The searing burn in Seven’s hand drove her forward, past bustling markets, darkened alleyways, and gambling halls so fine she felt like she was back at the palace. It all passed in a blur as she ran for all she was worth, her lungs burning, her legs nearly giving out as she darted up the hill and away from the river district. Shouts echoed behind her, but she didn’t dare look—not while she had the advantage.

  She ducked beneath a fruit stand, dodging the vendor’s blow, and slinked into another nearby alleyway, then cut sharply to the right, slipping between buildings. The gap was so small that only a small woman would have fit, and as she emerged into a tiny, nearly forgotten garden, she pressed herself against the wall, trying to calm her gasping breath long enough to listen for the sounds of pursuit.

  Footsteps. Nearby shouting. She winced as the voices drew closer, holding her breath as the boots approached the gap in the wall where she’d slipped through.

  “She was just over here,” one voice said, similarly winded. “She can’t have gone far.”

  The other crown guard let out a little grunt, swearing under his breath. “This is obviously your first pursuit, son, but let me tell you something—if you lose one of them in these winding streets, it’s over. Thieves know these streets like the back of their hand, and they’ve got plenty of friends here to boot.” Seven had to roll her eyes at that. Friends. In the river district. The only people willing to be her friend down here were the type that couldn’t recognize a professional hustler when they saw one. They usually thought they could take her for every chip she was worth before learning a very expensive lesson.

  The first guard scuffed his boot against the ground, and Seven heard his sword sheath. “Unless you’ve got a tracking dice, she’s good as gone. But she’ll turn up again this week—she has to, or they’ll have the entire guard out looking for her.”

  “Surely her family wouldn’t bother.”

  Seven’s gut clenched, but she pushed it aside, still pressed against the wall in panic.

  “No,” the other man agreed. “Not Veil. But if she doesn’t show, Rook will have her head on a platter, one way or another.”

  “He might get it anyway,” the other guard said, and their footsteps faded into the alleyway.

  Seven waited one breath. Two breaths. Another three breaths. Then she pushed away from the wall, resting her arms on her knees. She was in better shape than she’d been two years ago—that much was sure. And yet these chases were draining all the same, and they didn’t always work out in her favor.

  She pushed sweaty hair from her eyes, then slipped down another alleyway, relieved to have survived another day.

  ***

  Her tiny apartment door was locked, and her key didn’t work. Swearing, Seven tried again, but the door didn’t budge.

  “Come on,” she muttered, jiggling the door. She tried the key at different angles. Nothing. She wedged her shoulder in the door, pushing, hoping for it to give, but it stayed stubbornly in place.

  It was only when she drew back from the door that she saw the note at her feet. She picked it up, her stomach already sinking to the ground, and read it.

  Your rent was due two weeks ago, girl. That’s the sixth late payment this year, and you still owe me money from last year. I’ve had enough of second chances, and I think, come the end of the week, you’ll have run out of yours anyway. Don’t bother returning the key—I’ve changed the locks.

  “Damn it!” Seven crumpled and tossed the note to the ground, her head spinning. Yes, she’d been late—she’d been late before—but she had the funds in her hands. She’d meant to pay it the night before, but Lan had played too well at the table and—

  Seven’s thoughts spun to a stop as she looked at that solid door, darkened in the alleyway. The apartment inside was hardly a loss. Chilly and slightly damp all the time, it was barely livable. But it had been hers. Her only sanctuary in a city that wanted her gone. Her only reprieve from her family’s demands, her family’s disdain.

  And, as the words of her landlord echoed in her head, she realized that it was more than her missed rent that was bothering her—it was that everyone expected her to be convicted at her trial.

  What’s the point of a trial if they’ve already decided the outcome? She thought bitterly. The years she’d spent trying to come up with a defense would evaporate if she couldn’t prove her innocence. But with the dice already verified as tampered with, how could she? It was as if the entire trial had been arranged from the get-go.

  Sighing, Seven turned away from the door. She could get another place. She certainly had before. Her residence for the last two years had been a rotating cast of mildew, dirt, dust, and decay. The gilded hallways of the palace seemed a lifetime ago, but she’d managed to eke out some sort of way of life—until today. And anything was better than living under her family’s boot.

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  She was halfway down the dingy alleyway when movement caught her eye, and Roy dropped from a nearby balcony to fall into step with her.

  “Rough day?” he asked, his lanky frame easily keeping up with her pace. He spent his days running messages between the palace and the city, and it showed—the man could have done ten of the chases Seven had just endured without breaking a sweat.

  “You could say that,” she said, turning into a busy market, her eyes sweeping for any crown guard. A few lingered at shops, but they weren’t looking for her. If anything, they’d probably been told to leave her be. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was doomed, or because she was royalty. Either was a bad option.

  “You’re uh, watching for crown guard?” he asked, his eyes following hers. “This is like the third time this week, Seven. You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself for another few days?”

  “What difference does it make?” she asked, stepping around a puddle. “I’ll be in chains anyway by the end of the week—I might as well hold a dice one more time.”

