Page 37 of Sharpest Court

Perhaps that was why Osana seemed so affected by the Hunters. Because she spent so much time with the people who would have, in different circumstances, been their victims.

I was still pondering this when the carriage squealed to a stop. “We’re here already?”

“We’re making a detour.” Keil sighed, smirking. “My apologies in advance.”

The door swung wide, sunlight blinding me.

“What took you so long?” a jolly voice asked, the carriage jolting with an extra thump of weight. “Scoot over, Lockpicker.”

I was shunted toward the window as the door shut, and then we were moving again.

“I told you not to bring food into carriages anymore,” Keil said to the new arrival, who’d brought with him the aroma of rendered meat and spices.

“This isn’t even your carriage. And if you want me to wake up this early, you can’t expect me not to bring breakfast.”

“It’s noon. And roast beef is not breakfast.”

“The first meal of the day is always breakfast. Isn’t that right, Lockpicker?”

I focused on the man beside me, whose blond hair fell to his broad shoulders. And I knew who he was even though a mask had always previously covered his features: a square jaw, a faintly freckled nose, a pair of crescent dimples creasing around a grin.

“Alas.” Lye sighed, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Another woman rendered speechless at the sight of me. It’s becoming a real problem.” He dug a fork into his paper bowl, then took a heaping mouthful of beef and rice. He chewed with his mouth half-open, steam unfurling between his lips.

I couldn’t help but crack a dry smile at the young man who had only ever been pleasant toward me back in Daradon.

Then, realizing that both of my travel companions were my former kidnappers, I mentally rolled my eyes, vowing to make some new friends.

“You do know I can’t pick locks?” I asked.

“Don’t remind me.” Lye spoke around his food. “I’m tragically fated to be the only Wholeborn in this group. Still”—he bumped my shoulder—“I’m glad to see you alive. You gave His Highness a real scare for a while there.”

I glanced at Keil, whose expression seemed too neutral in the wake of Lye’s words.

“Lye’s the one with the contact for the translator,” he explained. “We’ll need him to get us through the door.”

“No need to sound so unhappy about it.” Lye leaned closer to me, whispering loudly. “What do you say, Lockpicker? Should we ditch His Highness and go it alone? I’ll take you to my favorite wine house if you Wield him out the window.”

I gave Keil an arch look. “Well? Do you have a counteroffer?”

Keil smiled wickedly, stretching his legs across the space between us. “I could Wield you both out the window and take the carriage back home.”

“Good luck with that.” Lye chuckled around another bite. “I’ve seen her Wield.”

Those words surprised me. I was glancing at Keil, frowning in slight question, when I caught the glint of a weapon at his belt. I noticed, too, that Lye wore his bandolier of black throwing knives atop a dark shirt.

“Should I have brought a sword for this excursion?” I asked, half-serious.

“The weapons are just precautions,” Keil said.

Lye added, “Raff doesn’t exactly work at a friendly place.”

“Raff is the translator?”

Lye shook his head. “Raff will hopefully give our message to the translator, Calytrix. Then Caly will decide whether she wants to see us.”

My stomach flipped with sudden concern. “Why wouldn’t she see us?”

“Caly is . . .” Lye wavered, searching for the right words. “A private person.”