What the fuck is wrong with this city? It wasn’t even the solstice yet, and the heat was already bad enough that it was painful just walking around. Worse, the air felt like a sweaty soup, thick enough to be palpable.

“Copper for your thoughts?”

Not that that was the sort of thing one ought to tell her guide, especially when he’d been friendly enough so far. As frustrating as all of this was, being rude wouldn’t help anything.

“What the fuck is wrong with this city?” Florette replied. Oh well.

“Avalon, obviously.” He’d called himself Ysengrin, a muscled teenager with a black patch over one eye and a surprisingly deep voice for his age. At the shore, he’d posed as a deckhand, but according to Eloise, he’d be leading her and the smuggled goods to Jacques.

As for the goods, it hadn’t taken long for a posse of children no older than twelve to swarm around the dinghy and load most of them onto a wagon with a cloth thrown over it. All that remained were two rucksacks for each of them to carry, each prepared by Eloise with specific instructions in mind. If Ysengrin hadn’t calmly watched it happen, she’d have thought they were being robbed, but apparently the two of them were to take another path, at Jacques’ instruction.

Though they’d climbed down the same hole, the children had pulled their contraband down a side tunnel right away. By now, on this dank, decrepit dungeon of a path, it was impossible to even hear them. Though it had at least alleviated the heat.

“I mean, sure. Of course a lot of it is Avalon’s fault. But this is Malin! The Fox Queen’s capital! Home of the Great Temple of Levian, Fuite Gardens, the New Bridge!” Florette sighed. “This place was the seat of power for the entire continent, and it’s just a dirty, ruined armpit that’s hotter than the bloody Sun Spirit himself.”

“It’s a bit warm this Spring, but don’t you think you’re exaggerating?”

Florette shook her head. “My friend saw Soleil up close, actually. Apparently he’s more concerned with chewing out his High Priest and flashing lights than actually heating things.”

“Hmm.” Ysengrin shrugged. “Cooler down here though.” He waved his arm around, gesturing to the stone walls of the tunnel, flickering by the light of the candlestick in his other hand. “We’re probably thirty or forty feet underground, by now.”

“How deep do they go?”

He scratched his chin. “I don’t exactly have the map memorized, but more than a few lead out to trenches under the sea. Those probably reach half a mile or so.”

“And why?” Florette clenched her teeth, picking up her pace slightly. “What’s the point of a bunch of empty tunnels under the city, exactly?”

“They’re great for smuggling, running cash or contraband… Really anytime you want to get someone or something somewhere without Avalon knowing about it, they’ll probably be your best bet.”

She sighed. “Right, that’s why they’re useful now, but someone built these. They spent fuck knows how long digging through all the earth, supporting it with these stones, putting entrances and exits all over the city, all perfectly aligned and precise. Even the bloody stones are blue. Why spend a fortune making it easier for people to defy your authority?”

Ysengrin shrugged. “Fuck if I know. They’re here, so we use them.” He suddenly turned down a side passage seemingly at random, forcing Florette to backtrack to catch up. What an excellent guide you turned out to be.

“What kind of name is Ysengrin anyway?”

“A fake one,” he replied without turning around. “Usually a good idea as a criminal.”

“Eloise didn’t use one.” At least, I don’t think she did. “The other pirates called her that, anyway.”

Ysengrin scoffed, bouncing the light up and down the walls. “At sea you want a legend, scare the shit out of people so they give up their stuff easier. Reputation.”

“Like it’s any different here.”

He stopped, the light dimming as the candle began to approach its base. “Jacques doesn’t like to do things that way. No more than what’s needed, anyway.” He pulled another candle from a pouch on his belt and lit it with the fading wick of the other. “Pirates get to move on to the next score with nothing but a bag of gold and some happy memories, but we still have to live here.”

“Fine.” Florette shrugged. “Do what you want, I guess.”

“What’s got you in such a mood, anyway? You swashbucklers love shore leave, don’t you?”

