by Kaylin Lee
A chill went through me. “And you used money set aside for the tax to pay for my healing.”
Zel nodded once. “Yes.”
I swayed and grabbed the counter for support. Our annual merchant tax cost hundreds of marks. We saved all year to be able to pay it. Without that savings, there was no way we would be able to pay our tax. If we didn’t pay the tax, the Merchant Quarter had every right to kick us out of the bakery and suspend our business license.
Our livelihood—the safe oasis for Zel and her daughters—was in jeopardy because of me. And we’d be lucky if we found a spot in the Common Quarter. Most likely, we’d end up in one of the rickety tenements in the River Quarter. Zel and the girls wouldn’t last a day before the trackers found them. “Why did you do that? What were you thinking? You’re going to lose everything. After all that I’ve done to keep you safe, how could you risk it all for me?”
Zel grabbed me by the shoulders, her beautiful face more serious than I had ever seen it. “You matter to us.” She looked me unwaveringly in the eye. “You matter. We couldn’t have let you die, not when the healers had the power to save your life and we had the money to pay for it.” She let go but didn’t step away. If anything, she looked even more fierce. “I have no regrets. And neither do the girls. It was the right decision. And I know you would've done the same for any of us.”
I couldn't argue with that. But still—I had given so much to keep them safe, and now they had risked it all to save my life? It didn't feel right.
I straightened. “Well, we'll just have to get the money somehow.”
She took my hands in hers. “We’ll be fine, Ella. We’re going to find the money, and I don't want you to worry about it. We’ll have more bakery orders with the prince’s selection ball in a couple of weeks. So just hold on until then. Everything is going to work out.”
I squeezed Zel’s hands and forced a hopeful expression onto my face to match hers. I wanted to believe that things would work out. I did. But honestly, what chance did we have? We were two steps away from disaster, and with a secret like ours, we wouldn't last much longer. “Fine, Zel. You win. I'll hope for the best.”
Once Zel left the kitchen, I got back to making breakfast. As I put the last dish on the tray, I glanced around the room. The scrap of red fabric was gone. Had I imagined it? Was I going beyond mere paranoia, imagining that someone had physically been in the room beside me? Zel had to think I was going crazy.
Maybe I was. I was terrified all the time. I didn't know what to think. How would I ever feel safe again? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the nightmare man with the face of blood. Who was he? A construct of my imagination? A response to learning the Blight was likely behind the attack? A product of my head injury? Had my mind not yet fully healed? The questions made me jittery and unsure. How was I supposed to live like this?
Weslan didn't come back for breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. Perhaps I’d antagonized him enough that he was willing to abandon us. But would he betray us?
After all, mages in Asylia were opportunistic to their core. They might be forced into service, but they had no problem living like parasites off the Procus families, exploiting their magical powers for gain and wasting their lives on absurd luxuries. Who knew where Weslan had gone, or what he would do when he decided to cross us?
Late that night, I woke with a start to the sound of someone fumbling around in the kitchen. I tensed. There was a crash. Weslan started swearing, his words slurred.
Drunk. I sniffed and I rolled over to face the wall, fuming silently. Even if he didn't spill our secret intentionally, he was out of control. You couldn’t trust someone like that with anything. Too late. Zel had already told him. We would just have to wait and see.
~
The next morning, Zel woke me with a gentle shake that I pretended didn't scare me as much as it did. I sat up in bed, and she pressed a small cloth bundle into my hand.
“What's this?”
“A little something for the market,” she said. “I did some harvesting in the garden. Some of the herbs were ready sooner than I expected. That should bring you more than enough to buy fuel until the next rations day.”
I held the bag gingerly to avoid crushing the precious herbs inside. “Thank you so much, Zel. I don't know what we would do without you.”
Zel pulled me into her arms and held me close. “I told you that everything is going to be fine. You just need to trust me.”
