“Then...there must be some mistake,” she stammered. To her credit, she managed to keep her chin snobbishly high. Maybe Levi wasn’t the only one here with some bravado.
“Why else would such a fine Bellamy lady like yourself be looking for someone like me in the City of Sin, if not by mistake?” By her large purse, well-made clothing and leather pointed-toe heels, Levi bet she carried some decent voltage. “How about you give us your purse and we forget this ever happened? Maybe I’m not the other Levi Glaisyer, but I’m still a generous man.”
“No,” she said. Her voice cracked, and he couldn’t tell if the word was a plea or a refusal.
“Might want to repeat that,” Levi warned. “I don’t think I heard you right.” Chez walked up beside him, flipping his knife between his hands so fast the blade was a blur of silver.
She shrank away and choked a bit, like she was trying to keep from crying, holding her hand over her mouth and shaking all over. Muck. He hated when missies cried.
Unmoved, Chez ripped her purse from her hands and threw it to Mansi, who caught it as nimbly as in one of her card tricks. Half the contents fell out—a passport, a few loose buttons, several cookies and a folded piece of paper. Smirking at the mess, Levi picked up the last item. It was a letter with fancy, precise handwriting:
Dearest,
I hate to think of the worry I’ve caused you. I am well and missing you. Although I have encountered a little trouble that has delayed my return, I plan to leave in a few days. By the time this letter reaches you, I’ll be eagerly sailing home.
If a storm were to further delay my return or another unforeseen circumstance occurs, you can speak to Mr. Levi Glaisyer, a friend of mine who lives in New Reynes. He will be glad to help you.
With much love,
Lourdes
Levi’s stomach knotted. Lourdes. He knew that name.
Chez peered over Levi’s shoulder blankly. “What’s it say?”
Levi didn’t respond. The girl watched him with wide, puffy brown eyes, hugging her arms to herself.
He pointed to the letter. “By ‘Lourdes,’ I’m guessing this is...”
She shook her head indignantly and reached to snatch the letter from him. He moved it away from her reach.
“Relax, missy. It’s just a question. Do you know Lourdes Alfero or not?”
She took a deep breath to compose herself and wiped away the tearstains on her cheek. “I do. That’s why I’m here.”
Jac stiffened with recognition and met Levi’s eyes. His expression seemed to prod, This changes things, right?
Levi looked away. Of course it changed things. His best friend had a low opinion of Levi’s conscience. Levi owed a debt to Lourdes—at the very least, he’d hear the missy out.
“Would you three leave me and Miss...” He paused and looked at her.
“Miss Salta. But you may call me Enne.” Despite still tearing up, her voice remained controlled and steady. She spoke more formally than the managers at St. Morse did when addressing their rich patrons, but her jaw was locked, her fists clenched. She wouldn’t forgive him so easily for trying to cheat her—not that Levi cared what she thought of him. He wasn’t trying to be a gentleman; he was trying to pay his debts.
“Could you leave me and Enne alone for a few minutes? Leave her purse.”
Chez’s jaw dropped, but Jac put his hand on his shoulder and steered him away. Mansi tossed the purse on the table before they all left through the back door.
When Levi was certain they were alone, he asked, “How do you know Alfero?”
“Lourdes is my mother. I traveled here because I need you to find her.”
I take it, after writing this letter, Levi thought, Alfero never did make it home. He was liking this day less and less, and it was barely eleven in the morning. “You came a long way, and this place isn’t much like Bellamy.”
“No, it’s not,” she said flatly. “But the reputation of New Reynes is the least of my worries.”
That was her first mistake.
If she’d known anything about her mother, she wouldn’t have gone within a hundred feet of whiteboots, much less actually approach them.
Which meant Levi had the unfortunate job of telling her that her mother was almost certainly dead.
He studied her. If she didn’t share Alfero’s blood name, she must’ve been her split daughter, with a blood talent inherited from her father. Enne Alfero Salta. From what he remembered of Alfero—a devoted journalist, a staunch progressive and a profound political mind—Levi couldn’t picture her walking out with someone with a dancing talent. She’d seemed too serious for that. Nor did he recall her being particularly interested in men. It’d been four years ago, but Levi still remembered the determined fury in her eyes. The Republic had wronged her in a way she could never forgive.
Whatever her cause had been, Levi wondered, was it worth dying for? Worth leaving behind a daughter for?
He doubted it. Nothing was worth that price.
She cleared her throat. “Tell me, Mr. Glaisyer—”
“Call me Levi.”
“Tell me, Levi, why would the whiteboots be so interested in my mother?” She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a bronze coin, which she squeezed the way gamblers squeezed dice before they tossed them. Like a prayer.
Levi hesitated, not wanting to deliver the bad news so fast. She’d only just she stopped crying. Instead, he said, “You don’t look much like her.” The Lourdes Alfero he remembered was tall, nearly as tall as him, and with blond hair much lighter than Enne’s brown. She’d dressed fluidly—some days as a woman, sometimes as neither male nor female—and her angled features lent themselves easily to her identity. She preferred to be addressed as “she” and “her.”
He didn’t see any of Lourdes’s face in Enne’s.
“Lourdes is my adopted mother,” Enne explained. “But I can tell you’re stalling. Why were the whiteboots so interested in her?”
Levi sighed. She might not know much about New Reynes, but she wasn’t thick. “She’s a Mizer sympathizer. A famous one, at that.”
“What?” Her voice came out in a screech. Maybe she wasn’t as controlled as Levi had first thought.
He supposed he couldn’t blame her slip. Even if the way Chancellor Malcolm Semper governed the Republic was wildly unpopular, the Mizers had been tyrants. In New Reynes, where the Revolution began, men, women and children had cheered in Liberty Square as the royal family was beheaded. Most viewed the monarchists as radicals.
“Ever since the Revolution—especially during the Great Street War, which occurred seven or so years after—there’s been a group of journalists writing for monarchist newspapers. They use code names to expose stories the wigheads try to keep quiet, and they work in secret. They call themselves the Pseudonyms. Lourdes is one of them.” The most famous of them all, even. “The whiteboots have been searching for her for a long time.” And, sometime in the past four months, they’d probably found her.
Levi paused, gauging Enne’s reaction. “Did you really have no idea?”
She bit her lip. “I knew Lourdes had her secrets, but no, I never would’ve guessed this.”
Levi held his breath as he watched the gravity of her mother’s situation dawn on her. He didn’t need to tell her that Alfero was dead. She could probably guess it herself now.
“Do you know where Lourdes might