The attendant’s words remained in Ivelle’s mind long after she had finished her meal that she left aside earlier.
Blackthorn Row.
The name alone carried an unpleasant weight, especially now that she knew what supposedly happened there. A place where people entered with money and left with human beings, where the disappearance of women could be reduced to a transaction made behind closed doors.
Ivelle hated the thought of stepping anywhere near it.
Unfortunately, hatred had never been enough to stop her when Liriel was involved.
She returned to the counter and found the attendant attending to another guest. He was speaking politely to an elderly man who had apparently just arrived, his manner once again calm and professional, as though the conversation they had shared moments earlier had never happened.
Ivelle waited.
When the man finally became free, she approached him.
"Before I leave, could I ask you for one more favor?"
The attendant looked up.
"What do you need, miss?"
"I need a change of clothes."
His eyebrows lifted slightly as his eyes traveled over the dress she was wearing.
"You can certainly have one, but the clothes we provide our guests are of a rather high quality."
Ivelle looked down at herself.
Her dress was still stained from the river, the hem dark with mud, and several portions of the fabric had become stretched and wrinkled from the night’s ordeal.
"I don’t need anything expensive," she explained. "I simply want to get out of these clothes and freshen up."
The man studied her for a moment before nodding.
"That can be arranged." He called one of the female servants and quietly gave her instructions.
"Find something suitable for her. Nothing extravagant."
The servant nodded and disappeared upstairs.
Ivelle waited.
Not long afterward, she was given a simple change of clothing. It was nothing like the fine garments the inn kept for wealthy travelers. The fabric was ordinary, the cut modest, and the quality was clearly meant for someone of the lower or middle class.
It was perfect for her, after all, she had no money to give the man.
Ivelle changed and returned downstairs with her damp clothes folded neatly in her arms. She felt considerably more comfortable, although the unfamiliarity of the clean dress made her strangely conscious of how little she actually possessed.
She approached the counter again.
The attendant was speaking to another guest.
Ivelle was already walking toward the entrance when she stopped.
She turned back.
There was something she suddenly realized she had forgotten.
She walked toward the attendant and waited until he finished his conversation.
"Excuse me."
The man looked at her.
"Yes, miss?"
"I never asked your name."
For a moment, the attendant seemed surprised by the question.
Then a faint smile appeared on his face.
"Edmund."
"Edmund," Ivelle repeated quietly, committing the name to memory.
He inclined his head.
"And yours is Ivelle, is it not?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
"It was a pleasure assisting you, Miss Ivelle."
Ivelle gave him a small smile.
"Thank you for everything, Edmund."
She turned toward the entrance.
"Take care."
"You as well, miss."
The doors closed behind her.
And with that, Ivelle stepped back into the capital.
Only this time, she was not wandering aimlessly.
She had a destination.
Blackthorn Row.
Edmund’s directions were simple enough, although the journey itself was anything but.
Ivelle followed the eastern road until the elegant buildings gradually became less impressive. The polished storefronts and expensive residences gave way to older structures, narrower streets, and markets that appeared to operate without any concern for the hour.
The farther she went, the more the capital seemed to change.
It was almost as if the city had several faces.
The face shown to wealthy merchants.
The face shown to ordinary workers.
And then there was this one.
The face hidden beneath everything else.
After nearly an hour of walking, Ivelle finally saw the first sign.
BLACKTHORN ROW.
Her steps slowed.
The street ahead was far busier than she had expected.
She had imagined some hidden compound concealed behind walls, accessible only to criminals and their associates.
Instead, Blackthorn Row appeared almost ordinary.
People walked through its entrance openly.
Carriages arrived and departed.
Merchants pushed carts through the gates.
Men dressed in expensive coats entered alongside women wearing elaborate jewelry, while others emerged laughing and speaking among themselves as though they had just visited an ordinary market.
Ivelle stared.
Her eyes narrowed.
"This is it?"
It looked less like a criminal establishment and more like a place people visited without fear.
Then she noticed the guards.
They stood along the entrance in uniform, watching everyone who entered and left.
Officials.
