Thief’s Magic (16 page)

He dragged her on, his grip never loosening. Gritting her teeth, she silently drew up all the curses her cousin had taught her. The mildest had earned her a good slap from her mother once when she’d tried them out for herself, wrongly believing she was alone. Speaking them in her mind somehow made her feel steadier, the terror that had weakened her receding to a simmering fear.

To her surprise, he began to drag her along populated streets. The people they passed were either indifferent or showed an interest that reminded her of some of her parents’ clients – all calculation and greed. The walls were painted, but the colour was cracked and coming off in flakes. Shutters hung crookedly from window frames. A smell almost as bad as the mingled odour of the dye pits permeated everything. Fragrant smoke from burners did not mask it.

I’m in the poor quarter
, she realised, simultaneously amazed and dismayed that they had come so far.
Surely the priests are far away.

Yet the man did not relax. He kept to the quieter streets, still checking before turning corners or emerging into crossroads. This had begun to feel needlessly obsessive to her when he suddenly backed away from an intersection and, casting about, stepped into the alcove of a doorway. He yanked the scarf from her head and turned her so she faced outward, taking hold of the waistband of her skirt to prevent her from fleeing.

Something sharp pressed against her ribs and she froze.

“Stay still. Say nothing. Draw no attention to yourself.”

She stood as still as she could. Glancing back down the street, she realised the women they’d passed, hovering in every third or fourth doorway, were not wearing scarves either. They were dressed in fabric so thin that the brown of their skin was visible through the undyed cloth. A man leaned against the wall further down the street, talking to one of them.

A figure stepped into the space where the roads crossed and her abductor’s grip tightened. The priest looked out of place in his blue robes. She didn’t know this one. He was taller and older than Sa-Gest and his robe colour indicated a higher rank. As he looked down the alley his gaze flickered over Rielle without pausing. She expected disgust, but his expression only conveyed amusement.

Looking back down the crossroad, he shook his head. A thrill of hope went through Rielle as his attention returned to the street she was in, and he started towards her.

Help me
, she thought at him as he passed, but she was conscious of the blade pressed against her ribs and stayed silent. The priests looked her up and down and kept walking. The other women did not seem at all shamed by his gaze, and simpered at him. Disgusted, Rielle looked away.
As if a priest would be interested in their services.
She heard him stop and ask one if she had seen a lean, grubby man hiding nearby. The woman said that described a lot of people around there. He turned away and continued down the alley.

Looking back at the intersection, she considered how the priest had looked back down the cross street and shaken his head. Had the gesture been directed at someone further down the street? Another priest, perhaps?

A slim hope stirred. A plan formed. It was risky, but she decided it was worth it.

“Is he gone?” the abductor asked.

She glanced back. The priest had disappeared around a corner. “Yes.”

The sharp edge was withdrawn from her ribs and he grabbed her arm again. Pushing past her, he moved to the intersection and started to peer around the corner.

“I think he’s coming back,” she lied. “Yes, he is.” He glanced back but she turned to hurry after him and blocked his sight. “Hurry!” she whispered, pushing him gently forward.

He took a step out into the crossroads. She followed then pretended to trip and fall, crying out as she dropped to her knees. Looking down the side street in the direction the priest had nodded, she saw an older priest – the one she’d passed earlier – looking over his shoulder at her. Her abductor cursed her and began to haul her up.

Blackness blossomed around the priest.

It was the halo of Stain she had seen so many times before – the same radiating lines that surrounded the Angels painted on the temple walls, except in white, as if she had stared at the holy images for a while then closed her eyes to see them reversed behind her eyelids.

The hand slipped from her arm. A choked yell came from above her, echoing in the narrow space. The knife clattered to the pavement. She turned to see her abductor clutching at his throat. Held by invisible, holy magic.

Guessing it was dangerous to be between the priest and his prisoner, she crawled to the wall.

Stain billowed around her abductor like ink dropped in water.

“No,” the priest said. “We’ll have none of that.”

