Page 3 of Daughter of the Dark

The reminder of it was plastered all over the somewhat well-kept buildings near Jacobi’s tavern. Her father’s face stared back at her from pronouncements taped to the stone walls. A face that was a version of her she no longer knew. Wide honey-brown eyes faintly creased at the corners from years of smiling. Light brown skin and textured, tousled hair that had seen many hands run through it. The artist had portrayed him as hardened and grim, but Solana only remembered warm laughter and soft words and gentle reassurances.

Things that were ripped from her hands and devastating to lose because of how soft they had made her.

To everyone else, he was Masimu Quispe, the Traitor of Supay, as the sign read. His was a story told to children to frighten them into behaving. More terrifying than the yakumama, a snake mother who prowled the seas and looked for souls to lure into her dark, watery depths, for one could avoid the seas rather easily. More terrifying than the jarjarcha that lived in the shadowed forests that bordered the sea and hunted incestuous men and women, for one could effortlessly avoid the heinous act of incest.

This threat was close enough to touch, to sear. Too much wanting, and you might find yourself a traitor. One misstep, and you would find yourself dead.

Hands shaking, Solana ripped the closest declaration from the wall and crumbled it into a ball that she tossed into a dark corner. Next to it was the king’s face—all sharp angles and empty eyes and cold beauty—with the words Killian Valentes IV, Savior of Supay scrawled in bold letters across the top. She tore that one down, too, just for good measure.

In her mind, she shoved memories from her previous life back into a box and shut the lid. These people only knew her as Solana Grey, daughter to Lucia Grey. To them, she was fatherless, nothing and no one, and it was the truth, as far as she was concerned.

Behind her, she could hear Sami and Alina talking in whispered voices. Sami’s deep voice was soft and soothing. She let it reel her back into the present, where her only concern was finishing this one job and then moving on to the next. Even if the job had changed to managing an adolescent that was giggling at Sami. Solana couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Once upon a time, she had giggled at Sami in the same way. Before her mother had died, and everything changed. Before she realized how much it hurt to hold on to things that weren’t meant for her. Before she understood that she could not love Sami in the same way he loved her.

The streets of the callejon were empty and every window was dark. The tall buildings held homes stacked one on top of the other in shades of faded blue and yellow and green and orange, with wooden doors that were heavy and locks that were expertly crafted and well maintained. Perhaps the only thing in all of the callejon that was. Having a safe place to sleep at night was vital to survival.

Solana hated being locked indoors, despite her eagerness to survive.

The sign above the tavern had faded to the point where the name was no longer legible, but anyone who knew Jacobi recognized it for what it was. A welcoming place for the weary and weathered. A home away from home. The mere sight of it had Solana loosening a breath.

Perhaps the only door left unlocked in all of Qhilli, it swung open to a flood of rolling conversation and lilting music. Men and women sat on stools pressed up against tables and the bar. In the corner, Jacobi’s wife Celeste played the cuatro with such passion and skill that Solana felt herself drawn to listen, to dance, to let go. She ignored the lure and marched through the small crowd to the bar, where Jacobi himself stood behind the counter serving his homemade pisco.

“Solana,” he called when he saw her, a big smile on his round and ruddy face. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Your daughter.” Solana leaned her elbows on the counter and watched as Jacobi’s eyes searched the room, then found Alina and Sami walking toward them. His smile slipped into a scowl.

“I’ll deal with her,” he said to Solana, but the words were solely for Alina. The girl slunk behind the counter and into the back, all the bravado she had displayed under the moon gone beneath her father’s glare. Solana told herself that she did not envy the child, with her two loving parents and the tether of their rules about her neck. A lie she had fooled herself into believing.

Jacobi sighed and shook his head. “Stay,” he ordered, chin pointing at the stools behind Solana and Sami. “I’ll bring food and drinks.”

“We have a job to finish,” Solana said.

“A job that will still be there after we’ve eaten,” Sami countered.

“The boy’s right,” Jacobi said. Sami was far from a boy at twenty-eight, but it was always what Jacobi had called him. That boy follows you around like a puppy. Tell that boy to thank his mother for the fish. That boy deserves to know the truth. The last had been said with a pointed look the day before Solana finally told Sami that she didn’t love him like that.

Sami had nodded and said, “I know,” and that had been the end of that. She’d have preferred it if he begged, or yelled, or refused to see her ever again. It almost hurt, how simple it had been. As if he knew how awful she was and loved her anyway. His acceptance only served to remind her how undeserving of it she was.

The least she could do was let him eat a warm, homemade meal. With a sigh of resignation, Solana sat.

CHAPTER TWO

Though the tavern was full, the mood was as subdued as it always was in the callejon. The people were tired from long days of hard work, and it was important to keep the noise to a minimum to avoid any unwanted attention. Muki were lured toward the living, and even quiet, there was plenty of life to be had here.

Celeste played the cuatro at a quick tempo, the vibration of the strings echoing around the room and filling the small space with a kind of warmth and joy that was hard to come by. Solana ate and soaked in as much of it as she could. Her memories of this place were layered with equal parts pain and pleasure. Her mother had worked here before she died, and Solana had spent a lot of time nestled at tables in corners, waiting for her shift to end so they could get home before the dusk bells rang.

Mostly, she avoided visiting, even if Jacobi’s pisco helped to dull the pain.

Sami’s shoulder bumped into her. “Everything okay?”

Solana glanced at him in the dull glow of the torchlight. He was so solid, so alive that it made her chest hurt. Sami had a beautiful life in Qhilli. A mother and a father and a younger brother who thought that Sami hung the moon and all its stars. They had a small house by the docks where Sami’s father’s boats were docked. The men spent their days fishing while Sami’s mother taught the callejon’s smallest children to read and write.

They were happy. So much so that Solana avoided going there, tainting their family with her bad attitude and poor luck. She already felt guilty enough dragging Sami around with her.

“Fine,” she finally responded. “We should get going. Maybe we can finish this job before the sun comes up.”

“We could always finish it tomorrow night.”