The Theft of Sunlight by Intisar Khanani (story reading .TXT) 📕

women’s residence lies quiet and mostly empty. Most of the palace nobles may still be asleep, but it’s morning and the work of the world has already begun. Inside, the elderly caretaker has rolled up her sleeping mat and is puttering about the front room. I tell her that I want to leave a note for Kirrana and she waves me up, apparently unaware of Kirrana’s abduction.

Upstairs, I find the room unoccupied, as I’d hoped. Kirrana is organized, but thankfully not so much so that she cleans out her hairbrush daily. I harvest one of the hairs left on its bristles and head out once more. My final note should have been delivered by now; I can only hope it will be answered.

The courtyard is just as quiet as it was the first time I came here, the mosaic tiles familiar. Only this time, the favor I have to ask is a great deal more personal, and I’m not sure Stonemane will grant it without some form of payment. I don’t have much to give him, for I doubt he would want jewelry or coin. But perhaps he’ll humor me, as he did last time.

I try to distract myself by revisiting the last passages of the archer’s journal. Her desperation and regret are clear on the page, but so is her sense of betrayal by her own liege. Before she ever betrayed him, he turned his back on her, until her service to him became an empty thing. How that must have hurt; it’s as if I can see her pain in the shape of each letter she penned. It’s a deeper betrayal in some sense than what the Circle has done, but only because I don’t know those mages. Their betrayal is impersonal, but equally as devastating. Berenworth, at least, never presented itself as an organization in service to the people. Not that I won’t do my best to see Berenworth destroyed, if I can prove the truth of their involvement. Or if Garrin can. But that still leaves the Circle.

“Kelari, I am glad to see you well.”

I look up with a start, then hastily get to my feet and offer Verin Stonemane a curtsy. He is dressed simply this morning, tunic and pants bearing just a touch of embroidery at cuffs and sash. His hair falls over his shoulders with its usual inhuman sheen, setting off the darkness of his eyes against his pale skin.

“Thank you, verayn, for coming to speak with me on such short notice, so early.”

“It is no trouble,” he says, seating himself at the other end of the bench. As I sink back down, he rests a hand on the bench, taps it once. That same strange dimming rolls out from him, the world momentarily muffled, and then my ears pop and sound resumes.

“You have more questions, I presume,” he says.

I shake my head. “No. It is something different. A favor to ask.”

“Indeed.” His voice is neutral in its coolness, but that is a warning in itself.

I straighten my back. “A friend of mine has gone missing, verayn. We are investigating her disappearance, but I wondered if you might be able to trace her. I am concerned she’s come to harm.”

Stonemane lifts his brows. “If you are yet again not going to one of the mages of the Circle, I must assume it’s because you do not trust them to find her. Was she investigating the Blessing the Speakers give? Or perhaps the snatchers themselves?”

“The snatchers,” I admit. “But only through the various records available to us—shipping logs and tax records. Nothing direct.”

“Taxes?” He gives a soft laugh. “I would not have thought of that. But I am afraid I cannot help you. It is not my place as ambassador to come between the royal family and the Circle.”

“But that’s not—Kirrana’s work points to the snatchers directly, not the Circle.”

“And still, it is not my place.” I take a breath to argue, but he raises a hand, stalling me. “Not all of us are heroes, kelari. I cannot save every person in this kingdom.”

“I’m only asking you to save one person. My friend.”

“Whom you cannot trust the Circle to find. This is not apolitical. Even if the king himself asked this of me, I would defer him to his own mages. I already granted you more than I should have in our last meeting.”

I swallow hard, shake my head.

“I am sorry, kelari,” he begins.

I can’t sit any longer. I rise to face him, palms upturned as if begging. I am begging. “Help me, verin. I will pay whatever debt you ask.”

He laughs, but it’s a sad sound. “I find I do not actually want such a debt from you.”

“I know,” I say softly. “You didn’t mean it the first time either. You were testing me. But I’m offering it now. The only other thing I can offer you is a certain bone knife I own; it is Fae made. You might know it.”

He recoils. “I will not take back what I gave you.”

“Why not?” I demand. “You gave it in payment of a debt. It is an equal return.”

His lips thin. “I have no use for it.”

Then what does he have a use for? I have nothing of unusual value beyond the knife. But perhaps what Stonemane needs is not a thing. He is here, after all, as the first permanent delegate since the Fae Attack. He and the Cormorant came for a particular reason . . .

“I am sorry, kelari,” he says again, rising to face me. “I require neither debt nor payment because this battle is not mine. I cannot join it for you.”

“What is your battle, then? Is it—whatever the curse is that dogs our royal family?”

He raises a brow. “A curse doesn’t seem likely, don’t you think?”

I meet his gaze with its hidden currents and decide I have nothing left to lose. If I end up looking a fool, well, it’s worth the risk. “More like a sorceress,” I say quietly.

That stops him.

I