The suspended man shrieked and writhed. Rielle’s stomach plunged and she got to her feet and hauled herself into the alley again only to find herself facing the blue-robed priest.

His eyes narrowed in recognition, then he gestured behind him with a jab of his thumb. “Get out of the way, but don’t leave.”

Rielle hurried past him, then slowed as she neared the women. The prostitutes were watching the man writhing at the end of their street with fascination.
He said not to leave. Where should I wait?
As the screaming behind her stopped she felt a wave of relief and dizziness.

Hands grabbed her shoulders and steadied her. Startled, she looked up to see that the man who had been talking to one of the prostitutes had caught her. He smiled.
What a nice smile
, she found herself thinking. He was young, but not as young as she was. She took in his dark, straight hair, well-balanced brows, cheekbones and jaw before she lowered her eyes.
He’s very handsome.
Or did it only seem so because his was the first friendly face she’d seen in hours?

“That was very smart, what you did, Ais,” he said.

She blinked in disbelief. “It was?”

“Yes.” He turned to look back down the street. “Looks like he’s giving up.”

Rielle followed his gaze. Her abductor was now lying face down on the ground. The two priests stood on either side, surrounded by Stain. She resisted the urge to avert her eyes. It was as if all the light and colour around them had been burned away.

“Please! I didn’t mean to learn anything,” the man on the ground whined. “I was tricked!”

“There is always a choice,” the older priest replied.

The man’s head sank to the ground. “It was worth it,” he said in a voice so quiet Rielle barely heard it. “If I die now, it is still worth it.”

“Get up,” the priest said.

“Get it over with. Kill me.”

“That is not your decision to make.” The older priest nodded at the younger, who stepped forward and hauled their prisoner to his feet. Then looked down the alley. Rielle flinched as he met her eyes. Leaving the younger priest, the older priest approached, his brow creasing into a frown.

“I am Sa-Elem. Are you harmed, Ais?”

She shook her head.

“What is your name?”

“Rielle Lazuli.”

His eyebrows rose. “The daughter of Ens Lazuli. How did you come to be in the company of the tainted?”

“I was walking home from temple classes when he grabbed me. He forced me to go with him. He has a knife.”

“Not any longer.” The priest glanced around. “We cannot abandon you here, in unfamiliar streets, but we must deal with the tainted first. I’m afraid you will have to accompany us back to the temple.”

All the way back to the temple? “I … I’m sure I can find my way. I just want to go home. My family will be worried.”

The priest frowned. “But you must surely wish to be escorted, after what you have endured?”

“I…” Rielle paused, unsure what she wanted. The desire not to walk the streets alone was as strong as the need to go home.

“Might I escort Ais Lazuli, Sa-Elem?” the handsome man asked.

The priest frowned at him. “And you are?”

“Izare Saffre.”

“The painter.” The priest nodded, and looked at Rielle. “I suppose in this exceptional circumstance it would be acceptable, if the young woman is willing to have you as an escort.”

Rielle nodded. “I am.”

“Then be sure to take her home directly, Aos Saffre. We will need to question her.”

“I promise to deliver her promptly and unharmed.”

That appeared to satisfy the priest. “No need to leave the safety of your home again, Ais Lazuli,” he assured her. “We’ll visit once the tainted is secure.”

Rielle nodded again. “I’ll let father know you are coming.”

He traced a blessing in the air, then joined the other priest, who was holding her abductor by the arm as firmly as the man had held her. The sound of cheers and approving whistles surrounded her and she looked around to see that people were leaning out of windows and peering from doors.

“Well, you heard what he said,” Izare said, giving her a smile as dazzling as his earlier one. “I’m to take you straight home. Follow me.”

A
fter they had been walking for several minutes, Izare turned to her. “Thanks to you the city is safe again.”

Rielle looked away. “I had no idea a tainted was free in the city.”

“Priests have been hunting him for weeks.” He gestured to a side street. “This way.”

