Anticipation thrummed in Jude’s chest as he ducked inside the slyhouse, steeling himself against the sweet-smelling smoke and perfume. In the front room, the slyhouse’s workers slunk around in gauzy shifts, perching on the cushions and low couches spread out around tables. Just inside, a courtesan held court with a small group of well-dressed men, their laughter loud and raucous. Behind them, a boy plucked the strings of an instrument Jude didn’t recognize, playing a lilting tune.
A girl with a serving tray sidled up to Jude. “See something that catches your eye?”
“I’m here to see Zinnia,” Jude replied.
The girl narrowed her eyes, the look of cloying welcome sliding off her face. “She doesn’t take walk-ins. Appointment only.”
“I have an appointment.”
The girl looked unconvinced, but she just said, “Have a seat.”
She handed her tray off to another server and disappeared behind the curtain.
Jude sat stiffly on an open cushion.
“Hi there,” a voice said to Jude’s left.
He turned and saw a boy sprawled languidly beside him, dimpling a smile at Jude. He looked a little younger than Jude, with fair hair and hazel eyes, a pearl glittering in one ear.
“You waiting on something?” the boy asked, leaning toward Jude. The sweet scent of jasmine teased Jude’s nose. “I can entertain you while you wait, if you like.”
There was a gleam in the boy’s eye, a coy curl to the corner of his lips that suggested a very particular kind of entertainment.
“No!” Jude blurted, flinching back. “I mean. That’s quite all right, thank you. I’m fine.”
The boy shrugged one shoulder, his bare skin golden in the low light. “Suit yourself.”
The gesture reminded Jude so viscerally of Anton, it stole the breath from his lungs.
“So this is where you’ve been going off to?” a familiar voice said incredulously.
Jude leapt to his feet as Hector shouldered his way through the front doorway.
“This really isn’t what I was expecting.” Hector’s gaze swept the room with suspicion. A girl draped over the windowsill flicked her eyes back at Hector with interest.
Jude’s jaw clenched. “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
“I was worried,” Hector replied, striding toward him. “And I have to say, if this is what you’ve been up to, I think I’m right to be.”
Jude flushed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A few of the others, who weren’t otherwise engaged, snuck not so subtle glances, clearly amused by whatever drama they assumed was unfolding.
Hector seemed to realize the notice they’d garnered and lowered his voice as he stopped in front of Jude. “Look, I’m not judging you. I get it. Sort of. Grief can make you do things you usually wouldn’t—”
“It’s really not what you think,” Jude replied, desperate not to let Hector finish that thought. “Just—I’ll explain later, all right?”
“So will it be the two of you, or…?”
A girl appeared from behind the curtain, leaning against the doorway with one hip cocked, eyeing Hector and Jude. She was dressed in far plainer clothes than the others, simple gray trousers and a pale blue tunic. Jude watched an uncharacteristic blush spread across Hector’s cheeks.
Jude wished dearly to bury himself in the earth. Suddenly the prospect of Hector learning the true reason he’d come here didn’t seem so bad.
“For Keric’s sake,” Jude muttered, rubbing his temple as he made up his mind. “Come on, then.”
“What?” Hector balked, his voice going high and strained. “Jude, I don’t—”
“Just—come with me. You want to know what I’ve been up to? I’ll show you.”
Hector still looked extremely wary, but Jude blustered past him, nodding at the girl who turned and led him through the satin curtains. A moment later, Jude heard a low curse followed by Hector’s hurried steps behind him.
They clipped down a hallway bordered by archways, some curtained off and some that opened out into more private versions of the front room, with people in various states of undress. There were also closed doors, behind which sounds emanated that made Jude blush despite himself. A few of the slyhouse workers passed them in the hallway, greeting the girl—Zinnia—cheerfully.
“Why do you work here?” Jude asked as they turned down another hallway.
“I like the ambience,” she replied flippantly. “Why? Does it offend your sensibilities?”
“No,” he said, his blush betraying him.
