The dust flies up around me when I land, scratching and choking. I pull my scarf up over my face and walk blindly, my thoughts wrapped up in what has just transpired.
Edmun is dead. I brush angrily at my eyes, shoving away the feeling of loss and blaming the surging sand for the moisture clouding my vision. These last few weeks have wreaked havoc on my world, the ground below my feet no longer solid. For the first time in many weeks, I crave my old, simple life tucked away in the attic, scoring small-time purses and annoying the Palace guards.
As I stumble toward the market, someone suddenly emerges from a side street and places their hand on my shoulder. I let out a gasp of surprise and turn instinctively, slamming my elbow up into my attacker's chin.
"Gods damn it," a familiar voice shouts in pain.
My eyes widen and I straighten out of my fighting stance, cautiously regarding the tall figure hunched over in front of me.
"Marc?" I ask.
"Who did you think it was?" He straightens, rubbing his chin.
"I'm so sorry! You snuck up on me." I incline my head to examine his jaw, wincing when I see that the skin has already started to redden. "I really got you good, huh?"
"I'd hate to see what you'd do to someone you really had a problem with." He offers me a small grin of forgiveness. "Since I owe you a favour, I supposed I could give you a free pass on this one."
"I appreciate it. I really am sorry—I didn't even recognize you."
It's true: Marc looks entirely different from the man I found in the gaol. His dark hair is actually a sandy blond, light and flying about his head in the dusty wind. Clean of grime and freshly shaved, his olive skin is clear, with a light dusting of freckles across his nose.
"I suppose I wasn't really looking my best when you last saw me." He chuckles. "It's a wonder what some sunshine and a hundred baths will do for a body."
"So you're doing well?" I ask, studying him closely.
"Better than well. Every day I'm free of that place, I thank my lucky stars." One hand moves to push the hair back from his face.
"I'm glad to hear it."
"What are you doing out here?" he asks.
At the question, I start, brought abruptly back to the present and the fight with Lara.
Something must have shown on my face because Marc frowns and his brows knit together in concern. "Whatever it is, it can't be good. How about I buy you some lunch and you can catch me up?"
"Oh," I say, surprised at the offer. "That's really kind of you, but I don't want to be a bother. You were probably on your way somewhere..."
"It's fine. I don't have to be anywhere important. After everything you've done for me, getting you a meal would be the least I can do." He inclines his head down the street, indicating that I follow him.
"All right," I agree. I don't really feel up to being by myself and besides, Marc could prove to be a valuable asset in Will's rebellion. "Let's go."
He leads me to a small shop and purchases us two portions of smoked meat and ale, waving off my offer of payment. We take our meals to a table in the corner and settle in, chewing and drinking in companionable silence.
"So." Marc has polished off his food and is hunched conspiratorially over the small table. "What's going on?"
I pause, unsure of how to begin. I nearly spill the details of what transpired between myself and Lara but, instead I swallow what's left of my lunch and lean in toward him. "We're starting a rebellion," I say, bluntly.
To my delight, a slow, impish grin spreads over Marc's face. "Finally," he says.
I snort with laughter, unable to stop myself. "That's the best response I could ask for." Take that, Lara.
"How are we going about it?" he asks.
I could hug him for his use of the word "we."
"For now, I need to spread the word that there's going to be a meeting tonight at the Beacon. We'll give all the details then." I widen my eyes in question: "Can you help me gather people to come?"
"Absolutely," he says assertively. He drains his ale and looks about the shop. "In fact, I can do you one better. I've got a little cousin who runs like the wind and positively worships you. I'll find her and I guarantee that she'll spread the word like wildfire."
"Commoners only," I tell him. "Just the ones you trust. My friend, Will, is gathering the dependable courtiers; we don't want the wrong people getting wind of this."
"Will. He's the tall one who helped you at the ball, right?"
"That's right."
"Hmm." He looks thoughtful, regarding me. "You know, I can't put my finger on it, but I swear I know him from somewhere."
"Really? It's possible. He fought in the Wastelands—maybe you know him from there." I finish my drink and make to stand. "Are you coming?"
"Right behind you, captain."
