Thief

By Sarah-Jane Lehoux

Happily ever after doesn't come without a price

Anyone desperate enough to dwell within the crumbling city of Eloria knows that nothing in life is certain save for two indisputable facts: everyone has a dream, and everything has a price

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah-Jane Lehoux
• Release date: Aug 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9780988145634

Sarah-Jane Lehoux

Sarah-Jane Lehoux is a Canadian writer of speculative fiction. She avoids the real world as much as possible and spends her time cluttering her brain with beautiful nonsense.

Book preview

© Sarah-Jane Lehoux 2022

Third edition ● August 2022

ISBN: 978-0-9881456-3-4 

Print ISBN: 978-1484174333

Edited by Sean Sanders

Cover Design by Sarah-Jane Lehoux

Interior Design by Sarah-Jane Lehoux

TO SEAN

You’ll always be my hero

CHAPTER 1

She might as well have been invisible. The citizens of Eloria paid no mind to the redness of her nose or the tears streaked across her dirty face. She was just another vagrant, after all. Another nameless waif, of whom the city had more than its fair share.

It was midday, and the constricted, cobbled streets were flooded with people busily going about their lives. Sales were pitched, prices were haggled, money was won and lost. Every second was spent locked in a perpetual grind and toil, fighting an uphill battle to earn as much as the gods would allow so that, hopefully, their own children wouldn’t have the same desperation in their eyes as the skinny girl had in hers.

Had it been any other day, Sevy would have laughed at the curses that flew after her whenever she bumped into a merchant. She would have been reckless and bold, snatching coins from outstretched hands to make a game of the ensuing chase.

But today, sadly, was not a day for such fun.

The morning had begun well enough, though. Hopping nimbly over mounds of trash, she’d successfully rummaged for breakfast before returning to a derelict building that once served as stables some decades ago, back when Axlun’s royal family still resided in Eloria and the city was in its finest hour. Now abandoned by most of the kingdom’s aristocracy, Eloria was in the midst of a long, drawn-out rot. Bad for the economy, perhaps, but just right for those like Sevy. Every neighbourhood was littered with ramshackle houses and factories, memories of past prosperity cast off like the shells of sea creatures who’d outgrown them, readily reappropriated and transformed into the covert bastions of beggars and brigands.

The stables that Sevy currently called home sheltered a number of other street children, orphaned by circumstance or by choice, living together in fluid, drifting groups. It was their sanctuary against the dangers of the city, and although it couldn’t hold heat in the winter or lose it in the summer, it was dear to them.

After scrambling up to the hayloft, Sevy contentedly tucked into a half-eaten apple, some potato peels, and a crust of week-old bread. Yet her meal was all but forgotten when Trena arrived and dangled a bottle of blood-red wine before her eager eyes.

Aw, brilliant! Where’d you get it from?

Trena popped the cork out with her teeth, then took three swigs, each bigger than the last, before answering. A friend.

Nice friend.

Mm-hmm.

If Sevy hadn’t been so excited about the wine, she might have noticed Trena’s anxious squirming. Instead, she merely sighed appreciatively and raised a silent toast to their health. But as soon as the bottle was emptied, leaving only a pleasant warmth in their chests and a sickly-sweet taste on their lips, Sevy finally acknowledged that something was amiss with her normally bubbly friend. She reclined against the wall, picking at random splinters of mouldy hay while she watched Trena nervously wringing her hands together.

Sitting there in the musty ruin of a bygone era, they were quite the pair of opposites. Trena was a full head shorter than Sevy, but what she lacked in height, she made up for in curves. Sevy often stared enviously at Trena’s figure, comparing it to the spindly frame that gave her a much younger appearance than other girls her age, which was just shy of seventeen if she remembered correctly. Her limp brown hair, loosely tied back with a strip of cloth, didn’t have the lustre of Trena’s blonde curls. She had blackened bags under her eyes, and the closest that her pallid cheeks ever came to a fetching shade of pink was when she was embarrassed, but Trena seemed to be everlastingly fresh-faced and rouged. Trena’s clothes were always neater too. Sevy was forever finding rents and tears in hers. And her shoes…

That’s odd, Sevy thought.

