Jeweled by Anya Bast Page A

ahead. It’s all right.”
    The tears came like a flood, breaking down the last of the walls she’d built up over so many years, washing away the bitterness and sadness that had forced her to build them in the first place. Her body shook as she sobbed in Anatol’s arms, letting it all go.
    Anatol didn’t say anything. He was only a warm presence at her back, holding her tight as she cried, until all her tears were spent and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
     
     
    Evangeline picked her way down the icy street with a basket of three-day-old bread clutched in one freezing hand. At least it wasn’t four-day-old bread. If it was soaked in a little water, it would be edible.
    The wind whipped at her thin cloak and kissed her skin mercilessly. Hunger had become a constant companion. She dreamed of rivers of beef stew navigated by boats made from loaves of fresh, warm, flaky bread. No amount of this old stuff, which was all they could afford, ever seemed to fill her.
    She remembered all those meals she used to pass up at Belai, afraid she’d ruin her dancer’s figure. She couldn’t believe she’d ever refused food—she never would again. In fact, she would never take anything for granted again—not food, not a warm bed or a cozy, soft coat. Certainly not safety.
    It was amazing how a few weeks of hardship made one see so much clearer. All the petty, stupid things she used to care about—the proper dress to wear to a party, whom to sit next to at dinner for the greatest social advantage—all of it was crushed to dust. It had all disappeared during that first week when she’d seen heads roll, worried for her own head, and all her walls had come tumbling down.
    She no longer lusted for spacious, cold apartments in Belai. Now all she wanted was a warm room, a full belly, and someone she trusted to share it with. That sounded like a fine life to her now, whereas a month ago she would have considered it squalor.
    Was Anatol that person she could trust? Should they aspire to a cozy, warm rented apartment in a poor part of town? Rent cheap enough that they could afford firewood and fresh bread? Food in their cupboards? Warm water from the taps?
    Sounded like heaven to her.
    Trudging past a narrow alley, she heard a low sobbing. Stopping, she went back, straining to hear the soft sound. It was coming from a ways down, near a pile of rubbish at the back of a cookshop’s rear door.
    Normally she would have lingered a moment, waiting to make sure it was safe to step into the concealed area. The alleys of the city of Milzyr were no longer anything anyone could call safe. However she had her magick and her magick could feel the despair coming from the sobbing individual—genuine grief and hopelessness. This was no trap.
    So she secured her grip on her bread basket and stepped into snow that went as high as her calf. Wincing from the cold, she made her way to the huddled shape. It was small, and the sobbing childish.
    Kneeling down, she set her basket on the snow. “Are you all right?” she asked the dirty bundle of fabric.
    The material shifted and a small, feminine face came into view. The girl was perhaps seven or eight. “My parents are dead. I don’t know what to do or where to go.” Her eyes were hollow and haunted. Her speech was educated. A nobleman’s daughter, perhaps. Many of them had been orphaned as a result of the beheadings. The rabble was happy to kill off the parents, but they didn’t know what to do with the offspring. Oftentimes they were turned out into the streets to find their own way.
    Evangeline sighed, glancing away and licking her lips. Sweet Joshui, what could she do for this child? She and Anatol couldn’t even take care of themselves. The girl gazed longingly at the bread basket. Well, at least she could offer that much.
    Evangeline held the basket out to her. “Go ahead.”
    The girl snatched up a piece of bread and tried to stuff the whole thing in her mouth, but it was very hard, of