The King's Blood

Bridge,” she said, and he patted her on the head like a puppy.
    “Know your lines already. I’d best go. Lots of players in this town. We’ll want our share of audience.”
    “Tell the others I said hello,” Cithrin said. “Tell them I miss them.”
    “Shall,” Smit said, and then the flow of the street took him again. She heard his voice calling the play. Faint, fainter, and gone.
    When she turned, Paerin Clark was in the doorway of the inn. His expression hovered in the no-man’sland between scandalized and amused. Cithrin walked to him the way Cary had taught her, low in the hips and steady. The walk of an older woman. When Paerin spoke, his voice betrayed nothing.
    “Did I just see the voice of the Medean bank in Porte Oliva embracing an actor in the street?”
    “The voice of the Medean bank in Porte Oliva is a many-faceted woman,” Cithrin said. “Do we have rooms?”
    “We do. I thought I would tour you through the city, if you’d care to.”
    “I would be delighted,” she said, offering him her elbow. He took it with a bow.
    Camnipol, now that she wasn’t quite as overwhelmed by it, was a city of grim and terrible beauty that was at present dressed in its holiday ribbons. The dark stone and grandeur of the buildings showed through once she knew to look for it.
    The great chasm of the Division stood in the center of the city, the great architectural wound exposing the bones beneath the foundations of the buildings. The Silver Bridge they crossed to reach the Kingspire had no particular silver about it, but great timbers that creaked and swayed over the abyss. At the bridge’s edge, she stopped a girl and asked which was the Autumn Bridge, for later. The girl pointed south with a pitying expression as if Cithrin had asked if the sky was up or down.
    The Kingspire itself was astounding. It was easily the largest tower Cithrin had ever seen, and she was willing to believe it was the largest in the world. And all around it, the mansions and estates of the high families, the tombs of the dead, the temples. She stopped before one with a massive red pennant with an eightfold sigil at its center. Paerin Clark looked up at it and then down at her, but she only shook her head—some wisp of memory come and gone without leaving its name—and they walked on.
    When, near dark, they came back to the inn, Cithrin’s feet ached, but the knot in her gut was less than it had been. Not gone, but a half a skin of wine with a bit of meat would let her sleep, she thought, even in an unfamiliar bed. Paerin Clark sat with her in the cramped common room.
    “It’s a lovely city,” she said. “But I can’t think you came here just to walk me around.”
    “No, we only had an evening, and it seemed pleasant,” he said. “Tomorrow, the work begins. I have two merchants not far from here that we’ve had dealings with. I’ll want to speak with them. And then another one, less reputable, who works down the side of the Division.”
    “ Down the side?” she said.
    “Not the highest-rent part of the city,” Paerin Clark said ruefully. “Picturesque, but the foot traffic’s terrible.”
    “That can’t be someone very important.”
    “Not very rich,” Paerin said. “That’s not the same thing. Knowing the taste of a city’s cream isn’t the same as drinking the dregs. We want both. And you’ll be with me when I go.”
    She nodded and took a mouthful of wine. It wasn’t very good, but it was strong. That was better than being good. The warmth was resting comfortably in her belly, and starting to spread out toward her shoulders and face.
    “So am I with you because I’m being kept on a leash, or because I’m being trained for something?”
    “Trained,” he said without a space between the words. “I spoke with Komme about this before we came. I spoke with him about you when I first got back from Porte Oliva, for that matter. We agreed that you were an investment worth making despite the risks. You have a good mind for what we do. More experience than anyone your age has a right to. And you understand how we work.”
    “Which makes me your best ally or your worst enemy,” she said.
    “Yes. Or possibly something else, but regardless of interest.”
    Cithrin smiled.
    “I will do it, you know. All this? I will do what’s called for to get it.”
    “I think you will,” Paerin Clark said. “But I have been wrong before, and I won’t do a thing to keep you from falling. You’ll stand on your