She hadn’t, until that moment, seen that Trena was wearing a matching set of soft, leather slippers. First a bottle of wine, and now new shoes? Her brow rose as she eyed her friend with suspicion.

What’s up? she asked lightly.

Nothing, came Trena’s muted response. It’s just… About my friend… He’s real nice.

Sevy nodded, though her stomach was beginning to churn. And it wasn’t from the wine.

He says he’ll buy us whatever we want. More wine, food, dresses… Even jewellery!

Then in one hurried rush, Trena spoke animatedly about a man named Gihaf, her so-called friend who promised them all of Eloria in exchange for certain favours.

It’s nothing we haven’t done before, she said with a shrug, trying yet failing to act casual. And it’s fun, right? You enjoy it, don’t you? So why not charge for it?

You can’t be serious.

It’s not so bad. Honest, it’s not! And Gihaf swears that the men he’ll fix us up with won’t be horrid or hurt us or…

Sevy stopped listening. She’d always known Trena would eventually succumb to something this stupid. She was gentle as a lamb and just as sweet as honey, but she was also weak-willed and weak-kneed, a short-sighted pushover easily charmed by smooth talkers with silver tongues.

Fate had been smiling upon her when it arranged for her to cross paths with Sevy four years earlier. Born from tougher stock, forged by the biting winds and glacial waters of the Melacian Sea, Sevy was as spirited as she was resourceful. She was the one who secured a safe place for them to live, who kept them fed by picking pockets and stealing food, and whenever there was trouble, she could be counted on to throw both the first and the final punch. Trena may have been gullible, but she wasn’t a total fool. Once she got a peek at how brightly Sevy’s inner fire burned, she’d latched on tight to save herself from the cold.

And as for Sevy, she was just happy to have a friend. Like the majority of Eloria’s children, she had already experienced far too much loss in her short life. Trena was her surrogate family, and Sevy wasn’t about to let anyone, especially not some sleazy cock-bawd, take her away.

Indignation blazed within her stout little soul while Trena continued extolling Gihaf’s virtues. From how she told it, he was so accomplished and admired that he could’ve given King Grewid himself a run for his money as the most respected man in Axlun. She punctuated her impassioned speech with whimpers and sobs, and before Sevy could get a word in edgewise, she spouted off a list of complaints, attacking everything she used to be grateful for.

I’m sick of this, Sevy, sick of how we’re living! Eating garbage, sleeping on hay and rags… And Gihaf says—

To hell with what Gihaf says, Sevy at last exploded. You wanna be his whore? Then go! Get out and go spread your legs for him and the whole damned world!

Trena was momentarily shocked into silence, then she flung herself at Sevy’s feet, wailing, Oh, please don’t be angry! Please!

She lay there, blubbering on the floor, crying so pitifully that Sevy’s eyes misted over despite her anger. Poor Trena. She’d really gone and stepped in it this time, hadn’t she? But Sevy was probably at least partially to blame for this mess. She did have an overbearing personality, to put it mildly, and although she took great offence whenever someone dared to describe her as ‘bossy,’ it was the truth. She’d seldom presented Trena the chance to do anything other than follow in her wake, never letting her test the waters to learn of the sharks that swam in Eloria’s depths.

It’s all my fault.

She thought she was protecting Trena when, in reality, she had only dulled her instincts and limited her to a life of dependence on others. But maybe that had actually been her plan all along. Maybe she was afraid Trena wouldn’t stay with her if she had other options. Gods, if that were true, then Sevy was a monster, wasn’t she? No. No, she’d always had Trena’s best interests at heart, and if she wanted to keep beating herself up about this, she’d have plenty of opportunities to do so later on. Right now, she had to stop her friend from falling into what was surely a lethal trap.

