I: The Threat & The Thief
The gallows were still. Everything was still, and then the wind batted at the noose and it danced as if an invisible man twisted in it.
Andrea shivered. Around her, the crowd murmured, ghoulish excitement in the air. Their faces had the waxy sheen of fever: eyes too bright, lips parted, flushed, glistening. Every pair of eyes was focused on the rope, on that slender noose that undulated like a snake charming its prey.
And if it sought prey, she was a prime suspect. Her thick golden hair was hidden beneath the hood of her cloak, only a few fey strands escaping. Her eyes were a pensive amber, liquid as molten sap, and filled with fear. She drew her cloak a little closer and tried to remain inconspicuous.
The man stood on the gallows was an imposing figure; terrible, tall, a nightmare brought to life. She could see only his eyes; a mask hid his face, gloves his skin. All she could see were those sharp dark eyes, sweeping back and forth with the relentless monotony of a pendulum.
Not me, she thought, her skin crawling. Each time his eyes slid near her, she felt her breath catch, her heart twitch. The thought began to congeal into something else, something fast and panicked. Notmenotmenotmenotme...
How many executions had there been? Too many now. So many she was losing track. In her quiet, cold town where the Gifted were a curse to be eradicated, where magic was a poison and healing a taint, Andrea had seen Gifted after Gifted die. Even magic could not save them from the shadow man and his noose.
He had a kind of power, that man, oozing through his words, soft, persuasive, insidious as a disease. Andrea knew that as surely as she knew her name, as surely as she knew that if her Gift were discovered, she would feel that power freeze her until the crowd gave her to the gallows.
Maybe it was magic of a sort. But there was no beauty in it. His Gift didn't come from the gods. His Gift came from darkness, from hate.
The executioner lifted one hand and pointed.
The crowd bisected like a parting sea. Zealous faces turned as one to follow the direction of that accusing finger.
The path was clear: walled by bristling bodies, it led from the gallows straight to...
Andrea.
oOo
She woke with a gasp. Her hands traced a wavery pattern that filled the air with dim gold light before she remembered that led only to the gallows. With a flick of her fingers, she destroyed the spell and shivered instead in the dark.
"It's only a dream," Andrea told herself in a raspy whisper. "It doesn't mean anything."
But it was the third time she had dreamed it; each time the shadow man chose her. Each time, the gallows beckoned.
She had to get out.
There was nothing to stay for. The plague had taken her parents. By then, there were no healers left in the village. Any who had survived the first purge had fled. Her poor concoctions, fumbled together from what scraps of knowledge she'd gathered, hadn't been enough. She had buried them, and even as she did, she heard the whispers. Oh yes, the shadow man knew why the plague had come.
The Gifted had sent it.
More lies. But there was no longer anyone to speak against them. So she mouthed agreement, because it was safe, because it was easy. After all, she had no one. She rattled around their house, pretending that she didn't mind the dark or the silence, because either of those was better than what awaited her in another house.
It had only been a dream.
But as she clambered out of bed, teeth bared against the cold, she couldn't get the gallows out of her mind.
oOo
"Out of my way, Hana!" Ryan hissed as he slithered over the threshold. He ducked behind the splintered door, tense from top to toe.
"Guards after you again, are they?" Hana said, amused. Her emerald eyes danced as she took in his muddy state and the small bag of coin he clutched.
He nodded, touching a finger to his lips. Shouts echoed down the narrow street, and she sighed. He was a deft thief, but reckless.
"Seen a boy, missus?" A man in a soldier's garb approached her, breathing hard. "Short, scrawny, dark hair. Streetrat."
Hana changed modes. Her voice was as smooth as honey and every bit as sweet. She looked him in the face, her eyes wide and innocent. "A boy? Why, I've not seen anyone but you handsome soldiers."
"He's a thief," the soldier said, but the acrimony had vanished from his voice, replaced by something close to admiration. "Robbed a noble."
"The nobles should learn to keep their purses close to their hearts," she said dryly, and gave a husky laugh.
"Aye, they should." The soldier sounded amused now. "But it's not for the likes of us to give nobles orders."
"Not unless we want a floggin'," Hana agreed. "As you can see, there's no boy here." She stepped back to let the soldier see the empty room, using her body to conceal Ryan. "My taste runs to men."
"Does it now?" The soldier smiled. "Perhaps I'll pay you a visit when I'm off duty."
"I'm always happy to help the King's men, and at a very reasonable price," she said, and glanced over her shoulder. "But I've bread burnin', so if you'll excuse me...?"
"Of course. Later, madam."
She hustled him out, then shut the door firmly. She listened for the sound of departing feet - and then turned on her partner in crime, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Stealin' from nobles, Ryan Talver? I thought you knew better!"
Ryan stood up, shaking the kinks out of his limbs and threw the bag to her. "Bread burnin'? Since when d'you cook?"
"I'll have you know I can boil a man's blood in his veins," she said, but a smile edged out her scowl. "All right - we were both lucky, but you were foolish with it. Nobles! You reach too high."