“What’s your type, then? Boys who blush as prettily as you? Girls who know how to take control?” She glanced back to Hector. “Tall, broad-shouldered, dark-eyed men?”
Hector coughed awkwardly.
“You know that’s not why I’m here,” Jude said darkly.
“Maybe it should be,” Zinnia replied. “You look like you need to learn how to relax.”
Jude didn’t bother to dignify that with a response, clenching his jaw as Zinnia pushed open a door near the end of the hallway, revealing another sitting room, with a low couch slouched behind a table set with a silver tray, crystal glasses, and a decanter full of dark red wine. The girl sauntered over to the table and motioned for them to take a seat on the couch as she poured a glass. Jude sat, but Hector remained hovering just inside the door.
“So,” Zinnia said, offering him the wineglass. “Jude Weatherbourne. What can I do for you?”
Jude waved off the offered wine. “I don’t—wait. You know who I am?”
She shrugged, taking a sip of wine. “I’m good at my job. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
He nodded slowly.
“I also know that you’ve already hired six different bounty hunters in the past month,” she went on. “They all told you the same thing. So what makes you think I’m going to have a different answer for you?”
“They say Mrs. Tappan’s Scrying Agency is the best,” Jude replied.
“So you want to pay five times the price to hear the exact same answer?”
“Wait,” Hector spoke, coming away from the door at last. “Bounty hunter? We’re at a slyhouse looking for a bounty hunter?”
Jude ignored him. “I want to hire you to do what those other bounty hunters couldn’t.”
Zinnia chewed her lip, shaking her head. “The person you’re looking for is dead.”
Jude touched the scarf that lay folded against his breastbone. He could still remember finding it in the wreckage of the tomb of the Sacrificed Queen. How it had looked, bright blue against the crumbling red rock, and how Jude’s heart had clenched tight as a fist when he’d pulled it free. How he’d dug and dug there for another sign of Anton. But there was only this—a scrap of cloth he could tuck beside his heart. Nothing else.
He could feel Hector’s gaze on him. This was why he had kept this from Hector. He couldn’t stand the pity in his eyes. He thought Jude was a fool for holding on to hope this way, but Jude would rather be a fool than give up on Anton.
“He’s not dead,” he said evenly.
“Jude,” Hector said softly. Jude still refused to look at him. “We looked for him in Behezda. For weeks.”
“He’s alive,” Jude said sharply. “I know he is.”
He could not explain why he was so certain. Even with the world falling around them, somehow Anton had survived. Jude knew it. Because if he’d gone from the world, his body returned to the earth, his esha released into the air, then Jude would have felt it. Just as he’d felt it the moment Anton had entered the world, all those years ago.
Anton was the Prophet. He couldn’t be gone, because if he was, it would mean there was no hope left.
“You should listen to your friend,” Zinnia said, her voice softening. “When six scryers try to find someone and not a single one succeeds, it can only mean one thing.”
“So you don’t want the job?” Jude asked brusquely, heading back to the door. “Come on, Hector. We’re done here.”
“Hold on just a second,” Zinnia said, sounding amused. To Hector, she said, “Is he always this surly?”
Hector barked out a laugh. “These days, definitely.”
Jude spun back to them, glowering.
“I may have something else for you two,” Zinnia said. “As it so happens, I’ve been expecting you.”
“What?” Jude asked, his heart thudding as he exchanged an alarmed look with Hector. It’s a trap. The Witnesses, Pallas—They’re here. “What do you mean?”
Hector’s hand snapped to the hilt of his sword as Jude pulled himself taut as a bowstring, ready to flee or fight at the slightest provocation.
“Mrs. Tappan said you would stop by,” Zinnia said with a wave, entirely unconcerned with their obvious apprehension. “She sends her regards.”
“I’ve never met her,” Jude replied flatly.
“Yes, you have,” Zinnia replied confidently. “She lent you her ship.”
Jude’s tension gave way to sheer bafflement. “Lady Bellrose?”
Zinnia smiled. “One of her many aliases.”
