The familiar scratchiness of sand brushes against my upturned face as I step out of the carriage. I exchange a friendly smile with the driver, watching as he twitches the reins and turns the horse back toward the Palace.

As the carriage recedes into the distance, I breathe in a great lungful of air, feeling my muscles loosen and a great weight lift from my shoulders. I take in my familiar surroundings and allow the welcome sounds and smells of my beloved market to encompass me.

I long to stroll through the square and catch up with my friends, but first I have to shed these ridiculous Palace garments. Walking quickly, I make my way through the crowd toward a side alley, where I check over my shoulder to be certain no one is watching before slipping between the buildings and then ducking into a shadowed doorway.

In the sheltered area, I slide the leather satchel off my shoulder and dig through its contents, pulling out a plain, sleeveless tunic and a pair of pants. I shed my silk toga and exchange it for the less-conspicuous outfit, carefully folding the dress and placing it back in my bag.

Stepping out into the street, I look about while I tie a scarf around my neck, pulling it up to protect my face from the swirling sand. My steps are light as I head into the market, glancing upward once and squinting as I make out the sun's position, guessing that I have roughly an hour before I am due to meet Will.

My pace quickens when Harry's stall comes into view. His broad back is turned to me while he laughs with a customer, his fuzzy forearms coated in flour and gesticulating madly. I sidle up next to the cart, silent as a ghost as I reach my hand inside, my practiced fingers grasping a crusty roll. I make direct eye contact with Harry's customer as I slowly raise the bread out of the cart, laughing silently behind my scarf.

The customer's eyes widen and he, taps Harry on the arm and gestures toward me, sputtering, "Harry, you're bein' mugged!"

Harry spins around, his beefy hand coming down hard and pinning my wrist in a fluid motion that bellies his size. "Rob me, will you?" he bellows. His eyebrows shoot up in recognition. "That you, Kay?"

With my free hand, I tug the scarf down off my face. "Forgive me, Harry. Old habits, you know?"

His laugh echoes through the square, startling his confused customer. The man scurries away, shaking his head as Harry releases my wrist and pulls me into a hug. I am lifted into the air, my lungs instantly constricting against my friend's thick chest.

"All right, you big softie. It's nice to know that you've missed me," I gasp. I shrug him off and follow him around the back of the stall, sinking down onto an upturned trough. Harry dips two tin cups into the bucket of water at his side and hands one to me, winking as he knocks my cup with his.

"So, where have you been? Haven't heard head or tail of you in weeks. Was beginnin' to worry that you'd done something foolish and got yourself caught." Harry's demeanour is as jovial as ever, but his tone contains a trace of anxiety.

I feel a stab of guilt for having left my friend in the dark. "Just been keeping a low profile—you know how it is." I stare down at my cup, avoiding his gaze.

"Well, glad to see you're all right, girlie. Are you back to stay for a while?"

"Unfortunately, no. My visits are going to be sporadic for a little bit, it seems." I lean back and turn my face up to the sun, catching the warm rays on my face.

I hear Harry give a small sigh and I crack an eye open to peer at him. His posture appears as relaxed as ever as he raises his cup to his lips and speaks to me from behind it.

"Whatever it is you are getting yourself into, I hope you know what you're doing." He is careful to keep his voice low.

I open my other eye and regard him before subtly scanning our surroundings. The market bustles on around us, seemingly oblivious to our conversation, but with so much at stake, I don't want to take any chances. I sidle a little closer and lean back again, relaxing my shoulders.

"You don't have to worry about me. I can look after myself." I can't help the defensive note my voice takes on.

"I know you can. But I also know that you can be reckless, and I wonder if maybe this time you are tanglin' with some folks that are better left alone."

"What makes you think I'm tangling with anyone?"

Harry raises his chin, his eyes trained on something in the distance. My gaze follows his and lands on Will standing across the square. He is flipping through a bookseller's wares, trading barbs with the seller and laughing at something the man says.

"How did you know?" I ask.

"The marketplace has ears."

"We can trust him," I say, tearing my eyes away from Will and looking back at my friend.

