find out more about this Brotherhood and the significance of the ancient weapons - he had a feeling they were important. If possible, he would use them to cement his grip on the throne. With enough information, he could use this story to back his son Beldyn’s claim to the throne. But if the group still existed and got in his way, he would need to destroy them.
Brenna rubbed the grit from her eyes. Brothers, but she’d slept poorly. It was early, at least for her, though she could hear the sounds of the Quarter’s morning commerce outside her window - carts making the first deliveries of the day, shopkeepers greeting each other, shutters banging open against the sides of buildings. Usually she slept straight through these sounds, but not today. She’d gone to bed unusually early last night and as a result had woken up early.
Brenna had long been one of the night folk of Thieves’ Quarter, sleeping until well into the afternoon in order to be rested in the small hours of the night. Thieving was best done under cover of darkness, of course, and her busiest times as a healer were also during the evening hours. People left alone with their illnesses and thoughts seemed to worsen when the sun went down. But now she needed to stay close to home, and with no requests for her healing skills last night, she’d simply scrounged a cold supper and gone to bed early.
She pulled on her cleanest breeches and shirt and quickly gathered up her dirty laundry. At least she could get her clothes washed early. She’d need to be careful, but really, who would expect her to be up and out at this hour?
Brenna twisted the breeches to wring the last bit of moisture from them. She’d been lucky. She’d arrived at Tork’s laundry just as Mistress Tork had pulled open the shutters. As soon as the woman had settled into her sturdy chair by the front door, it seemed as if the whole Quarter had descended on them. But Brenna had been first inside and had been able to secure one of the big washbasins. Now she was in the process of wringing out her clothes before she took them back to her rooms to hang.
Mistress Tork had lines strung up behind her shop for drying, but Brenna wasn’t going to chance using them. One time she’d hung her laundry and then left to pursue other chores. She’d returned to find that her clothing had been trampled into the ground and required another wash. What was still there, of course. Her best shirt had mysteriously disappeared. As in all things in Thieves’ Quarter, even the simple act of doing laundry had risks.
Brenna flattened the breeches on top of the rest of her damp clothes and scooped them into her arms. She trudged past the lines of customers waiting to use the washbasins and squeezed between two stout women carrying heaps of bed linens. Brenna glanced up and looked directly into the brown eyes of a young woman. The young woman’s face paled and her eyes went glassy and lifeless. Startled, Brenna stopped.
“Are you all right Mistress?” Impossibly blue lips formed the words.
“I, uh …” Brenna groped for words as she tried to understand what was happening. Had a dead woman just spoken to her? But she’d been the picture of health just a moment ago.
“Keep moving,” someone said and Brenna felt a push from behind. She blinked. Now the young woman’s face glowed with health.
“Do I know you?” Brenna asked, terrified that the woman’s face would change again - that she’d be looking once more at a death mask, pale and lifeless.
“No, I don’t believe so.” The reply was soft and hesitant.
To Brenna’s surprise the woman dipped her head in a bow. Near her own age, her long brown hair was pulled back with a string. She lifted her head and looked at Brenna with worried eyes.
“I’ve just arrived in town. I’m hoping to get the worst of my travels out of my clothing.”
Brenna was shoved from behind and then she was past the young woman. She craned her neck and
Brenna rubbed the grit from her eyes. Brothers, but she’d slept poorly. It was early, at least for her, though she could hear the sounds of the Quarter’s morning commerce outside her window - carts making the first deliveries of the day, shopkeepers greeting each other, shutters banging open against the sides of buildings. Usually she slept straight through these sounds, but not today. She’d gone to bed unusually early last night and as a result had woken up early.
Brenna had long been one of the night folk of Thieves’ Quarter, sleeping until well into the afternoon in order to be rested in the small hours of the night. Thieving was best done under cover of darkness, of course, and her busiest times as a healer were also during the evening hours. People left alone with their illnesses and thoughts seemed to worsen when the sun went down. But now she needed to stay close to home, and with no requests for her healing skills last night, she’d simply scrounged a cold supper and gone to bed early.
She pulled on her cleanest breeches and shirt and quickly gathered up her dirty laundry. At least she could get her clothes washed early. She’d need to be careful, but really, who would expect her to be up and out at this hour?
Brenna twisted the breeches to wring the last bit of moisture from them. She’d been lucky. She’d arrived at Tork’s laundry just as Mistress Tork had pulled open the shutters. As soon as the woman had settled into her sturdy chair by the front door, it seemed as if the whole Quarter had descended on them. But Brenna had been first inside and had been able to secure one of the big washbasins. Now she was in the process of wringing out her clothes before she took them back to her rooms to hang.
Mistress Tork had lines strung up behind her shop for drying, but Brenna wasn’t going to chance using them. One time she’d hung her laundry and then left to pursue other chores. She’d returned to find that her clothing had been trampled into the ground and required another wash. What was still there, of course. Her best shirt had mysteriously disappeared. As in all things in Thieves’ Quarter, even the simple act of doing laundry had risks.
Brenna flattened the breeches on top of the rest of her damp clothes and scooped them into her arms. She trudged past the lines of customers waiting to use the washbasins and squeezed between two stout women carrying heaps of bed linens. Brenna glanced up and looked directly into the brown eyes of a young woman. The young woman’s face paled and her eyes went glassy and lifeless. Startled, Brenna stopped.
“Are you all right Mistress?” Impossibly blue lips formed the words.
“I, uh …” Brenna groped for words as she tried to understand what was happening. Had a dead woman just spoken to her? But she’d been the picture of health just a moment ago.
“Keep moving,” someone said and Brenna felt a push from behind. She blinked. Now the young woman’s face glowed with health.
“Do I know you?” Brenna asked, terrified that the woman’s face would change again - that she’d be looking once more at a death mask, pale and lifeless.
“No, I don’t believe so.” The reply was soft and hesitant.
To Brenna’s surprise the woman dipped her head in a bow. Near her own age, her long brown hair was pulled back with a string. She lifted her head and looked at Brenna with worried eyes.
“I’ve just arrived in town. I’m hoping to get the worst of my travels out of my clothing.”
Brenna was shoved from behind and then she was past the young woman. She craned her neck and
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