TRISTAN

Having to spend a good deal of my days at the library under the guise of being a student wasn't particularly hard, but eavesdropping there and in the surrounding cafés and restaurants was becoming more difficult.

You would think that having Reinier in the city, there would be more information than we knew what to do with. All I had managed to catch was that he had brought his dumb kid along for the ride and something about an engagement party in a larger city.

Nobles got married all the time. The official announcement was supposed to be made within a week. The only halfway decent information I'd managed to catch was a few names off the guest list, and even those were the same ones that attended all his other parties. Nothing new. Nothing useful.

I felt sorry for whatever poor woman got stuck marrying into that family. Reinier wasn't particularly attractive, and I couldn't imagine his son looking much better. Not if that double from a few years ago was anything to go by. She wouldn't get the consolation of a handsome husband to go with her loveless marriage. Although, the promise of money and power was probably worth it to many.

Maybe we would get lucky and see his son. If we were able to put together a decent description or sketch, then the Resistance could properly target him and take him out. I discarded the thought with an annoyed sigh. Reinier would find some way to spin it in his favor.

One of his allies got offed? They were weak, so of course they died. Kid dies? That's okay, he was a fool anyway. Who needs heirs when you've claimed to have found immortality? What a horrid thought. Lady Below, may that man never find a way to extend his life.

It was late afternoon when I gave up and headed back to the boarding house. The pinwheels in the garden spun slowly in the wind, and I did a double take when I caught sight of a large raven pecking at one of the calendula. It ignored me when I tried shouting at it.

"The least you can do is eat the damned spiders in there instead of harassing the flowers," I said.

It gave me a quick glance before going right back to its entertainingly destructive task. I watched for a moment as it seemingly grew bored and moved on to knocking over the pinwheels.

With a shake of my head, I moved past the garden and into the house. It wasn't my job to fix it, and it was just as well. The last thing we needed was one of Reinier's people finding us. Even if our signs were regularly changed, you never knew how quickly he would catch on.

There was the soft murmur of conversation coming from the dining room. With a sigh, I tucked away all thoughts of lazing around in my bedroom and headed for the dining room. I was surprised to see everyone there. Apparently, I wasn't the only one unable to be productive with Reinier actively in town.

Mrs. Almers smiled at me, and gestured to a plate of fresh cookies.

Mr. and Mrs. Almers were the owners of the safehouse, and acted every bit of the boarding house owners they claimed to be. Up to and including Mrs. Almers's need to badger me about finding a nice young lady to settle down with. If I wanted that, I would have stayed at the Crypt I grew up in. A few nice girls had passed through there that I had hit it off with—some better than others.

Even their son, Gareth, thought it necessary that someone so young and kind shouldn't be risking their life and freedom in the Resistance. He once tried getting me a job at the accounting house where he worked. I would find help wanted fliers on the dining room table for nice, respectable jobs. Showing off my Black Market tattoo had shut that topic down after putting up with it for a month.

I nodded to Olwen and Monty as I took my seat at the table and helped myself to a cookie and some tea. The pair had been my traveling companions for the past five years, and we were something of a team. They each had a much more rustic upbringing than me.

Olwen had grown up on the dodgy end of the docks of Ancarat City, but you would never know it. She had taken to getting every job as a clerk she could find, leaving her fishmonger upbringing far behind. Her hands and arms were littered with scars, but her white shirtsleeves managed to hide most of the damage. She had beautiful mousy brown hair that she could weave into perfect braids and severe buns.

Looking every bit the part, Monty was born and bred a farmer in the middle of Corrinder's countryside. The left side of his face was streaked with a deep scar he claimed came from a fierce fight with a construct. Sometimes, it came from a sword or a knife. One time, I managed to get him drunk enough to admit he had earned it from a rope snapping and whiplashing a crank into his face. He was back to growing his hair and beard out again, and I was preparing myself to be questioned more frequently by helpful guards thinking I was being press ganged by a pirate.

We were an odd mix, but we worked well together. Base trusted us enough to do our job with little instruction, and that was what mattered the most to me. It was mostly "go here, watch this guy, listen to rumors, and report back." It was pretty boring, but the pay was decent enough. The basics were covered, and the odd jobs we took covered most luxuries we wanted.