Harry's beard twitches as the muscles in his jaw tighten. He nods, slowly. "I've seen him about. Saw him years ago, too, hangin' about the bars and dens."

"He's different now." As I say the words, I wonder if I truly believe them. After all, I had no idea who Will was until a month ago.

"He's up to something dangerous, and now he and his circle of rich lads have dragged you into it."

"No one's dragged me into anything. If I'm involved, it's because I have my own reasons." I drop my voice lower, staring angrily into my cup of water.

His voice softens. "I don't want to speak ill of anyone, but do you suppose their type would give one lick if something were to happen to you?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," I say hotly. "They're not all like that. Some of them want to help us."

"Why would any of them want to help us?"

"Because they understand how unfair it all is." I let out a deep breath and roll my shoulders back against the rough wood of the stall. How did my relaxing day at the market turn into this? "I appreciate your concern, Harry, but you need to ease up. I trust him."

"And I trust you. If you say he's square, I'll try to believe it."

We sit in silence for a while longer while Harry refills our mugs. He hands mine back, studying me.

"C'mon, don't be sore. I'm just worried about you." He nudges me playfully, causing the water to slosh over my pants.

I sigh, wiping my palms across my legs in an effort to dispel the moisture. I can't help the small smile creeping into the corner of my mouth at his good-natured ribbing. "I know. I wish there was a way to convince you that I'm fine. I know what I'm doing."

I glance up again. Will has spotted us and is making his way across the square, picking a path through the crowd.

"I know, Kay. I just wanted to remind you to look out for yourself, for once. Maybe quit taking so many chances." Harry's eyes are trained on Will as well.

I feel a small tingle going down my spine at his words, memories of Lara and her warnings reverberating through my head.

"In this case, they're necessary," I say to him just as Will arrives in front of us.

"What's necessary?" Will asks, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet.

I release his grip quickly and deliberately take a step back.

"Never mind," I say. "Will, have you met Harold? I call him Harry, because he is. Harry, this is my friend, Will."

Harry chuckles as he gets to his feet and grabs Will's hand. "Pleased to meet you, mate."

"And you as well." Will grins broadly. "Your bread is the finest in the City."

"Ah, well, that's very kind of you, but don't go complimenting me too loudly—you're likely to make the other vendors jealous." Harry easily falls back into his naturally friendly demeanour, instantly dissolving any traces of suspicion.

Will stuffs his hands into his pockets. "I hope I'm not interrupting. I'm not due to meet Kay for half an hour yet, but I spied you from across the way and thought I should come say hello."

"Not at all—your timing is fine. I've work to get back to as it is, and gods know I can't get anything done with this one distractin' me." I let out a grunt of surprise as Harry wraps me in a giant one-armed hug. "Don't be a stranger, girlie."

I use my free arm to pat his wrist. "I won't be. Nice seeing you, Harry."

"Remember what I told ya." His gruff voice tickles my ear and I wiggle out of his grasp.

I unconsciously take a step back, aligning myself with Will, who stands casually, watching the exchange.

We wave goodbye to Harry as Will gently places his hand on the small of my back and steers me out of the square. We chat idly while we walk, making trivial comments about the weather (hot and dry, as usual). Even among the distracted crowd, it is best to keep our conversation and relationship as innocent as possible.

I lead the way toward the pub, choosing an inconspicuous location far enough away from the Court and my usual common stomping grounds that we shouldn't be recognized. Will pushes open the door and steps back so I can enter first. After a moment, my eyes adjust to the darkness and I see that the establishment is mostly empty, save for a small group of men gathered by the bar. Judging from their dress and smudged faces, I guess that they just got off a shift at the mines.

Will tells me to find us a table near the back of the room and strolls up to the barkeep to get us some ale. I sit impatiently, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. It occurs to me suddenly that this is the first time in weeks we have been alone together. Despite us having spent many hours cooped up together in his tiny flat, I am at a loss as to how to behave around him. Here in this grungy bar, am I Kay, Abby, or the Runner?

My thoughts are interrupted when a mugful of ale is plopped down in front of me. I accept it gratefully and raise it to my lips, polishing off half the drink in the first sip.

