Thief's Magic

by Trudi Canavan

  The right colour was a dark red, the most subdued hue that Famire owned. The hope was that if anyone was watching Izare’s house and saw Rielle leave, when they saw a woman wearing similar clothes arrive later they’d assume it was also her. It would be better if nobody saw Famire visiting Izare in case they guessed he was painting another scandalous portrait.

  Rielle was half relieved that this meant she would not be present. Famire had always been unpleasant company even when she was in a good mood, and she had expressed nothing but dislike towards Rielle. It was hard to believe that the girl only wanted her portrait done. More likely she wanted to see how far Rielle had fallen in situation and gloat.

  To Rielle’s relief, it had occurred to Izare that Famire might not be being honest with him. He’d asked for half of the painting’s worth in advance. If Famire was truly interested in seeing Rielle’s misfortune for herself then she would find some excuse to leave once she’d had a look around, not stay and pay him the first instalment.

  As it turned out, Rielle had a good excuse to be absent. Sa-Baro had stopped by the house the previous night to let Rielle know that her aunt would be waiting at a juice seller’s shop the next afternoon, if she still wanted to meet her.

  The shop was not far from Izare’s house, at the same group Izare often bought bread from. Rielle approached cautiously, keeping out of sight. The usual collection of seats and tables graced the edges of the little courtyard. She spotted her aunt sitting on a bench built into the side of the juice shop wall. Her insides twisted with guilt, then abruptly loosened again as she saw the woman was not alone.

  Mother. Sa-Baro didn’t say anything about her being here as well.

  Perhaps Mother had discovered Narmah’s plan to meet Rielle and insisted on coming. Perhaps there was something else afoot. As Izare had suggested, Rielle slipped away and approached the shop from another direction, looking for any other people from the dyeworks in the area. She peered into shop windows but saw nobody familiar.

  Skin prickling, she finally took a deep breath, steeled herself and stepped out into the courtyard. Narmah’s frown disappeared as she saw Rielle coming. She leapt to her feet, coming forward with open arms.

  “Ah! My little niece! Are you well?” Grabbing Rielle’s hands, Narmah began a quick examination. “You look different.”

  “It’s the scarf,” Rielle said. “Not mine. How are you, Aunt?”

  Narmah grimaced. “Worried about you.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Everyone’s concerned about you. Even your mother, though she doesn’t like to show it.”

  Rielle looked over Narmah’s shoulder to find her mother sitting stiffly, watching them with an expression of disapproval. Only a small twinge of guilt came at the accusing look her mother gave her. What a terrible daughter I am, she thought. I should care more about the trouble I’ve caused, but I don’t. The dyeworks was the best in the city and would always make money, and in seeking to marry her into one of Fyre’s families her mother had been aiming too high above her station.

  “Come and sit down,” Narmah ordered. Holding onto one of Rielle’s hands, she led her over to a chair placed opposite the bench.

  “Mother,” Rielle said, for the sake of good manners.

  Her mother stared at her, then looked away. “So it was more than having lessons, then.”

  Rielle frowned, then remembered her objection when they’d confronted her about her visits to Izare.

  “It was mostly that,” she replied. “I can see now that I was already in love with Izare, but I had no plans to … to run away.”

  Mother turned to regard her. “Why did you, then?”

  “Because the other choice was worse.”

  “Who told you that? The girls at temple classes?” Mother shook her head. “Another reason I shouldn’t have sent you. They’ve put foolish ideas into your head, no doubt to stop you considering anyone they wanted themselves.”

  “It wasn’t just the temple girls,” Rielle said. “It was obvious at the parties and gatherings I went to that I didn’t belong. And Sa-Baro agreed with me.”

  “Sa-Baro would never—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Narmah interrupted, her tone sterner and more determined than Rielle had heard before. “What’s done is done. What matters now is what we do next.” Mother closed her mouth and nodded. Narmah turned to Rielle. “You’ve made a brave choice, but it need not mean breaking ties with your family. If your parents agreed that you would not have to marry anyone you didn’t like, would you come home?”

  “Perhaps. What if I want to marry Izare?”

  As Mother shook her head, Narmah frowned. “You surely see that you will be poor if you do. What of your children? How will you afford to feed and clothe them?”

  “We’ll manage. He may not be wealthy, but he’s not as poor as you fear. He is healthy and clever and hard-working.” Rielle shrugged. “Like most other people in this city who make and sell things. Besides, even if I was willing to leave him, do you think any man in the families would still consider me?”

  “I doubt it,” her mother said, scowling.

  “Then I may as well marry Izare.”

  Narmah’s shoulders sagged, yet she nodded. “Well, if your mind is made up … maybe I can talk your parents into it. Would you come home until the wedding? If he loves you as much as you love him, he should be willing to wait for you.”

  “What is the point?” Mother muttered. “It won’t save her reputation.” She narrowed her eyes at Rielle. “Are you pregnant yet?”

  Rielle glared back at her mother, the heat of embarrassment followed by anger, then an echo of horror as she remembered the corrupter. “No.”

