Girl of Rooftops and Shadows (The Shadow's Apprentice Book 1)

by Harper Alexander

  “The night will not hide you forever, Shadowmaster,” he promised the silence, his breath fogging on the cold windowpane.

  “I am the night,” came an ominous voice from behind Crow, and he only felt an instant of terror before the world was muffled by a violent, sweet-smelling glove over his nose and mouth, and then came the all-consuming darkness of which surely only the Master of the Shadows could inflict.

  25

  The Urchin Pack

  “It’s alright,” Clevwrith had said the first time Despiris opened her eyes in his care. “You’re going to make it. You’re going to thrive. Your life just got a whole lot better.”

  *

  Despiris swept out an arm to intercept the boy, spotting him as he bounded into a back-handspring.

  “Good, Po,” she praised as he stuck the landing. It was midnight on Tuesday, the hour when she passed through the poverty-stricken slums of Fairoway and quietly rallied the children for their nightly session. Her ‘urchin pack’, she referred to them affectionately.

  Seven-year-old Po beamed in delight. He’d been working on the stunt for a week, and it was safe to say he’d mastered it at last.

  At the end of the alley, a cringe-worthy screech of violin strings caused the accompanying voice of a young soprano to catch. The aspiring violinist let out a huff of frustration.

  “You’ll get it, Malcan,” Despiris called. “You were nearly there.”

  An echo of encouragement sounded from the fair-haired songstress, Leera, and a moment later they started again.

  Behind Des against the alley wall, Culfynn practiced his card tricks, and a few paces down, Vidam swept and scribbled pastels across canvas, working on a new landscape.

  Then, of course, there was Radu.

  Radu…well, Radu dreamed of growing up to be just like the Master of the Shadows one day. There was no help for it. Despiris had tried her best to drum up other interests, pushing for days to encourage any other aspiration whatsoever. But no. The nine-year-old boy was adamant. He was also wild, rowdy, daring, and quite honestly obnoxious, but she refused to give up on him so quickly. She would find something else for him, if it was the last thing she did.

  There were more, too – other children she mentored. But not all of them could manage to sneak out every night, and some, she knew, just needed their sleep after wretched, trying days.

  “Some lady gave me a copper yesterday,” Po bragged unabashedly. “Just for cartwheels and walking on my hands.”

  Despiris smiled back at the boy. She tried not to play favorites, but she adored Po and his unabashed, hopeful enthusiasm. “That’s great, Po. And what did you spend it on?”

  Po’s smile shrank to a more rueful expression, but there was pride there as well. “I gave it to my mum for my sis. She’s sick.”

  A grimace of concern overcame Des’s face. “How sick?”

  Po shrugged. “She’s had a fever for three weeks. It’s getting worse.” For a moment he wilted, reminded of the adversity at home.

  “Heavens, Po,” Culfynn said, losing concentration on his card trick. “I didn’t know that. Here, I’ve a meager pocket of earnings. You should take mine as well.” He fished a few coins out of his pocket and handed them over. “My da put in extra time at the factory, this week. We’re doing alright. You need this more than I do.”

  Vidam wiped his pastel-smeared fingers on his trousers – which were becoming a masterpiece all their own – and reached into his own pocket. “You might as well have this, too,” he offered. “We’re not sick over at my place, just hungry a bit.”

  Despiris’s heart broke a little at their open generosity. They had so little, and yet they offered it up so freely to a friend in need.

  These were the ‘street rats’, the ‘miscreants’, the lowlife pickpockets that infested the slums. They warmed Des’s heart in a way that courtiers and nobility never could.

  Leera’s angelic voice trailed off again as she noticed the exchange happening down the alley. Malcan’s bow paused at her silence, and he followed her gaze. Curiously, they both wandered closer.

  “What’s going on?” Leera asked.

  “Po’s sister is sick,” Vidam replied.

  “We’re pooling our earnings for him,” Culfynn added.

  Leera looked thoughtful before producing her own contribution – a whole silver mark!

  Malcan’s eyes grew wide. “Where did you get that?”

  “A nobleman and his betrothed were at the jewelry shop by my corner on Saturday, and stopped to listen to my song,” Leera said. “They were very kind.” A bit regretfully, Leera extended the coin to Po. “I’m sure I’ll make another. Maybe they’ll come to see me again.”

  Po eyed the offerings with big, uncertain eyes, accepting them reluctantly. “My mum says we don’t accept charity. But this would help with medicine. I’ll pay you all back – promise.”

  “Don’t worry yourself,” Vidam said, slinging a bony arm of comradery around Po’s neck. “We’ll all be filthy rich, one day. Me, a famous artist. Leera will sing in the opera house in the north quarter. People will come from far and wide to see you in the circus. Culfynn will have his own magician’s act. I’m sure even Malcan will eventually iron out that screech of strings he calls music.” Malcan scowled, but Vidam flashed a crooked grin and gave him a playful punch. “Just joshing, mate. It already sounds buckets better than yesterday.”