Because Eloise practically booted me off her ship. Because she thought I wasn’t hard enough, wasn’t strong enough to be in her crew.

Because she might have been right. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Oh please. It’s so obvious.” Ysengrin rolled his eyes. “You think you’re the first girl Eloise has ever gotten bored with? Shit, you’re not even the first one she’s dumped here in the last year.”

“What?”

He flashed a wolfish smile. “It happened all the time when she was running with us. Some poor naif gets a heart for adventure, finds her way into the arms of—”

“Shut up! That’s not what happened. I chose to spend some time here to learn the language and pick up a few things from Jacques. I’ll be gone the second she gets back.”

“Whatever you say. Just don’t be surprised if she never comes back for you.” Ysengrin held up his hands, raising the light in the process. “In a way, she did us the same way. Not as bad, maybe, but after everything Jacques did for her, jumping to Verrou’s ship like that… She was supposed to get her own slice of territory, you know. Two more years and she’d be where Mince is today. Any of us’d have killed to have that. Shit, some of us did.” He shook his head. “And she just fucked off without even saying why. Some people just never let anyone close. It’s who she is, pirate lady. Sooner you accept it, the better for you.”

“It’s not like that with us,” she insisted, even as his words bit into her.

“Really? How did you meet?”

That night…

“You were a disaster,” she’d said as they gazed out over the water. “Everything I have in my life, it’s something I’ve taken for myself. I like to think everyone else works the same way.”

Florette crossed her arms. “She saw something in me.” She saw an in with Magnifico. “She was casing this lounge in Guerron when I impressed her with a pull.” She was casing you, and you were too stupid to see it.

Ysengrin shrugged. “She probably did. I’m sure she’ll see something in the next one, too. Maybe a farmer’s daughter in Lyrion desperate to escape her miserable life, or a sultry seamstress with a dark secret. Perhaps a bored clerk, wiling away the hours waiting for a dashing pirate sweep her off her—”

He was interrupted by the point of her sword in his face. “Enough of that.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

After what felt like hours scrabbling in the blue-tinted darkness, Ysengrin led her into a cramped circular alcove with a staircase spiralling up it. “Well, here we are.” He gestured to the staircase. “After you, Pokey.”

Florette glared as she shouldered past him, grabbing the candle from his hands.

The stairs felt impossibly cramped, narrow enough that she could only put the ball of her feet on the edge of the tiny wedges. And it just went on and on, far longer than they had taken to descend back at the shore. As Florette ascended, they contracted even more, to the point that she had to duck her head to avoid banging it against the stones above.

That didn’t save her from hitting it against the hatch at the top, though, causing a faint snicker to echo across the walls from behind. Prick.

She held the light up to the thick circle of wood, running it around the rim until she found the latch. The lid was heavy, but the tight space made it easy to put her whole body into lifting it, and there was no way she was asking that smug asshole for any help.

It took a minute for her eyes to adjust enough to the light, though she could feel Ysengrin shove past her and climb out.

By the time she could see, she did the same, only to find him already sitting on the ground and digging through his satchel. And…

“Didn’t you lose the other eye?”

He snorted. “Didn’t lose any. Wouldn’t be much of a runner if I had.” He lifted the patch, presenting a completely uninjured face beneath. “You switch it going in and out of the tunnels, and you get an eye that’s primed for the darkness.”

Huh. That was actually pretty clever. “How does it help you adjust back to the light, though?”

Ysengrin shook his head. “That’s just memory. This old well is the prime way in and out of the North end, so I know it pretty well. Probably been through hundreds of times.”

Florette vaulted over the three feet of stone, then reached back down to replace the cover. From the top, she could see the letters “SEC” carved into it, with “DRY” underneath.

Look at that, I’m already learning the language.

The old well was atop a hill of grass already turning brown, a trail of nearly-buried stone leading the way down to a short wall of stone which, for fucking once, wasn’t blue. All it took was traveling all the way to…

“Where are we, exactly?”