“Who?” Hector asked, glancing between the two of them.
“She’s a collector,” Jude said. “Or she posed as one.” Anton had said she was a bounty hunter. And she’d called herself the leader of the Lost Rose. He looked at Zinnia. “How did she know I’d be here?”
She shrugged.
Lady Bellrose had been something of an enigma when Jude met her in Endarrion, but everything she’d told him had turned out to be true. She’d known that they needed to find the Four Relics to stop Pallas, that the god’s esha had been sealed in the Red Gate—she’d even known why Jude’s Grace had been damaged and what he’d needed to do to restore it.
“But then…” Jude paused, pieces slotting together in his mind. “You’re—the Lost Rose?”
Zinnia smiled. “You’re a lot smarter than you look.”
“Wait—the Lost Rose?” Hector echoed. “As in, the secret organization that Hassan’s been trying to contact?”
Zinnia held out her arms. “And here we are, answering. You’re welcome.”
“We could have used your help six weeks ago!”
“Hector,” Jude warned.
“We’ve been busy,” Zinnia replied. “What with the god you and your friends unleashed on the world.”
Jude flinched. “That wasn’t our fault.”
“Wasn’t it, though?”
Jude fell silent. They’d all played a role in the god’s resurrection, whether they’d meant to or not. They were all part of the last prophecy.
“Why are you reaching out to us now?” Hector asked, suspicious.
Zinnia rose to her feet. “We have a message for you.”
Despite his wariness, hope leapt in Jude’s chest. If Lady Bellrose and the Lost Rose were getting in contact with him, that meant they had news. News that, he hoped, would help lead him to Anton.
“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Jude asked carefully. “About the Lost Rose and Lady Bellrose? How do I know you’re not actually working for the Witnesses?”
Zinnia smiled slightly, as if the idea were amusing. Instead of replying, she circled around to a marble chest that sat in the corner. She muttered a string of words, too quick for Jude to catch, and the chest opened, allowing her to pluck something out. She returned, tossing the item down on the table in front of them.
Hector and Jude both leaned forward, peering at the copper sphere that rolled across the wooden table before coming to a halt. It was the size of Jude’s fist, with intricate swirls etched into it, forming a dizzying pattern that Jude almost recognized. It was a moment before it clicked—this sphere looked just like an oracle stone, which the Prophets had used to record their prophecies.
Jude glanced up at Zinnia. “What is this? What does it say?”
She shrugged.
“Stop with this cryptic horseshit,” Hector demanded.
“I’m not being cryptic. I really don’t know. The message will only reveal itself to one person.” Her eyes met Jude’s. “You.”
Jude’s gaze slid back down to the sphere as he carefully picked it up. The moment he touched the cool surface, the sphere began to glow. He nearly dropped it in surprise.
“Hello, Jude,” a familiar voice echoed out from the sphere. “I’m glad you could finally make it.”
Lady Bellrose. She really had been expecting Jude, then.
“I wish we could speak in person, but I have some other urgent business that needs attending to,” she continued. “So I hope you’ll forgive the impoliteness in coming to you in this manner. But I need your help. Or, I suppose, you could think of it the other way around—I am here to help you.”
Hector and Jude exchanged a glance. This was too good to be true.
“I know that you seek a way to return to Pallas Athos,” Lady Bellrose went on. “And perhaps more critically, a way to free the girl, Beru, from Pallas’s control. As it so happens, I can offer you both. Listen closely. The Archon Basileus of Pallas Athos has recently been arrested by Pallas’s men. His execution is scheduled for the autumnal equinox. It is the perfect opportunity to get to Beru, as we’ll know exactly where she’ll be and when. The Lost Rose will help you as much as we can, but the task of her rescue will fall to you.
“I can offer the following—a ship, currently docked here in Tel Amot, that can take you to Pallas Athos. Forged documents that will get you inside the city without detection. Once you’re there, I have the name of a trustworthy ally with valuable knowledge of the citadel’s inner workings, and an alchemist with ties to the Lost Rose who can aid you with whatever you may need.”
