“A booth in the back near an exit will be sufficient,” Zander says evenly.
She dips her head a second time and holds out her hand. Atticus drops several gold coins into her palm. Only then does she lead us forward.
We walk in single file—me sandwiched between my towering male companions—and I scan my surroundings from beneath my cowl. The crowd is a mix of Seacadorian sailors and Islorian commoners, the women in flirty dresses, the men in splayed tunics. At nearly every table we pass, people are in deep conversation with their companions while sipping from copper mugs of ale. Some wear the cuffs of slaves on their ears, but they appear nothing like the docile, obedient servants I’m accustomed to seeing within the castle walls.
Zander ushers me through quickly, but still, I note curious glances and wide eyes of surprise. He leans in to whisper in my ear, “You were going to keep your distance, were you?”
I resist the urge to elbow him in the gut. He’s right. Everyone knows the future queen of Islor is Ybarisan. There is no way for me to remain hidden among these people—a reality that leaves me feeling as exposed as if I were standing naked in front of them.
“I assume this will suffice.” Bexley gestures toward a small booth framed by a heavy curtain. Many more like it run along the wall, some curtains drawn closed, others left open to reveal amorous couples tucked away.
Zander urges me in first and then slides in beside me. The wooden bench is small, and his thigh nudges against mine.
Bexley settles across from us. “Atti, are you not going to join us?” she taunts.
“Not this time, Bex.” Atticus draws the curtain, closing us into the dark nook.
The flame within the lantern flares, boosting the light. Zander’s doing, I’m sure.
Bexley’s observant eyes dart from it to Zander and me. She folds her hands on the table in front of her. “Atticus said he had two friends who would like to meet me, but I do not believe this is the sort of encounter I was hoping for.”
Zander smiles. “Unfortunately not.”
“Pity.” Her gaze settles on me. “The infamous Royal Slayer is far prettier than I expected.”
“Romeria has been exonerated of all charges,” Zander says smoothly.
“Yes. For whatever reason,” she murmurs, and it is obvious what she thinks of Princess Romeria’s innocence.
Zander sizes her up. I doubt he’s used to being spoken to with such cavalier distrust, especially by a barkeep who knows who he is. “We have need of information,” he says after a long moment.
Bexley sighs. “Doesn’t everyone?”
Zander cocks his head. “And who else has been in here looking for information from you as of late?”
“Oh, you know, soldiers, the occasional aristocrat …” She leans forward to rest her elbows on the table, the move stretching her dress so low that a hint of nipple peeks out. “The usual distasteful lot.”
Zander doesn’t fall for the bait, his eyes locked on her face. “Anything I need to be made aware of?”
She pauses as if weighing how much truth her answer should include. “There are whispers that more of the poison that killed King Eachann and Queen Esma is traveling through Islor.”
Zander’s jaw tenses. “Yes, we have heard that rumor.”
“It is not so much rumor, is it?”
He stares at her. He didn’t want anyone else aware of these vials of poison making their rounds. A foolish wish, surely.
I will give Bexley credit—she matches his look, doing no more than blinking once.
“Have you heard of any casters arriving by way of Skatrana and Seacadore in the last few weeks?” he asks.
Her sculpted eyebrow arches. “Casters?”
“Yes.”
“Aside from the wind casters that always come with the ship … no.”
“Your establishment caters to many Seacadorians, from what I’ve seen. Would anyone in here be of value in answering that question?”