Will's eyebrows are raised as I lower the mug and rub a wrist across my mouth. "Sorry, it's been a while since I've had a real drink."

He chuckles and takes a large gulp from his own tankard, purposely neglecting to wipe the foam off his upper lip and instead making a show of running his tongue across his mouth. I laugh, snorting unattractively into my cup.

I feel my shoulders loosen as the lingering traces of awkwardness dissolve. Sitting back, I revel in the comfortable silence, happy to shed the false propriety I have shouldered since arriving at the Palace.

Will gestures to the barkeep for another round and turns back to face me.

"Your beard is back," I comment.

His long fingers rub his chin. "Good or bad?"

"Good."

Two more drinks appear in front of us. I take smaller sips this time, studying him from behind my mug.

"So," I break the silence, "what is it you would like to talk about?"

We pass the next hour speaking in low tones about everything I have learned thus far at the Palace. I tell him about my growing friendship with Meg and how her father has planned to marry her off to Lord Grayson. We discuss the possible motives behind this alliance but eventually circle back to my original conclusion: the King must be planning to use the commoners from the Outer City in his war against the Wastelanders.

"What else could he possibly stand to gain from it?" Will muses. He has unbuttoned the top of his shirt and loosened his scarf. "Grayson wants the throne, that much is obvious. But what could the King want from him?"

I run a hand through my hair, pulling loose the braid Sera carefully tied for me that morning. "I think we both know what the King would consider a new source of commoners to be good for."

Will nods gravely, his eyes steady on mine. "Whatever we do, I think we need to ensure that this rebellion begins before the Princess's marriage takes place. I'm willing to wager that as soon as the Outer City is under control of the King, they'll increase the draft and a new wave of soldiers will be shipped off to the Wastelands."

"I think you're right," I say, sighing. "Besides that, Meg doesn't want to marry."

His head tilts slightly. "Meg?"

"The Princess," I say quickly, lifting my mug and frowning at the empty bottom.

"You call her Meg?"

"Well, she asked me to, and—"

I'm cut off when the door to the pub suddenly slams open. A beam of late afternoon sunlight cuts across my vision as a pair of rowdy men enter, arguing loudly.

"Oh no," I murmur, recognizing the voices. Of all the rotten luck...

"What is it?" Will turns in his seat to look at the door.

"Oy! Is that who I think it is?" someone calls out at us from across the room.

Still blinking spots of light out of my eyes, I can only dimly make out a pair of dark silhouettes shouldering their way toward our table.

Two chairs are dragged over as Edmun and Gordy make themselves comfortable. I shift my chair closer to Will in order to make room, my mind desperately churning through possible scenarios to explain my presence and Will.

"Kay-kay! Fancy seeing you here, and in such fine company, no less. Where have you been?" Edmun leans across the table, his usually-charming smile somewhat lopsided.

My vision finally adjusts to the weak light and I make out a trace of something hard in his eyes.

"Here and there," I reply smoothly, purposefully vague. I try to redirect the conversation. "Good to see you, Gordy. Last I heard, you were spending some time in the gaol."

Gordy makes a sound somewhere between a hack and an acknowledgement. "They canna hold me long."

"No, I didn't expect they would."

"Show them the price you paid." Edmun nudges Gordy.

Gordy drops his arm heavily onto the table and I nearly gag. The sight of a still-healing stump where his hand used to be churns my stomach and threatens to spill the ale I just ingested. From the corner of my eye, I can see Will clenching his own hands unconsciously.

"Gods, Gordy," I breathe. I look up to see both of them staring at me intently, waiting for my reaction. "I...I don't know what to say." Swallowing, I try to compose myself. "Didn't they give you the option to serve in the Wastelands?"

Gordy's face colours bright red. "I didn'a think that would be much better. Lose my hand or lose my life, the way I saw it. Must be easy for you to make that choice; you've never been in that stinkin' hell hole."

"I didn't mean it like that," I protest. I make to place my hand gingerly on his wrist but he pulls it away, using his remaining hand to lift a tankard to his lips.

"Forget it," he mumbles.