He mock-salutes and I laugh, my earlier anxiety dissolving at his enthusiasm. Marc's eagerness is more in line with what I expected from the commoners. Together, we'll round up plenty of dissatisfied people and I'll show Lara that she is entirely wrong. People do care, they want change, and they are willing to fight for it.
With Marc's help, the word spreads quickly. He introduces me to his cousin, Ruby, a spunky little twelve-year-old who fairly shakes at the knees when I offer her my hand.
"Like I said, she's a big fan," Marc teases and she hits his arm playfully, a blush rising to her cheeks.
"Marc here tells me you're a hell of a runner," I say kindly, in an effort to alleviate the poor girl's embarrassment.
She thrusts back her scrawny shoulders. "I can run to the Palace and back in just twenty minutes," she boasts.
"Wow," I say, widening my eyes. "You must have some killer speed."
"Sure do! People give me money to run their letters and messages to their friends. I save a lot of it. Soon, I'll have enough for a brand-new pair of boots." She thrusts out one of her legs dramatically, indicating an old, patched boot worn nearly through.
"I'll tell you what," I say, unclipping my purse from my waist and tipping a few coins into my palm. "I'd like to tender your services. I'll give you what I have here," I place the coins in her hand, smiling at her bewildered stare, "if you can deliver some messages for me."
Marc offers me a scrap of parchment and we hurriedly scribble down the names of as many people we can think of, as well as where to find them. I fold the paper and hand it to Ruby, solemnly, as though it is made of something precious.
"Find these people. Tell them that the Runner will be at the Beacon tonight at nine o'clock and if they want change, they had best come." It feels a bit absurd to use my alter ego as an incentive, but Will insisted it was the best way to drum up interest. "Tell them to bring anyone they trust."
Ruby glances at the paper and tucks it into her pocket. She nods seriously. "You can count on me."
"I have no doubt. Now, get going."
She takes off at a run, leaving Marc and I chuckling to ourselves.
"She's a little spitfire," I say, approvingly.
"She's something," he agrees. "She'll give us a good head start, but we should be rounding up as many people as possible. Want to head to the market?"
"Sure."
As we walk toward the main square, we fall into an easy chatter, with me explaining the details of Will's plot and Meg's potential for leadership. Marc listens intently, throwing out a question here and there.
"So you've really been living in the Palace this whole time." He shakes his head in wonderment. "Unbelievable."
"Some days I can scarcely believe it myself," I admit. "I feel ridiculous wearing fancy dresses and being served, like I'm obviously a big fat imposter. At any moment, I expect someone to open their eyes and point at me, screaming."
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "You've got a lot of nerve, I'll give you that. You managed to pass yourself off as a guard, as well. Incredible."
I blush a little at his flattery, shrugging. "I find that hiding in plain sight is often one of the safest places to be. People rarely look at what's right under their noses."
"You've got that right," Marc agrees, staring off into the distance.
I follow his line of vision, tracing his gaze over our heads to where the Court rises above us and, past that, the Palace. Its glass walls glint in the afternoon sun, momentarily blinding me.
"I can't believe it's really happening," he says quietly, almost to himself.
I look back at him, my eyebrows raised in question.
"After all these years, ignoring us and soaking up the fruits of our labour, they're finally going to have to answer for their crimes," he continues.
I notice his hands balling into fists at his sides and touch him gently on the shoulder. He fingers unfurl as he visibly relaxes.
"I'm glad you're in this with us," I tell him, honestly. "Thank you."
"I'm honoured to be on the side of the Runner."
We reach the market and disperse into the crowd. I traverse the swarm, pulling the occasional sleeve and whispering into ears. My heartbeat thrums as we work our way through the throng; it thuds louder as the various murmurs gradually rise in crescendo.
Finally, I arrive at Harry's cart. After I've managed to disentangle myself from his enthusiastic hug, I tell him about the plan to meet. His usually jovial eyes darken and he nods grimly.
"I'd expected this was comin' when you started spendin' time with that rich boy." He dusts his flour-encrusted hands on his apron.
"Say you'll be there, Harry. We really need you."
"Of course I'll be there. And I'll shut down early to see if I can round up the other bakers." He pulls me to him again, wrapping me in a one-armed hug.
Abruptly caught with my face pressed against his dusty smock, I cough in surprise. "Thank you," I manage.