  Roy sighed, running a hand through his dark brown curls. “Have you ever considered that you’re being self-destructive?”

  Seven let out a bitter laugh. “Was I supposed to be constructive in my situation? Saving children? Passing out dice to the needy? Using my royal whims to make the world a better place?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Roy said, a look of irritation passing over his features. “You’ve always been…reckless, I guess, but since the tournament, it’s like you’re trying to prove everyone right, not wrong. I mean, you never quite fit in with the rest of your family, but you weren’t a thief. Maybe a compulsive gambler, but…”

  Seven waved him off. “It doesn’t matter what I do—the outcome would have been the same anyway. I might as well embrace my villainhood.”

  Roy eyed her as they walked down the hill, merchants shouting their wares from the side of the street. These days, Seven preferred the merchant district of the city—not just for the dice that littered the stalls on either side of the street, but because she could disappear into the crowd and be forgotten.

  She wished, quite frankly, that Roy would ignore her too. There was too much longing in his eyes, as there had always been. As children, there had been far too much of a difference in social standing for his crush to mean anything. As adults, with Seven functionally a criminal, she supposed that Roy felt he had a chance. But Seven could barely take care of herself—she didn’t need someone else complicating matters.

  “Stop giving me that look,” she said.

  “What look?”

  “That look like I’m a wounded slime.”

  “Why would you choose slime of all things?”

  She blinked at that, surprised. “Because they can be cute.”

  “Emphasis on the operative term ‘can’.”

  He went quiet, and Seven glanced at him. There was something else warring in his eyes—something else he was keeping from her. He usually came to deliver the paltry sum of money someone in her family had smuggled out to her. She didn’t know who it was—didn’t think she’d ever know, given that whoever was willing to help her probably wouldn’t even want to admit to themselves that they were helping their disgraced sibling.

  But today, there was no sack on Roy’s person. And he was early. Too early. Besides that, his face said it all—Roy was no gambler, and his tells were easy to read. He was nervous. And uncomfortable.

  “Whatever it is,” she said, “you might as well spill it.”

  Roy let out a heavy sigh as a group of children wove between them, giggling and laughing. “Is it that obvious?” he asked.

  Seven laughed. “Your tells have always been obvious.” She glanced at him, hoping for a smile—hoping to see him lighten up, but his face remained stony. “You might as well let me have it,” she said, watching her feet. “I need to find a new apartment anyway.”

  He blinked. “Again?”

  “Again.”

  “Seven.” His lengthy stride grew short, and he stopped in the street entirely before pulling her aside into the shade of an awning. He met her eyes, his uncharacteristically solemn, and gripped her shoulder, his voice quiet as he spoke. “They’re cutting you off.”

  Seven’s mouth dropped open. “Why?”

  Roy shook his head. “They didn’t give me a reason—I still don’t know who’s sending it your way, just that it’s coming from inside the palace. But they stopped leaving the funds where they usually do, and they stopped giving me the extra commission I was getting for delivering it.”

  Seven sat down on a nearby barrel, floored. Her legs still shook faintly from her flight through the city. The amount she’d been afforded was paltry, of course, but she’d been able to use it to eke out a decent living. Without it, she’d be penniless. No more gambling. No more apartments at all. She’d have nothing. Might even have to return to the palace. Could she find a job in the city? Surely someone would hire her, even if she was disgraced royalty.

  “But that’s only half of it,” Roy went on, and Seven braced herself for another blow. “I’ve heard around the palace that they’re discussing exile in your trial.”

  Seven felt the blood drain from her face. “Exile? But…” She trailed off, reeling. She’d been nervous about her trial, of course—anyone with sense would be—but they’d left her alone on bail after all this time. The court system in House Veil moved with such malaise that it was almost easy to forget that she wasn’t just a petty criminal—she was on trial with the highest court in the land. And yet, in spite of that, she’d always figured, in the back of her mind, that they’d simply slap a fine on her family, or give her some sort of shortened prison sentence before letting her out.

  The idea of prison annoyed her, but didn’t exactly panic her. It couldn’t be worse than the life she was living in the streets, really. But exile?

  Exile would mean she’d really, truly, be starting over in earnest. No connections. No knowledge of the cities, the towns, the landscape. Luck above, she’d never even left Veilhome in her life.

  And another chilling thought came over her as she sat there in stunned silence. If she couldn’t get a dice here, she wouldn’t be able to get one anywhere. In Veilhome, there had always been the chance that someone would take pity on her. That they saw her as misunderstood, perhaps. In Veilhome, people knew her, for all they were, perhaps, annoyed by her.

  But elsewhere, they’d only see her scarred hand. They’d only see the brand, not the girl beneath it. She shook her head, the cheerful sounds of the market seeming far away now.

  “I’ve got to find a way to clear my name, Roy,” she said, tugging at her glove. “There’s got to be something I can do.”

  “You’ve done everything you can,” he said, sitting next to her on another barrel. “Now you’ve got to let the chips fall where they may.”

  Seven didn’t answer. She’d played this game before, and she’d lost.

  She didn’t intend to do it again.

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