Staring with my mouth agape, I grabbed Malita’s hands. “I’ve never seen you do anything like that before.”
“Niffin teaches me things—how to fight.” She looked up, a blaze burning in her eyes as she stabbed a finger to her chest. “I am no victim.”
I pressed her knuckles to my chest over my heart, which was still beating at an uneasy pace. “You were amazing. Maybe I should ask Niffin to teach me too.”
Her gaze drifted over my shoulder, scanning the market behind me. “We should not stay long. That girl will not be happy with us.”
After waving off a pushy tinsmith and ignoring the flirtatious grins of a young man trying to sell us a bouquet of daisies, Malita and I found a stall of ladies’ secondhand clothing. I turned my nose up at the petticoats and wide skirts, but her eyes went big and round when she found a plain muslin dress printed with yellow crocuses. It was perhaps a bit finer than something a working-class woman would wear on a regular day, but her smile melted my heart. I plucked coins from my purse, but Malita waved me off. She revealed her own small pouch of money. “I take care of myself.”
While we waited for the merchant to wrap the dress in brown paper and string, I surveyed our surroundings, looking for something more suitable to my tastes.
“No dress for you, my lady?” the vendor asked.
Shaking my head, I pointed toward another stall farther down the road. “I’m looking for something a bit more—”
“For boys,” Malita said, rolling her eyes. She thanked the merchant and tugged me toward the men’s clothing stall. “Come, come. Trousers for you. I know what you like.”
***
We had finished our soup and were starting on plates of roasted hen when Niffin finally showed up, plopping into his seat across from me in the inn’s dining room. Malita had insisted we not worry, not give up dinner plans to go out searching for him. My mind had invented a half dozen scenarios, all leading to his demise or imprisonment—it wouldn’t have been the first time a Fantazike in my company had wound up in jail. But he seemed unmolested, unperturbed, and almost unrecognizable as he tucked his napkin under his chin and raised his wine glass.
“Cheers?” he asked, ignoring our gaping mouths.
Malita recovered first. Her hand shot out, fingers raking through his midnight-colored hair. Tinted spectacles, as I’d suggested, rode the bridge of his nose, concealing the purple hue in his eyes. He’d traded the Fantazikes’ standard homespun shirt, embroidered waistcoat, and knickers for black canvas trousers, a drop-sleeve calico shirt, and a faded blue neckerchief.
“Who are you?” Truly, I mourned the loss of his crimson hair and regretted the need for his disguise. He was a rainbow reduced to shades of gray. “And what have you done with Niffin?”
The corner of his mouth curled up as he swallowed his wine. “I take it you find my disguise acceptable.”
“More than.” I glanced at my own attire, tweed trousers and worn boots, and fingered my long brown braid. “Perhaps I should take some inspiration from you.”
He shrugged, dismissing my concerns, and poked his fork at the potatoes on his plate. “Do not take this the wrong way, Evie, but I think you will easily blend in among the masses as long as you keep your Thunder Cloak hidden.”
I thought of my Magical family heirloom folded away in my saddlebags. No, I wasn’t the kind of young woman who usually attracted attention, and I hoped that meant I could travel through Steinerland like a mouse crawling through shadows, unseen and undetected. “Run into any trouble?” I asked, cutting into a piece of chicken.
“None at all. How about you?”
Glancing up, he caught the uneasy look flashing across Malita’s face and paused, fork hovering over his plate. Her shoulders drew toward her ears as she sank in her seat. Perhaps she’d learned some fighting techniques from Niffin, but she’d never make a good liar.
He covered her hand with his. “What happened, àyànfe mi?”
“Don’t be modest.” I nudged her elbow. “Tell him.”
Speaking in her own language, she gave him what I presumed was a summary of our trip to the market.
Niffin’s attention shifted to me. “I am glad things turned out all right. Though I think it is a good thing we ship out tomorrow. I do not know why, Evie, but it seems you have a knack for attracting problems.”
His words made me flinch, but I couldn’t disagree. “Get used to it, my friends. I’m afraid my inclination for trouble will only get worse before it gets better.”
After a late and lazy breakfast, Malita, Niffin, and I retrieved our horses. Adaleiz nuzzled my pockets, searching for treats. I revealed the sugar cubes I’d poached from the inn’s breakfast table, and she plucked them up, crunching the treats between her teeth. “You’ve got me completely under your spell, don’t you?”
She answered by nosing my pockets again.
“That’s it. That’s all I have. Any more, and you’ll be fat and good for nothing.” I swung into her saddle, and we traipsed into the morning sunlight. Niffin and Malita plodded beside me on Khosha.
The streets were full but not congested, leaving us plenty of time to get to the docks before our ship sailed. Niffin tugged his floppy cap lower on his brow and scanned our surroundings. Today, the ladies on the streets passed without noticing him. In fact, no one seemed to look our way. Our efforts at blending in were working, or so I thought until a clod of dried mud crashed into my shoulder, striking hard enough to raise a stinging welt.
“Hey!” Twisting in my saddle, I spotted a boy of maybe ten or eleven. He reared back, arm cocked to launch another muddy, rock-studded missile. Before he could strike, I kicked off my stirrups and dropped to the ground. I lunged for the boy, brewing up thoughts of retaliation, but Malita’s shrill shriek struck like a gut punch, and I forgot all about the muddy little boy.
A stringy-haired blond girl had yanked Malita from her saddle and pinned her in a firm hold, grasping my friend from behind. She pressed a knife against Malita’s neck. A wave of panic crashed through me as I struggled to understand what was happening, but as I studied Malita’s captor, my confusion cleared.
She was the same gamine girl we’d encountered in the market the day before. If I had to guess, I would say she was set on avenging her wounded pride.
“Shto ty hochesh?” Niffin demanded in Varyngan, his attention pinned on Malita’s assailant. As he gazed down from Khosha’s saddle, his cheeks flamed red, and his expression promised violence.
Crouched between Adaleiz and Khosha, I pulled my knife free from my boot and searched for the blond girl’s other gang members. A nearby storm rumbled, responding to my racing pulse. The breeze blowing through the streets stiffened, gathering strength. The gang leader’s ratty blond hair swirled around her head, blowing across her eyes, but she held her knife steady at Malita’s throat.
Niffin raised his open hands at his sides, revealing no signs of weapons. “Otpusti yeye.”
The little mud-flinging boy crept closer. I narrowed my eyes at him as clouds tumbled in, racing to answer my call. Easing between the horses, I caught his attention and showed him my knife. I snapped my fingers, and thunder cracked like a succession of bullwhips, reverberating against the surrounding buildings. The boy squeaked and stumbled back, his eyes going wide and round.
Scanning the streets, I searched for something that might help me create a distraction and spotted an old brass bell hanging in a nearby clock tower. In my mind, I reached for the sky as though it were my quiver and the lightning were my arrows. Stepping beside Niffin’s horse, I caught the blond girl’s attention. I held her gaze, raised a single finger, and pointed at the sky. She glanced up, and—
The clouds shattered.
Lightning ripped apart the heavens.
Thunder exploded, rattling windows and doors.