“North end of the city, near the ruins of the castle.”

Florette squinted, looking further past the hill. Beneath it was a crowded stretch of houses barely clinging to the ever-steepening side of the hill. Could a horse even pull a wagon up this?

Ysengrin followed her gaze and chuckled. “Don’t know why anyone’d choose to live up here, but that’s where they are.”

The contrast with the port area was incredible, as was the smell adding its contribution to the wet heat in a nearly palpable cloud of noxiousness. The houses looked newer, strangely, with larger bases and more evenly sized stones and brick making up the majority. Taller too, stretching up three or even four stories against the side of the hill.

Florette wrinkled her nose. “People were pushed here.” It had been the Northern walls of the city that had shattered under cannonfire, and the north that saw the tip of the invading army. Avalon’s navy would have done the same at sea, no doubt, were it not for Sarille Leclaire’s sacrifice. “I imagine Perimont likes the symbolism of it too. Ugly brick towers of poverty and squalor where once stood the seat of an empire.”

“Maybe. I’m not much one for history.” Ysengrin shrugged. “He can’t like it too much though, or he wouldn’t be tearing half it down.”

“What?”

“Come on, you’ll see it as we go.”

He led her down the hill, over the knee-high wall and into the crowded streets. As they crossed the wall, Ysengrin dropped a brick-sized package wrapped in thick paper between the stones. He turned right, following the wall for another hundred feet before dropping another package.

By the time he had placed three more, they had rounded the curve and the full scale of the Foxtrap’s devastation came into view.

Once-gleaming crystal blue city walls were breached many times over, shining debris scattered all across the ground. The castle above had fared no better, little more than a pile of blue masonry practically seeping out of the cannon-holes in its own inner keep.

Seventeen years later, and it looked as if the battle had taken place weeks ago. As gestures went, it was crude and simple but powerful nonetheless. You failed, the walls seemed to say, behold the consequences of defiance.

“So what’s in the packages?” Florette asked as Ysengrin flipped his rucksack over to dump the last one out onto the ground.

“What package?” He picked it up and tucked it into his coat pocket, flinging the bag down the hill. “That’s what you say if anyone asks.”

Florette rolled her eyes.

“Psyben root.” He smiled wolfishly. “Well the powder, to be more accurate. The kids took care of the heavier stuff. You know, nightshade, marigold wine, opium. They’ll make rounds of their own. But I figured it was easier to grab what I needed without waiting for it to come back down from up high. Saves time.”

“Hmm.”

“There, look.” He pointed down the side of the hill, Florette following his finger with her eyes.

He hadn’t been lying. Abruptly the city streets gave way to a flat area, surrounded by some kind of latticed silver fence. Within were dozens of tents and fires, along with dull metal sheds in a far greater number than seemed necessary. Two of them were sleeker though, and absolutely massive. The cleared area stretched so far north it seemed to leave the city, with some kind of path that seemed at once wooden and metal.

“They call it a railway. Apparently they’re everywhere in Avalon, so someone got it into their head to build one between here and Lyrion.”

Florette flicked back to the start of the path, the strange fenced camp and the narrow metal buildings.

“Trains,” Ysengrin added. “They ride up and down the special road faster than any beast. Not that any of us are likely to be riding them.”

It took minutes for Florette to be able to wrench her gaze away, thoughts already spinning in her head.

They doubled back, heading back south to the crowded streets and their overwhelming throngs.

Even Guerron was nothing compared to this.

The strangest part wasn’t even the smell, which the state of the streets made inevitable, but the noise. It was hard to place any of it. Children were crying out, men and women shouting nigh-indecipherable pleas from every other corner and tower, beasts grunting and neighing. But most of it was simply conversation, amplified by the sheer number of people speaking to each other into a dull roar undercutting the louder cries.

A few of the kids ran past them as they saw them coming, probably headed back to pick up Ysengrin’s dropped packages.