I wrapped a thin cardigan over my old work dress and rushed out the door to the market, even though the sun had yet to rise. I wanted to get there and back in time to cook a real breakfast, something to make up for yesterday’s sad fare.
The vendors who had been waiting months for Zel’s next harvest were happy to exchange marks for Zel’s herbs. I took the marks to the other side of the market and purchased more cinderslick, grinning when I had enough left over to purchase a dozen eggs and a pound of smoked bacon.
I clutched the precious packages to my chest as I hurried out of the market. Today was going to be a good day. I sped down a narrow alley. It was hidden from the rising sun, dark and cold, and no luminous street lamps lit the way.
Halfway through the alley, a noise behind me startled me. I whirled around, nearly dropping the packages, to see if anyone had followed me. A man stepped from the shadows. Was it … him? The man of blood? Was he real?
“Hello there, Miss Ella,” a gruff voice said softly.
A shiver went down my spine. Inspector Cyrus. Not the man from my nightmares, but not a good man to run into all the same. We were the only two people in the alleyway. There was no way he would believe I hadn’t heard him.
I dropped into a small curtsey. “Hello, sir. Good to see you. I was just heading home with our market supplies.”
“You're here early this morning,” he said, edging closer to me.
“Yes. We were out of a few things and I just had to run in to pick them up.” I was blathering like an idiot. “I'll be going now. Have to get started on breakfast.”
I turned to go, and my stomach sank when he gripped my upper arm. “Hold on now. We have a matter to discuss.”
I looked up at him, pretending innocence.
His bloodshot eyes looked straight into mine. “Not sure if you realize this, but your stepmother is late in paying her merchant tax this year. As a child, you may not realize how important taxes are to the running of the city. But if she doesn’t pay the tax this year, you'll find yourselves without a bakery very soon.”
I feigned ignorance. “Oh, I hadn’t realized. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding. I'll just run home and tell my stepmother immediately.”
I tried to pull out of his grip, but he tightened his grip. “You know, I've been wondering something. Maybe you can help me.” His voice dropped to a lower register. “I never see your stepmother around. She came to a few of the required meetings for the Merchant Quarter, but it's been years since I've seen her at one. Is she some sort of recluse?”
It took all my self-control to keep from cringing. I didn't know what to say. It was not a good sign that he had been paying enough attention to notice. Most people thought she was lazy, sitting around at home and making me run the errands and handle the bakery. I averted my eyes and made a noncommittal noise.
“I've heard the stories, of course,” he said, stroking my arm with his thumb while maintaining his grip on my arm. “I know she doesn't treat you well. And I worry about you.”
What a rat. I’d just bet he did.
The corners of his mouth curled upward in an oily smile. “But I wonder if there may be more going on than a simple cruel stepmother.”
“What stories, sir? Zel is a wonderful stepmother. We are all very happy.” My stomach began to twist and tumble. What would he do if I lost last night’s dinner right here on his shoes?
“I think there's something else going on,” he said, eyes glinting. “Something you don’t want the Quarter Guard and the trackers to know about. And i
f you don’t pay your tax, I’ll have no choice but to tell them to investigate your bakery.”
I tried to keep my face blank, but his smile broadened. He knew he was on to something.
“Don’t worry, Miss Ella. There’s another option.” He towered over me as he pressed his body up against mine. I began to shake. When he slid his other hand down to my hip, my mind went blank with fear. “You offer me something now, and I'll look the other way for a while until you get your taxes in. I'll forget about contacting the trackers … for now. You and your family can live in peace. What do you say? Have we got a deal?”
Chapter 6
I couldn’t tear my eyes from Inspector Cyrus’s gloating expression. My heart pounded at a furious pace, and my breath came in desperate gasps. I was at his mercy here in this dark alley. Just like when the Blight—
No! Not this time. I had to get away.
In one quick motion, I shot my knee up to his crotch, and he doubled over, cursing as he loosened his grip on my arm. I yanked my arm from his grasp and ran. He sputtered and cursed me as I rounded the corner and sprinted toward home.
