opened before me and closed down behind.
The music and merriment swelled as I passed a tarry alleyway, damped quickly as I moved on.
Soft, running steps to my left slowed my feet. I turned slowly as I walked, but glimpsed no movement.
Onward, a little faster. A swish of heavy fabric accompanied a waft of steam bearing the stink of boiling cabbage.
Just as the darker spaces between shacks and sheds grew wider and the path angled upward toward the Elder Wall and the city, my light failed. It didn’t fade or dim, but just . . . stopped. I halted, puzzled. A bound spell shouldn’t need constant infusion of magic to hold.
“Ye’ve paid no toll, masked one.” The calm, low-pitched challenge came from behind—or perhaps my left.
I held still, squinting into the pitchy night. “You acknowledge my mask. You know better than to hinder me.”
“But ’tis the third time this day ye’ve caused a trespass.” He moved as a ghost might, one darker shadow against the rest, ending squarely on the path ahead of me. “Your minions twice and now yourself.”
“Yet you waited to interfere until there was one alone,” I said, chilling my tone as best I could. “Perhaps you imagine the penalties for interfering with a single pureblood are something less than delaying five or four. That’s not at all the case. Step aside.”
“’Tis years since city guards have visited Hirudo Palinur for aught but frighting us. Dangers abound, even for such as you. But I can see to your safe passage.”
“I can protect myself.” My declaration sounded far braver than my jellied sinews told. I didn’t know any magic that could actually hurt a determined fighter. And depleted as I was, I couldn’t even confuse them with an illusion.
“Perhaps so. Perhaps no. But then, you are a wealthy man like all your kind. Is not ease of passage worth sharing a small portion of your treasure with those who’ve so little?”
If I’d had the wherewithal, I’d likely have paid, risking worse extortion the next time I passed. “I carry naught a thief would prize. Certainly nothing worth the trouble he’d reap did he steal it.”
“See, now? There you’re wrong.”
Shadowy movements on every side of me were no fey imaginings.
Magrog’s balls!
I invoked the arché’s spell binding yet again. Why did it refuse to take fire?
“All we wish is a little magic,
Domé
Remeni, one glimpse of Idrium’s glory on our dank verge of Magrog’s realm. Naught to violate the law. Naught to hinder one of the gods’ chosen on his important business.”
Magic? Cicerons were masters at deceit and sleight of hand. Some ordinaries claimed Cicerons could work true magic. History declared that impossible, but tonight I was no better. I couldn’t even spark my own light, which meant the only two defensive magics I knew—void holes beneath their feet and spits of true flame—were wholly out of reach. What did he truly want?
I could tell them that constables were on the way to join me to examine the place the dead girl child had been found. But what if they didn’t believe me? Because what could a constable learn in the deeps of night? This was hugely, stupidly aggravating. Only one thing left . . .
“You lurk in the dark, refusing me a glimpse of your face.” I stepped forward, listening carefully, estimating his position. “How am I to interpret such shyness? I’ve just spent the day with the dead, and would rather not see more of them, and I am so damnably hungry, I could eat this muck in your street. So, if you wish to take the mortal risk of turning out my pockets or snatching my boots, let’s get on with it.”
He laughed then. A hearty chuckle, so rich with life and menace that I felt heat beneath my breastbone. Had I pen and parchment, I could sketch him from the sound alone. Instead, I flung the heavy arché directly at that laugh.
His breathless grunt brought a smile to my face as I darted past him, speeding up the hill with a burst of
The music and merriment swelled as I passed a tarry alleyway, damped quickly as I moved on.
Soft, running steps to my left slowed my feet. I turned slowly as I walked, but glimpsed no movement.
Onward, a little faster. A swish of heavy fabric accompanied a waft of steam bearing the stink of boiling cabbage.
Just as the darker spaces between shacks and sheds grew wider and the path angled upward toward the Elder Wall and the city, my light failed. It didn’t fade or dim, but just . . . stopped. I halted, puzzled. A bound spell shouldn’t need constant infusion of magic to hold.
“Ye’ve paid no toll, masked one.” The calm, low-pitched challenge came from behind—or perhaps my left.
I held still, squinting into the pitchy night. “You acknowledge my mask. You know better than to hinder me.”
“But ’tis the third time this day ye’ve caused a trespass.” He moved as a ghost might, one darker shadow against the rest, ending squarely on the path ahead of me. “Your minions twice and now yourself.”
“Yet you waited to interfere until there was one alone,” I said, chilling my tone as best I could. “Perhaps you imagine the penalties for interfering with a single pureblood are something less than delaying five or four. That’s not at all the case. Step aside.”
“’Tis years since city guards have visited Hirudo Palinur for aught but frighting us. Dangers abound, even for such as you. But I can see to your safe passage.”
“I can protect myself.” My declaration sounded far braver than my jellied sinews told. I didn’t know any magic that could actually hurt a determined fighter. And depleted as I was, I couldn’t even confuse them with an illusion.
“Perhaps so. Perhaps no. But then, you are a wealthy man like all your kind. Is not ease of passage worth sharing a small portion of your treasure with those who’ve so little?”
If I’d had the wherewithal, I’d likely have paid, risking worse extortion the next time I passed. “I carry naught a thief would prize. Certainly nothing worth the trouble he’d reap did he steal it.”
“See, now? There you’re wrong.”
Shadowy movements on every side of me were no fey imaginings.
Magrog’s balls!
I invoked the arché’s spell binding yet again. Why did it refuse to take fire?
“All we wish is a little magic,
Domé
Remeni, one glimpse of Idrium’s glory on our dank verge of Magrog’s realm. Naught to violate the law. Naught to hinder one of the gods’ chosen on his important business.”
Magic? Cicerons were masters at deceit and sleight of hand. Some ordinaries claimed Cicerons could work true magic. History declared that impossible, but tonight I was no better. I couldn’t even spark my own light, which meant the only two defensive magics I knew—void holes beneath their feet and spits of true flame—were wholly out of reach. What did he truly want?
I could tell them that constables were on the way to join me to examine the place the dead girl child had been found. But what if they didn’t believe me? Because what could a constable learn in the deeps of night? This was hugely, stupidly aggravating. Only one thing left . . .
“You lurk in the dark, refusing me a glimpse of your face.” I stepped forward, listening carefully, estimating his position. “How am I to interpret such shyness? I’ve just spent the day with the dead, and would rather not see more of them, and I am so damnably hungry, I could eat this muck in your street. So, if you wish to take the mortal risk of turning out my pockets or snatching my boots, let’s get on with it.”
He laughed then. A hearty chuckle, so rich with life and menace that I felt heat beneath my breastbone. Had I pen and parchment, I could sketch him from the sound alone. Instead, I flung the heavy arché directly at that laugh.
His breathless grunt brought a smile to my face as I darted past him, speeding up the hill with a burst of
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