After we settled into the cottage, I headed for the Citadel. The weather again promised rain, lending a bleakness to the landscape. Bare trees and brown hills seemed muted and barren of life. I knew if I swept the area with my magic, I would feel the small stirrings of creatures, waiting for the warmth. But the risk of using magic this close to the Keep was too high.

Disguised as a Featherstone clanswoman, I wore a long-sleeved linen dress underneath a plain sand-colored cloak. Although I left my bow behind, I had access to my switchblade. My hair was pulled into a stylish knot favored by the

Featherstones and held in place by my lock picks.

Valek had styled my hair. He worked in a cold and efficient manner, making it easier for me not to grasp his hands and pull him close. His deft fingers twisted the strands of my hair expertly, and a strange vision of fire melting his arms to stumps rose in my mind.

I banished the image and put my hood over my head. The north gate of the Citadel wasn’t as busy as I had hoped. In fact, once inside, only a few people walked the streets. They hunched over their packages and stared at the ground. The weather could be a factor, but the rain had ceased. The streets should be teeming with citizens hurrying to the market before the next squall.

Even the beggars were few and far between. Most of them wore expressions of worry as they glanced around, and none approached me.

The Citadel’s white marble walls looked dingy and dull. The green veins resembled streaks of dirt and the whole town felt as if a layer of grime coated it. The grunge had built up in the cracks, and soaked into the foundations. The shine was gone from the town. And it wasn’t due to the weather.

I missed a step when the first Daviian Vermin came into my sight. But soon they were everywhere. Hunching over, I mimicked the citizens’ posture, searching for an alley or side street free of Vermin. Blood throbbed in my ears. The Vermin’s gazes burned into my soul. When I entered a shortcut to the market, my legs wobbled with relief. But I kept out of view until I had studied the center square, watching the people scurrying around the market’s stands. The sense of fear even diluted the usual heady smell of spices and roasting meat.

The concentration of citizens meant more Vermin. I waited until I spotted my target and then joined the shoppers. When I drew beside a young boy of ten, I had to suppress a smile as I listened to him barter with the stand owner.

“Four coppers, take it or leave it,” Fisk said, sounding like an adult.

“I can’t feed my family for that!” the owner countered. “Since you’re my friend, I’ll take seven coppers.”

“Belladoora is selling them for four.”

“But look at this quality. Hand embroidered by my own wife. Look at the detail!” He held up the fabric.

“Five, and not a copper more.”

“Six, and that’s final.”

“Good day, sir.” Fisk walked away.

“Wait,” the stand owner called. “Five then. But you’re stealing the bread out of my children’s mouths.” He grumbled some more while wrapping the fabric in paper, but he smiled when the boy paid him the money.

I followed Fisk to his client. The woman paid him six coppers and he handed her the package.

“Excuse me, boy,” I said. “I’m in need of your services.”

“What can I do for you?” he asked. Then his eyes flew wide with shock before worry touched them. He glanced around with small furtive movements. “Follow me.”

He led me to a tight alley and into a dark dwelling. I stood in the blackness while Fisk lit a few lanterns. Thick curtains hung over the windows and only a few chairs decorated the barren room.

“This is where we meet,” Fisk said.

“We?”

He smiled. “The Helpers Guild members. We plan our day, divide up the money, and exchange gossip about our clients.”

“That’s wonderful.” Pride at what Fisk had accomplished filled my heart. The grubby beggar boy I had met on my first Citadel visit had transformed into a productive member of his family.

Fisk’s own pride showed in his light brown eyes. “It’s all because of you, my first client!”

Instead of begging for money, now Fisk and the other beggar children helped shoppers find good deals, carried packages and would do just about anything for a small fee.

His grin dropped from his face. “Lovely Yelena, you shouldn’t be here. There’s a reward for your capture.”

“How much?”

“Five golds!”

“Is that all? I thought it would be more like ten or fifteen,” I teased.

“Five is a lot of money. So much I wouldn’t trust my own cousin not to turn you in. It’s dangerous for you here. For everyone.”

“What’s been going on?”

“These new Daviian Clan members. They have taken over. At first it was just a couple of them, but now the streets are filled. Ugly rumors about their involvement with the Sandseed genocide has everyone frightened. People living in the Citadel have been questioned, and certain beggars have disappeared. Whispers about how the Council members have lost control have spread, yet they are preparing for a war.”

Fisk shook his head. He had wisdom beyond his years. I mourned the loss of his childhood. Being a child of beggars had robbed him of fun, wonder and the ability to make mistakes without fatal consequences.

“How about the Keep?” I asked.

“Locked down. No one enters or leaves except under the Daviians’ armed escort.”