I look up at the cloudy sky, trying to guess at the position of the sun. It’s still afternoon, so Ronan won’t be home from work yet. But Gannon can find him there; he gave me directions to the law office before, for God’s sake. I have to tell Ronan to run.
The problem, as usual, is that I have no idea where I am. These city streets with their rows of identical brick buildings look even more identical in the snow, when any distinguishing features are buried. I know the sun is in the west, but I’m not sure which direction I need to go.
I make my way to a street corner and squint up at the sign. One of the names sounds familiar, so I pick a direction at random and make my way down it. After two blocks, I’m just as lost as I was before.
Up ahead, a carriage pulls slowly around the corner. Desperate, I flag it down. The driver pulls the horses to a stop. “This carriage is already hired, miss,” she says.
“I just need directions,” I say quickly. “I’m a little lost.”
She peers down at me, not unkindly. “Where are you trying to go?”
“I need Avinoch and Co.,” I say. “The law office.”
The driver nods. “You know what, I’m en route to pick up a client and will be passing right by there. Why don’t I give you a lift?”
“Thanks, but . . . I don’t have any money on me. I can’t pay.”
“No charge,” she says cheerfully. “It’s not out of my way.”
Hardly daring to believe my luck, I thank her profusely and scramble into the carriage.
The going is slow given the weather, and I’m starting to think running really would have been faster. I keep my gaze fixed on the windows, looking for any sign that we’re being followed by the Shadows, but the streets are mostly empty.
Just when I’m about to die of impatience, the carriage slams to a stop. “Avinoch and—” the driver starts to say, but I’m already flinging the door open and stumbling from the carriage.
I race up the slick steps of the building, past confused businesspeople carrying briefcases, and rush into the lobby. My wet boots squeak against the fancy stone floor as I cross the room, approaching the largest desk.
A man jotting something down on a slip of paper looks up at me, frowning. “How may I help you?”
“I need to see Ronan Rosco,” I say. “It’s urgent.”
The man puts down his pen. “What is this regarding?”
“Please. It’s an emergency.”
The man looks me up and down. “I’m afraid Mr. Rosco is out on an errand. You’ll have to wait.”
“It can’t wait!”
“I apologize, but Mr. Rosco isn’t here. You’re welcome to wait in the lobby until he returns, or leave a message with me.”
I can’t wait. Beck can’t wait. “All right. I need to leave him a message,” I say. “A confidential message.”
“I understand,” the man says, passing me a piece of paper, a pen, and an envelope.
I move to the far end of the desk, where the man can’t see what I’m writing, and scribble quickly:
You’re in danger. Leave the office now, but don’t go home. Garil Gannon and other bad people are coming for you. They know where you work and live. Stay hidden.
I’m sorry. I’m going to try to make it right.
Love, Alli
I fold the note up, stuff it into the envelope, and seal it. I write Ronan’s name carefully on the outside, then pass the message to the secretary. “Make sure he gets this immediately,” I say. “I’m not kidding. As soon as he walks in, not a second later.”
“I understand,” the man says again. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t, but I don’t argue. I run back across the lobby, out of the office, and into the snow.
Okay, next step. I need to find Rosalia. Somebody has to warn the king about the ambush the Shadows are planning at the Night Market. Someone needs to tell him about Gannon and about Beck getting captured. The king’s the one who got Beck involved in this mess; surely he’ll help. If not, I’ll make Rosalia help me. We’ll go to the market ourselves, find Beck . . .
But Rosalia and Beck were supposed to meet up to head back to the Guild right about now, and I don’t know when or where. I guess the chapel is my only option. Rosalia might still be there, and if she isn’t, she might show up looking for Beck.
I run up the hill and through the woods in record time, and burst into the chapel only to find it empty. The fire in the grate is out, but the embers are still burning, so she was here recently. I probably just missed her.