"Ain't a thing, Kay. Edmun would be all over this. We'll fight in his memory."
I choke again, this time less on the flour of his apron, and push myself away from him. "For Edmun."
Marc appears at my elbow and nods to Harry in greeting. "I trust I'll be seeing you tonight?"
"Absolutely," Harry answers.
My heart swells at the look of solidarity passing between my two friends, one new and one old. If we can get enough strangers willing to come together and fight, we might actually have a chance of raising an army.
It is nearing nine o'clock, and in the gathering darkness I almost trip over a small figure darting out of a side alleyway and straight into my path.
"Ruby!" Marc steadies her, hands on her shoulders. "Watch your speed—you're going to run someone over."
Ruby nods, her chest hitching as she struggles to catch her breath. "I've... done it," she manages, beaming proudly. "Everyone on the list."
"That's incredible! Great job," I tell her.
"I've just come from the Beacon." She bounces energetically from foot to foot. "You won't believe it: it's filled to the brim."
"Really?" I exchange a look with Marc, my chest constricting uncomfortably.
Ruby nods. "You'd better get down there."
"Thanks, Ruby. You'd make an excellent Runner."
She beams at me as Marc and I quicken our pace, the tavern coming into view when we round the bend.
Ruby wasn't kidding. The light from inside is almost completely obscured by the sheer number of bodies pressed against the windows. I hiccup and Marc slaps my back.
"Nothing to be nervous about," he says. "You're going to do great."
I nod wordlessly and let my legs carry me forward, my eyes darting around as I search the crowd gathered outside for a familiar face.
"There you are." Will's voice sounds from beside me just as I reach the door of the pub.
I breathe a sigh of relief and turn to him, some of my nervousness dissolving at the touch of his hand on the small of my back.
"I'm so glad you're here," I tell him.
"I wasn't going to let you go in there by yourself," he assures me. Looking over my shoulder, he thrusts out a hand toward Marc, who I'd nearly forgotten was still standing with me. "Hey, mate."
"Sorry. Will, this is Marc. Marc, Will." The men shake hands and I notice Marc's brow furrow. "Will, Marc was one of the people you helped me escort from the gaol."
"Glad to see you on the outside." Will quirks a friendly grin.
"Glad to be out," Marc responds, his eyebrows drawing further together. "Have we met before?"
"Not that I can recall. Maybe I just have one of those faces." Will turns away and back toward me. "Are you ready to go in?"
"Yes," I lie. Suddenly remembering something, I open my satchel and thrust my hand inside. I don't immediately find what I'm looking for, my fingers sifting through the contents. "Uh oh."
"What is it?" Will asks.
My fingers scrabble around in the bag. "Oh, shit. Oh no."
I kneel down and dump the contents of my satchel onto the sandy ground, sorting through the pile desperately. "The letter—it's gone."
"The Princess' letter?" Will crouches next to me, helping me search. "When did you have it last?"
"I don't know!" I bury my hands in my hair. "It could be anywhere—it could have fallen out when I was in the market." I let out a cry of frustration. "It isn't here."
"You don't need it." Will puts his hands on my shoulders and forces me to look at him.
"Will, if that letter were to fall into the wrong hands..." Images of the torture chambers flash through my mind and I feel suddenly nauseous.
"Then we'll deal with it. One problem at a time—you taught me that, didn't you? Forget the letter for now and focus on what you have to do next. Keep going."
"I need Meg's words." I glance back at the tavern behind me, the many voices inside mixing together to create an ugly buzzing in my ears. "She's a leader, not me. I can't do this alone."
"You're not on your own. Look at this." Will pulls me to my feet and spins me so that I am looking straight in the door of the pub. "All these people, they came here for you. They want to listen to what you have to say. Just tell them the truth and they'll follow."
"I'm not who they think I am." Kay, Abby, the Runner.
"Do you remember what you told me once?" Will's breath is hot in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Visualize that you've already made the jump, then leap. You can't miss."
I take a shaky breath, swallowing the bile that threatens to rise in my throat. Marc hands me my satchel and I accept it numbly. "Okay."
Before I have a chance to change my mind, I step forward and push open the doors of the tavern.