Free Release: Davlova: Book One by A.M. Sexton Page B

I’d ever had access to in my life, and yet the idea of spending it on clothing when what I had was mostly intact seemed criminal.
    Talia smiled, as if sensing my thoughts. “Here.” She pressed a small, heavy purse into my hand. “Some of this is a gift from him. Some of it’s an advance from me on what you’ll earn over the next few days. I don’t care how much or how little of it you spend, but I expect you to come back well dressed.”
    I nodded, wondering how it would feel to go into shops as an honest customer. To be measured for boots and jackets. In the past, I’d worn nothing but castoffs and rags. I’d counted myself lucky to be able to wash them once in a while. I’d never owned anything new, and I’d certainly never purchased it. Now, I was being ordered to do it. The problem was, I had no idea where to go. I didn’t even know where to begin.
    I found Lalo in the kitchen, eating with a few of Talia’s girls. I’d thought only to ask him where I should go, but he smiled broadly at my question and said, “Can I come with you?”
    The stores Lalo wanted to take me to were in the third quadrant. We left Talia’s and headed west, toward the plaza. Only a few yellow leaflets lay on the ground, soiled and torn. They’d obviously been there a while.
    “There haven’t been any new ones in a while,” Lalo said. “Not since right after the festival.”
    “Maybe that’s a good sign. Nothing new to report.”
    We did, however, spot one of the yellow-robed men, preaching rebellion from an overturned crate on a street corner.
    “Do you think it will happen?” Lalo asked, his voice quiet.
    I looked over at him, trying to decide how he expected me to answer. Lalo was older than I was, although it was hard to say exactly how old. In the bright light of day, I could see the beginnings of wrinkles around his eyes, but working at Talia’s had taught me that whores aged fast. Regardless, his days making money on his back were probably numbered. What would he do then?
    I didn’t know him well enough to ask.
    “Eventually,” I said, finally answering the question he’d asked. “I don’t see any other possibility.”
    “I have dreams sometimes,” he said, his voice even quieter than before. “Dreams that the city is burning. I worry that Benedict will burn the fourth quadrant to the ground.”
    Fire would spread quickly in the trenches. I shuddered at the thought. “Let’s hope the idea never occurs to him.”
    We finally reached the bustle and noise of the main plaza, and I pushed the idea of fire from my mind to survey the scene in front of me. “Around or through?” I asked Lalo.
    “I vote around.”
    Straight through the plaza was the shorter distance, but given the crowds, it was often the slowest. And the most dangerous. I scanned the edges of the plaza. I spotted several of Benedict’s officers strolling the paved walkways around the perimeter of the plaza. More than usual. It wasn’t surprising, given the general hostility within the city.
    “Through,” I said.
    Lalo followed my gaze, then glanced at me in amusement. “Afraid of the police? We’re not doing anything wrong.”
    “Old habits die hard. Besides, you have some strong urge to walk up and introduce yourself?”
    He laughed. “Fine. We’ll go through.”
    I had to be alert now. I kept my eyes peeled as we ventured into the plaza, watching the crowd. No nobles about. There were plenty of honest businessmen and women, hawking their wares, and a few honest-to-Goddess customers, too. But hidden among them, there’d be thieves and pickpockets. Clan kids and con men.
    I thought of my wallet, tucked away, out of the reach of nimble fingers. I glanced quickly at Lalo. He was watching his feet, barely glancing up as we made our way through the crowd.
    “Weren’t you a clan kid?” I asked. He’d asked me the same question on that first night, which had led me to assume he’d spent a few years picking pockets. But his inattentive