire to share it with your cousins and my sister, especially now that your flask is empty.
” I frown. “The wine here tastes like grass, and they clearly do not serve ale here.”
“Clearly,” Junis says.
Below us, the orchestra continues, unaware. Actors move through their marks, delivering lines to an audience that has already begun to fracture into whispers and shifting bodies.
We step out of the box before the second act begins, the door closing softly behind us, though not softly enough to go unnoticed. The absence is felt at once as chairs shift and heads turn, the quiet recognition passing through the room that the Princess has chosen to leave. I keep my eyes forward.
Junis offers his arm, and I take it as we make our way toward the stairs that wind down along the edge of the theater.
Only then do I glance back. Sevrin has leaned forward in his seat, one arm braced against his knee, his attention no longer casual but intent, drawn now by absence rather than proximity.
The amusement has left his face, replaced by something darker, something watchful.
Colsar has half-risen, the movement incomplete yet revealing enough to betray him, his hand gripping the edge of his seat as though it has offended him, his mouth set, his eyes fixed first on the empty box we have just vacated and then on me.
I do not grant him even a moment of hesitation.
We descend as whispers gather behind us, quick and hungry.
By the time we reach the street, the night feels charged, the carriage already waiting.
Junis gives the driver the palace address, though his tone carries the promise that we will not remain there long. As the wheels turn, I reach into my bodice and withdraw the folded letter. The page is blank.
Junis watches me without comment as I turn the paper once in the dim light, then fold it again and tuck it away, pressing it flat against my ribs as though warmth might coax the ink to appear. Use what you have. I do not know what that means yet, only that I will.
When the palace comes into view, I do not hesitate. “I’ll be back,” I say, already moving. Inside, the servants’ halls are quiet. I knock once on Emva’s door, twice on Torsin’s. When they open, startled and blinking, I grin. “Get dressed,” I say. “We’re going out.”
Back in my chambers, silk becomes irrelevant as I change quickly, trading it for trousers, a loose shirt, and boots that scuff instead of glide.
The same clothes I used when I slipped out at night while living in the Baron’s house.
I draw my hair forward and pause, then let the glamour take hold, gold fading to brown as the brightness in my eyes dims into something unremarkable, a shade that reflects nothing back, even to those who look too closely.
The letter disappears into the drawer beneath my vanity, weighed down with folded linen so it will not shift. I will worry about how to read it later. For now, it is enough that it exists.
When I return to the carriage with Emva and Torsin in tow, they climb inside ahead of me, laughter already low and conspiratorial. Junis takes one look at us and smiles, amused.
“Excellent,” he says. “I hate drinking alone.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Somewhere loud,” he replies. “Somewhere honest. Somewhere that doesn’t care who you are.”
“Tellys,” we all say together, laughter slipping easily between us.
As the carriage turns away from the palace gates, I resist the impulse to glance back. For the second time tonight, I choose not to.
Junis reaches into his coat and flips open a small pocket watch, studying the face of it briefly before snapping it shut again. “Nyara may already be there,” he says. “It’s where we usually end up after a night with the court.”
I glance at him. “I’ve never seen either of you there.”
“You wouldn’t have,” he says easily. “I spend most of my time at sea these days, and Nyara usually goes dressed like you.” He gestures toward my borrowed boy’s clothes. “So you certainly wouldn’t have noticed her.”
I smile, already certain I will like her.
Telly’s smells the same as it always does.
Ale and smoke and bodies pressed too close, laughter layered over music that refuses to stay in tune.
The door bangs shut behind us and the sound swells instantly, wrapping around me like something familiar and earned.
Torsin lets out a shout the moment we step inside, already flushed and red-faced, his cap crooked, his good sense long abandoned.
“Don’t start losing before I sit down,” Emva says, already turning toward the barkeep.
“Bold of you to assume I intend to lose at all,” I reply, my words lost to the noise as she walks away. Emva grins beside him, eyes bright.
Junis lingers half a step behind me, no longer the composed cousin from breakfast or the measured presence in the box seat. He has shed his coat and rolled his sleeves, his posture easy in a way that makes it clear this world belongs to him as much as the sea does.
Then someone bumps into him from behind. She turns with a bright laugh, then lights up when she sees him.
“Junis!” The woman throws her arms around him before stepping back to look him over. This must be Nyara.
She is dressed exactly like us. Trousers worn soft at the knee, a boy’s jacket that hangs open, and boots scuffed from use. Her hair is tucked beneath a cap, curls escaping at her temples, her smile quick and unapologetic.
Then her attention shifts to me, and her expression brightens with recognition. “Oh,” she says. “You’re her. The new cousin.”
“I’ve been dying to thank you for making Esmeraldis uncomfortable at breakfast. She was so taken aback when you volunteered to go to the theater that she barely had the energy to inform me of my many moral failings tonight,” she says.
She leans in. “I also have a suggestion for you.”
She lifts her hand to her mouth as though telling me a secret. “You should find an attractive palace maid from the east wing to bed. They’ll be far less dreary than our sordid cousin Colsar.”
A laugh escapes me, unintended.
Nyara grins. “She’d likely prove a better bedmate, and at least she wouldn’t try to breed you for succession like the power-hungry men who rule this country.”
I find I have no reply, not because I disagree, but because I have never heard such candor from someone I have only just met.
“Or, if the east wing proves inconvenient, I happen to know a very enthusiastic woman who lives on—”
Junis groans. “Nyara.”
She ignores him and hooks her arm through mine without asking. “I sing for drunken nobles and get labeled a whore for it,” she adds cheerfully, “which means I’m extremely likable.”
I laugh, surprised by how easily it comes. “I like you.”
“Good,” she says. “We’ll be friends.”
We claim a table near the back, its surface scarred by knife marks and spilled ale. Mugs appear, then cards. Dice rattle across the wood and disappear again into waiting hands. The wine is terrible and the ale worse, but we drink it anyway.
Time loosens.
Nyara cheats openly and lies about it badly. Torsin accuses everyone of conspiring against him. Emva wins three hands in a row and insists it was luck. Junis watches it all with fond resignation, occasionally slipping coins back into my pile when no one is looking.
At some point, Nyara climbs onto her chair and raises her mug.
“I have a story,” she announces.
Groans and cheers ripple through the table.
“This already sounds dangerous,” Junis mutters.
“It involves a Thren,” Nyara continues.
The table erupts.
“Liar,” Emva says immediately.
“They eat souls,” Torsin adds.
Nyara rolls her eyes. “The Crown says they eat souls, so I suppose they must. But I can tell you they eat other things too.”
I choke on my drink.
“And they’re quite handsome,” she adds smugly.
Laughter crashes around us.
“You’re making it up,” Emva says.
“I am absolutely not,” Nyara insists. “Behind the opera house. Alley smelled like piss and poor decisions.”
Junis drops his head into his hands. “You are a menace.”
“They’re murderers,” Torsin says weakly.
Nyara shrugs. “Possibly. But I was very much alive afterward.”
The table howls at her story as someone pulls us to our feet and drags us into the dance. Boots pound against the floor, the music loud and fast and imperfect. I let myself spin and laugh, the world blurring just enough. For a few hours, I am not veiled, not crowned, not managed.
When the night thins, Junis and Nyara insist on seeing me back. Emva and Torsin peel off with promises to stay out until morning, already halfway to their next mistake.
The carriage ride is warm and unsteady. Laughter fades into something softer as the palace gates come into view. Junis helps me down, careful without being patronizing. Nyara squeezes my hands.
“Next time,” she says firmly. “We’ll play darts.”
“I look forward to it,” I reply, meaning it.