Her tone softened as she helped Trena up. Come on, things aren’t so bad that you need to let a bunch of perverted old creeps paw at you, and you definitely don’t need Gihaf because I’ll take better care of you than he ever could. How’s that sound?

Trena dragged her wrist beneath her dripping nose. Like a big fat lie.

Oh yeah? Well, it’s not! I’m gonna, um, get a job in a factory somewhere.

You tried that, remember? It was a disaster.

Only ’cause they kicked me out for fighting with the foreman, but now I know not to do that. Problem solved. Since Trena still wasn’t convinced, Sevy changed tactics. Fine. No factories. I’ll stick to what I’m good at. Just gimme an hour, all right?

Without waiting for a reply, she slid down the ladder and ran up the alley. She didn’t want to hear any more excuses or criticism. Talk like that, harmless as it outwardly seemed, had a tendency of burning what it fell upon, like cinders on the wind. So no more talking. It was time for action. Sevy was going to provide undeniable proof that they didn’t have to resort to prostitution to survive, and once she’d done that, she would make Trena grovel for her forgiveness for ever doubting her.

She skidded to a stop just outside the marketplace. Her lungs were aching, her face was wet. Strange. How long had she been crying? Had she started when she was still with Trena?

Doesn’t matter. Don’t think about it.

Pushing a strand of greasy hair from her eyes, she took breath after slow breath to calm herself and gain composure, then sized up the crowd milling about the square.

Right. Let’s get to work.

She couldn’t afford any mistakes, not today. She needed to steal as much as she could as fast as she could, and for that, Sevy needed easy targets. But where to begin? Not with the dwarf sloppily drinking from a rain barrel. She’d bet that his purse was in danger of bursting, but dwarves guarded their money like wolves guarded their dens. No point risking injury. The men discussing rhetoric over rum cakes and coffee were suitably distracted but were most likely students, and the pockets of students rarely contained more than lint and dreams of grandeur. What about the elf dancing on the corner? She could swipe his tips while he had his limbs tangled up in a bizarre impression of a bird, but so far, only two half-pieces of copper had been thrown into his hat. He would have to start stripping before he’d be tossed anything worth stealing.

No, no, no, no! This wasn’t going well at all! What in Koad’s name was wrong with these people? Why did they have to make things so difficult? What should have been a simple task was turning into something infuriatingly problematic.

Then she saw him. A tall, dark-haired young man in a dapper blue jacket. He was chatting with a merchant, and though his attention strayed more to her bustline than to the wares on her table, the merchant didn’t appear to mind his wandering eyes. She flirted and giggled, sprinkling innuendos into every sentence she spoke, and Sevy could have kissed her because her saucy banter was proving much more interesting to the man than the scrawny thief sneaking up behind him.

There was a money bag hanging from his belt. Looked plenty full too. Perfect! Sevy fiddled with her hair again and blotted her sweaty forehead with her sleeve.

Relax, she commanded herself. Quit being such a baby. This guy is obviously a complete patsy, so just relax.

Brushing against him, she pretended to peruse the trinkets for sale. My, what lovely earrings, and goodness me! Those bone bangles are absolutely to die for. She felt the man’s gaze glide over her as he politely attempted to shift out of her way, but it quickly returned to the buxom woman behind the table.

That’s it, buddy. You just keep concentrating on those tits, and I’ll be gone before you can wipe the drool from your chin.

Her trembling fingers slipped around the bag, carefully finessing it off his belt. Almost had it. Just one more tug. Success! Sevy could scarcely suppress her snicker of victory while she moved to rejoin the ranks of the unseen underclass, but before she did, the dark-haired man gripped her shoulder.

I’ll have that back, sweetheart.

Have what back?

Laughing, he turned her towards him. She glared at him in defiance, staring straight into his face for the first time.

Beautiful.