I run through every curse word I’ve ever learned as I pace the floor of the chapel. If only I could just go to the Guild for help myself. But it’s high in the mountains, and I’d need a thilastri to take me. If only I’d paid more attention, let Beck tell me about Guild hideouts in the city, then maybe I could find help. Then again, I might run into Shadows instead.
I could try to go to the Night Market, but I’m not sure I can find it on my own, and even if I could, what then? Try to find Beck? Try to find the king? Try to find the coin?
I don’t know what else to do except wait for Rosalia to show up. God, I am so not good at waiting.
I kick the nearest pew in frustration, but all it gets me is a sore foot.
The light filtering through the stained-glass windows has dimmed, and I’m considering lighting another fire to keep warm, when I finally hear a sound outside. It sounds like something moving through the snow—or someone?
I take a few steps down the aisle toward the doors, waiting. It’s times like these when I really wish I’d started carrying a weapon around. Something a little more subtle than a flaming tablecloth would be a good idea.
The door slams open, and my whole body tenses. A shadowy figure stands in the doorway. It steps forward, revealing brown hair and a familiar white coat.
“Rosalia!” I say, rushing forward. “They have—”
Rosalia tries to take another step and collapses, her white coat stained with blood.
Chapter Twenty
I run to Rosalia, coughing at the dust churning in the air. “What happened? Are you okay?”
She lies flat on the ground, one hand pressed to her side. Dark red blood pools between her fingers. She opens her mouth, coughing, trying to speak.
I kneel beside her in the dust. “What is it? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She closes her eyes. “Do I look okay?”
I’m so startled, I almost laugh. “On second thought, maybe I won’t try to save you,” I say, but I’m already unbuttoning her coat, trying to find the source of all the blood.
Rosalia hisses as I move the fabric, her face contorted in pain. “They found me,” she says between gasps. “Shadows. At . . . at the Guild meeting. Cornered me right as I was getting into a carriage to leave and . . .”
I finish the sentence for her. “And stabbed you.” I can see the cut now. A deep gash in her side, oozing blood everywhere. I can’t even see how long or wide it is with all the blood in the way.
If only Beck were here. He probably doesn’t have enough healing magic to save her, but he could do something to help, maybe, if—
I have to push aside the burst of panic. I can’t think about Beck being held by the Shadows right now, can’t wonder if Gannon has hurt him or—or—
No. I need to focus. Make sure Rosalia isn’t going to die first, then get help for Beck.
“Okay, well, let’s stop the bleeding,” I say, trying to sound like I know what I’m doing.
If Rosalia weren’t gasping in pain, I’m pretty sure she’d be rolling her eyes at me. “You’re a medical genius.”
“Or I could just throw you outside in the snow and leave you there. Want to take bets about what would kill you first? I’m thinking blood loss for sure, although getting eaten by a wild animal is a definite possibility. Or freezing to death, but that’s a bit slow, really . . .”
I don’t have anything else on hand, so without thinking about it I take off my scarf and try to wrap it around the wo
und, with little success.
Back when I failed my trial and saved Ariannorah Atherton’s life, I wished at the time that I knew how to make a tourniquet to stop her bleeding. You’d think I would’ve learned by now, but did I? Of course not. Here I am making the same stupid mistakes, trying to save a girl who’s bleeding to death. Because I couldn’t just live a normal life. Because I couldn’t give up thieving. It’s all my own stupid fault.
But I didn’t let Ariannorah Atherton die, and I won’t let Rosalia Peakes die either.
“Okay,” I say, pulling the scarf as tight as possible, “on to the next issue. Let’s get you in front of the fireplace instead of the doorway.”
“Your brilliance knows no bounds.”
“Or you can get mauled to death in the woods by wild animals. Your choice.”
“I thought I was going to bleed to death first?”
“That was before my brilliant bandaging services were in effect. Now I put the odds on wild animals, then blood loss, then turning into a frozen ice cube. Now, if you lean on my shoulder, do you think you can walk over to the fire?”
Rosalia looks skeptical. “You’re so short.”
“Wild animals it is.”
She grunts. “Just help me up already.”
