I used that same pole to vault myself up on the saddle nestled between the two humps on the camel's back, hiking the skirt of my dress up around my waist. I leaned forward and went "Tt tt tt" into his ear like I'd seen the stall-vendors do a thousand times. The camel trotted forward. I dug the heels of my boots into his side and we shot off, the camel kicking up great clouds of golden dirt, me clinging to his neck in my silk dress, the pretty braids of hairstyle coming unraveled in the wind.

  The vendor shouted behind me, angry curses that would've made a real lady blush. Then Tarrin joined in, screaming at me to come back, hollering that he hadn't been joking about the assassins. I squeezed my eyes shut and tugged hard on the camel's reins and listened to the gusts of air shoving out of his nostrils. He smelled awful, like dung and the too-hot-sun, but I didn't care: We were wound up together, me and that camel.

  I slapped his reins against his neck like he was a horse and willed him to take me away, away from my marriage and my double-crossing parents. And he did.

  All of Tarrin's hollering aside, we galloped out of the garden district without much trouble. I didn't know how to direct the camel – as Papa always told me, my people ride on boats, not animals – but the camel seemed less keen on going back to that vendor than I did. He turned down one street and then another, threading deeper and deeper into the crush of white clay buildings. Eventually he slowed to a walk, and together we ambled along a wide, sunny street lined with drying laundry.

  I didn't recognize this part of the city.

  There weren't as many people out, no vendors or bright-colored shop signs painted on the building walls. Women stuck their heads out of windows as we rode past, eyebrows cocked up like we were the funniest thing they'd seen all day. I might have waved at them under different circumstances, but right now I had to figure out how to lay low for a while. Escaping's always easy, Papa taught me (he'd been talking about jail, not marriage, but still). Staying escaped is the hard part.

  I found this sliver of an alley and pushed at the camel's neck to get him to turn. He snorted and shook his big shaggy head, then trudged forward.

  "Thanks, camel." The air was cooler here: A breeze streamed between the two buildings and their roofs blocked out the sun. I slid off the camel's back and straightened out my dress. The fabric was coated with dust and golden camel hairs in addition to the mudand-saltwater stains at the hem, and I imagined it probably smelled like camel now, too.

  I patted the camel on the head and he blinked at me, his eyes dark and gleaming and intelligent.

  "Thanks," I told him again. I wasn't used to getting around on the backs of animals, and it seemed improper not to let him know I appreciated his help. "You just got me out of a marriage."

  The camel tilted his head a little like he understood.

  "And you're free now," I added. "You don't have to haul around all that fake jewelry." I scratched at the side of his face. "Find somebody who'll give you a bath this time, you understand?"

  He blinked at me but didn't move. I gave him a gentle shove, and he turned and trotted out into the open street. Myself, I just slumped down in the dust and tried to decide what to do next. I figured I had to let the camel go cause I was too conspicuous on him. Together we'd wound pretty deeply into Lisirra's residential mazes, but most people, when they see a girl in a fancy dress on a camel – that's something they're going to remember. Which meant I needed to get rid of the dress next, ideally for money. Not that I have any qualms about thievery, but it's always easier to do things on the up and up when you can.

  I stood and swiped my hands over the dress a few times, trying to get rid of the dust and the camel hairs. I pulled my hair down so it fell thick and frizzy and black around my bare shoulders. Then I followed the alley away from the triangle of light where I'd entered, emerging on another sun-filled street, this one more bustling than the other. A group of kids chased each other around, shrieking and laughing. Women in airy cream-colored dresses and lacy scarves carried baskets of figs and dates and nuts, or dead chickens trussed up in strings, or jars of water. I needed one of those dresses.

  One of the first lessons Papa ever taught me, back when I could barely totter around belowdeck, was how to sneak around. "One of the most important aspects of our work," he always said. "Don't underestimate it." And sneaking around in public is actually the easiest thing in the whole world, cause all you have to do is stride purposefully ahead like you own the place, which was easy given my silk dress. I jutted my chin out a little bit and kept my shoulders straight, and people just stepped out of the way for me, their eyes lowered. I went on like this until I found a laundry line strung up between two buildings, white fabric flapping on it like the sails of our boat.

  Our boat.

  The thought stopped me dead. She wasn't my boat no more. Never would be. I'd every intention of finishing what I started, like Papa always taught me. But finishing what I started meant I'd never get to see that boat again. I'd spent all my seventeen years aboard her, and now I'd never get to climb up to the top of her rigging and gaze out at the gray-lined horizon drawn like a loop around us. Hell, I'd probably never even go back to the pirates' islands in the west, or dance the Confederation dances again, or listen to some old cutthroat tell his war stories while I drifted off to sleep in a rope hammock I'd tied myself.

  A cart rolled by then, kicking up a great cloud of dust that set me to coughing. The sand stung my eyes, and I told myself it was the sand drawing out my tears as I rubbed them away with the palm of my hand. There was no point dwelling on the past. I couldn't marry Tarrin and I couldn't go home. If I wanted to let myself get morose, I could do it after I had money and a plan.

  I ducked into the alley. The laundry wasn't hung up too high, and I could tell that if I jumped I'd be able to grab a few pieces before I hit the ground again. I pressed myself against the side of the building and waited until the street was clear, then I tucked my skirts around my waist, ran, jumped, spread my arms out wide, and grabbed hold of as much fabric as I could. The line sagged beneath my weight; I gave a good strong tug and the clothes came free. I balled them up and took off running down the alleyway. Not that it mattered; no one saw me.

  At the next street over I strode regally along again till I found a dark empty corner where I could change. I'd managed to nick two scarves in addition to the dress, so I draped one over my head in the Lisirran style and folded my silk dress up in the other. I figured I could pass for a Lisirran even though I've a darker complexion than most of the folks in Lisirra. Hopefully no one would notice I was still wearing my clunky black seaboots underneath the airy dress – those would mark me as a pirate for sure. The dress was a bit tight across my chest and hips, too, but most dresses are, and the fabric was at least thick enough to hide the lines of the Pirates' Confederation tattoo arching across my stomach.