I flung open the door of the bakery, slammed it behind me, locked it, and rushed into the kitchen. Zel was there. I dropped my bundles on the counter and flung myself into her arms.
“Zel!” My voice broke, and then all I could do was sob.
“What's happened? Please, talk to me!”
I told her what Inspector Cyrus had said about the taxes.
Zel stared off into space for a moment, a cold, blank look on her normally warm face. Then she flinched and her smile returned. “It's fine,” she said. “Everything will work out.”
“You don't understand.” I looked over my shoulder at the door. Would he come in after me? “He threatened me too.”
“He did what?” Zel’s expression went from calm to utterly furious in an instant. She balled her fists. “What did he do?”
I told her about the way he had held me still and about his proposition.
“What happened next?” An eerie, icy calm coated her voice.
For the first time in years, I remembered that Zel was dangerous, terribly so. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down, for her sake, if not my own. “I ran away.” Something scuffed behind me, and I spun around. Weslan stood in the corner of the kitchen, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Had he been there the whole time?
“Did the inspector follow you?” Zel asked.
Weslan glanced at the shop door.
“I don't know,” I said. They probably thought I could be arrested. Technically, I had disobeyed a government official when I fled. I’d even assaulted him. It would be my word against his if he decided to arrest me. I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off a sudden chill. I had never felt so helpless. Two weeks ago, I had been a top student at the Royal Academy with a promising future in government. Now, here I was, little more than a kitchen girl. Nobody would take my side against even a low-ranking, sleazy official like Cyrus.
Anger ripped through me then, replacing the fear with hatred. “I didn't hear any footsteps behind me. I suppose if he were planning to come here, I would have been arrested by now.”
Zel and Weslan exchanged looks, but I couldn't tell what they were thinking. Then Zel looked down at her dress and smoothed her hands over it. “I'll go to him,” she said, once again with that icy, terrifying calm in her voice. “I'll speak to him, and he'll see that we have nothing to hide.”
“What? No, Zel! You can't leave here. What if he's already contacted trackers?”
She shook her head resolutely. “He hasn't. It's too early, and I know men like him. He's lazy. He only cornered you because he thought you were easy prey. Because everyone thinks you’re easy prey. Because of the rumors we've intentionally circulated about your status in this home.” Zel looked at me. “Those rumors used to protect us, and I'm grateful for all the sacrifices you’ve made to keep us safe. But if those rumors are endangering you, we must put them to rest. We must make it clear that no one may threaten you and get away with it. It’s the only way.”
I bit my lip. What if a tracker happened to come across Zel while she was out? Or what if they came across her trail a few days later? “What if you’re caught?”
No one but the trackers themselves knew for sure how it worked, but I’d heard rumors that some of the best trackers could still pick up a mage’s trace days or even a full week later, and that they would know immediately what kind of mage she was.
Trackers were only slightly absorbent mages. They should have been nearly useless, but instead, the Mage Academy trained them to hone their minute absorbent power to the slightest sensitivity and used them to police other mages. And if they found Zel’s trace again, her trail would lead them straight to the bakery, where she’d been hiding for the past thirteen years.
Zel interrupted my spiraling thoughts. “If I’m caught, they’ll know that I have the Touch, and we will deal with whatever results.”
I jumped at her plain statement. We'd been hiding it for so long, the clear words pricked at my ears in the quiet kitchen. I couldn’t help looking at Weslan, who appeared grave-faced but not at all surprised.
Zel took one step backward, away from me and toward the door. “I'm grateful for all that you've given up for us, to hide us, to protect us. Your father would be proud of you. You will always be as dear to me as my own daughters.” She reached up and flicked her long braid over her shoulder, then smoothed her skirt. “But now you need to let me protect you.” With that, she left the kitchen and slipped out of the bakery’s front door.
~
“Zel will be fine, Ella,” Weslan said.
