Sunbolt (The Sunbolt Chronicles) (4 page)

My words come out rough. “If you wanted me to come here, why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because this way I don’t have to argue about it with anyone.”

I want to believe him. I really do. But he’s so good at giving people what they need. He knows what I need to hear: that I’m useful, that he needs me, that he can trust me to be myself and come through for him even when he doesn’t ask it. I’d like to believe I’m that person, but part of me wonders if that person exists at all. I wonder what he tells Rafiki, what he tells every other member of the Shadow League.

Unaccountably, I feel myself on the verge of tears. I stare at the table, blinking slowly to keep them back. “Right,” I say, my voice tight.
 

“Hitomi—”

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. Let’s talk about the Degaths.”

I hear him sigh, the faint creak of his chair as he sits back. “Hitomi.”

I wait, but when he doesn’t continue, I raise my eyes to look at him, start to ask,
What?
 

He’s pulled his hood back.
 

I close my mouth, try not to swallow so I don’t look like a fool. It’s been so long since I’ve actually seen him that I’d forgotten his face. No, not forgotten it, just let it fade in my memory: skin the deep brown of rich earth, dark eyes with just a hint of laughter in them, his nose and mouth perfectly sculpted. His hair forms slightly looser curls than many islanders’, short ringlets that frame his face.
 

He regards me somberly, looking both young and old at the same time, as if his eighteen years were an eternity. I wonder what his real name is. Once upon a time I thought I knew it, thought the name he gave me when we first met was really his. But even then he was learning to hide himself, to remake himself a hundred different ways.

“All right, Tomi? I trust you.”

I nod, still staring.
 

He grins, his teeth flashing white between parted lips. “I can’t be that ugly.”

I clear my throat. “What? Isn’t that why you wear that hood?”

“One of many reasons,” he agrees.
 

“So,” I say, trying to get back on steady ground, “the Degaths?”

“You heard the vote?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll help.”

It isn’t a question, but I answer anyway. “Of course.”
 

“This is dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” I nearly laugh. “I almost got picked up by Blackflame’s men on the way here just for looking like I do. This can’t be any more dangerous than that.”

The Ghost sits straight up. “You what?”

I hold up my hands. “Doesn’t matter. I hid in a crate of coconuts, and here I am, none the worse for a little exercise.” He hardly looks comforted, but I forge on. “Today aside, I know what we might lose. And I won’t let it happen.” Not again, not if I can help it.

“I’m not sure I should let you do this.”

“Why? Because of the stupid guards this morning? They’re irrelevant. I ran from them today. I’ll be running from them next week.” Which is not wholly accurate. I think I’ve only been chased by soldiers twice, and both times they’d had good cause. Rafiki was right when he called me a thief, though I only steal when I run out of the odd jobs that keep me fed.

The Ghost mutters something under his breath, glancing away from me. My brow furrows as I lean forward, trying to catch his words. Did he say something about a promise? That’s impossible. How can he know anything about my Promise? I’ve never let him see my magic workings, have kept everything secret—even my parents’ names. He can’t possibly have guessed …

“What?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intend.

He shakes his head. “Promise me you’ll take no unnecessary risks.”

“Fine,” I say, a little too quickly. It’s not a bad oath, anyhow. Who would want to risk more than necessary? I have no intention of dying to help the Degaths. But I understand that if Blackflame destroys all of his political opposition, Karolene will not escape his grasp without a long and bloody battle. And the Degaths are a family; I don’t want to see that destroyed. I look down at my hands, wondering what drives me more: love for my adopted land or loneliness.

The Ghost nods, standing up. “I’ll get Rafiki and Kenta. We’ll need to plan.”

“Thanks,” I say. As he reaches the door, I add, “I mean that.”

“I know,” he says, pulling his hood back up to shadow his face. “But it’s I who should thank you.”

Suggesting that Rafiki is pleased by my inclusion would be like claiming none of the Eleven Kingdoms ever fought a war. Kenta sits beside me while we discuss different options, doing his best to bait Rafiki with sly comments about open doors and thieves. I try to ignore them both, since I have no intention of making the Ghost regret including me.
 

Our first course of action is simply to alert the Degaths. If they have a contingency plan, then we need not worry. After we spend an hour of discussing what we’ll do if they don’t, the Ghost departs. It’s still the full heat of the day—the markets have closed and everyone has gone home to rest. It’s the best time to visit the Degath residence without drawing notice.
 

I know the Ghost will drop his disguise and take the rooftops part of the way, only donning his cloak again once he’s actually inside the residence walls. Part of me wishes I could run the rooftops with him, but he doesn’t need me tagging along.

Rafiki had provided us with lunch—an unexpected treat the likes of which I haven’t had in a long time. After I polish off my meal and take care of the remaining pineapple, I head out as well. It’s a long walk and the heat has turned muggy, the sea breeze sluggish. In this weather, home isn’t much better than the streets. I share a two-room apartment with eight other women who range in age from my own fifteen years to at least twice that. At four women per room, we have more space than many places I’ve stayed, though the lack of windows makes even pleasant nights stifling.
 

