“Ow—where the hell am I?” Ivory yelled as the carriage lurched and the road threw her forward.
“Stop yelling, you’ll bruise the embroidery,” Kamiyah snapped, one hand on the bronze rail, the other checking the straps on Ivory’s satchel.
“Embroidery?” Ivory swung her feet out and landed like she owned the floor. “I wrote better trouble than this.”
A shout cut the morning. “Halt the carriage! Empty your purses!”
Ivory peeked between curtains. Four ragged silhouettes raced up the rise, blades catching light. Bandits. Not actors, not a training exercise. Real blades.
“Relax,” Ivory said, loud and casual. “I can deal with bandits. I’ve written worse villains.”
“You wrote worse villains?” Kamiyah’s voice turned sharp. “You’re going to talk them to death?”
“Yes,” Ivory said. “Exactly. Talk, seduce, humiliate. Stage fright is for amateurs.”
“Stage fright?” Kamiyah’s hand tightened on a hidden knife.
The carriage door flew open. The leader stepped in, all lean elbows and impatient teeth. “Coins. Now.”
Ivory put her elbows on her knees and smiled. “Come in, come in. You smell like honest poverty. Sit. We’ll offer tea.”
The leader blinked. “Tea?”
“You heard me,” Ivory said. “Tea and a story. You tell the story. I’ll tell it better. Winner takes the purse.” Her voice dipped to idle mockery. “Or you can stand there and make this awkward for everyone.”
One bandit laughed. Another reached for a pouch.
Kamiyah moved like a blur. “Hands where I can