  “It’d be too soon to know for sure,” Narmah said in a hushed voice, looking around to see who might have overheard before leaning towards her sister. “And what if she was? Would you have the child remain nameless and fatherless?”

  Mother’s expression darkened, but she shook her head. Narmah turned back to Rielle.

  “Will you consider coming home?”

  Rielle looked down at her hands, dry and red from cleaning. She hadn’t minded the work, but it wasn’t earning them money. There were few ways she could help Izare and too many ways in which she was a burden. Her old daydream of introducing Izare to her family, him winning them over and them offering him a place in the dyeworks had long been discarded. Perhaps it could be salvaged.

  “I will consider it.”

  Narmah’s smile was bright, but vanished as Mother abruptly stood up.

  “Well, that hasn’t got us very far,” she said, and with a last disapproving look at Rielle she began to walk away.

  “Wait, we haven’t paid and…” Narmah sighed and shook her head. “She is angry, but she will get over it. Unlike your father, she can’t be angry and practical at the same time.”

  Rielle felt a pang of affection at the determination in her aunt’s expression. “Thank you, Narmah.”

  Her aunt smiled again.

  “I had better go. Take care of yourself.” She touched Rielle’s cheek briefly, then hurried away to pay the juice shop owner and follow Mother.

  The meeting had ended sooner than Rielle had expected. She considered what to do now. Izare didn’t want her to return until Famire had left. Two women wearing red scarves arriving at his home would make it obvious one wasn’t Rielle. She decided to sit down again, order a mug of juice and think over what Narmah had proposed.

  Would her parents let her come home and still marry Izare? What if they changed their minds about Izare after she returned?

  It would be harder for them to, if I was pregnant. Having a child outside of marriage was considered much worse than simply having a lover. Which was silly, because the latter often resulted in the former. Fathers were not required by law to provide for illegitimate offspring, which could be hard for both the children and the mother. She thought of Jonare and her sister, taking it in turns to mind the other’s children so that each could work.
How would they cope if they did not have each other?

  She sipped at the juice. It was sticky-sweet, and she regretted buying it, but she made herself drink it anyway. If I move back to the dyeworks it would be better if I was already pregnant. If I stay with Izare, eventually he will wonder why I haven’t fallen pregnant. Either way, she needed to reverse what the corrupter had done to her. Which meant using magic.

  “Angels forgive me,” she whispered. The last and only time she had used magic, she had been in pain, so shocked and frightened of the corrupter that she had followed the woman’s instructions without protest. What she was contemplating now was deliberate.

  Yet she would be fixing the damage the corrupter had done. Putting things back the way they were supposed to be. Undoing the evil.

  Would the Angels agree with her? Her other choice was to be childless for the rest of her life. While the thought of having a child so soon was a little frightening, she’d rather have one now than never at all.

  Surely the Angels wouldn’t deny her that? Surely they would see that she had intended to help the priests find the corrupter, and paid a terrible price for her failure?

  If they did, they would also see that I haven’t told the priests what I discovered. That I am unwilling to sacrifice myself in order to rid the city of evil.

  Suddenly she was too nauseous to finish the drink. She rose and paid the juice seller, then started walking. With plenty of time to fill, she wandered the streets of the city. Having time on her hands was a situation she rarely encountered. Though her family was wealthy, she’d always had studies or painting to do or they had set her to work helping in the shop. She decided she did not like being idle. It left her too much time to worry. It was time wasted in which she could be earning money.

  Turning a corner, she looked up and froze as she recognised the street she had entered. A man leaned against a wall, strumming a baamn. Nearby, scarves tied to a shop front fluttered in the breeze. She hadn’t meant to return to the courtyard. In fact, she was approaching it from a different direction, which was why she hadn’t realised she was about to. Which meant that …

  Her blood froze. Slowly she turned to her right.

  The alley where the corrupter’s covered cart had waited was empty.

  Relieved, but with heart pounding, Rielle retraced her steps, turning into a side street as soon as she encountered one. As she put more distance between herself and the scene of her tainting she began to breathe a little easier.

  Of course she isn’t there. She probably moves constantly in case one of her customers informs the priests. Or, like me, they came to see her in order to betray her.

  Rielle shook her head. It was yet another way in which her attempt to find the corrupter had been a stupid mistake. The woman had said a tainted shouldn’t return to a place where Stain had been created. They should use magic somewhere unpleasant so people wouldn’t look too closely or stay long. Somewhere dark, because Stain appeared black to those who could see it, though they could sense it in other ways. Somewhere it wasn’t strange for the tainted person to be.

  The only dark and unpleasant place Rielle might plausibly go was the garbage pit in the side alley of the courtyard. It stank, so the neighbours came and went as quickly as possible. Garbage collectors spent the longest time there, shovelling the muck into a cart to be taken out of the city. If Rielle used magic there just after they’d visited, the Stain would have faded by the time they returned.

  It was close to home, however, and she would have to return to it whenever putting out the garbage. If the Stain was noticed, it would draw more suspicion on the artisans living there, reinforcing the prejudices against them.

