The Runner (Part I of the Runner Series)

Chapter 8

While accompanying Lara back to safer streets, I am able to convince her to move into my flat. I figure she may as well, since I won't be using it in a few weeks and there is no sense in us paying two rents.

She hugs me once more and turns to go, leaving me to shimmy back up to the rooftops. I increase my speed as I leap from building to building; the hour has grown late and I have already pegged Will as the impatient type.

I land on the roof of his shoddy flat and lower myself into the uppermost window; soundlessly I swing inside and situate myself into a seated position on the ledge. Will is in the chair with his back turned to me. His head is lowered, intently studying some parchment on his lap.

"Pretty lax security you have around here," I say, then laugh when he jumps in shock.

"Gods." Will clutches his chest. "Ever hear of using the door?"

"Not really my style." I cross my legs and tilt my head.

"You may want to consider it as an option in the future. I doubt the Princess will take kindly to one of her ladies swinging from the rafters. "

I roll my eyes at his seriousness. He places whatever he was reading down on the table and moves toward me. I notice that he still hasn't trimmed his beard.

"You're late," he says, curtly.

Delightful. I've been here less than a minute and have already heard nothing but lectures.

"Sorry, I ran into a friend." Uncomfortable at his proximity, I slide down off the ledge and squeeze around him, helping myself to an apple from a bowl on the table.

"I need you to take this seriously, Kay. I don't think you fully grasp just how different the Court is from what you're used to."

"Would you relax?" I say through my mouthful of apple. Then, swallowing, "I thought you said all I needed was an uptight attitude and good hair."

"As well as manners, tact and decorum."

"I suppose you forgot to mention those. Look, I've been helping myself to goods from your district for a long time—I get the gist of it. Just teach me some fancy phrases and I'll take it from there." I take another bite of the apple.

Will runs a hand over the stubble on his head, his brow furrowed. "You're spewing bits of that everywhere. Didn't your mother teach you to chew with your mouth closed?"

"My mother is dead," I say flatly, making a point of spitting some fruit as I speak.

That shuts him up. Briefly. "I'm sorry. I lost my mother as well."

"Right. Lovely. Tell me, is talking about dead mothers considered good courtly conversation?" I ask, keeping my eyes averted.

I regard the apple core in my hand before polishing it off in two bites. When I look back up, I notice Will has a disgusted look on his face.

"What?" I wipe my hands on my tunic.

"We have a lot of work to do."

Several hours later, my head is aching. Will has been forcing me to memorize the names of nearly every noble, an endless list of useless people.

"And again, Kay. Who is this?" He holds up a printed card showing a fat old man with bushy sideburns.

I squint in an attempt to clear my blurred vision. "Lord Engers," I say.

"First name?"

"Jorge."

"And his wife?"

"Carilyn. And his children are Anton and Sebastian." I squeeze my eyes shut and massage my throbbing temple.