Escape to the Sea (Tangled Hearts #1)

Chapter 6 Catching Up

Sylf

Well, as it turns out, my soil is not fit for my rose bushes. I wipe my brow, looking at the test again and then at the browning leaves. All that money on these roses, wasted. If nothing else, that prince was helpful in resolving this issue. Who knew the supposed “Little Princeling” of Echtarch was so knowledgeable?

And not just in the health of the roses. But on gardening and horticulture generally? His passion is obvious in his ideas and his earnestness as he moved his hands enthusiastically as he went on, in the soft intensity of his gaze, the pooling of his eyes like melting gold…

No. NO. Stupid. Foolish. And it doesn’t matter anyway. The idiot prince didn’t know anything —he was not interested in discussing court matters and thus, was a thorough waste of time when I could have simply been home sooner and out of that gown.

I pick up the small pamphlet that came with the test, looking at the different levels and suggestions for what might be better to grow. It takes a moment to block out his enthusiastic smile and attentiveness at the discussion of the rose bushes, but I manage to put it behind me. Again. Right. My rose bushes. The travesty they are. At this rate I might as well rip out the bushes and start over.

“Hey there, Alais!”

The slight shrill tone of my neighbor, Agnes Noren, interrupts my moping. The woman is making a beeline for me, dashing towards me from the rowhouse across from mine. Alais isn’t my real name; very few people in Yaventown know my real name, and it’s important to keep my current persona and that of Atrea Silverleaf separate. Agnes bustles over quickly and stops at the low, decorative gate around my property line. She stands on her toes, inspecting my roses.

“Oh, tough luck with those, huh?”

I go over to her, brandishing the test. “Apparently the soil acidity is all wrong.”

She looks between my flowers and the pamphlet I’m holding. “Oh!” she exclaims, pointing at a line. “Sunflowers are perfect for this, and to be honest, they grow like weeds. Hearty, too.”

I nod thoughtfully, thinking it over. Sunflowers would be pretty here, and if they’re easy to grow and maintain, all the better. In her letters, Mother’s been saying that I should start simple, identify what my garden wants, as though it’s sentient or something. But she’s the one with the massive garden with a variety of magical and non-magical flora, so I suppose I don’t have much room to disagree.

Agnes looks around, tossing her wavy brown hair over her shoulder. “Where’s that handsome caretaker of yours? You do make him do things besides, well—” She cuts off with a conspiratorial wink.

“Of course I do,” I reply smoothly. “McDanna’s occupied for the next few days, but he’ll be back. Trust me, I won’t be carting manure and fresh soil from the florist,” I snort.

“Well, good! As you shouldn’t! I mean, really, dear.” She puts a hand on my arm. Silently, I prepare myself for another of her long-winded speeches. “I still can’t believe there’s no hide or hair of your actual husband; he really ought to be ashamed of himself! At this rate you’ll be up the pole with the caretaker’s child, and it will be his fault for neglecting you!”

Before I can correct her that I am actively ensuring that I do not end “up the pole” and that it’s very easy to prevent, she blabbers on, “Speaking of, did you hear about Kenna down on Third Avenue—that little place with the windows closed all the time? Apparently, she was being haunted by the ghost of the former owner! Positively dreadful!”

Agnes goes on with her usual gossip. I nod, listening, my mind quickly filtering and sorting the useful bits among the prattle. It’s useful, but only to a degree. The downside of having a nosy neighbor is she likes to be in everyone’s business and is an unabashedly ashamed gossip—I have to be a little careful around her with Tomlyn.

As she continues, my mind drifts back to my roses. The half-wilted white and pink petals look nothing like the luscious blooms in the royal gardens at all. Why, even the bloom that Ephraim tucked behind my ear with such delicate care still looks luscious and full two days later… and the way he did it, with such a tenderness. To me . As though I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, even though he didn’t know a thing about me…

“Yoo-hoo! Alais! Honey, are you all right? You look flushed. Oh dear, do you need to sit down? Shall I fetch you something? Perhaps some water—”

I snap my attention back to Agnes. “I’m fine!” I exhale, collecting myself. “I’m going to rest inside for now. I think I’ll wait until McDanna is back to deal with all this.”

“A sound idea, dear. Well, if you need anything, give me a holler!” Agnes smiles brightly and waves a little too enthusiastically as I quickly head back inside.

I let out a long sigh as soon as the door closes behind me. Making my way to the kitchen, I set the soil test kit on the counter, ignoring Tomlyn’s voice in my head complaining about dirtying his precious baking space. Sunflowers aren’t a bad idea—I wonder what Ephraim would think.

…which is a ridiculous thing to even wonder! Why can’t I get this stupid prince out of my head? It’s not like I’m going to see him again, and nor should I, considering the risks. Not because he knew some things, looked at me certain ways, kissed me like I was the only being worth kissing, like he might have ravished me right then and there if—

I slam my hands on the counter. “Enough!” I hiss. Letting out a long breath, I take in the quiet of the space and try to clear my mind. It was a one-time occurrence. From what I’ve learned about court Branch Echtarch is a royal branch, a Bronze Order house, but they’re nobodies. They don’t do anything interesting; they follow the status quo. So, that chance encounter with the prince, which also yielded nothing useful, was a one-time thing. That’s it.

