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If it were up to her, she’d start walking into the mountains and never step foot in a city ever again. She dreamed of building a cabin in some remote place, growing a fine garden, and reading books on a wide, creaking porch. The place of her choosing would be nothing like Ravinia. Nor anything like what she remembered of Kathor when she was a child. It would be a place with more trees than people—a place with a blanket of stars overhead.…
Dreaming. She knew better than to dream. There was far too much to do. Nevelyn shifted her feet and craned her neck to see if the line had moved, quietly letting her imagined cabin slip from her mind. Which left her to focus too fully on the person who was breathing on her neck.
“Could you back up?”
The woman startled back a step. Nevelyn watched the small ripple it created. She bumped the person in line behind her, who bumped the person behind him. On and on like that until someone shoved back, and then the line quieted once more. They’d been crowded in the shadow of the same building all morning. Each of them had arrived well before dawn to claim their spots. Nevelyn let out a chest-deep sigh as she turned back to the front. She was ninth in line.
“Who do you deliver for?”
It was the woman behind her. The breather. Nevelyn had apparently earned her attention. “I can’t imagine how that would be any of your business.”
“Oh? Everyone says that. At the start. All puffed up because they’ve got some important job for some important person. Don’t want to spill their precious secrets.” The woman paused, and Nevelyn could hear the smile stretching over her face without even looking back. “But we all end up chatting eventually. It’s more fun that way. Trust me.”
Nevelyn thought she’d already effectively communicated her position on the concept of chatting, but the woman was clearly in a mood to pester.
“Why?” Nevelyn asked, half turning. “Who do you deliver for?”
That was all the invitation the woman needed to lean in conspiratorially. It was as Nevelyn expected. She was bored or lonely or both. The woman had sun-kissed skin—someone who’d grown up working the docks down in the harbor. Other than a few tight creases at the edges of her mouth, there were no other details that betrayed her age. Nevelyn guessed she was in her fifties, but with no more than a passing glance, she might have been in her twenties.
“I run papers for some of the merchant lords in North End. You know the place?”
Nevelyn nodded back at the woman. When they’d first arrived in Ravinia, she’d become a scholar of the city. Studying every facet and detail. Any viable path toward power. Who could two stranded heirs cozy up with in an effort to make their way back to Kathor? All roads eventually led back to Darling and his gladiator pits—but the North End lords were a fine guild. A private club that pooled resources and information to benefit one another.
“The North End? That place where old men dress up in too-tight suits?”
The woman let out a great gust of a laugh. “Fair point. But those old men pay quite well. Who’s your lord, then? Some old man who dresses more like an old man?”
Nevelyn returned a lifeless smile. “I serve only myself.”
The words had the opposite reaction of what she’d intended. If there was no well-to-do lord waiting for Nevelyn’s return, she’d hoped that would make her uninteresting. Instead, the woman seemed all the more curious. Nevelyn cursed her carelessness. This was only the third time she’d waited in this line. It was outside a building known as the Herald. She’d been lucky to discover the place at all. A well-kept secret that belonged to the higher-end clientele of the city—and their footmen. News washed up in the harbor every day. Boats brought word of this and that from the other major cities, but always on a delay. Days or even weeks in which that news might already have grown stale or useless for the everyday merchant. The lone exception to that rule was the Herald.
Once a month, a waxway runner would deliver a single stack of newspapers. None was more highly prized than the Kathorian. Ravinia’s wealthiest would pay top coin for the issue that had been printed that day. Less for yesterday’s news, and still less for any copies older than that. The immediacy and breadth of that news allowed those who purchased a copy to react to the market before the rest of their peers. Nevelyn knew that was why most of the people waiting in line were there. They came with their master’s coin, prepared to ferry back information that would line their pockets with still more gold. Nevelyn was an exception. She came here once a month and spent what precious little coin they had to continue their eternal hunt of the Broods.
The woman was still watching her closely, waiting for more of an explanation. Nevelyn glanced casually down at the charm on her necklace. A small heart-shaped thing. She confirmed it was turned the right way, before looking up and meeting the woman’s eye again.
“I told you: what I do and who I am is of no concern to you.”
Magic whispered between them. It would feel like the gentlest push. A light mental shove. When Nevelyn broke off eye contact, the woman would forget. She’d straighten, feeling slightly woozy, and wonder how the last few minutes could possibly have slipped through her fingers. Nevelyn stood rather still as she allowed the spell to run its course. She’d not used this particular magic in a few years. A drunk had trailed her home from work and she’d vanished from his attention in exactly the same way.
Dahvid had his gifts. Father had spent most of their young lives celebrating and honing her brother’s magic. He’d never thought to ask if his daughter possessed any talents. Sometimes she wondered how skilled she might be if her gifts had garnered the same attention. But she knew that fell into the realm of dreaming, so she killed the thought before it could take a second breath.
There was commotion at the front of the line.
Finally, the delivery boy was arriving. It was always a bit jarring to watch. The Herald was a single-story building. Roofless and with its front doors thrust wide open. Inside, there was a single, unremarkable rug on the floor. Candles glinted in every corner of the space. A gentle flicker of those flames announced their guest.
The boy appeared. His mouth gaped open and his eyes were pinned shut. Each time she’d witnessed this, he appeared the same way, hovering slightly in the air. It looked as if he was still midstep. She’d learned that the boy traveled using consecutive waxways. A network that was arranged so that he could jump from location to location to location. All the way across the northeastern seaboard in less than the time it took to shake someone’s hand. He hovered there before the crowd, looking almost lifeless, for what felt like the longest-held breath in the world.
And then he was shouting.
“All right! All right. Calm down. And have your money ready for once!”
He made the first exchange without so much as a glance. The line began to move. Nevelyn was pleased when the woman behind her made no more inquiries. She would suffer no more unwelcome interest today. She waited patiently for her turn to come and then stepped forward.
“I’ll take your oldest copy,” she told the boy.
“Fifteen mids, then.”
Nevelyn hesitated, but only for a moment. The price had always been ten. She knew he was just pumping it up because he could. No one would be out here to regulate a trade like this. And if she made a scene over five mids—people in line would find that curious. Which master couldn’t afford a slight increase in the price? And that would lead to unwanted attention. She slid a hand in her pocket, fetched the extra bills, and slapped them into the boy’s hand. He smirked at her, because he knew he’d just earned himself a little extra money on the side.