Very carefully, I manage to ease her into a half-sitting position as she wraps one arm around my shoulders, keeping her other hand pressed against her wound. “On three,” I say. “One, two, three!”
I push her to her feet, and she puts almost all of her weight on me, nearly knocking me over. We stumble around for a second before I find my footing, Rosalia’s hand digging into my shoulder. We make slow, agonizing progress down the aisle of the chapel, Rosalia barely dragging herself forward and trying not to cry out in agony.
We make it to the fireplace and collapse in exhaustion. A sheen of sweat dots Rosalia’s forehead. When she can speak again, she says, “I don’t think this scarf is working.” She holds up her hand, showing me the glistening blood on her palm.
I gulp. I’m totally out of my depth here, and we both know it. But I’m going to fake confidence until we figure it out. “Okay, new plan. I’m going to go get some real bandages and first aid supplies. You just . . . wait here by the fire and try not to bleed to death.”
“Rosco.” Something about her voice has changed. Serious, not sarcastic. “You have to warn them. There were Shadow members at that meeting, they know what the king’s planning tonight, it’s going to be an ambush—”
“Yeah, I know. They said as much at the Shadows meeting.”
She reaches for my arm and grips my sleeve tightly. “You have to stop them. They’ll take over the Guild and kill the king, kill anyone who tries to stop them. My brother. Beck . . .” She frowns. “What happened to Beck? He wasn’t at our meeting place, so I had to leave for the Guild without him.”
“Yeah, about that.” I tell her the whole thing, all in a rush—about Gannon and the woman named Leta, the things they said, the way they captured Beck and tried to capture me, Mead’s betrayal, the way they threatened Ronan. “I came here to get your help,” I finish.
Rosalia is wearing an expression I’ve never seen from her before. Her usual determination—the set of her jaw, the glint in her eye—is gone. She looks . . . resigned.
“Go,” she says. “Go to the Night Market. Warn the king. Stop the Shadows.”
“But how do I save Beck?”
“Save the king, and you save Beck.”
“I don’t understand.”
She sighs, grimacing. “They kept him alive. That wasn’t an accident. They’re still planning to use him.”
“Use him how?”
“My guess? Leverage. They may be trying to capture thieves who remain loyal to the king, to use them as bargaining chips.”
“I thought they wanted to kill the king, not bargain with him.”
“They do. But they’ll have to get the rest of Kerick’s men to stand down before they can get close to him. They may threaten Beck’s life, as well as anyone else they’ve captured, to force Kerick to fight alone.”
She pauses, straining for breath. “Maybe Beck will even be at the Night Market and you’ll be able to free him. Maybe not. But it won’t matter if you don’t stop the Shadows, do you understand? If the Shadows take over the Guild, they’ll kill anyone who wasn’t loyal to them. Beck is now at the top of that list. If they win the Guild tonight, you lose any chance of saving him.”
“Okay. I’ll go get you some bandages, and then—”
“No,” she interrupts. “Don’t stop for anything. Just run.”
“Don’t be stupid. I’m not just going to leave you here on the ground to die.”
“Alli—”
“You’ll ruin the flooring,” I say, trying not to think about what it means that she called me Alli for once. “The stains will never come out.”
“Don’t—”
“I’ll stop the Shadows, just like you said. But it’ll only take a minute to bring you a bandage or something. My brother’s got supplies in his apartment. It’s not far.” I don’t mention that I’m not sure if it’s safe to go back to the apartment. Gannon probably knows where we live.
Rosalia sighs. “You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good.”
“Reminds me of someone else I know,” I say. “Someone who really ought to be using her stubbornness to fight impending death instead of arguing with me about it.”
It might be my imagination, but I think she almost smiles. “I was right about you. You’re too good for the Guild.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
She tries to respond, but whatever she was going to say morphs into a moan of pain. She grips her side tightly.
“I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” I say, standing up. “Oh, er, Rosalia? How do I get to the Night Market, exactly? Mead took me there by thilastri before.”