“Yse! What’s the good news?” The noise jarred Florette out of the strange trance that the sensations of the city had put her into. The man speaking had his wide eyes almost hidden under a mop of dirty blond hair, though it had a blue streak in it that looked just like Lady Leclaire’s hair. Strange, that.

“Hey, Claude.” Ysengrin bumped his chest against him, reaching his hand into his coat as he did. “Straight from the boat, just how you like it.”

Claude smiled, reaching his hand into Ysengrin’s pocket himself, though when he pulled it back, there was nothing within. “Alright, see you next time.”

No one else accosted them, though many loiterers gave Ysengrin a pointed nod as the two of them walked by.

“That was pretty stupid,” Florette noted casually.

Her guide turned and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

She waved her arm. “Doing that in front of me, I mean. Especially after antagonizing me like that.”

He snorted. “Fine, I guess I’ll ask. What in Levian’s name are you talking about?”

“The fact that you’re skimming off the top and selling it on the side. I can’t imagine Jacques will think highly of that.”

“What, that with Claude?” He laughed. “Relax. Jacques’ll get his cut just like he does with everyone else. Just wanted to help a friend get where he needed to go as soon as I could. Been pretty dry here lately. This shipment should heat things up just right.”

“Sure.”

With a slight jitter, he picked up his pace slightly. “Believe what you want to believe. You’ll see me drop it in the pot once we see Jacques.”

Florette gave him an unimpressed stare.

“Oh, come on. Don’t rat me out on this. Nothing worse than a rat. You’ve got a bag of your own; I thought we were on the same page here.”

“I do.” She nodded, patting the rucksack at her back. “But this is to help my crew, not screw them out of their due.”

“I’m sure.”

“It’s for Eloise. She asked me to drop this at a specific house back by the port.” She tossed you aside to run errands for her because she didn’t think you could manage any more than that. “I’m supposed to give them to a girl named Margot.”

“She told you about Margot?”

“Of course,” Florette lied. “Why wouldn’t she?”

Ysengrin shook his head with a cutting chuckle. “Oh, just everything about who she is. Sending you around doing her bidding does fit, though. Here, I’ll show you the way as a thanks for keeping my secret.”

Why was he laughing?

She felt her teeth clench, and the weight of the bag grew all the heavier.

They trusted children to move contraband through the city, and my great honor is a task that’s even easier, even freer of risk.

This is such a load of shit. I did everything right, and you sent me away just because I wasn’t enthusiastic enough about it. Or maybe it was that Prince… The poor bastard was probably still stashed belowdecks right now, being ferried from one port to the next. Had a few basic, trivial acts of decency disqualified her from Eloise’s esteem?

Eloise had been the one to dismiss the other pirates’ bloodlust in the first place!

That was why Ysengrin was wrong about them. He had to be.

“There,” he said after they had crossed what felt like half the city again. He pointed to an older house near the shattered remnants of the harbor. A deep green color, it at least had the decency to avoid being fucking blue. “Probably better if I wait here.”

“Sure.” Florette nodded, brushing past him as she strode towards the house. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. She heard scrabbling in the house, but no one opened the door.

Who was this Margot, to live in this part of town? A farmer’s daughter, a sultry seamstress…

Florette dropped the bag on the doorstep and fled, walking just fast enough that it couldn’t be called a run.

“All good?” Ysengrin asked, a slight hint of trepidation in his voice. “You know, I’m sorry I was—”

“You’re sorry I caught you making a stupid mistake.” Florette sighed. “Come on, let’s just go.”

The guide nodded, stepping back out in front. “For what it’s worth, Jacques trusts Eloise’s judgement enough—”

To think highly of someone she cast aside like an anchor? “Just stop. I’m not going to rat you out if you give your crew their due. You’d better remember that.”

“I will.” He slapped her on the back. “And if you’re looking to prove yourself, I could put in a good word for you. Might help the next time there’s a big job and they’re picking roles.”

“No need.” Not good enough, am I? “I have something better in mind.” A way to prove herself and give Avalon a bruising in the process.