Pulling my satchel from my shoulder, I reached in and tossed the charms I made the day before onto the dining room table. "I got us some protection from aura readers. They're supposed to regulate your aura and push whatever you concentrate on. They weren't cheap."

They had cost me an entire hour, but it wasn't my time that was worth anything. It was the risk of performing spellwork without a license in a populated area. So far, I had been lucky enough to have not been caught.

Monty plucked up one of the charms and turned it in his hand. "Don't be so sour," he said as he leaned in with a wide grin. The scar running from the edge of his brow down to his chin dipped into his smile line, making him look much more charming than he had any right to be. "If it bugs you that much, you can always hook me up with one of them fancy tattoos."

A fancy black market tattoo that you had to earn through consistent trade of highly illegal goods. I traded in anything I could infuse with magic: weapons, drugs, charms… Everything short of a chimera. If I had to wait another month, I would have dealt in those, too. I had earned that little black mark on my wrist the hard way at thirteen, and I wasn't about to share it with Monty. Even if I did like him.

It had earned me my spot in the Resistance. I could have dropped my real name, but I would rather see someone else claim a throne I was never supposed to have. Or, Mallou forbid, they would use me as some sort of propagandic figurehead and treat me like a fragile flower.

Trista Vahlen of Astraea, Daughter of High Sorceress Tetra and King Ogden.

What an awful mouthful of a title. It was more trouble than it was worth. I liked being a nobody with the freedom to roam. I liked being Tristan Bellis.

I pushed Monty away. "You're too pure for the Black Market," I said. And it was true. He was brash and tactless, but he had his morals set in stone.

Gareth picked up one of the amulets from the table and examined the stitched sigils. He showed it to his father, who nodded in approval. "Wonderful. These will be perfect."

"They'll never see us coming," Monty added with a nod.

"They still have eyes," Olwen said flatly. "Thank you, Tristan."

"But they won't know what we're up to. As for you, Tristan, I got you," Monty reached below the table and brought up a stack of books, "more books! Perfect for your upcoming book report or dissertation. Whatever it is kids write these days."

I crossed my arms and glared at the titles on the spines. Folklore of Premari, Acklosic Economics, Squashes and Equines: My Summer Abroad. What in the Mallou was I supposed to be studying? At least he hadn't thrown one of those awful romance books in there again. I raised my eyes to his, and I must have looked a sight. He shrank back with a sheepish grin.

"No one's gonna look at the titles," he insisted  "They're just gonna see a wide-eyed student."

He was using me as an excuse to grab whatever he wanted to read with our budget. The least he could do was get me something I'd like to read for a change.

Mr. Almers shook his head with a tired fondness reserved just for us. "It's just your normal reconnaissance tomorrow. Get a feel for what kinda guards Reinier's toting around. Report back anything strange."

It was all pointless. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changed. "We already know this. We've known his routine for years. What makes tomorrow different? Next week, even?" I asked, unable to hide my annoyance. This was stupid. I could have stayed in my room.

Olwen sighed as she shook her head. "He's got a point. We've been here four months, and Reinier just happened to show up on our watch." She put a hand on her hip as she turned to Monty. "I say we push for a coastal city next. I wanna sit on a beach and drink."

"Easy to get jobs by the water," Monty added.

"Every little bit helps," Gareth insisted, looking between the three of us.

"Yeah, yeah," Mr. Almers said, waving off his son. "I caught wind of something today. Waiting to hear back from Base, so we'll know more tomorrow. In the meantime—"

He paused to look between us, planning the best way to make us miserable for our unenthusiasm.

"You two keep an eye on Reinier," he said, pointing to Monty and me. He turned his attention to Olwen and Garreth. His son didn't look too thrilled to have been caught up in our punishment. "You two scope out the Arlotto residence."

Mrs. Almers let out a small gasp. "Oh, no. I liked the Arlottos… Always treated their servants right. Treated me right whenever I came to help with the laundry."

"At least it was just an eviction," Mr. Almers said, patting his wife's shoulder. "C'mon, rest up for tomorrow. I'm gonna dig out my old quarantine sign."

"We expecting to run?" Monty asked.

"Maybe. For right now? It's just in case."