Earlier he’d led her straight through the lingering Stain left by the priests. With no choice but to follow, Rielle had held her breath as she stepped into the darkness. Unlike in her earlier encounter, she’d felt no resistance. Relieved, she’d trailed behind Izare, feeling a little shy of this handsome stranger. The streets were only wide enough here for two people to pass anyway, and she didn’t want to block the way for oncoming traffic. But as they reached wider streets Izare slowed until she walked beside him.

He is very good-looking
, she mused.
And it’s not just because he was a friendly face at the end of an ordeal.
His hair was straight and black, his flawless skin the same hue as the stormwood shavings the dyeworks used to make a rich gold-brown. As he glanced at her she noted that his eyes were a tawny yellow-green. He moved with an unconscious grace, arms swinging. When he turned away again she looked closer, wondering what it was about the shape of his face that made it so appealing. Was it the high cheekbones? The angle of his jaw?

He met her gaze again. “How are you feeling? You seem remarkably well recovered.”

“Do I?” Rielle shrugged. “I’m alive. That’s something to be happy about. Though…”

“Though…?”

She shook her head. “I’m also a little disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” His eyebrows rose.

“In myself. I always imagined I’d do better, if something like that happened to me.”

“You tricked him into stepping in sight of a priest. It was very brave of you.”

“Yes, but before then I didn’t even try to fight him. His grip was so strong.”

“Men are usually stronger than women,” Izare pointed out. “You could hardly expect to fight him. Instead you were smarter. You could have panicked, or not done anything to risk his anger, but you didn’t.”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I only … I wish I was stronger.”

He grinned. “Then you would be all big arms and bulging muscles. I have to say, I’m glad you are not. You are…” He stopped abruptly, stepped back and examined her. “Not beautiful but pleasing. Well-proportioned. Tall enough to give your limbs grace yet not too thin. Your face…” – he moved closer, staring at her intently – “… is
interesting
. Not a classic shape but … unique. Rewarding to those who take the time to look again.”

Nobody had ever dared to speak to her, the daughter of a wealthy family, so plainly before. Conflicting feelings rose: hurt and the beginnings of outrage at his directness and honesty, amusement that he was right that she was not beautiful. Her skin was too light a brown and her nose too straight. Yet as he’d described her face his voice had softened and his strange praise sent a shiver through her that was both discomforting and pleasant.

He straightened. “I’m sorry. I have made you self-conscious. It is a bad habit and a consequence of my profession. Let’s continue.”

“Your profession? Ah. You are a painter,” she recalled as they started walking again.

“Yes.”

“What do you paint?”

“Whatever people pay me to paint. Mostly spirituals. Occasionally portraits.”

Spirituals were the backdrops to the small altars every household in Fyre maintained. Even foreigners who did not follow the same traditions purchased them so that their guests could perform the rituals. Aunt Narmah had painted the one in Rielle’s home, choosing a night scene, which was the time when the Angels were at their quietest and most communicative. The sky was coloured an intense dark blue that could only be achieved using a rare, expensive pigment from distant Surlan that was more expensive than gold and told visitors of the family’s wealth as well as its piety.

Cheaper spirituals painted in less pricey hues were sold in the market. Did Izare produce some of those? The priest, Sa-Elem, had recognised his name, however, which suggested better-quality work.

“Do you paint for pleasure, too?” she asked.

“When I have the time.”

“What do you paint then?”

“My friends and … well, anybody I can persuade to sit for me. What about you?”

“My aunt, the workers,” she told him. “Objects around the house. The view across the river. Only for pleasure, of course.”

He blinked in surprise. “You paint?”

“Yes. My aunt teaches me. She’s very good.”

Izare nodded, but his attention had shifted away as they emerged from the poor quarter onto a wider road. Rielle recognised it as Temple Road, and stopped.

“Ah. I know where I am, now. I can continue on my own, if you need to return to your work.”

“Oh, when I make a promise I keep it,” he told her. But he did not move, and was looking at her thoughtfully. “I would very much like to paint your portrait, Ais Lazuli.”

She stared at him in astonishment, but as he met her eyes and smiled she had to look away. Putting a hand up to lift her scarf over her head, she found no sign of the light material and felt a stab of alarm.