Red Seas Under Red Skies by Scott Lynch

whispered the chorus. “Wait for our answer.”
    â€œWait for our time.”
    â€œYou are always in our reach,” said the little girl, “and you are always in our sight.”
    â€œAlways,” whispered the circle, slowly dispersing back to their stalls, back to the positions they’d held just a few minutes earlier.
    â€œYou will meet misfortune,” said the little girl as she slipped away. “For the Falconer of Karthain.”
    Locke and Jean said nothing as the merchants around them resumed their places in the Night Market, as the lanterns and barrel fires gradually rose once more to flush the area with warm light. Then the affair was ended; the merchants resumed their former attitudes of keen interest or watchful boredom, and the babble of conversation rose up around them again. Locke and Jean slipped their weapons out of sight before anyone seemed to notice them.
    â€œGods,” said Jean, shuddering visibly.
    â€œI suddenly feel,” Locke said quietly, “that I didn’t drink nearly enough from that bloody carousel.” There was mist at the edges of his vision; he put a hand to his cheeks and was surprised to find himself crying. “Bastards,” he muttered. “Infants. Wretched cowardly show-offs.”
    â€œYes,” said Jean.
    Locke and Jean began to walk forward once again, glancing warily around. The little girl who had done most of the speaking for the Bondsmagi was now sitting beside an elderly man, sorting through little baskets of dried figs under his supervision. She smiled shyly as they passed.
    â€œI hate them,” whispered Locke. “I hate
this
. Do you think they’ve really got something planned for us, or was that just a put-on?”
    â€œI suppose it works either way,” said Jean with a sigh. “Gods.
Strat péti
. Do we flinch, or do we keep betting? Worst case, we’ve got a few thousand solari on record at the ’Spire. We could cash out, take a ship, be gone before noon tomorrow.”
    â€œWhere to?”
    â€œAnywhere else.”
    â€œThere’s no running from these assholes, not if they’re serious.”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œFuck Karthain.” Locke clenched his fists. “You know, I think I understand? I think I understand how the Gray King could feel the way he did. I’ve never even been there, but if I could
smash
Karthain, burn the fucking place, make the sea swallow it…I’d do it. Gods help me, I’d do it.”
    Jean suddenly came to a complete stop.
    â€œThere’s…another problem, Locke. Gods forgive me.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œEven if you stay…I shouldn’t. I’m the one who should be gone, as far from you as possible.”
    â€œWhat the
fuck
nonsense is this?”
    â€œThey know my name!” Jean grabbed Locke by his shoulders, and Locke winced; that stone-hard grip didn’t agree with the old wound beneath his left clavicle. Jean immediately realized his mistake and loosened his fingers, but his voice remained urgent. “My real name, and they can use it. They can make me a puppet, like these poor people. I’m a threat to you every moment I’m around you.”
    â€œI don’t bloody well care that they know your name! Are you mad?”
    â€œNo, but you’re still drunk, and you’re not thinking straight.”
    â€œI certainly am! Do you
want
to leave?”
    â€œNo! Gods, no, of course not! But I’m—”
    â€œShutting up right this second if you know what’s good for you.”
    â€œYou need to understand that you’re in danger!”
    â€œOf course I’m in danger. I’m
mortal
. Jean, gods love you, I will
not
fucking send you away, and I will not let you send yourself away! We lost Calo, Galdo, and Bug. If I send you away, I lose the last friend I have in the world. Who wins then, Jean? Who’s protected
then
?”
    Jean’s