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

glance down at my arm. “I took a risk with what I was doing for her. I didn’t imagine it would become as dangerous as it did. She certainly didn’t mean to endanger me. And I won’t be doing such work from now on.” At least not for the time being.

“Who did that to you?” Melly asks, her voice shaking. I meet her gaze, and realize it is fury and not shock or worry that has unbalanced her.

I lick dry lips. “You’ve heard of the Black Scholar?”

“Himself or one of his cronies?” Filadon asks, his voice sharp.

“Himself,” I admit.

Filadon leans back in his chair. “You ran into a thief lord on this errand?”

I ran into a couple, actually, in the company of the third one’s man. But I don’t say that; I just nod. “It was a bit of an accident.”

“How did you get away?” Melly asks.

“I, ah . . .”

“Yes?”

“Kneed him,” I admit. “And then I jumped out a window and ran for it.”

“You’re going home,” Melly says flatly. “You should have left this morning.”

“No, I’m not,” I say with a little smile. “I’ll be safe in the palace. But that’s why I won’t be leaving the palace as much. The princess doesn’t want to take a chance on the Black Scholar finding me again.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Filadon says, his tone curt. “Will he know where to look for you?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t give him my real name or much else about me, other than that Baba is a horse rancher.”

“And there are plenty of horse ranchers in Menaiya,” Filadon agrees. “I can’t imagine what the princess was thinking—the Black Scholar.”

“She wasn’t thinking of the Black Scholar at all. I just happened to get mixed up in things a bit.”

Filadon looks unappeased. “I’ll be asking the prince for his own explanation of what happened to you when we meet shortly.”

“As you like,” I tell him as he rises to leave. “But it might be better to just let it go.”

“Oh no,” Filadon says, with a dark grin. “I think it’s about time Kestrin answered for some of this mess.”

He drops a kiss on Melly’s cheek before he departs.

I stay a little longer. I know I need another nap, but I don’t want to leave the comfort of Melly’s home. She steps out for a few minutes to speak with her maid, and I settle a little further into my sofa, glad I’m not on a cushion today. They may feel more like home, but they are harder to get up from.

I do miss home. I miss my family desperately. I miss Niya’s clear gray gaze, and her touches of magic in our food, and the way her hair never quite stays in its braid. I miss Bean’s energy and passion and tendency to pick up strays. I miss both my parents, so different in their ways and yet united in their love. And I miss silly little things: our kitchen table with its worn surface, and the shabby cushions we sit on to eat. That cracked bowl we should have gotten rid of years ago. Muddle with her bright coat and impudent manners.

I run a hand over my waist, over the beautifully embroidered sash I wear, and feel the slight bulk of my story sash tied just below it, hidden beneath my tunic, the ends tucked up. It might be one way to carry my family with me, and after my latest adventures, I’m not leaving it behind anywhere. Just as I have my bone knife strapped to my calf even now. After all, Bren may not be there to find a way to help me should I get into trouble again. It’s wise to be prepared.

I take a deep, steadying breath, but now that I’ve thought of him, all the humiliation and sheer awfulness of our final encounter comes crashing back down on me. I bite my lip, but even that doesn’t keep the tears from welling up.

I’m not going to cry again. I’m not going to cry.

“Rae?” Melly stands in the doorway, her brow creased with worry.

At the sight of her, my eyes start leaking tears again. I blink them away furiously. Haven’t I cried enough?

She crosses to me. “Rae? Is it—has something else happened?”

“No, nothing else,” I say, wiping my nose with my sleeve, which is decidedly not ladylike, and I don’t even care. “It’s nothing.”

She eases down beside me, her gaze flicking from my wounded arm to me again. “If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be crying.”

“It’s just I—I . . .” But how do I tell her when she doesn’t even know Bren exists?

She takes my good hand in hers, her words practical as ever. “Start at the beginning, if you can.”

I sniffle. “I punched someone.” Tears spill down my cheeks. “In the face.”

Melly’s eyes widen, her jaw working but her lips pressed shut. Finally, she says, “Well, you’ve never done that before. I expect they deserved it.”

“No, they didn’t,” I wail. “They—he—saved my life. It’s just that he was laughing at me. And then he laughed more after I punched him.”

“Aha,” Melly says, features brightening. “Who is he?”

“Just a boy—man.” No, he’s far too infuriating to call a man. “Boy,” I repeat.

“A boy-man.” Melly nods, then pauses. “Is he mixed up with these thief lords who are hunting you?”

“Kind of.”

“That’s a yes.”

“Yes,” I echo, sniffing again. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is I punched him, Melly. And he laughed at me. He just—he laughed. And I’ll . . .” I’ll carry that laughter with me the rest of my life. And I’ll never be able to take back that punch. “I didn’t really mean to hurt him. I mean, I did, but not really. I just wanted to stop him because . . .”

“Because laughter hurts,” Melly says, finally understanding. “Oh, Rae.”

Her gentleness breaks through what little strength I’ve managed to shore up, and I bend over, sobbing into my hands. Melly shifts, slipping her arms around me, and my head ends up on her shoulder.

“I don’t want to be like that. To