The word nearly escaped her in an awed whisper as she found herself mesmerized by the twinkle of his oceanic blue eyes, but luckily her tongue was so tied from the sight of his bewitching smile that she couldn’t speak. She was so engrossed with how the sun lapped at his flowing black hair that she forgot to struggle against his hold until his voice, mellifluous and tinged with mirth, broke her out of the spell he’d cast.

Nice try, really it was, but your technique is terrible.

Wh-what? she stammered. You’re crazy! Let me go, or I’ll scream for the guards.

Smart thinking! Why argue over who stole what when we can just have the guards sort this out for us? Go on then. I’m sure there’s a few within screaming distance, he said, playfully calling her bluff before reaching into the pocket of her trousers.

Hey! Hands off, lecher!

Smirking, he fished out the bag of coins and made a show of stuffing it inside his jacket. Sevy’s skin grew feverishly hot, but was that from the chagrin of her predicament or from those pretty, pretty eyes shining down at her?

She had to look away, and only then did she notice the mob circling round them like ravenous dogs, no doubt hoping for a spot of entertainment. There’s nothing quite as effective as a public thrashing to help lift one’s spirits from the stupor of drudgery.

What’re ya doing, Jarro? someone shouted. Gonna teach her a lesson?

"Give her to me. I’ll teach her real good," another man jeered, thrusting his pelvis.

She had been caught in the act. By city law, it was his right to dole out her punishment, but his handsome face did not display any of the hatred and contempt she’d learned to expect from strangers in his position. There was only merriment, as though the two of them were sharing a joke no one else was privy to.

Be quiet! he yelled to the yammering horde, then flashed Sevy another brilliant smile. Listen, sweetheart, how’s about I let you off with a warning this time, all right? Just promise me you’ll work on that technique.

P

Though he’d shown mercy where others would not, the dark-haired man quashed any confidence Sevy had in her abilities that day. It was almost sundown before she could return to the stables, dolefully appraising the meagre offering she managed to steal for Trena. A bit of food, a bit of coin, some odds and ends that could be sold. In all, it would keep their bellies full for three days at most.

Would it be enough to dissuade Trena from prostituting herself? It was hard to tell, and Sevy would be lying if she said she hadn’t also considered it at some point. It did seem like easy money, although that notion didn’t hold much water if given more than a half-second of thought. She’d seen too many of her friends ruined by the trade to pretend it was a good idea.

No one concerned themselves with the hundreds of women and children who sold their bodies for food and money, especially not the city guards who notoriously demanded free services instead of providing any actual protection. Whores were routinely beaten or found dead in backrooms, gutters, and alleyways while others disappeared altogether, and even if violence didn’t get you, disease would. The infected were left to die alone, and their corpses were unceremoniously chucked into the furnaces of the charnel house alongside executed criminals and other undesirables. Then, as a final punishment for their lives of presumed debauchery, their ashes were scattered to the four winds so that the goddess Annu-nial couldn’t usher their souls into Promyraan.

Trena’s not gonna end up that way, Sevy insisted, gritting her teeth. I won’t allow it!

She climbed to the hayloft, plastered on a smile, and unveiled her plunder. I’m home! And look what…

The smile fled from her face. Trena had company. A bull-necked brute with a sloping brow and thinning hair that he’d slicked into a ponytail. Sevy staggered backwards, noting the size of his meaty, fat-knuckled hands.

Sevy, this is Gihaf.

Hi there. Tre’s told me all about you, he said with practiced charm. Aren’t you just the cutest thing? And get a load of them big green eyes of yours. Betcha you’re a real heartbreaker, huh? With eyes like that.

She sure is, Trena meekly replied. Sevy’s had heaps of boyfriends.

I’ll bet she has.

She couldn’t help staring at them, those hands that were large enough to dwarf hers. She imagined them running over Trena’s curves, over her own tiny bumps, and she shuddered from head to toe.

Gihaf turned to Trena, laughing. What’s her problem?

