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Chapter 28
Then
I knew we couldn’t live off of Solise’s kindness for long. She may continue to offer, insist on helping, but she wasn’t much better off than we were to begin with. I could tell we were a strain on the kind woman, though she’d never admit it.
My mother drifted off to sleep in the nest of blankets on the floor while I laid awake letting my mind run rampant. The thoughts overlapped each other, another thought starting before the last one had a chance to finish. I tried to sort through each thread, pull it to the end to see what it was tied to, but I just ended up creating more of a tangled mess. The cause of the fire. Solise’s warning. Her mention of a soothsayer in her family. Da’s missing cloak. And of course the dire need for shelter and food. My focus was split between all of them. One thought continued to rise above the others, demanding my attention in a low, decadent voice. Eyes that I needed to stare into. Arms that I needed to be in.
I hadn’t seen Calomyr in almost a week, since his watch began at the castle. I didn’t like that I spent so much time thinking of him. I didn’t like that the grief wasn’t so strong when he was around. I didn’t like that the thought of his lips claiming mine in the middle of the street made my stomach flip, made my breathing ragged. I replayed that mud-soaked moment over and over, adding it to the mess of thoughts ravaging my mind. Before he kissed me in the alley, he’d told me it was a bad idea. Why? How?
Stop.
I had no time to escape into the fantasies that had intensified over the last few days. I knew he was on duty at the castle, but his absence was making me anxious. He had been so insistent on making sure I was okay before. Would he be here now if he weren’t on duty? What if he regretted kissing me? What if I’d made a huge mistake allowing him to get closer to me? I was second guessing every word, every touch, thatkiss–
I banished the questions from my mind. I needed to focus on what lay ahead of me, not a kiss from a man who was essentially a stranger.
???
The bitter coffee burned my tongue the next morning. Solise had laundered the clothing I had been wearing the day of the fire, soiled with soot, ash, dirt, and rain. The rest of my pitiful closet had gone up in flames, leaving only what I had been wearing: a pair of simple black trousers, a matching black tunic, my too-small boots, and my cloak. I brushed and braided my brown hair so it fell down my back. I splashed water across my tired face, imagining clarity spreading through my mind as I patted my face dry, hoping the cool water would lessen the look of the purple smudges beneath my brown eyes.
My mother had returned to her state of dejection over the last few days. As the shock of the fire wore off, so did any sign of lucidity. She had quit fussing — a small mercy, but a signal that she was mentally, emotionally, and physically retreating once again. I couldn’t blame her. I often had to fight off the feeling of spiraling into my own soul where Larka and Da lived happy and healthy and whole. If I hadn’t had my mother to worry about, to take care of, I too would spend my days in a state of detached sorrow. I resented her for that.
I fastened my cloak around my neck, careful not to rouse any thoughts of my father’s cloak for fear of becoming distracted. Today, Ihadto make enough money to feed us and secure another place to live. I would fret over everything else once we were fed and sheltered. My halfhearted attempt to find work at the washbasin yesterday was met with no luck. I would prowl the streetsone more timebefore I gave up and turned to something far more unsavory.
The front door clicked behind me as I stepped into the dirty street. Though it was well into morning, the sun had not yet crested over the wall. Inkwell was cast in a blanket of dawn, illuminated only by a few torches and the lightening blue sky laced with a disconcerting violet. This hour had always filled me with a heady mix of possibility and eeriness — the promise of a new day lay ahead, yet the darkness that remained from yesterday still loomed.
The promise that lay ahead of me was survival. Food. A roof. The bare minimum of what we needed. The darkness however…
I had the sinking feeling of eyes on me once again as I strode down the street, headed for Gormill Road. I fought the urge to throw my hood back and whirl around to see if there was anyone lurking. But there was no one staring at me. There never was. No one gave a rat’s ass about another piece of Inkwell trash blowing through the street. It had to be the anticipatory guilt and thrill of what I was about to do settling into my bones.
Even though I knew it was a mistake, I didn’t have much of a plan. The landscape of my mind was not conducive to any sort of strategizing at present. Come to think of it, the less I thought of it, the better. The streets would be packed for the next hour or so as people rushed to their menial jobs, gathered food for the day, and tried to sell what little they could. There was buzz on the street about a group of Low Royal Lords visiting Inkwell today. The streets would continue to fill in as people tried to get as close to the Lords as they could. The noblemen would pass out bread and fruit from their horses, just like they did a few times every year, and pretend their presence and theirgenerositymade a difference in the lives of the derelict and otherwise neglected.
