Javi gave her a half-hearted shrug. “You’d think so, but General”—his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, voice strained as he continued—“Suris so anti-magic that he started the Anti-Airship Federation.”
She knew that, but there was no other possible reason for how the name of a kingdom simply vanished from memory. It smelled an awful lot like magic.
“So you’re meant to get married to someone and live in a place that your family and your friends and your people can barely remember the name of.”
“My family won’t miss me, and I don’t have any friends.” His shrug was nonchalant, but his face remained stony.
Her chest flared in the spot behind her ribs where she usually felt the resentment she reserved for Barrow—but that resentment wasn’t aimed at Javi. She couldn’t be angry at him when the words rang true.Hebelieved it, and that made her heart twinge where Brunhilda’s curse had taken root, because unfortunately she believed something very similar.
My family won’t miss me, and I don’t have any friends.
Clearing her throat, she reached for a wooden spoon and took a sip of her soup. Flavor exploded on her tongue—and not in a good way. The soup was so salty, she drank half her ale down in one go. Risa might never have seen the ocean, but she was convinced the fish in her stew had actually swallowed it whole.
“I’d leave some for later,” Javi suggested, seemingly unbothered by the saltiness as he took his own bite.
She resisted the urge to finish the ale and placed the glass as far from reach as she could to stave off temptation. “Surely youhave some royal contacts who could help you get to”—she growled at her spoon and amended what she was trying to say—“your wedding.”
He thought for a moment, then said, “The Regent of San Cirilo.”
San Cirilo—the airship city. An autonomous region that circled over a great swath of plains, far from Kheadon’s capital and close to the desert border. What began as a passion project by ambitious airshipologists—scientists who believed they could make flying machines with a combination of magic and steam—now thrived as a sprawling, hovering city nestled in the clouds. Despite the success of the airships, the monstrous things were rare. Their scientific secrets were guarded closely by the Regent, who would be able to get Risa and Javi across the border and desert without breaking a sweat.
There was but one tiny hiccup with Javi’s suggestion.
“The Regent is a known recluse. Why would they help you?”
Javi’s nose flared. “They’re my father’s sibling.” Then, a second later: “Or cousin. Or aunt?”
“The Regent’s yourfamily?”
A nod. “Yes. My uncle. Or my niece. I haven’t the slightest clue. We’ve never met. Or—” Once again, his brows formed a single beautiful line as he attempted to recall something that slipped right through his fingers. After a moment, he gave up. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
Risa could think of plenty of bad things. And the first was getting shot out of the sky by the Anti-Airship Federation.
Instead, she observed, “You don’t really think through anything you say, do you?”
“Then it’s decided. We’ll pay an outlaw to get us to the airshipcity, I’ll get married, and you can go back to doing whatever it is witches who have secret business they ‘must see through’ do.”
She rolled her eyes and shoveled another bite of oversalted soup into her mouth. While Risa struggled to keep it down, Javi seemed to relish it, draining his bowl down to the last drop before he turned to his own pint of ale, which Risa had been eyeing greedily for a long while. As he took his first swig, a man with an impressive mustache and thick sideburns bumped into their wobbly table. Soup sloshed over the sides of Risa’s bowl, broken ceramic pieces careened off the table, and Brunie scurried from Risa’s lap.
“Yer chair was in the way,” the man barked, eyes like chipped jade.
Javi stared up at him, confused. Neither Risa nor Brunie could react in time to stop him as he said, quite stupidly, “You’re the one who bumped into me.”
The burly man drew himself to his full height—which was less impressive than his girth—with his very broad shoulders and equally broad arms, so large they didn’t hang straight. His mustache was the thinnest part of him, the ends curled with careful consideration. Nothing about him suggested that he wasoldexcept for his hair, which was matted with stripes of gray. His face remained unlined except for the deep divot between his eyes.
Worst of all, though, were those cold eyes, their warmth long cooled by violence. It didn’t help that the man stood right by his yellowed wanted poster, no redXacross his face.
“Outside,” the man ordered, nose inches from Javi’s own.
“I’m already engaged,” the prince responded, gesturing idly in Risa’s direction.
“I don’t think he’s flirting with you,” Risa warned, aware that her bad luck had struck again.
“Hey!” A man with bright red hair and a gangly frame came forward, waving a piece of parchment. “There’s a reward for him!”
The mustachioed man snatched the parchment with a snarl, scanned it, then shoved the redheaded man so hard, he skidded across the floor and over the bar counter.
“Well, what do we have here,” Mustache growled, revealing the poster to them. Drawn in thick dark lines on thin parchment was a boy that could have been Javi if the prince were younger and uglier. “There’s a nice reward for whoever disconnects yer head from the rest of yer body.”