Hands large enough to wrap right around her neck or squash her skull like a grape.

It wasn’t a conscious decision. Reaching down to her boot, Sevy pulled out a dagger. Get the fuck out, she said.

His nostrils flared, and Sevy’s eyes shifted back to those hands, expecting them to strike her at any moment. He surprised her when he appeared to collect himself, his voice remaining disturbingly calm.

Little girls shouldn’t play with knives. You might get hurt. Besides, there ain’t nothing to worry about. I just wanna talk to you.

Nothing to worry about? What about the fact that such a beast of a man was in her home, grinning at her as though they were already intimate acquaintances? Words alone couldn’t express her loathing, so Sevy spat onto his chest.

Oh my gods, Trena gasped, rushing to wipe the gob off his shirt. I’m so sorry, Gihaf! She didn’t mean it, I swear!

He dropped all pretence of civility. Pushing Trena away, he barrelled forward and backed Sevy into the wall, and with each step he took, the floorboards creaked and swayed. This near to him, she could see beads of oil pooling in his pores. His scent was sour, a mingling of body odour, urine, and beer. How had he suckered Trena in? He was repulsive.

Sevy held tight to her dagger. I’m not scared of you. Get out. Or else.

You got some guts, he said, snorting in annoyance. But what you need is some manners.

No, Gihaf, please! She’s just trying to protect me!

Shaddup. Now listen here, Sevy. I’m a nice guy, but only to my friends, get what I’m saying? You do wanna be my friend, don’t you?

Up came one of those ghastly hands. She turned away, but he forced her to face him by roughly grabbing her cheeks.

I ain’t asking much. All you gotta do is be more like Tre. She’s a good girl. She does what she’s supposed to, and I reward her for that, don’t I, Tre? So just be a good little girl, Sevy. Here, I’ll show you how. We’ll take it nice and slow.

He leaned down to kiss her. She gagged. A part of her begged to retreat deep into her mind, to hide inside herself as he had his fun. Maybe if she stayed still long enough, he would forget she was there. Maybe if she prayed hard enough, she’d sink into the walls, safe from his touch within the rotting wood. But these were wild, nonsensical thoughts, and this was not the time to surrender to flights of fancy. There was another part of her mind screaming for her to fight back, and in spite of her fear, she knew what she had to do. Rallying her courage, she stabbed the dagger into his bicep.

You bitch! he yelped.

Sevy tried to stab him again, but he pinned her to the wall. Then, seizing her wrist, he slammed it onto a wooden beam above her head until she lost her grip on the dagger.

Stupid cunt!

She closed her eyes against the spray of his saliva. His fist cracked across her jaw, once, twice, and her lip popped open.

Help me, she squeaked.

Tre won’t do shit. I told you, she’s a good girl. Now I’m gonna show you what happens to bitches like you!

He thrust his hand down her shirt, groping so savagely that it was as if he wanted to tear off her skin instead of her clothes. With a yell of disgust, Sevy kneed him in the crotch as hard as she could. The result was instantaneous. Gihaf crumpled to the floor. This was her one chance, and she didn’t let it go to waste. She kicked him over and over again, then switched to stomping because that dealt more damage. He wept like a nursling, and Sevy howled with laughter. Each crunch in his ribcage was a celebration. It was intoxicating. She couldn’t stop even if she wanted to.

Who’s the bitch now, eh?! Ugly-ass motherfucker!

Suddenly, she was tackled from behind. She whipped around, raring to pummel whoever this new assailant was into pulp too, but when she saw that it was Trena, her frenzied lust for revenge vanished without a trace.

Wha…? Why’re you…?

Don’t, Trena whined. Leave him alone!

"Leave him alone?!"

Oh no, oh gods! Gihaf? Are you all right?

…Imma kill that…

See? It’s him or me. I have to finish this.

No, you can’t! Please, Sevy, I love him! He’s all I’ve got!