Most of the women are already home and resting on their mats. A few murmur greetings as I pass, lifting their hands briefly. I make my way to where I keep my sleeping mat rolled atop the small wooden crate that holds my few belongings. Despite the fact that the box has neither lock nor properly fitting lid, I have no worries about anything going missing. No one ever touches anyone else’s property here. It’s a strict rule, and breaking it means you’d better find a new place to sleep. So far it’s worked well, though I think we all have our own secret emergency stashes hidden somewhere in the city, or with someone else. Kenta has mine, such as it is: a palm-sized book my father used to jot notes in, a hair comb adorned with pearls that my mother left behind when she disappeared, and a few precious coins.
 

I lay out my sleeping mat and lie down, listening to the soft rustles and occasional snores that permeate the room. It seems like I’ve barely nodded off before the women begin to rise. I remain on my mat, feigning sleep, and they let me be. I don’t want to answer any questions right now. If they notice I breathe too fast for slumber, they don’t let on. My worries are my own. I sometimes feel like they think of me as some sort of exotic mistake. Maybe it’s because I try so hard to fit in, or maybe it’s because my features make it clear I never will.
 

Once the room has emptied, I sit up and rifle through my crate. At the bottom, I’ve folded my thieving clothes: a set of boy’s pants and a faded blue tunic. I change quickly, using a cloth to bind my chest so my figure doesn’t accidentally give me away. A traditional embroidered cap completes the outfit. I’m not sure what we’ll end up doing tonight, but I’d rather not look like myself. There’s not much chance of hiding my fair skin and strange eyes, but at least this way, if people come searching, they’ll be looking for a boy.
 

I check my pockets to make sure I have everything I need and strap a small knife to my leg. Then I head for the door.

“Where you off to, girl? Goin’ ta pick something you shouldn’t?”
 

I pause, turning towards the two women in the outer room. They lounge on their mats, one of them clicking through her prayer beads. They watch me with sharp, hungry eyes.
 

“Bring it home and we won’t say a word,” the second woman says.
 

“I’ll bring you some soldiers,” I promise, making for the door. “I bet they’ll want to hear about that chicken you ‘found’ last week.” They’d been so pleased with their catch, they’d forgotten to save me a piece. I had come home to laughter and a platter scattered with bones. Even if I do manage to thieve something, I won’t be sharing with those two. I head downstairs to the sound of insults and threats being thrown after me. I don’t worry, though. They have as much to lose as I do.

I reach Rafiki’s house before the Ghost. Kenta winks at me as I enter the meeting room, as carefree as ever.
 

“Do you ever worry about anything?” I ask him, dropping into a chair. I eye the table sadly. It has been cleared and no further refreshments have been set out.

“My next bottle of wine,” Kenta says with mock seriousness. “When I’ll meet my heart’s companion.”

I snort. “Aren’t they the same thing?”

Kenta just laughs, glints of gold flickering in the brown of his eyes.
 

When the Ghost arrives a few minutes later, I can tell at once from the focused intensity of his movements, the purpose with which he sits, that the Degaths have no plan at all.
 

“We are going to have to be careful,” he says as Rafiki shuts the door. “And fast.”

“Why didn’t you just bring them with you?” I quip.

“They plan on living, not just surviving,” he says, unamused. “Lord Degath is making a few discreet arrangements for money transfers. His wife is ensuring that their most valuable belongings will not be found.”

“And the kids?” There are three children, though the eldest two are probably older than me.
 

“They know nothing,” the Ghost says. “And they’ll continue knowing nothing until we meet them tonight.”

My job is to rent a carriage and drive it to our agreed meeting place at the edge of the waterfront, near an esplanade frequented by the nobles
.
The walkway and gardens were built to offer the best views of the sunset, unmarred by the docks located farther south, and the fishing dhows that pull up on the open beaches further north. It’s the perfect place for the Degaths to walk out, and to get into an unmarked carriage without eliciting interest.
 

While I get the carriage, Rafiki will arrange a safe place for the family to spend the night. Between the two of them, the Ghost and Kenta will keep a watch on both entrances to the Degaths’ residence. If either sees the approach of soldiers, they’ll evacuate the Degaths as quickly as possible. Hopefully, though, the family will merely leave for an after-dinner outing as planned. Once their carriage departs their house, the Ghost will join Rafiki and me at the waterfront. Kenta will trail the Degath’s carriage in his tanuki form, assuring no one and nothing else follows.
 

Once they take their walk and transfer to our carriage, we’ll transport them to a place for the night. Come morning, the Degaths will depart on one of the fishing dhows—the last thing Blackflame will expect. The sultan’s soldiers are sure to freeze all activity at the docks serving the shipping merchants and passenger boats once they realize their prey has escaped. But the dhows are only used by local fishermen. Many are merely pulled up on the beaches once they return from their night fishing. Not only is a noble family unlikely to arrange passage on a dhow, but monitoring the dhows is near impossible.
 

“The best plans are the simplest,” the Ghost says.
 

I try not to consider all that might go wrong. We’ve accounted for various contingencies, but the most ominous possibility is that Blackflame won’t wait for full night to arrest the Degaths. Part of me wishes that the Ghost
had
simply collected the family when he saw them earlier, planning for their future be damned. But the Ghost seems certain that we’ll have enough time to implement our strategy.