Jude glanced at Hector, who caught his eye with an expression of disbelief.
“I hope all of this will be of use to you,” Lady Bellrose said. “I wish there was more I could do. As for what to do with the girl—and the god—once you have them, well—let’s just say I’m working on it.”
The glow of the sphere faded as the room was plunged back into silence.
“What,” Hector said after a long moment, “just happened?”
Jude palmed the sphere, eyes flicking back to Zinnia. “Can I take this?”
“All yours,” she replied. “Oh, almost forgot.”
She went back to the chest, picking something else out of it. When she returned, she held out her hand. A gold ring sat in her palm, with the symbol of a compass rose carved into it. “Show this to the captain of the Longswallow.”
Jude stared down at the ring, feeling overwhelmed. He’d come to the slyhouse with one purpose: find Anton. But instead, he had all of this dropped into his lap. A way into Pallas Athos. The beginnings of a new plan to get the god out of Pallas’s control.
It was exactly what Hassan had been desperately trying to find since they’d arrived in Tel Amot, while Jude had been spending his time trying to track down any sign of Anton. He should be glad. He should be thankful for this, for a plan, for something to do. But all he could think about was what it would feel like to get on that ship and sail away from any last hope of finding Anton.
“Thank you,” Jude said uncertainly, tucking the ring and the sphere away.
She tipped her wineglass toward him. “Hope it works out for you.”
She said it so casually, like they were discussing the outcome of a game of cards rather than the fate of the world.
“Yeah,” Jude replied. “Me too.”
“So do we trust them?” Hector asked the moment they stepped outside the slyhouse and into the cooling evening. “This Lady Bellrose person? The Lost Rose?”
Jude shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“I mean, I guess Hassan does,” Hector said. “Since he’s been trying to contact them this whole time. Maybe it’s a sign—a good one. We could use one of those.”
“Maybe,” Jude said. But his mind was not on the Lost Rose and Lady Bellrose. It was on the first thing that Zinnia had said to him—to give up on Anton. Hector fell silent as they trudged through Tel Amot’s red light district toward the ocean and the sun fading behind it.
“All right, are we going to talk about it?” Hector asked at last as they began to descend the wide steps down to the harbor and the Night Market.
“Talk about what?”
Hector took hold of Jude’s elbow, wheeling him around. “You’ve hired—what was it, six bounty hunters to find the Prophet? You could have told me what you were doing. I would’ve understood. You know that. I’ve been down this road before. The first time I left the Order, I searched for almost a year to find the Pale Hand. Threw away everything to do it.”
“This isn’t the same thing,” Jude replied hotly, jerking away from him.
“How?”
“Because your family was already dead!”
For a moment, Jude thought that Hector might hit him. His hands tightened to fists, his eyes going cold and deadly. Jude wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t have deserved it.
But then Hector let out a breath and slumped.
“Hector, I’m—I’m sorry,” Jude stuttered.
Hector waved him off. “Don’t. Like I said, I get it. I’ve said worse to you—done worse.”
Jude’s gaze dropped. He knew they were both recalling it—how Hector had left Jude bleeding in a burned-down ruin in Pallas Athos. For a long time, Jude had thought that would be his last memory of Hector.
But here they were. Working together, sparring together. Trying to heal together. The break in their friendship, the cracks it had stemmed from, still stood between them some days, a chasm they might never completely cross.
“You didn’t tell me why you returned,” Jude said quietly, lifting his gaze back to Hector’s. “To Kerameikos. After you went searching for the Pale Hand.”
Hector drew a knuckle across his mouth. “I don’t really know why I did it. I guess I was just tired of it all. Tired of my search. Tired of being by myself. I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Jude said. He still remembered the cold dread that had gripped him when he’d arrived back at Kerameikos Fort after his Year of Reflection to find that Hector had not waited for him.
Hector offered a tight-lipped smile. “Not like you miss him, though. The Prophet. Anton.”