But that…that’s not true, Sevy said, wobbling on her heels as though she’d been struck again. You have me.

Gihaf splashed ruby-red blood clots onto the floor while he slurred, You’re gonna pay…

Just go away, Sevy! Get out of here!

I’m not going anywhere without you!

Oh, you stubborn bitch, just leave! Now!

She pushed Sevy to the ladder, but Sevy could only gawk at her, unable to move until Gihaf roared another threat and her survival instincts took over. She scurried out of the stables, then broke into a run, racing through the streets, blindly overturning vegetable carts, boxes, and barrels, deaf to the cries of the people she crashed into. It didn’t matter that Gihaf wasn’t following. She was spurred on by pain like a horse lashed by a wicked master.

Finally, exhausted, she slumped against a brick wall and slid down to wrap her arms about her knees. Gasping for breath, she forced air past the fiery knot in her throat, blinking away the tears that blurred her vision.

How could she? Her best friend. Her only friend. Her only family. How could she?

CHAPTER 2

A bottle smashing against the cobblestones shattered the daze Sevy had sunk into. She must have fallen asleep, for it was now dark enough that the lanterns had been lit, and their pale, orange light not only illuminated the main streets but acted as surrogate stars since smoke from a multitude of chimneys smudged out the sky.

Once she’d wiped her soggy face dry with her palms, Sevy tried to pinpoint where her mad flight through the city had taken her. She was fairly certain she was in the northeastern quarter, but none of the seedy brick and wooden buildings looked familiar. Raucous music drifted on the wind, whores bleated propositions to men who appraised them like livestock, and drunks stumbled about while preaching and singing to anyone who would listen. She shuddered. This was probably just the sort of place Gihaf conducted most of his business.

Then she saw what was clearly a tavern. She couldn’t read, but the picture on the plaster sign was easy enough to decipher. Her already-wide eyes doubled in size.

Oh, fuck me! The Bloody Heart?!

She now knew precisely where she was because the Bloody Heart had an infamous reputation amongst her fellow pickpockets. This tavern, as well as the surrounding neighbourhoods, belonged to an organized gang, one of the most powerful and influential in Eloria, which also meant it was one of the most dangerous, especially to people who wouldn’t be missed.

People like Sevy.

She whimpered, feeling inconsolably discouraged. As if things weren’t bad enough, she had to be stranded in enemy territory too? That was just plain cruel! She wanted to plop back down and cry, but it would be tempting fate to think she wouldn’t attract an audience if she made herself into such a spineless spectacle.

What she needed was a hefty dose of self-deprecation to snap her out of this sulk, and then she needed a plan. Obviously, she couldn’t just dawdle here all night, so where should she go next? Not back to the stables, of course. Safety came in numbers, but she couldn’t trust her friends to rally around her if she got into another fight with Gihaf. Loyalty was a rare thing when you actually had a use for it.

Trena had demonstrated that perfectly, hadn’t she?

She decided to head for the Elor River. Lots of other orphans were camped underneath its many bridges, and it’d be a cinch for Sevy to blend in with them. She could scavenge for scraps along the shoreline, and who knows, maybe the squawking gulls or the smell of seawater that the river carried in from the coast would comfort her, as they always reminded her of the little fishing village that was once her home.

That settled, she turned her attention to her bearings. The Elor was west, and she’d have to go down some dodgy-looking alleyways to get there. It was a daunting prospect. Even the lamplighters could not be persuaded to venture into them, and they were crowded with enough rubble and rubbish to conceal countless threats. Sevy glimpsed movement in the shadows. Maybe just harmless drunks, but why risk it? She reached for her dagger before remembering that she’d left it behind in the stables.

Brilliant. Fucking brilliant!

Just another loss to add to her miseries. The urge to cry her lungs out returned, but Sevy refused to be undone so effortlessly. That’s exactly what that asshole and Trena expected, didn’t they? Well, she’d show them.