Ivelle’s expression slowly changed.
They were supposed to protect people.
They were supposed to prevent crimes.
Yet they were standing guard over a place rumored to sell human beings.
A cold feeling settled inside her chest.
"How deep does this corruption go?"
She remained across the street, pretending to examine a vendor’s goods while watching the entrance from the corner of her eye.
She needed a way inside.
Simply walking through the gate was impossible.
They would question her.
Climbing over the walls was even more ridiculous. The walls were too high, and there were guards positioned around them.
She needed another way.
Ivelle remained there for several minutes, studying the movement of people.
Then she noticed a cart.
It was being pushed toward the entrance by a man struggling beneath the weight of several covered bundles.
Two guards moved aside to let him pass.
Ivelle’s eyes followed him.
A delivery.
That could work.
She watched the cart disappear beyond the gate before looking toward the guards again.
Her mind began turning over possibilities.
If she could somehow get inside with a delivery...
But how?
She could not simply walk beside the cart.
She would be noticed.
She lowered her gaze and pretended to think about the fruit displayed before her.
Then another possibility came.
Her eyes slowly returned to the guards.
One of them stood slightly apart from the others.
He appeared distracted.
Ivelle’s heart began beating faster.
She immediately disliked the thought forming in her mind.
It was reckless.
Dangerous.
Possibly foolish.
But every other option had already failed.
She needed to get one of those uniforms.
And to get one, she needed one of the guards away from the entrance.
Ivelle swallowed.
She had never knocked anyone unconscious before.
She did not even know whether she was capable of doing it.
The thought alone made her stomach tighten.
But she looked again toward the entrance.
Somewhere beyond those gates, Liriel might be waiting.
Perhaps frightened.
Perhaps injured.
Perhaps wondering whether Ivelle had abandoned her.
Ivelle’s hands slowly curled into fists.
"No."
She whispered the word to herself.
"I won’t leave you there."
Her gaze returned to the guard.
She needed a distraction.
Something simple.
Something that would draw one guard away from the others without raising suspicion.
She scanned the surrounding street.
There were merchants everywhere.
People shouting over one another.
Carts moving through the road.
A dozen opportunities existed, but none seemed quite right.
Then she noticed the delivery cart returning.
The same merchant had finished unloading his goods.
One of the guards stepped forward to inspect something the man was saying.
Another turned toward the commotion.
The isolated guard remained behind.
Ivelle’s eyes sharpened.
This was her chance.
She moved away from the vendor’s stall and slipped into a narrower passage beside one of the buildings.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
She waited.
The guard glanced around.
Then he walked toward the same side street, apparently intending to check something beyond the wall.
Ivelle pressed herself against the shadows.
He came closer.
Closer.
She could hear his footsteps.
Her palms became damp.
This was madness.
What if he shouted?
What if another guard saw her?
What if she failed?
The guard reached the corner.
Ivelle stepped forward.
For one brief second, their eyes met.
The man frowned.
"Miss? What are you doing here?"
Ivelle froze.
Her mind went blank.
Then she remembered Liriel.
She remembered the empty place beside her at the inn.
The unanswered questions.
The word sold.
Something inside her hardened.
She moved.
The encounter was quick and messy rather than graceful. Ivelle caught the guard off balance and struck him just enough to send him stumbling against the wall. He tried to regain his footing, but another desperate blow left him dazed.
He collapsed.
Ivelle stood over him, breathing heavily.
Her hands trembled.
She stared at the unconscious man in horror.
"Oh, gods..."
She had actually done it.
For several seconds, she could only stare.
Then the sound of footsteps from the main street snapped her back to reality.
She crouched quickly beside him.
She looked at his uniform.
Then at the entrance.
Then back at the unconscious guard.
Her heart pounded.
There was no turning back now.
Ivelle reached for the uniform.
If she wanted to enter Blackthorn Row, she would have to become someone she was not.
And for the first time since she had begun searching for Liriel, she realized that finding her friend might require Ivelle to step into a world where even the law wore the face of a criminal.
She took a slow breath.
Then she began changing.