Jude turned away, back toward the sea. It hurt to even hear his name. He closed his eyes. “I’ve been having these dreams. Half the time I can barely remember them. Just … just him.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Sometimes Jude woke and it was like Anton had just been beside him, his warmth and his scent lingering. Sometimes the dreams were slow and sweet, the honeyed light of late afternoon warming them as they kissed. And sometimes Anton stood out of reach, calling to Jude. I’m here. It’s me. I’m right here, Jude, and Jude would wake, gutted, furious, certain that there was no crueler torture.
He’d never been a good sleeper, and now it was worse—staying up for days on end, staving off sleep however he could so he wouldn’t have to see the specter that haunted him so sweetly, before giving in, tumbling into sleep and into Anton’s arms again because there was nothing he wanted more.
“I used to dream about my family.” Hector reached for Jude’s shoulder. “My parents, my brother … every night, it felt like. If you let it, it’ll consume you.”
Jude looked at Hector’s hand, recalling a time when he’d been the one to reach out in comfort, to offer futile words of reassurance.
He shrugged Hector’s hand off. “Maybe it should. Maybe I deserve it.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Hector didn’t understand. Jude hadn’t been able to protect Anton when it mattered most.
“I failed,” Jude said abruptly. “He’s the Prophet, the one destined to stop the Age of Darkness. How are we supposed to do it without him? How am I—” He cut off abruptly. His words teetered too close to the heart of the matter, and Jude didn’t know if he could survive it.
“I don’t know,” Hector said, his gaze locked on Jude’s. “But we have to. Somehow, we have to.”
Hassan looked distressed after they replayed Lady Bellrose’s message for him in the privacy of their room.
“So, she just … gave this to you,” Hassan said slowly. “It was just … waiting for you?”
Jude nodded. “She also gave me this.”
He held out the ring.
Hassan took it, inspecting it. “That’s their symbol. The compass rose. I saw it at the Great Library, when I found the covenant. If they gave you this, that must mean they trust us.”
“But do we trust them?” Hector asked. “Doesn’t this whole thing seem too…”
“What?” Hassan asked. “Easy?”
Hector gave him a wry look.
“I didn’t trust Lady Bellrose at first,” Jude said. “But she did lead us to the Relic of Sight. And she was right about the god and the Hierophant.”
She’d been right about a lot of things.
“And my father was part of her organization,” Hassan said. “He must have trusted her.”
Jude glanced at him. It was so rare, lately, for the two of them to agree on anything.
“This execution she talks about,” Hassan continued, “of the Archon Basileus. It sounds like the opportunity we need. I say we take it.”
Hector’s gaze moved from Hassan to Jude. He looked thoughtful. “All right. If you two trust this, so will I. Anything that gets us closer to Pallas.”
To Beru, he didn’t say, but Jude saw the unspoken words in his eyes. They hadn’t exactly discussed everything that had happened in Behezda, but Jude knew Hector, and he knew that he cared about the girl—the revenant—and wanted to save her.
It was a strange thing to realize, especially because when Jude had last seen Hector in Pallas Athos, he’d been planning to kill her. He’d been convinced she was the last harbinger of the Age of Darkness—and as it turned out, he’d been right. But then neither of them had realized just how complicated the prophecy, and their mission, really was.
“So I guess this means we have a ship,” Hassan said, ticking off a finger. “We have a plan, or the beginnings of one. And we have allies. There’s nothing stopping us now. Right, Jude?”
Jude caught Hassan’s pointed look. There was nothing stopping them. And that was more terrifying than anything else. Jude had spent the last month and a half thinking he had to stay in one place so Anton could find him. He had felt like leaving this awful, crooked town was the same as giving up hope.
He met Hassan’s gaze with a nod. “Right.”
Jude’s hope, his faith, wasn’t in Tel Amot. It lived inside him. Even when he left—even when he got on that ship to sail across the sea—it would still be with him. His path was leading him away from Tel Amot, but someday, somehow, it would bring him back to Anton.
It had to.