Sucking in a sharp breath, she entered the alley. Its walls closed in on her, but she assured herself that this was just her fear and that alleyways could not really shrink at will.

See? You can do this. Piece of cake.

She was barely four yards in when she heard fabric ripping, a wet chewing noise, and a low growl. Searching for the source of these sounds from the corner of her eye, she saw that they were coming from a sewer troll hunched over the freshly dead yet already half-eaten body of some poor, luckless fool. Gore dribbled from the troll’s mouth, and after it caught Sevy staring, the shock of rusty-red hair running from the crown of its head to the small of its back bristled like a cat’s. With a snarling flash of fangs, it scuttled atop its meal as if to say, Piss off, this one’s mine!

She gave the creature a wide berth. Sewer trolls might have been the tiniest, most animal-like of their kind, but they were also wiry and vicious and definitely not to be trifled with when defenceless.

Don’t bother him, and he won’t bother you. No problem.

Another bottle broke. Sevy nearly jumped free of her skin.

Get a hold of yourself, woman!

Unfortunately, scolding herself did nothing to help her calm down. She jumped twice as high at the hellishly skeletal tramp lying on a bed of old roof thatching who cackled, Scared, baby? C’mere. Come gimme a hug.

Easy does it, Sevy. Steady breaths, in and out. You’re not gonna give in. You’re not gonna run.

But then a tail laden with slime and fur coiled around her ankle, and that was it. She bolted forward.

Washed-out light came from up ahead. The alley was opening onto a bigger and blessedly well-lit street, and Sevy was mere seconds from the protection it promised when she suddenly collided with something that knocked her to the ground.

Sorry, miss! I didn’t see you.

A man was standing above her. Ignoring the hand he offered, Sevy scrambled to her feet and tried to push past him.

Whoa, whoa! It’s all right, I won’t hurt you!

Don’t touch me!

I’m not going to hurt you, miss. Hey, don’t I know you? Yeah, you’re the girl with the bad technique.

She’d heard that friendly chuckle of his before, hadn’t she? Sevy blinked, needing a moment longer to recognize him as the dark-haired man she failed to rob earlier that day.

Let me by, she said in a wincingly pathetic whisper.

He glanced down, then frowned, and Sevy was mortified when she realized why. Gihaf had practically torn her shirt in half, and only a lute’s worth of strings preserved what remained of her modesty. Cringing, she yanked the shreds together in a vain attempt to cover up.

What happened? Who did this to you? the man asked, lifting her chin to get a better look at her face.

Nobody. Just get outta my way!

Wait a minute, sweetheart. I—

No! she shrieked, beating on his chest with both fists. Let go! I’ll kill you! Let me go!

Stop that! I’m only trying to help, he said as he shrugged off his jacket and held it out to her. Here, take this.

Her eyes narrowed. What twisted trick was he hoping to pull? She should punch him some more. And kick him too, like she’d kicked Gihaf. But he was smiling at her as he had in the market, and sunny, inviting warmth swept over her. She felt herself yearning, against all common sense, to melt into his arms and beg him to save her from this waking nightmare. Thank the gods that it was too dark to get drawn into those magnetic eyes again, or she would truly be lost.

And maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe he was just another creep, another pervert, a spider who used his beauty to lure flies into his web.

Well, tough luck, pretty boy, because I wasn’t born yesterday.

She really did need something to wear, though. She didn’t have much, but she hated the idea of parading it around for everyone to see, so after a little more deliberation, she grabbed the jacket, shoved the man aside, and ran.

You’re welcome!

P

The rising sun bounced off the water, sending soft ripples of light into Sevy’s eyes. She grumbled a curse, covered her face with her forearms, and cursed again. Upon making it to the Elor River, she’d found a spot under the Gerio Bridge to hunker down for the night but had barely slept an hour. Too much had happened. Too much could still happen.

