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

I thought we lost you. When I realized you’d left and no one noticed until the following morning—we all just assumed you were with your cousin, and she thought you were with us—anything could have happened to you.”

“I made it back here,” I say, which isn’t the most convincing argument.

Alyrra drops her gaze to my arm. “Twenty-seven stitches,” she says. “Whoever cut you like that was trying to kill you.”

“I know.” Somewhat unwillingly, I add, “It was the Black Scholar.”

She nods. “From the letter I received, I suspected it might be one of the rival thief lords. So it was unrelated to the snatchers?”

“Yes.” Unless the thieving rings are involved—a possibility I’d entertained for a moment at the very beginning of my investigations. It seems quite possible that a man like the Black Scholar could be involved with the snatchers. And now I also know how easy it is to disappear.

“Even so,” the princess goes on, “I won’t forgive myself if you die—or disappear—because of me. Because of this work. Do you understand?”

“I won’t disappear. I’ve never been at risk from the snatchers—they only take able-bodied young women.”

Alyrra eyes me narrowly. “They may make exceptions for those they think are dangerous to them. Are you asking to continue this work?”

I pause, and realize I don’t want to risk my life any further. I don’t want to be attacked, or cut, or held hostage, or treated like a gambling bit. But there is Mama’s letter on my desk, her words still fresh on my mind, her trust in me to do the right thing. But also to be careful.

“I don’t want to quit,” I tell the princess. “I think we’re so close to finding out information that might slip through our grasp if we stop now. I won’t go into the city unless I need to. I wasn’t dressed as a noble while I was gone, and there’s no reason for the Scholar to realize my identity now. If he doesn’t see me again, he can’t possibly recognize me.”

Alyrra is quiet a moment, her expression grim. “I spread about a story that you were unexpectedly called away to help a friend in need. If we can hide the fact that you’re injured, he may not connect who you are. But such men did not get where they are without being clever. He may still figure you out, if word gets out about your wound.”

“There no reason for it to get out.” Even if the Scholar has placed pages and servants here who will carry him the odd tidbit of gossip, I should be able to hide the truth from them. After all, tunics are always long sleeved, warm in the winter, and wide and airy in the summer. Regardless of the weather, my arm will be hidden. No one should ever actually see my wound, as long as I avoid the baths from now on. Easy enough when there’s a bathing room attached to our quarters.

“If you really want to hide your injury, you’ll need to make an appearance tonight at the sweetening. Do you have the strength for that?”

It’s a test, I think. Alyrra sits, poised and ready and a little too still. She’s hoping I’ll insist I need rest and that will mean rumors about my being unwell and more clues for the Scholar—so that I will step back from my work. But I’m not ready to make that decision yet, and I’m not going to let my injury get in the way. I’ve worked through pain before. I can do it again.

“I should be fine for this evening,” I say easily. “I’ll just take a little rest this afternoon.”

Alyrra dips her head. “Very well. Stay safe, Rae.”

“And you, zayyida.”

Alyrra casts me a wry glance and lets herself out.

Chapter

33

I join my cousins for tea in the afternoon, as well as a conversation I’ve been dreading since I returned to the palace this morning.

“Where, exactly, did you go?” Melly asks as soon as the maid leaves. “We both know perfectly well you didn’t hare off to help a city friend of yours.”

“It’s . . .” I glance between the two of them, Melly with her features glowing with health but her mouth pressed into a flat line, and Filadon straight and slim, brows heavy with frustration. “. . . complicated.”

They exchange a glance. “Tell us about it,” she encourages. “Whatever it is, we can help.”

Ah, they think I’m in trouble with the princess. “It’s not like that,” I assure her. “The princess knows what happened better than anyone. She’s the one who shared the story about a friend needing help. And it’s at least true in spirit.”

Filadon sets down his cup. “That was Alyrra? She doesn’t make up stories lightly. What happened?”

I consider my tea, the faint wisp of steam rising from it, and sigh. I expect I can tell my cousins a part of it, given their loyalty to the royal family. But only a part. “The princess asked me to go into the city for her, to find out about a question she had. I ran into some trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Melly asks. Her face has softened, and now her features hold only worry. I peel back my sleeve, exposing the still-healing line of the wound curving up my arm, sealed together by Berrila’s magic. Melly and Filadon stare at it in silence. After a moment, I pull my sleeve down again.

Filadon rubs his eyes. “I don’t understand,” he says. “First the foreign prince, and now this. What is going on, Rae? Attendants don’t get hurt. They—they—” He waves his hands back and forth helplessly. Is he actually flailing? “They attend.”

“I know,” I say consolingly. “The prince—that was Alyrra’s own trouble with her family. You know that as well as I. It could have been any of her attendants; it just happened to be me.” Although that’s not strictly true, because I both failed to call for help and then baited him in order to provide a distraction.

I