"I wouldn't a' got caught if he'd not turned to look at a woman," he protested. "An' I got ye some new business, didn't I?"
"I can get my own business, lad," Hana retorted coolly. "But I can't afford the fines if I'm caught hidin' you. And a damn good hidin's what you need." She pryed open the bag - and whistled. "Mithros' shield, boy, you've done us proud this time!"
Coins cascaded onto the floor in a slew of gold and silver as she emptied the bag.
"Not only a rich 'un, but a fool too." She split the pile into half and took her share with a rueful smile. "More than I earn in a month."
"I've never seen so much," he said, his thin face alight with happiness. "We'll not need to work again, Hana!"
"It'll not buy as much as you'd think, lad."
Ignoring her, Ryan moved the coins around the floor in fascination, hardly able to believe it was real. "We could get out of here," he whispered, and Hana's heart ached at the hope in his grey eyes. "Be proper, like. Not have to live in the slums. We could live in the country, Hana!"
"Aye," she said gently, not wanting to hurt him. Still a dreamer, even after it all. She'd never forgotten her first glimpse of him, a battered child with startling strength – he should have died the day his da beat the magic from him, but he had clung to life. She had taken him back to her home, thinking he should at least die in peace. But he hadn't died, he had lived and become a useful thief, bringing his fair share of house to their odd partnership.
"I'm goin' to go an' get us a fittin' dinner," Ryan announced cheerfully. His dark hair clung to his face, briefly hiding the long scar that ran from his ear to his jaw. "Reckon there won't be no need for scavengin' others' leavings now."
I reckon money won't get us as far from the slums of Corus as you think, Hana thought sadly. It was enough to keep them well-fed for a year or two, no more. But she would let Ryan keep his dream.
oOo
"Is that it?"
There were malicious giggles echoing across the still air like windchimes.
"No wonder it wanted to be a knight." The clear voices, toned by hours of elocution, made her flush angrily and run the currycomb over Peachblossom's back painfully hard. He shifted, one hock nudging her. "It's far too ugly to get married. Who'd want that for a husband?"
"Sorry," Keladry of Mindelan whispered to her horse, feeling her face burn. Goddess blest, she was tired of hearing those useless girls giggle and snigger. They followed her around, she was sure, enjoying watching her hurry away whenever she heard the whisper of expensive fabric.
"No one with any breeding," an arch voice declared. Without turning to look at them, Kel knew it was Bruna.
Bruna, with her long twisted brunette hair that Kel thought was long enough to throttle the scheming witch with. With her sultry eyes and promising smile that had half the squires sighing and the other half writing songs that were murderously dreadful.
On second thoughts, maybe she should encourage them to go and caterwaul at the noblewoman.
"I hear it has Cleon of Kennan lusting after it," said a chiming voice that rang so loud, Kel buried her face in Peachblossom's side as Faleron stopped arguing with Neal and both turned to look at her.
"I hate them," she said wearily, lifting her hazel eyes to them. "They've been at it all week."
"Well," said Bruna, lifting her drawling voice to make sure the entire stable could hear, "I hear he has a bet on with Vinson of Garvey. Who can kiss a pig first. It seems to me that Cleon's winning."
Kel felt heat tingle through her entire body. I am stone, she counselled herself. I am stone...and they're a bunch of—
"Bruna's only joking, Kel," Faleron began in the usual half-dazed, besotted way he adopted whenever her name came up. "She's lovely really. She smiled at me yesterday..."
"It was probably just wind," Kel said sourly; she winced at Faleron's outraged glare. Here we go again, she thought. Extolling of virtues, part one, followed by lecture on gentlewomen.
Her handsome friend took a deep breath while Neal caught Kel's eyes and grinned. Why you? she thought as Faleron began to tell her about the beauty of Bruna's eyes, though she privately noticed his eyes were on two things somewhat lower. Of all the people, why my best friend?
It still hurt her a little to see Neal and feel that pang of sweet-sharp pain. It wasn't love...after all, at fourteen, she was scarce old enough for that, but it was certainly something strong enough to throw little splinters into her life.
"Fal!" Neal interrupted, his wry smile lighting candles in her heart, "Enough! She's pretty, but she's not that pretty. But if we're going to talk about women, well, Isobelle of Garfen, I swear she must be descended from a sylph, the way her feet barely seem to touch—"
Kel left her two friends waxing lyrical about the ladies living in their hearts temporarily, and crossed over to the palace, making sure she avoided the gaggle of giggling ladies.
I hate my life, she thought miserably. I just want to get away from here.
Maybe bright Mithros, sitting in the Realms of the Gods, took pity on this most unique of his warriors; maybe he smiled, and drew a finger through the shimmering webs of human fate. Maybe Sithri, the Fate-god wished to weave a more interesting thread in the warp of humanity.
Either way, her wish was about to be granted.
But what Kel didn't know was that gods like entertainment as much as anyone.
oOo