She takes a deep, painful breath before she speaks. “There’s a thilastri in the stables in the Miagnar Gardens,” she says. “He often takes Guild members to the Night Market. Show him the Guild pendant, and he’ll take you there. His stall is painted mauve, with a gray falcon for the crest. The Miagnar Gardens are—”
“I know where they are,” I say quietly. Beck and I were there, during our trial. It was the last place we went before we broke into the Atherton mansion and everything went wrong. “Okay, I’ll find it. Thanks.”
Rosalia exhales sharply. “Hurry. You don’t have much time.”
• • •
I make my way to the apartment in the dying light of dusk, trudging through freshly fallen snow. I don’t have time to cover up my tracks, so I just have to hope the wind does the job for me.
I stop at every corner and peer down every street, looking for shadowy figures, anyone who might be following me, anyone who looks even slightly suspicious. But I don’t see any sign of the Shadows. Hopefully they’re too busy preparing for their big coup tonight to waste any time looking for me or Ronan.
Still, I’m extra cautious as I peek around the last corner, where our apartment building comes into view—
Protectors.
They’re everywhere, covering the sidewalks, their red uniforms bright against the white snow. There must be five or six of them, mostly grouped around our building. The carriages that must have brought them are parked right out front.
Saint Ailara help me. They’ve found out about the Guild somehow, or about the Shadows. They know everything; they’ve come for me—
No. That doesn’t make sense. How would they . . . ?
The note. The one I left at Ronan’s office. Either he got it and decided to call the protectors, or someone else intercepted it and did so themselves. Maybe they’re guarding the apartment, since I said it wasn’t safe . . . or maybe they’re looking for me.
I duck back around the corner, hidden from view. Okay, think. How can I get into the building without them seeing me? There isn’t another way in . . . except the windows. If t
here’s an open window in the back, maybe I could crawl through; I might just fit.
I double back and go up a side street, then turn into the alley behind our building. As I suspected, no protectors back here, because there aren’t any doors and the windows are small. Maybe too small even for me, but I’ve got to try something. I don’t have much time. Scratch that—Rosalia and Beck and the king don’t have much time.
I scan the back of the building, but all the first-floor windows are shut. I’m not sure if I’ll find—
There. A curtain flutters in a second-story window. It’s open. But there’s an obvious problem: It’s on the second floor. Unless I can somehow scale the side of the building, there’s no way up.
Except. There’s a rickety metal fire escape wrapping around the building. It doesn’t actually reach the ground over here, which, again, is why the protectors didn’t even bother watching this side. But it’s lower than the window and easier to reach. If I can just find a way onto the fire escape . . .
I survey the alley. It’s boring and mostly clean, nothing useful. Nothing at all except a few scraps of litter and—
And a set of trash bins.
I grab a round bin, knock it onto its side, and roll it across the alley. I prop it upside down and position it as best I can beneath the fire escape. I’ll just have to hope it’s tall enough. Please, Saint Ailara, please . . .
I scramble on top of the bin and reach upward. As usual, Saint Ailara hates me. I’m too short. But I’m all out of options, so I do the only thing left. I jump.
My fingers scrape the bottom of the fire escape, but I fall back before I can get a grip, and land with a thud on the bin. My ankle rolls painfully underneath me. With my luck, it’s probably sprained. Great.
I want to give up. I want to curl into a ball beside these trash bins and let the protectors find me in this stupid alley—
Allicat.
Beck’s voice is in my head. All the times he called me that. All the times he looked out for me, and trusted me to do the same for him.
I won’t let the Shadows take him.
I steady myself, bend my knees, and jump.
My hands find the rusty metal bars of the fire escape and lock on. I reposition myself, tightening my hold, and reach up, grabbing a higher rung on the side. I repeat the movement with my left hand, then my right hand again. Inch by inch, I creep my way up until I’m clutching the top of the railing. With the last of my strength, I heave my body up and over, and land hard on the other side.
The Shadow Thieves Page 23