There’s nothing more to this. At all.

Resolute, I turn my attention to the covered plate of chocolate chip cookies on the counter that Tomlyn left for me yesterday morning. I can’t help myself as I pick up the little note as if I haven’t read it a dozen times already.

I’ll be back home before you know it. Don’t cause too much trouble, Karadin . —T

Home. The lightness from that little word alone washes my sour mood from dealing with the roses and the memories that come with them. I grab a cookie and head upstairs, comforted.

It’s time to go to work.

I change out of my gardening clothes and slip into my usual black clothing and leathers. I affix my cloak around my neck and fasten the silver crow’s head dagger to my hip. The dagger was part of a payment from Benny, and I think it might be an artifact of Tarth’an, but I’d prefer not to think about that. As I look down at the crow’s head, I notice the beady red eyes are dull. Odd—usually they’re bright red, like rubies. I’m good about keeping my weapons clean, but I suppose it’s due for a polish. Perhaps later tonight when I get home.

Fayne, for all her faults, was at least generous enough to furnish the rowhouse with expensive conveniences, and smart enough to have a backup exit and entrance. Which includes a secret passage leading from the study down to an apartment below, nestled into the first rung of houses in the Trunk.

The apartment itself is largely empty, only one of the rooms in use for my forgeries and to house my disguises. I briefly check my ledger to remind myself of upcoming thefts and when my next batch of forgeries are due, and head out.

The descent to the Trunk from the apartment involves climbing down a series of ladders and sliding down chutes. It’s not the most convenient way to head down, but the great lifts that descend and rise from the border of the Market District are monitored by the crownsguard and, now, Benny’s Boys. I’m sure at this point Benny’s got the crownsguard that monitor the lifts in his pockets too. I can’t afford having any of them clock my coming and going. As much as anyone knows, Atrea Silverleaf lurks somewhere in the Trunk, and that’s how I like it.

Through the back alleys, I avoid the heart of the Trunk, the ravenous Belly. All the popular taverns and gambling halls are centered there, and it’s a place that takes the unaware stranger and swallows them whole. For the rest of us? It’s business as usual. Even with Benny’s Boys skulking about on the corners, things seem to have settled.

Benny’s still insistent on getting me to join him as part of his lieutenants. He keeps saying it’s only a matter of time before he has the whole of Yaventown in his pockets. That doesn’t change the fact that he needs me in order to help with that. No one in his crew is nearly as skilled as me when it comes to finding secrets, not even Benny’s Dozen, the prized thirteen fighters and lieutenants that Benny calls in when he needs real muscle. I’m sure I’d end up as one of them, at the beck and call of their master. I think not.

My first stop is to Dispiria Levure. The washed up demonkin sorceress is looking better these days, but she’s still struggling with staying sober. Still, I do my part, putting in an order for more magical scrolls and confirming our tea date later in the week. Then I stop by my old apartment and make sure Tomlyn’s keeping things the way the landlord likes it. I still can’t believe Tomlyn wanted the place, but whatever. I push aside the familiar argument of why Tomlyn won’t live with me in Farendae for another day.

Bypassing the Belly is easy enough and then I’m back on the main road that leads to Doc’s Clinic. It’s the same shack as always, though it looks like Doc is trying to maintain the fresh look in the building after it was rebuilt last year. Today there are three thugs against one wall and a woman with a red-faced child eying them wearily on the other side. Doc’s Clinic is a sanctuary—no violence allowed—but she isn’t wrong to be worried.

I step into the middle of the room, obscuring the line of sight between the woman and the thugs. Doc is checking the eyes of one of them, a woman with a nasty looking welt on her jaw and a bloodied mouth.

“And she’s got a concussion on top of it,” Doc pronounces, rising. “Between her and your friend, that’ll add to the total.”

“Yeah, yeah we’re good for it!” A lankier thug snaps, all but throwing a coin pouch at Doc. The third thug next to him is slumped over, passed out.

Starting to rifle through the coin, checking the amount, Doc turns to me slightly. “Silverleaf.” Their weathered face and deep wrinkles, but their eyes look more lively. Maybe I’ll get a good deal on any info they have.

“Doc. I’m checking in.” Checking in, as in, when will they call in that fucking Unwritten Favor? It’s been a year since the busted expedition into Karst to try to get rid of the magically bound favor, but Doc hasn’t cashed it in yet. Maybe they’re being more careful about what they choose, after that Karstian artifact was a ruse. I don’t care. I want the favor gone.

“I got some news for you, if you have time to wait,” Doc replies. They tuck the coin pouch in their pocket and look at me expectantly.

I nod. “Sure.” So much for getting a fair price today. Doc always requires payment first, whether it be for medical services or information, and I know they’re going to try and overcharge me. Moving to the wall, I’m mentally preparing to haggle as Doc turns back to the thugs.