  Radu had acquired a few coins of questionable origin – he hadn’t been shy about flaunting them, as if a handful of coppers already made him some filthy rich snob – but he couldn’t have contributed to the pool even if he wanted to. For he had already spent the entirety of his earnings – on candy.

  “Sorry, ol’ sport,” he called from down the alley where he lounged about sucking on his caramel-flavored spoils. “I’m fresh out, otherwise you know I’d trump the lot of your sad donations.” He gave a wave of his hand to encompass the rest of the children in that last implication.

  Leera’s brows pinched together in irritation, but she didn’t bother retorting. And it was just as well. There was little winning, with Radu. Besides, her face expressed what all of them were thinking – that Radu’s empty pockets were just a convenient excuse not to have to contribute, for he would have done no such thing either way.

  “Thank you all,” Po said, fighting a lump in his throat.

  Despiris pulled him in for a one-armed hug. “That’s all for tonight, Po. Get on home and check on your sister. We’ll meet again next week.”

  Po nodded gratefully. “See you all.”

  “See you,” Vidam returned, and the others waved as Po pocketed the coins and trotted off down the alley.

  Despiris watched him go, heart pinched. He deserved better. They all did.

  “The rest of you should be on your way, too,” she dismissed as she turned back to the others. “It’s getting late. We all need some sleep.”

  “I don’t need sleep,” Radu declared, looking as comfortable on the pavement as if he sprawled in a plush feather bed. He laid on his back gazing up at the visible strip of stars, feet crossed and raised against the alley wall. Despiris honestly wasn’t sure why he chose to come, considering how detached he always was from the rest of the group. “The Shadowmaster doesn’t sleep.”

  “Yes, he does,” Despiris assured him.

  “How would you know?” Radu challenged, popping another candy into his mouth.

  None of them knew her secret, her infamous identity something she had decided to keep under wraps.

  “Because I have seen his face,” Despiris said, “and he does not have old-man rings under his eyes. You, however, are looking more and more like your grandfather every day.”

  “You have not seen the Shadowmaster’s face!” Radu insisted, but he had sat up to stare at her in wide-eyed wonder at the possibility. Collecting himself, he seemed to suddenly take to heart her other implications, rubbing vigorously at his eyes. “In any case, I’ll have you know my grandfather was a handsom
e man.”

  “So is the Master of the Shadows, who I assure you prioritizes his beauty sleep every day,” Despiris claimed, becoming a little introspective as her thoughts turned to Clevwrith. Becoming, admittedly, a little sentimental. “More handsome than most, in fact…”

  Culfynn scrunched up his nose. “Gross.”

  Leera sniffed primly. “There’s nothing ‘gross’ about romance. And I think the Master of the Shadows is romantic. He leaves roses on the windowsills of ladies he fancies, you know.”

  Despiris raised a brow at that deviation of the truth, unable to hide her amusement. Oh, how the rumors transformed as they spread.

  “Yeah, black roses,” Malcan pointed out, unimpressed. If Despiris didn’t know better, she might say there was a tinge of jealousy in his voice. She narrowed her eyes at the aspiring violinist, wondering not for the first time if Malcan’s frustration with his unruly bow had anything to do with a secret interest in impressing Leera. Despiris had caught him blushing when they separated from the group to practice their songs at the end of the alley.

  “What’s wrong with black roses?” Leera asked. “They’re just a color like anything else.”

  “Actually, black is the absence of color,” Vidam corrected, sounding very self-important with his handy artist’s knowledge.

  “Black is the color of death,” Radu put in his opinion. “Perhaps he leaves roses on the sills of ladies he intends to murder in their sleep.”

  Well, that was quite enough of that. “The Master of the Shadows does not murder anyone,” Despiris put an end to the unsavory notion. “And if black is the absence of color, I am sure it is also the absence of motive. Merely a choice of aesthetics.”

  “What does ‘aesthetics’ mean?” Culfynn asked.

  “It means it’s bedtime for the lot of you, and we’ll practice vocabulary another night,” Despiris said.

  Glumly, the children began to pack up their various accoutrements, return them to Des, and then wander away, reluctant to withdraw from the most enjoyable hour of their day.

  “I still don’t think he sleeps,” Radu mumbled snootily, insisting on having the last word. But, with a dramatic huff, he went on his way.

  Vidam dodged in to give Despiris a quick hug before darting away in embarrassment.