A moment of silence passes. I feel Will shift next to me and sense he is as on edge as I am.

"Are you two out celebrating?" I ask, by way of keeping the conversation friendly.

Edmun laughs, his elbow slipping off the table. "Celebrating? I suppose you could say that."

I catch a whiff of strong liquor on his breath and urge myself to sober up, while trying to think of an excuse to leave.

The vampirish barkeep appears once again to deposit four shots of an unidentifiable liquid onto our table.

Edmun picks his up and slams it back, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Will. "What are we celebrating, Gordy?"

"Yer last night of freedom, I suppose." Gordy's rat-like features appear even harsher than usual as he stares at me over his glass, slurping noisily.

"Ah yes, here's to the last night of revelry!" Edmun gestures at Will and I to take our drinks.

We exchange a look and pick up the glasses.

"Why is it your last night?" I ask, crinkling my nose at the smell wafting off the mysterious liquid.

"Tomorrow I ship off, don't you know? They finally called me up. It's my turn to fight for the glory of the City, to die heroically on a steaming dune out in the Wastelands." Edmun's voice is thick with bitterness and drink, his eyes never leaving Will.

I toss the drink back, buying time as I struggle not to choke with the shock.

"You're going to fight?" I say, lamely.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Edmun's fist slams down on the table. I jump and Will places a protective hand on my arm. Stealing a glance up at him, I find his gaze locked with Edmun's, though his expression remains impassive.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend, Kay-kay?" Edmun snarls. "Pretty couple you make." He spits onto the ground. "Bloody courtiers. I don't suppose you'll be fighting this damned war, will you, rich boy?"

"I've already served my time," Will says, calmly.

"Is that so? Chose not to buy your way out then, did you? Must have been nice to have the option." Edmun tears his eyes away from Will long enough to grab the untouched shot glass and down it in one gulp.

The miners near the bar have ceased their conversation and are now watching us with rapt attention.

Something flashes momentarily across Will's face. All three men have tightened their jaws and I realize I have to separate them as soon as possible. I make to stand, wobbling slightly, and cursing myself for the drinks.

"Well, this has been sufficiently awkward," I say, trying to break the tension. "But we really have to get going."

I try to kick Will under the table but miss, stumbling again. Luckily, he seems to get the message and rises to his feet.

"Ah no, no. Don't leave. We just got here." Edmun pushes back his chair and rocks on the back legs, staring up at us. His usually friendly face appears worn and my heart goes out to him. His drunken bluster is a cover for the deep-seated fear he must feel.

"I'm really sorry, Edmun." I don't know what to say.

He waves a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

I feel Will tug my arm but I pull away and kneel down next to my friend, gathering his big shoulders into a hug. As he wraps his arms around me, I blink back the tears that threaten to spill, sudden memories of our childhood together with my brother overtaking me.

He pulls back first, gripping my arms and peering fixedly at my face. "I really miss him," he says bluntly. "Frye was always the brave one, not me."

"You're braver than you know," I tell him.

Unable to say anything more, I give Edmun's hand one last squeeze and allow Will to lead me out of the bar. The sun has sunk lower in the sky and the alley is bathed in a hazy orange light, illuminating the stone buildings and stretching their shadows into eerie proportions.

"Are you all right?" Will asks.

We are leaning against a wall in the alleyway; my arms are wrapped tightly around myself despite the warm air.

"I'm fine," I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. As I draw a shaky breath, my emotions gradually recede back under control.

"Who was he talking about, back there?" Will asks. "Who's Frye?"

I open my eyes to see him watching me intently.

"My brother," I say simply. Saying the words causes a hollow thud to reverberate through my chest.

"Is he..." Will trails off.

"He's dead," I confirm. I step to the side, avoiding Will's outstretched hand reaching for my shoulder.

He drops his arm back down. "The war?"

"Yes," I say, keeping my eyes trained on his. "More than five years, now."

Will doesn't say anything, his face impassive but for the trace of sympathy in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

I turn away, unwilling to let the old feelings grab hold of me again. "Don't be sorry, just help me finish this damnable war and this damnable monarchy."