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

rather enjoyed watching you do it. Unfortunately for him, no one believes his story, at least not in my hearing.”

I scrub the smile from my lips, because I can’t just laugh this off. “Bren. Would it have been all right if I angered you and you punched me instead?”

“No.” His voice is suddenly hard, brooking no argument.

“Then why is it fine if I punch you?”

He looks at me, and the silence spreads out between us until I feel like I’m drowning.

“You see,” I say, my voice hoarse in my throat.

“No,” he says again. “Rae, there are certainly times when a woman punching a man is an irredeemable act of violence. When she is stronger, or more vicious, and she uses her actions to abuse him. But that wasn’t what happened.”

“I wanted to hurt you.” There it is, the truth I can’t hide from.

Bren rubs a hand over his hair, grasping the back of his head for a moment, and then says, “I like to push people. I especially like to push you, Rae. Because you’re clever and you push back. And I was glad to see you that morning, looking your usual prickly self, and so I pushed you more than I should have. Artemian told me you wept half the way back to the palace.”

I look away, toward a dawn that seems like it will never arrive. Is this why Bren came? Because he found out how I fell apart? “He shouldn’t have told you that.” My voice is small, shaky.

“In a fight between you and me,” Bren says with inexorable calm, “I would always win. We both know that. So your hitting me—it’s a sign of trust, in its way, that you could lash out and know that I wouldn’t hurt you back. It wasn’t abuse.”

“You’re right. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me back.” It hadn’t even occurred to me. “That doesn’t change the fact that I wanted to hurt you.”

“And you’d do it again?”

“No.”

“Then it is not all that you are, and it doesn’t have to define you. It’s something you did, which you regret. It is not actually you.”

I look at him, his words clicking together in my mind: that this is the difference between me and the foreign prince, for his is a practiced violence, and mine was a single act, regretted. That I am not the same as him, for all that I was willing to let my anger ride me as it does him. I am and can and will be different; I do not have to let this break me. I nod, a jerky, stiff motion. It is all I can manage.

Bren exhales softly. He leans forward, reaching across the blanket to pick up my half-eaten chicken tasty and offer it to me. “Here. Please eat.”

I take it, looking down at it, then back up at him. It is a peace offering in every sense, and I want this so much, the forgiveness, the calm, the quiet between us. “Thank you.”

He nods and leans back against the wall, his eyes turning to the brightening horizon. With one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee and his arm draped over it, he seems completely at rest. Always before, there was a readiness to his stance; now, even though he likely could leap to his feet if need be, he seems at ease.

I eat slowly, sip my mint tea as the details of the night world slowly gain clarity. It’s a gentle quiet that surrounds us, the world coming awake with the sounds of birdsong and city bustle, still somewhat distant from the palace. There’s something wonderful in the simplicity of the moment. I wish I could hold on to it forever.

Eventually, though, the dawn grows brighter and the details of the world come into focus. “How are the boys?” I ask softly. “Are they all on their way home now?”

He nods, his body shifting into that loose readiness I’ve come to recognize. “All but one, the eldest. He says he’s an orphan and won’t go to what family he has left. They were particularly unkind, it seems.”

“Then . . . what will he do?”

Bren shrugs casually. “I’ve found him a place. He’ll be fine.”

That does not sound half as comforting as Bren may want me to think. “What sort of place?” I ask suspiciously.

“He’ll be a servant, that’s all. What did you think?”

“A servant like the page who works here?” I ask. “You mean he’s one of Red Hawk’s boys now?”

“And if he is?” Bren demands. “He’s safe, and fed, and free to leave. Can you do better?”

I grimace. I can’t, especially not now that he’s already in Red Hawk’s fold—having Melly hire him would only put my cousins at risk. “Being allied with thieves is hardly safe,” I say finally.

“It’s the best I could manage,” Bren says.

I look away. He’s a thief; why would I expect him to keep this boy from the life he himself has chosen? I can’t, and it’s my own fault for not questioning him more thoroughly to begin with. I clear my throat. “You said you needed to talk to me about something.”

A pause and then Bren says, “What are the princess’s plans for handling what you’ve learned?”

“She has involved Zayyid Kestrin and Verin Garrin. They’re unsure about the Circle’s involvement in the Darkness.”

“They are involved though, aren’t they?”

“It’s hard to say.” I let out a slow breath. I can’t tell Bren everything, even if he knows most of it.

“Because you need a mage to tell you, and they’re all part of the Circle.” Bren smirks. “Also, because the royals want to keep the Circle happy.”

I glance askance at him.

“Politics,” Bren says with a hint of contempt.

He doesn’t know the half of it. “I was able to use the stories the boys told us and the possible connection to the Circle to do some research,” I tell him, and explain what Kirrana and I learned. “It’s not evidence of anything, really,” I admit. “Just an indication that something