“How do you know? And why do you care, anyway?” Without meaning to, I touched the scar on my face, but when I realized what I was doing, I grabbed the package of bacon and a skillet off the rack above the stove. At least if I was busy cooking, I wouldn’t have to look his way.
“I’m just telling you not to worry.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not worried.”
“Well, that’s good, then.” Was he smiling? A chair scraped behind me, and it creaked as he settled into it.
Go away. But I didn’t say the words aloud. “If you’re going to stay, find something useful to do.” I sounded shrill, but his silence unnerved me. “What are you waiting for?”
“Maybe I like the view.”
Unbelievable! Did he dare to mock my discomfort? My fingers itched to stick the meat fork right in his mighty arrogance and watch him deflate. Instead, I kept my back to him.
“What did Zel mean about your father and her daughters? Aren’t they your half sisters?”
Despite myself, I answered the question. “They are my stepsisters … sort of. Zel was pregnant with them when she moved in. We are not related by blood. And the truth is, Zel was never actually together with my father. The plague took him not long after she sought shelter with us, and it was easier just to pretend she was my stepmother.”
The meat sizzled, and its aroma sent me back to my childhood. I was five years old when Zel came to us. She was the most powerful absorbent mage alive, carrying a negative imbalance of magic so strong it was simply called the Touch. With the slightest brush of her little finger, she could drain the life of a grown man before he had a chance to scream. She was only nineteen years old when she found refuge in our bakery, yet she was already a murderer, an assassin, and a fugitive. But to me, she was just Zel.
I remembered snippets of that time, vivid even after the passage of thirteen years. My father rubbing his fingers over his eyes and crumpling a note in his hand. The sound of my slippers padding on the stairs as I ran upstairs to hide. And the young woman slipping inside, covered in dust and clothed in rags, her face gaunt and her belly oddly swollen.
I peeked from the top of the stairs as she stood inside the bakery door, speaking in hushed tones with my father. She looked strange to me and terribly poor. No one in Asylia ever looked like that, I was cer
tain, but Zel had come from Draicia via the Badlands.
She spent the first night on a pallet in the kitchen, keeping warm beside the oven. And in the morning, my father put her to work in the bakery. She was weak and tired and couldn’t do much more than put the loaves of bread in the oven and take them out. But he was kind and gentle with her. He made sure she ate enough and found her clean clothes from my mother’s old wardrobe.
When I first saw Zel, scrubbed clean and wearing a soft blue dress of my mother’s, I cried with joy. I ran to her and hugged her tight, pressing my face into the side of her pregnant belly. Zel thought I believed she was my mother, returned to me from the grave. But I somehow knew Zel would be my new mother.
Three months later the plague arrived in a contaminated shipment of imports from the West and the city walls were sealed to prevent its spread, opening for nothing but the daily export of bodies. My father was one of the plague’s first victims.
I curled up in Zel’s bed, making room for her belly, which seemed to have stretched impossibly large. “Are you my mother now?” I asked her. I was having trouble understanding what it meant that my father had gone away forever.
“No,” she said. “But I can be your stepmother.”
I kept quiet, annoyed at her refusal, turning ideas over in my young mind. “But I’ll love you like a mother,” I finally said.
She stayed silent for a long time before she murmured the quiet words that sealed our fate. “That’s fine, Ella. I’ll … I’ll love you too.”
The bacon finished cooking, and I speared the pieces onto a plate. Weslan scraped his chair back, and walked past me to lift more plates from the shelf. He caught me watching, but he didn’t ask any more questions.
~
We had finished cooking breakfast when Zel entered the room. “It’s done,” she said.
A chill went over me at her calm voice. I wondered if I was catching a glimpse of the old Zel. What did she mean, it was done?
“I spoke to him, that’s all,” she said with a sad smile, as though guessing my thoughts. “I informed him that we would be happy to offer an additional fee because of any inconvenience our late payment has caused. I promised we’d pay after the selection ball. We should have more orders that week, and if not, that gives us enough time to sell a few more things and put the funds together.”