But close to twenty people seemed to be living along this stretch of the river, so it must have been somewhat safe. And the majority of them were even younger and smaller than she was too. They huddled around bonfires in groups of three or four, and once they were satisfied that she wasn’t there to start trouble, they resumed their whispered conversations.

Although it was wise to keep her distance until she got the lay of the land, she wished someone would call her over to talk with them. They wouldn’t, of course. That’s just how life was when you were a stranger. Sevy knew this, knew it would take time to make new friends, yet she was still miserably lonely.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You don’t need anyone but yourself.

Walking to the river’s edge, she kicked at random pebbles and grimaced at the chunks of grey scum washing ashore. Factories upriver had no qualms about dumping their refuse into the Elor, and judging by the abundance of hacked-up hooves, the tannery was the biggest culprit, but she didn’t want to even think about the origins of the rest of the flotsam and jetsam. She was nauseous enough as it was.

Her tired reflection greeted her in the brackish water. The circles under her eyes had deepened by several shades, matching the nasty bruise Gihaf’s fist had left on her cheek. She gingerly tested the split in her lip with her tongue, then, wilfully ignoring the smell of rotten eggs and cabbages, scooped up a handful of water to clean her blood-caked mouth.

With that futile bit of toiletry done, she inspected her shirt. It could be mended with a quick sewing job, but she might as well just nick another. No need to hurry either. She could snoop around clotheslines to her heart’s content and choose something that wasn’t as ill-fitting, raggedy, and moth-eaten as her usual attire because she had the dark-haired man’s jacket to wear.

And what a swell jacket it was too! Thick blue wool. No tears or patches. Each of its polished horn buttons still firmly in place. Whoever that man was, he must be rather well-off to own such a jacket, much less give it away so freely.

Wait, what was that? There was a bulge on the side. Sevy patted and poked her way to the opening of a secret pocket in the lining and, to her astonishment, pulled out the very same money bag she’d tried to steal from him. Instinctively, she curled her body around it, shielding it from any nosy passers-by as she fingered through it.

Gods, there must be thirty silver in here!

She was right. That man had been well-off. Imagine forgetting that you had a bag full of coins in your pocket. Why, this was a small fortune! She immediately began planning how to spend it all, so happy she could have cried.

Maybe a room with a warm bed for a few nights. Food and wine. A shirt, maybe even a cloak! Boots and… Oh! A dagger. I should get that first. Wait ’til Trena…

Odd how one’s memory could be suppressed by something as unassuming as circles of metal. Sevy wouldn’t be sharing this surprise windfall with Trena. She’d probably never see her again. An undertow of emotions threatened to drown her, but she fought against it. After all, why should she care? Trena didn’t. So even if Gihaf had Trena fucking everything with a penis from here to Wilrendel, Sevy wasn’t going to worry about her. It served her right for instigating that vile attack.

See if I care, she repeated until she convinced herself it was true.

She picked herself up, raked her hands through the tangle of her hair, and set her shoulders. The markets would be opening soon, and Sevy was going shopping.

P

Whaddya mean? I’ve got money.

The merchant remained seated on a chair that groaned under his weight and crossed his arms atop his ample belly. Your money’s no good here, he snarled. I know you, you stinking thief. Probably use anything I’d sell you today to rob me blind tomorrow.

Sevy kicked the table, which didn’t do much except make her foot and her pride sting. Just give me the goddamned knife!

Keep that up, and I’ll sic the guards on you. You’re scaring off the real business.

Jackass, she muttered as she spun away.

She aimlessly shuffled around the square, berating herself for trying to get the knife honestly when she should’ve just taken it. She’d have been long gone before that fat oaf noticed, but now thanks to his boorish lack of diplomacy, the surrounding vendors had their hackles up, so she wouldn’t have much luck stealing from them either.

To add further insult to injury, a pair of girls her age, arms loaded with bolts of damask, were sneaking glances at her. Sevy recognized their type. They were the prissy princesses of the upper-middle class, spoiled, arrogant frauds who put on the airs of royalty but