“This is enough for her payment and to stop the cranial bleeding in the other fellow, but it’s been so long I can’t guarantee anything with him.” They point at the lanky one. “You are extra.”

“What? Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” the lanky one protests. “Fine, fine! I’ll deal with the splittin’ headache and bruise.” He crosses his arm and grumbles as Doc disappears into the back, likely looking for supplies.

“I can’t fuckin’ believe this!” he grouses. “Supposed to be a simple job an’ that Karstian brute has to go an—”

I’m in his face in a flash, my hand in his hair, shoving him back against the wall. There’s a bang as the chair smacks into the wall and he yelps as I glare down at him.

“What did you say?” I hiss. “What about the Karstian?”

“Hey! Silverleaf! You know the rules,” Doc says, quickly emerging from the back at the sound of the ruckus.

“I haven’t done anything.” With a shove I release the thug, my voice low and cool. “Yet.”

H swallows hard. “I don’ owe you nuthin’.”

I take a step back to make Doc comfortable and brush my cloak aside, making a show of the gleaming silver dagger at my hip. The thug’s eyes zero in on it as I continue, “You may not need Doc’s services yet, but that’s no guarantee for later.” I smile, cold, relishing the way he starts squirming as the gears slowly turn in his brain.

It’s a second, but I spot him bolting as he tries to dart for the door. Unfortunately for him, I’m faster, grabbing his arm and shoving him outside. As soon as we step through the threshold of the clinic, my dagger is at his back, and I drag him into an alley.

Shoving him around to face me, the blade resting at his throat, I snarl, “You have ten seconds. Ten.”

“Was supposed ta’ be a simple job!” he stammers, the words coming out in a rush. “A knock-over on a merchant on the Ringed Road, headin’ southeast. B-but he wasn’t a merchant, he was noble! Flower folk from the Crown! Then the Karstian brute made off with the mark. He attacked us!”

Made off with the mark? Who is an Aurelian noble? Tomlyn said it was a robbery, not a kidnapping or assassination. Shit.

“What were you going to do with the mark?” I demand.

“Take him back to the hideout and contact the boss. I—I swear that’s it!”

“Where’s the hideout?”

“I can’t—” He lets out a squeal as I press the dagger against his neck. “You—you can’t kill me in the middle of the street!”

It’s true. Not only that, but we have onlookers. Even in the Trunk, there are certain things you don’t do during the day.

“No,” I reply smoothly. “But I can make sure you don’t walk for a long while.” In a swift motion, I pull the dagger from his throat and swivel it down, moving to plunge it into his thigh.

“Okay, okay! There’s a cabin. A day and half’s ride out of town, same direction, southeast. There’s even a small road that marks the path!”

Well, that’s more than I expected.

I plunge the dagger into his thigh, clamping my hand over his mouth to muffle his scream. The power surges from the dagger as the blade takes in his blood immediately, my senses amplified, my body about to burst with energy. Leaning close, I say, “If you tell anyone what you told me, I will come back for your throat.”

I don’t bother waiting for him to acknowledge me. I’m sprinting down the alleys, jumping up ladders and ropes far faster than normal, trying to take advantage of every second of amplification from the dagger will give me.

When it runs out, I’m still climbing fast up and out of the Trunk back to the apartment and to Farendae , refusing to relent, channeling my panic into rage. Because of course Tomlyn and his stupid bleeding heart would get him into further trouble on a job that was certainly a trap, but one that if he’d been a little smarter he could have sidestepped. And now…

Well, now he’s in the woods. He does not know how to navigate in the woods. I’m not even sure if he could survive longer than a few days. And I know he is likely complaining about every small bug that crosses his path—with a mark in tow. Idiot, always making the high-risk, high-reward play. And this time, it’s not in his favor.

I move quickly through my house, changing into greens and browns for traversing the forest, then grabbing my quiver, checking my arrow stock, and attaching it to my back. Lastly, I slip my fey amulet around my neck—I never go to the forest without it.

Going into the spare room, I check the wards on Tomlyn’s Peritian shrine to make sure the brazier won’t set the house on fire while I’m gone, and then dig through his drawers. I rummage around, the nicer, finer clothes I’ve purchased for him messily folded, naturally—mental note to have him redo them later—until I find the drawer with his tree totem and his runed charger gauntlets.

This is ridiculous! All of his most important gear is in the house? He didn’t take any of it? What’s the point in having this incredible magical gear if he doesn’t use it?

I shove the gear into my pack, grab a change of clothes, and storm downstairs. In the kitchen I scrawl a quick note to leave under Agnes’ door, informing her I’ll be out the next few days, and double-check the coin on my person to ensure I have enough for a horse before heading to the living room.

Above the mantle on the large fireplace are Tomlyn’s platinum jagerstocks, split and hung in an X behind my enchanted longbow. I take hold of my longbow, the curves and amplification magic thrumming through it familiar and comforting, before slinging it to my back and taking the jagerstocks off the wall.

For all this trouble, hopefully I’ll run into a few of Benny’s Boys to work through this anger. And when I find Tomlyn… he’d damn well better be alive.