I rolled my eyes behind the edge of my hood. Unless one of them could give me enough to put a roof over our heads, I had no interest in taking anything from them.
Rounding the corner to Gormill Road, the day was already well underway.Good.People rarely paid enough attention to notice me, consumed by their own thoughts and conversations and survival. The more people that were on the streets, the more cover they offered.Andthe more items I had to choose from. Caroline, the seamstress, waved from her shop window, but I pretended I hadn’t seen her.
The idea was to swipe as many things as I could, whatever I could get my hands on. The pockets on my cloak were deep enough to conceal a small bounty of stolen goods. Damn the guilt. Damn the feeling of being watched. Damn the suspicions of the man in the shop. We needed a home.
The uneasiness. The immorality. The shame. I pushed another wave of guilt down, reminding myself of my mission, feeding the monster inside of me that found the hunt thrilling.
Shadows in nooks and alleys offered me cover as I surveyed the residents walking up and down the street. I saw a man pulling a cart overflowing with burlap. I cursed silently, knowing I was unable to steal something so large and conspicuous. I was sure a few yards of it would bring in a couple coins. I ducked between buildings, the smell of piss overwhelming my nose. Dozens of people strolled by, unaware of my presence. No good prospects passed; few people had pockets, most women clutched their bags so tightly that there was no way to stage a collision and spill the contents. My lungs were still not back to normal after the fire, so I had to be careful with my movements so as not to breathe too loudly and attract attention.
When the smell of the alley became too oppressive and the sun had finally broken over the wall, I slipped out and began walking back down Gormill Road. A thought I had been pushing off for awhile now prodded at the back of my brain. As much as I wanted to shove it away, to stuff it down into the deepest part of my mind so it couldn’t be seen again, I couldn’t. The brothel. The Painted Empress. I opened the door and let it in as I plopped down on a dusty curb to catch my breath.Youcando this because youmustdo this. This is the only way you can provide for your mother. You need a house. You need to eat.I let the reassurances roll through my head, trying to keep the disgust from my face at what I knew I had to do. Though I considered it in the past, I hadn’treallyever meant to. I stood, righted my cloak, and turned to walk toward the intersection of seedy side streets.
Commotion sounded from the south, pulling me from my concentration. I saw a mass of people gathering. On the small hill that blocked the view from Gormill Road to the harbor, mounted horses began to appear. Four finely dressed men sat straight on the horses’ backs. The lords. Two dozen armored guards surrounded them. My heart leapt. Could he be here? He never told me specifically who he guarded, so the chances of him being on Gormill Road today were slim…right?
The parade continued my way, the lords waving every so often, but I didn’t focus on them. I was scanning the faces of the guards that circled the Low Royals, their helmets only revealing their eyes. That was all I needed. They passed in front of me, and I stood as straight as I could, hoping,prayingthat those eyes would meet mine. But not a single guard so much as glanced in my direction. I told myself that he wasn’t there at all. I told myself that maybe he was here, he just hadn’t seen me. I couldn’t bear the thought that hehadseen me and then chose to ignore me.
Whydid I feel like this about him? We’ve had a handful of conversations. We’d kissed…once. That’sit.I needed to sever this thread and focus.
I fixed my gaze ahead, moving forward, four blocks south and one block west, to the Painted Empress.
???
I heard it before I saw it. I clenched my jaw as I turned the corner from Gormill Road to Iron Avenue, the street packed with the lowest of the low, the scummiest of the scum. The pressure that built in my head kept my thoughts at bay. I needed to keep from talking myself out of this.
It stood a story taller than the buildings around it, though it was just as dilapidated. The paneling on the outside had once been red, but it had faded and cracked to a sickening muddy brown in the spots where paint remained. The door was open, held that way by a large, sleeping man who was sitting on the top step, head thrown back in a way that suggested he’d been very,verydrunk. I stared up, trying to tune out the various noises that were floating through the open windows, trying not to look too hard at the men shuffling in and out. The bar on one side expelled its patrons, even this early in the day, drunkards headed straight for the brothel. On the other side was a shop just as seedy. They displayed an assortment of goods so random that it was obvious they were stolen.
“Ye headed in there?” a ragged voice called from behind me. I whirled around to find a wisp of a man leaning against the brick building that faced the Painted Empress. His clothes were grubby, visibly soiled, but the boots he wore were noticeably nice. My attention lingered on his boots, so out of place among the rest of his rags. Something about him was…not right. Even though I had a few inches on him, the sight of him made me want to recoil in disgust.
