Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

07 | The Tricks of Uncertainty

"Who do you think I am?" Archer asked, jogging to her side. "Some king's agent?"

"A king's assassin, perhaps."

Archer barked a laugh. The king's assassins, once a respected, feared branch of royalty, were now an absolute embarrassment of a regiment. Conceited and narcissistic she may be, but that quick mind made her witty as hell.

"Why pick me over Tanner?" he asked. "Wouldn't it make more sense to keep me out of all this information exchanging?"

She glanced over at him, her eyes still bright despite the cloud cover. "I'm the best combatant in this ocean, love," she said, "and no one knows it quite like our captain. If he's forcing an escort on me, it's for a reason."

Archer blinked. "You think he knows something about what we're walking into?"

"How should I know? I can't read minds, love."

"Agree to disagree. So you're bringing me in case it goes awry?"

She scanned the street in front of them, coming to a staircase. The rain started coming down harder, soaking the delicately woven braids in her dark hair. "Well, I did train you," she said.

"You trained Tanner, too," he pointed out.

She glanced over with a grin, and he realized his mistake. "Not that you trained me, obviously," he interjected. "I'm just saying—you did train Tanner."

She shrugged, peeling a whisp of her hair from her forehead. "Some people won't learn no matter how hard you teach."

Archer abandoned his reply when a stray dog ran across the road. He'd never seen a dog before; they didn't have them on Orphano. They also didn't have these kind of high-resource buildings, nor real coins and money—of which Archer had none, because he'd been trading fish for most of his life. He also didn't have any of those comfortable-looking fur coats or jackets, since Orphano was warm year-round. And he didn't have—

"Overwhelmed, love?"

Archer wiped his expression clean, annoyed that she'd guessed his thoughts, that she got to be a part of something so monumental. Jeanne should be here, racing after the dogs and charming all these shopkeepers with her innocent grin. He tucked the thought away, not quite stable enough to handle it.

"Were you?" he asked instead. "When you left Canale?"

"Not really." She seemed utterly unphased that he'd been doing research. "We had dogs on Canale."

"You know, I have this inkling that you're well aware that wasn't what I meant."

She frowned and stopped walking, examining the building to their right.

"What?" he asked.

"Hush," she answered. She reached for the handle to the shop. "Don't speak unless you're spoken to, Kingsley." She didn't threaten him to ensure he understood, maybe because she knew he wasn't interested in sidetracking her or foiling any of their plans. At least, not in the most specific subset of the idea.

The building was a modest café, serving hot mugs and baked goods to a small group of people. Two huge, sweaty men exchanged quiet words in the far corner, and they both turned at the ding of the little bell above the door. The bigger one leaned out of his seat, eyeing Silta. It was impossible to tell if he was sizing her up because he knew her or because he wanted to know her.

Silta didn't look their way as she maneuvered through the tables and towards the counter. She rapped on it twice, drawing the attention of the woman behind the glass display of pastries, whose lips pursed as soon as she met their gazes.