Page 87 of The Queen's Line

He was older, tall, and dressed like a rogue but with an air of authority. I wondered if he was some secret kind of security, perhaps someone from the south meant to protect Bryony in the shadows.

"What are you doing here, Farraque?" Cresswell snapped at me.

The older man gave me a cursory glance before going back to digging in his captive's clothes.

"I came to see what the commotion was about. Could he be telling the truth?" I asked, eyeing the raggedy man they held.

I didn't recognize him either, but Emory had plenty of wastrels hanging about he might call on.

"The charm warned danger," the stranger growled, and then he stiffened, eyes widening. He twisted the wastrel's arm back and up, making the man yowl in complaint, before plucking a long pin pierced through the fabric of the sleeve.

"Doesn't look harmless," Cresswell said, eyeing the sharp tip dubiously. "But…"

But it didn't really look deadly either.

"Maybe he stole it," I said, thinking of my conversation with Emory and Jonathon.

"It's notjewelrythough is it?" the stranger muttered, lifting the pin to his nose and frowning. "Smell that."

Cresswell took it from the man's fingers, barely bringing it closer before coughing and shaking his head, making the stranger's eyebrows tick up briefly. "Is it…"

"Lady's Slip."

I stiffened, staring at the pin, moonlight glinting off the edge where I could see an oily coating. "You think he was trying topoisonher?"

"One good stab and she'd be close to death if not meeting him directly," the stranger said, ignoring me and staring at Cresswell, who growled but looked unsurprised.

The man they held captive abandoned his jovial persona upon realizing how thoroughly caught out he was, snarling and struggling in the other man's grip.

Poison. Poison isnotpetty thieving, I thought. This was an entirely different matter than what Em and Jonathon had suggested, but I knew my line.

"He looks familiar," I said, eyeing the scowling man pinned to the wall. "I think I've seen him around the Wing and Roost. Perhaps he is…one of Aric Martin's men?"

Cresswell and the stranger both leveled sudden and attentive stares in my direction.

"Oh, you think so?" the stranger asked in a smooth and dark tone. "Spend much time at the Wing and Rook?"

"I… No. I've only passed by and—"

Cresswell arched an eyebrow at me before looking to the stranger. "Well, Aric? Is he one of yours?”

Fuck.Fuck Emory, specifically. My guts turned to lead as the stranger, Aric fucking Martin, smirked at me.

"He's made no vows to me, I swear it," Aric breathed, eyeing me up and down. "Can't vouch for whether or not he's ever been in the bar though. Let me take him back there now, question him properly where we're less likely to be…interrupted."

I ignored the sensation of ice scratching through my veins under Aric's stare and looked to Cresswell, whose narrowed eyes were focused on me.

"Fine, but I'll need to speak to him as well. Go now, before the festival starts dispersing."

Aric nodded and ropes appeared, binding up the slight and ragged man in their custody. "Tell the princess she ought to rethink her choice of steward," he said to Cresswell, glaring at me, before dragging the other man away.

I gaped at Cresswell, hands open at my sides, my head shaking. "How was I to know?"

"How were you to know whose thieves are who in the first place, Farraque?" Cresswell hissed. "Just get back to the tent. I'm rounding up the guards."

I turned gratefully, hurrying away from the scene, my hands clenching to fists. Fucking poison, meant for the princess. No wonder Emory and Jonathon wanted fingers pointed at Aric Martin, but it would've been helpful if they'd warned me he wasalignedwith Bryony.

I stormed through the crowds, face hot and heart thumping wildly in my chest. Had I just shown my cards so obviously? FuckingEmory. I was nearly back to the stage where Bryony had charmed her people with her humble bow when a hand snagged at my sleeve.