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

allowed us entry and brought us here, lamp in hand. But the darkness doesn’t ease now, the inky blackness complete. I wedge myself tighter into the corner, as if there were safety in the stone against my back, my legs folding up to press against my chest—and a strange pressure against my stomach.

My knife.

I unfold myself, press my hand against the comforting line of the cloth-wrapped blade. It’s something. And now that I am sitting forward, I notice the faint weight in my pocket: the archer’s journal. The sentry had not bothered to search me, no doubt assuming that I had been searched upon arrival. I wrap my hand around the little book, fiercely grateful he did not find it. Else the Black Scholar would certainly kill me, ransom or not. One doesn’t steal things from a thief lord.

Not that I can do much about that now. I should have left it in my room, but I forgot, and now is not the time to consider confessing and begging forgiveness. I push myself to my feet, put one hand out against the stone, and follow it around to the bars, working mostly by feel to find the lock.

Carefully extracting my knife, I slide it through the keyhole and wiggle it. But no matter how long I work at it, pinching my fingers and jiggling the knife in every angle I can find, the door remains locked. If I get out of this alive, I’m asking Bren to teach me how to pick locks. Just so I know.

I return to my corner, carefully rewrapping the knife and hiding it once more. It’s a strange blade. For all that I’ve handled it enough to have sliced my fingers open repeatedly tonight, it hasn’t cut me once. I know from experimentation that it is more than sharp enough to cut through flesh—chicken and goat, which is not all that different from human. Fae magic, I suppose. Too bad that magic doesn’t extend to unlocking doors.

I pull away a little from the cold stone walls and close my eyes. I can’t sleep, not properly, but the hour is late and I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I try to clear my mind, let myself drowse, but I jerk upright periodically, fear snapping through me. Each time, there is no one here; if I am to die, it is not quite yet.

Finally, I register the snick of a lock. Irayna shoves the door open at the end of the hall. I jump to my feet, moving forward to squint at her in the sudden light from the doorway. She surveys me with raised eyebrows. She holds a breakfast tray, a faint whiff of steam rising from the bowl of spiced oatmeal.

“I’m impressed,” she says, sliding the tray beneath the bottom bars of the door. They are just high enough to allow the bowl to pass underneath. “I didn’t think you had an escape like that in you.”

“He said he’d kill me,” I observe. “Why wouldn’t I try?”

She shrugs. “Just didn’t think you had it in you. Better hurry’n eat that.”

I take another step forward. “Is there any news? Has Red Hawk sent word?”

“No. Had a messenger in just before dawn, but he wasn’t from Red Hawk,” she says. “The Scholar likes you, though. Can’t say why.” She looks me over, eyeing my rumpled clothes, her gaze lingering on my turned foot in its custom boot. “Anyway, he likes you, so he’ll do it quick. Else he’d make you scream.”

“Oh.”

“He has the musicians play,” she says, clearly relishing the look on my face. “Says it helps him enjoy the moment. And he uses small knives. But with the ones he doesn’t mind, it’s just a quick slash.”

I had thought him cultured. His mind educated, enlightened. Not only does he kill, but he does so with pleasure, painfully. How is it possible to be both a gentleman and a monster?

“What happened to your face, anyway?” Irayna asks when I don’t respond. “Got yourself a nice old bruise there.”

“Accident,” I say, and look down, waiting until Irayna loses interest. There is no way I want the Scholar to connect my bruise to that of the princess’s attendant. Once Irayna departs, I force myself to eat. The oatmeal is freshly made, spiced with cinnamon and sweetened with honey, and on any other day would have made a welcome meal. Today, I can barely make myself swallow each bite. But if I meet with another chance to escape, I’ll need my strength to take full advantage of it.

I am nearly finished when a pair of armed men enter. I set down the bowl and rise to watch them. They unlock the door and step back. “Go on, and no tricks, girl. We’re right behind you.”

I nod and step out. They flank me, escorting me up and through the hallways to a well-sized foyer where the Scholar waits. He is dressed in the same manner as the day before, though his clothes are clearly fresh and well-pressed. He inspects me, one quick glancing review, before saying, “There has been a change. We are going visiting.”

“Visiting?”

He gestures to the door. “If you attempt to escape again, my men have orders to kill you without hesitation. You understand?”

I nod and follow him out the door.

A carriage has pulled up for us, gray in the faint light of dawn. The Scholar and I climb in, while his men take up their stations on posts behind the wheels and up beside the driver.

The curtains are drawn across the windows, leaving us in a shadowy underworld. The Scholar in his black robes seems to fade into the darkness of the cushions opposite me. We lurch forward, rattling on over the cobbles.

“Will you tell me where we are going?” I ask, trying to make out his expression. He seems distracted, detached.

“To see what I can get in trade for you.”

“What!”

“I have received a proposition,” he says slowly, as if he is still considering it himself. “We