  But she was part of that community now. If she went elsewhere and her use of magic was discovered, it would still reflect badly on all artisans. To find a place far from her home meant roaming around the city to parts where she was a stranger, and would draw more attention. Better to stay where her presence and movements were so familiar they would be ignored.

  Her feet were now taking her towards Izare’s house. Glancing at the buildings, she estimated by the angle of the sunlight that bathed them that, if she walked slowly, she should not arrive too soon. When she neared the streets leading to the courtyard she spotted one of the neighbourhood’s children. The boy was happy to take a message to Izare and bring one back. She told him to deliver one word: “Now?”

  The boy came racing back to her and panted out the word “Yes!” He took the coin she offered, grinned and ran off. Relieved, Rielle headed for home, wondering as she had many times during the afternoon if the wait had even been necessary. She expected to find that Famire had, after collecting observations about Rielle’s new life to relate to the other temple girls, claimed she did not want her portrait done after all.

  As Rielle pushed through the front door she smelled the familiar scent of oil, strong enough to suggest Izare had been at work on something or simply preparing more paint. A glance in the lower room told her he wasn’t there, so she started up the stairs.

  Emerging into the studio, she looked over to see Izare standing before a new painting. He turned to her, but she did not see his expression as the image before him caught and consumed all of her attention.

  Famire stared back at her, a sly smile puckering her lips. She wore no scarf, and though her clothes were roughly sketched in it was clear by how much skin of her neck and shoulder was visible that her tunic was partly unfastened. Izare waited in silence as she stared at it.

  “It’s horrible, isn’t it?” he finally said.

  She tore her eyes from the painting and looked at him. His smile was rueful, but not from self-doubt. He looks ashamed. I suppose I should be grateful that he’s not trying to pretend otherwise.

  “So she stayed,” was all she could think to say. Stating the obvious.

  He nodded. “And paid half in advance.”

  She turned back to the painting, but found she could no longer look at it. Her eyes slid off it as her mind shied away from the thought of how Famire might have got into that state, and why she looked so smug.

  It doesn’t mean anything happened. It’s only a painting. And we need the money.

  That didn’t make her feel better. What if one of Famire’s conditions had been for him to do more than paint her? Was that the true reason he’d suggested Rielle should leave for the afternoon?

  “How did the meeting go?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Well enough. I’m … I’m going to get something to drink.”

  He said nothing as she walked back downstairs. She heard him moving about as she entered the lower room. The pitcher she’d filled from the fountain that morning was empty. Picking it up, she turned towards the door, then froze as she saw the bucket they collected their garbage in, half filled.

  If I was pregnant, he’d never touch another woman for fear that I’d go back to my parents, and he’d never see his child.

  The thought brought a sour taste to her mouth. Was this all that she was? Was being a vessel for making children all that was valuable about her? She had been, for a short time, a hero when she’d helped the priests capture the last tainted, but that time had been finite and short. She had been a source of inspiration and passion for Izare, but now she was just another mouth to feed. She had dreamed of painting alongside him, but nobody was ever going to commission art from her. Nobody even knew or cared that she was good at it.

  Oh, stop feeling so sorry for yourself. You chose to come here. It must have been hard work for Izare to gain his skills and reputation, and he’s clearly had to do work he doesn’t care for along the way. I will have to do the same, even if that work is raising children.

  If all went well, she would have the support of her family as well. At that thought she almost smiled. Narmah would be very happy to look after little ones while Rielle worked.

  But it will never happen if I don’t fix things.

  Straightening, Rielle put down the pitcher, picked up the bu
cket and headed outside.

  As she neared the alley and garbage pit, fear stirred within her. She held onto her determination. She was glad to find nobody else there and that the pit had been emptied a day or two ago. Most people threw their garbage in from the front so they didn’t have to go far into the alley, though that resulted in a mound that overflowed into the street. Rielle grimaced at the smell, slipped down the side and tossed the contents of the bucket into the back of the hole.

  She looked around. There was nothing to sit on. It wasn’t as dark as she thought, and she began to doubt that Stain would be so hard to notice here. Still, her eyes had probably adjusted to the dim light whereas anyone coming in from the street would be dazzled by the sunlight outside.

  “Angels forgive me,” she breathed. “I only seek to put things back to rights.”

  Moving to the very back of the alley, hoping that nobody would come in, she closed her eyes and thought about what the corrupter had told her. Some nights she had lain awake, worrying that she would forget the instructions and repeating over in her mind what she wasn’t supposed to know.

  “When you see Stain, you don’t see it with your eyes,” the woman had said. “You are sensing it with your mind. What you are sensing is nothing. An absence. It is where magic has been removed. And that means…?”

  It meant that magic was everywhere else. Around her. Inside her. It had taken a tiny shift of awareness to sense the something rather than the nothing. Even remembering that revelation was enough to make Rielle aware of the magic around her now. It was like being aware of sunlight, except instead of the sensation being detected by her skin it was felt by her mind.

  She had only to stretch out and take it.

  What was an even spread of magic became condensed power held by her will. She realised she was shaking, but it was not an effect of holding power. It was fear and panic.

  Get it over with before someone comes along and wonders what you’re doing, she told herself.