They reached the central crossing. A circular opening in the market floor revealed the levels beneath. Balconies descended around it in widening rings, each crowded with stalls.
A lift cage traveled through the open center, chains rattling above it. Xavier rested one hand against the iron railing. The market possessed no single smell there. Heat carried spice, sweat, hot metal, incense, wet animal fur, perfume, electrical smoke, and the cold underground breath of the lower city.
“What are we doing here?” Joolie asked.
“Walking.”
“You could walk at Vale House.”
“I know every corridor.”
A commotion rose from the lower eastern aisle. It was subtle at first. The crowd shifted. A merchant raised his voice. Metal struck stone.
Xavier’s attention moved toward the sound. Three market security officers stood near the entrance to a narrow service corridor. They had formed a loose half-circle around someone Xavier could not yet see.
A sound came from within the circle. Not a cry. A growl. Low, feminine, and unmistakably inhuman.
The crowd opened just enough for Xavier to see her.
She was kneeling on the wet pavement with one hand braced against the ground. A metal restraint encircled her throat. A cable ran from it to the fist of the largest officer.
At first, Xavier thought the shapes above her head were decorative attachments fixed to a hood. Then one of them moved.
Fox ears.
Not synthetic fabric. Not ornamental prostheses. Living tissue covered in deep russet fur, flattened close against dark hair.
Her eyes were golden. Not amber. Gold.
They found Xavier across the crowd. Every other sound in Geneveaux Market seemed to move farther away.
Her gaze dropped to the silver crown fastening the cuff beneath his glove.
Her pupils narrowed. The growl died in her throat. Then she spoke. One word, barely louder than the rain striking the market roof.
“Vale.”
And for the first time in years, Xavier Vale found himself standing before something his name could not immediately explain.
He stepped forward.