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

stand a moment, watching after him, and wonder if I might ride through the city a bit before returning to the palace, get to know it better, perhaps find someone I can speak to about the snatchers who won’t betray me to them. But Moonflower’s mood this morning is especially foul, perhaps because she’s a wet, finicky creature. And I’m not sure it’s wise to trust my questions to a stranger; not after what the shopkeeper told me.

I reach to unwrap Moonflower’s reins from the hitching post.

“That’s a pretty little mare you have,” a voice says from behind me.

I startle, which makes Moonflower throw her head back and snort.

“Really,” I say, turning on Bren. “You didn’t have to sneak up on me to say that.”

He shrugs, setting the folds of his cloak swaying. “Where’s the fun in that?”

I shake my head and murmur consolingly to Moonflower, who does not look at all willing to be assuaged. If only Bean were here; the animals always seem to find her voice calming.

“She’s my cousin’s mare,” I tell Bren, which is more or less true. “Also, she bites.”

He tilts his head to the side. “A good deterrent against horse thieves.”

I give him a warning glare. “Don’t touch my horse.”

“I thought it was your cousin’s.”

“Consider it our horse,” I say firmly. “And don’t touch my purse either.” Though this time I’m not actually carrying it. Instead, I’ve worn the story sash Niya made me, with its stash of coins and my bone knife magically hidden within it. I’d kept the coins for the boy loose in my pocket. Still, Bren ought to know I’m aware of his actions.

He laughs and sweeps me a bow. “I am but a thief at your service, veriana.”

I feel my face heating. “It’s just kelari.” Which, thankfully, can’t be conjugated to have a “my” attached.

“All right, Just Kelari, will you walk with me?”

I look at him sharply. “Where?”

“A ways, actually. Bring your horse and we’ll see it stabled somewhere it won’t bite passersby.”

I can’t help the twitch of my lips. He winks at me and then steps away, as if afraid I might kick him. I almost laugh, and am glad he’s not looking to see. I don’t think he needs any encouragement.

Bren strolls along beside me as we set off, and I try to ignore how handsome he looks with his hair tied back and his face for once neither smug nor smirking nor dangerously observant. I ought to be used to seeing handsome men by now, but the court nobles are all exquisitely groomed and far beyond me. Bren is well-groomed, but there’s a slight roughness to him. He feels like someone I might have met back home. Except he’s not. The way he controlled the conversation Sage and I had with Artemian . . . that’s not something I should forget.

“You’re taking me to see children who have been snatched,” I say quietly.

“A few, yes.”

“Is it safe?”

“For us? Certainly. If you want to keep these boys safe, you won’t ask them any questions.” His glance grazes the bruise on my cheek, a mottled purple, and it’s a testament to how quickly that story spread through the city as well that he does not mention it. He goes on, “In fact, it’s best if you appear somewhat . . . subservient. Meek. I’ll be your pleasantly violent husband, and we are looking to build ourselves a new home beside my parents’ house. Don’t speak if you can help it.”

There’s a hard steadiness to his face that tells me he’s considered these roles carefully, and chosen them to match what he expects to encounter. I dip my head. I’d rather not lie, but between the warnings I’ve heard of the snatchers’ ruthlessness and the fact that Bren can’t very well admit his own identity as a thief, there’s not much choice. “Where is this place?”

“South side. Not our friend’s territory, so best not to mention his name. It’s not that long of a walk, though.”

The south side would be the Black Scholar’s territory, and not a place Red Hawk or his men would be welcome. Interesting, though, that Bren has to leave his own territory to show me what he’s found. One would have thought he could more easily find something to show closer to home, and thereby avoid the risks inherent in trespassing.

I glance askance at him, and he raises his brows at me, eyes gleaming. I don’t like that look—not the mocking amusement, nor the casual intimacy. I turn my gaze ahead again. Better not to encourage him with more questions.

We leave Moonflower at a stable attached to an inn a few blocks away. As we depart, Bren pulls up his hood and indicates I should do the same. “It’s better if folk don’t note our features in passing.”

“Good thing it’s been raining today,” I observe as I tug my hood up. Even if it isn’t raining right now, there are more than a few people who have left their hoods up. We won’t stand out. “How long have you known about this place?”

“Just found it yesterday,” Bren says.

I frown. “It wasn’t raining yesterday. Did you not wear a hood?”

“I stopped by in the evening. It was cool enough to warrant a cloak. Why? Are you worried for me?”

What? “No,” I say, and find myself flushing.

He grins and brushes his shoulder against mine, as if he were my brother. “If you say so.”

I shake my head and keep my mouth shut. I’ll only make it worse if I speak. We complete the rest of our walk in silence.

We stop just outside a brickmaker’s yard. Across from the central building where the kiln burns rises a wide wall of baked bricks many layers thick. Bren rattles the iron gate while I stare over the low boundary wall at the half dozen or so young boys carrying bricks, stacked into piles of six and balanced on their heads. They bring their loads to the wall of finished bricks, passing them up to a boy