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

words she dismisses me for the afternoon. I change into one of my simpler riding outfits, trade out my slippers for my old riding boots, and head down to a small courtyard that grants access to the main gates via a side road.

My excuse for leaving the palace is the one Alyrra created for me during our first interview on the walls: I am to visit her house of healing project on a daily basis, to ensure it progresses well. Filadon has had a horse sent up from the stables for me, one that will be mine to use for the duration of my visit. It was a generous gesture, offered with the sort of sparkling smile I knew meant trouble. And indeed, Moonflower is a pretty little black mare with a splotch of white on her forehead and eyes that glitter with distrust. Why Melly allowed her husband to buy such a mean-tempered creature, I can’t understand, but I am coming to think the ways of marriage are complex and generally unknowable.

Other than a few short struggles for control, which I manage to win mainly because I have dealt with ornery horses before, the ride to the house of healing goes well. The page who accompanies me to show the way departs almost at once, while I go in to meet the overseer and look through the building—a great, three-story affair, currently filled with the dust and debris of renovation.

Overall, the house of healing appears to be progressing well, the usual bumps and unexpected problems being dealt with competently enough. The overseer is happy to answer my few questions and send me on my way back toward West Road. My role in this endeavor truly is only an excuse to get me into the city.

When the street I travel meets West Road, I turn down it and continue on to the royal stables just before the city gates, as Alyrra directed me. I ride around the first stables to the second and tie Moonflower to a post. As I turn toward the building, a woman steps out.

“Kelari Amraeya?” she asks, her eyes moving from me to my horse. No doubt she knows exactly who it belongs to, and from that inferred my identity; she’s a hostler, after all.

I dip my head. “And you are Kelari Sage?”

She nods. Sage stands slightly taller than I, her hair gone to gray and silver. Her face, though, seems younger than her hair would suggest.

“Rowan,” she calls over her shoulder. “Will you see to Moonflower?”

A male voice returns an affirmative from inside the stables.

“Come, then,” she says, flashing a friendly smile. “We’ve a short walk to make. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” I assure her. To her credit, she only focuses on my feet for a moment as I turn and fall into step with her, and then she looks ahead. Someone must have mentioned my limp, or the rumors about the princess’s newest attendant have already run through the stables.

“Do you know where we’re going?” she asks.

“To meet a contact of yours who might be able to help with some information we need. Beyond that, I don’t know much.”

Sage nods. “His name’s Artemian. I spoke with him this morning, when I heard from the princess, so he knows to expect us.”

Us? It hadn’t occurred to me that Sage might be a partner in this with me, but Alyrra did say that her friend would put me in contact and provide a way to keep in touch. Perhaps I should have expected it. “Do you know what this is about?” I ask carefully.

“What the princess wants? Yes. And I’ll support her every way I know how.” Her voice is hard, tight. There is some history here I don’t know. She gives herself a slight shake and says, “Well, every way but one.”

“What’s that?”

“Thorn asked me if I’d like to join her up at the palace.”

“Thorn?” I echo, confused.

“The princess. That was her name out here.”

I nod; of course she could not have gone by her true name. “You aren’t interested in leaving the stables?”

Sage raises her brows. “Even princesses can’t have everything they want.”

“No,” I agree. “But she did call you her friend.”

Sage’s whole face warms with a smile. “I knew I’d like you. I’m glad to see you don’t have any airs. You stand by the princess, or I’ll come after you, hear?”

I laugh, delighted. “Glad to meet you too.”

We’ve left West Road behind for smaller streets that wind between buildings. The streets are busy despite the slight spring chill, the cobbles damp from yesterday’s rainfall. Women linger in doorways, young boys squat in front of shops, and children hunch over games of marbles, or run pattering past us playing catch-me and other childhood favorites.

Sage slows before a building where a young boy plays on the step. He looks up, his gaze assessing, and then says, “The Tattered Crow,” pointing down the alleyway.

“Aye,” Sage says.

Grinning, the boy hops to his feet and races off in the opposite direction.

Sage continues on as if it were perfectly normal to have urchins redirect you.

“Are you sure we can trust the boy?” I ask uncertainly.

“It’s fine,” she says. “They pay the street children to help them—keep watch, run small errands, the like.”

I thought we were just talking about the one man, Artemian. “Who, precisely, are ‘they’?”

Sage glances around to make sure no one’s listening. “Thieves.”

Well, that would certainly qualify as “not entirely on the right side of the law.” I cast my mind back over what I know of the city. “Are they part of a ring? I’ve heard of the Black Scholar and Bardok Three-Fingers.” Neither of whom have particularly pleasant reputations, but then, to be the head of a ring of street thieves, you’d have to be ruthless.

“You’ve heard of Red Hawk as well, I presume. Artemian is one of his men.”

I frown. “Red Hawk? He’s . . . newer, isn’t he?” There’ve been a few stories—whenever one of the thieving rings does something particularly brash,