  Grinning fondly, Despiris gave him an affectionate little push, and soon she was alone in the alley. Despite all that preaching about beauty sleep, she lingered after the children had left. Taking Radu’s place, she lay on her back to gaze up at the stars, an hour passing unnoticed before she dozed off under the open sky.

  26

  Open Window Invitation

  “Lock your doors and shutter your windows, and pull the curtains tight – for it takes only a crack for the night to slip in. And in it will come, these days, vicious and vengeful.” – A warning regarding the agitated state of the Shadowmaster, uttered between strangers over an evening ale.

  *

  After a night on the streets, Despiris was helpless to prevent the onslaught of memories. Memories from her estranged, exotic past, of unprecedented, magnificent adventure. The assault of nostalgia was breathtaking, a hopeless distraction from her studies.

  The itch was astir in her blood again – the itch to unleash the wild thing within.

  Not a night went by that she didn’t throw open the window in her chamber before she went to sleep, welcoming in the fresh, free air. Often, she sat on her wide windowsill for hours gazing out over the city, wondering what Clevwrith was up to that night.

  She couldn’t help but ponder Leera’s theory about the Shadowmaster leaving roses on the windowsills of ladies he fancied, half-hoping a rose might show up on hers.

  But who was she fooling? It was a silly fancy.

  Or so she thought, because one night a shadow climbed through her open window, and she knew immediately it was him.

  Despiris sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake. Clevwrith stood as a featureless silhouette watching her.

  “Hi, Clev,” Despiris offered uncertainly.

  “Hello, Des,” Clevwrith said in return. He lowered himself to sit on the windowsill with the night as his fitting background. “How are you, here?”

  “Busy.”

  Clevwrith nodded.

  Silence.

  “What about you?” Despiris inquired with a swallow. “Out there?”

  Clevwrith shrugged. “The world goes on.”

  It was harder than she thought, seeing him. Trying to understand what she should say. And that comment, while not inherently accusing, re-summoned her guilt, and her regret, and she bit her lip and looked away. “They want you caught more than ever, now,” she informed him, trying to skirt her troubling emotions.

  “I know. Does it make a difference?”

  “No?”

  Clevwrith shook his head.

  More silence.

  “I know about the children,” Clevwrith mentioned after a time. “Po, Leera, Vidam, Malcan, and Culfynn. And Radu, of course,” he added with a bit of a grin.

  “You’ve been watching me.”

  “Always.”

  It was a little unsettling, knowing there had been someone she was unaware of watching her, but Despiris found herself simultaneously comforted by it. And she had to wonder, deep down, if she’d known he was watching. She should have expected as much.

  “You were one of them once…weren’t you?” Clevwrith asked knowingly. “That’s why you’re doing this. Why you’re here.”

  Despiris hesitated, then nodded. There was no reason to deny it, really, it was just… After all this time, it felt strange admitting there was something about her she’d kept from him over the years.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  It seemed like a silly reason, now, but it had been enough to silence her every time she had been tempted during their time together. “You told me to forget everything else. Said I was reborn, something new. You made it seem so important. Like everything hinged on burning the old and fully embracing my new identity.”

  Despiris couldn’t see his expression, but the slight duck of his head suggested a pang of regret, a rueful countenance. “I’m sorry, Des. I should not have tried to suppress everything you were. Everything that makes you who you are. I should have known it would lead to this.”

  Despiris wasn’t sure what she had expected, in the scenario that she encountered Clevwrith these days, but given his behavior of late it hadn’t been a heartfelt apology. A lump rose in her throat, making it too difficult to reply.

  “I don’t resent what you’ve decided to do, Des. I understand now. I did it too, once, remember?” The affection in his voice drew her eyes up to where she knew his to be, and they shared a moment in which Despiris knew they were both remembering their fateful meeting, when he found her so near death in his alley all those years ago. “So much good came of it.” He seemed to be murmuring half to himself as he gazed at her, lost in a flurry of the subsequent memories they had shared. Then, in scarcely more than a whisper, he uttered, “I understand completely.” Voice barely audible but meaning as loud as if shouted from the rooftops.

  It nearly brought tears to Des’s eyes.

  Clevwrith contended himself with looking at her for a time. Then, eventually, he regained his voice and spoke steadily again. “The streets are empty without you.”

  Despiris shook her head. “The streets will never be empty as long as you live. You will haunt them until death, and probably forever after.”

  “Perhaps,” he admitted. “But you will not be there haunting them with me, will you? You will only haunt me.”

  The tightness in her throat just wouldn’t relent. “It doesn’t pay to speak of death,” she said, trying to crawl away from the dark subject. Trying to avoid his question. She had as good as invited him with her open window, and yet…now that he was here, now that she was reassured he was only an open-window away on any given night, she remembered the reasons she had come here to begin with. “There is
much of life left yet.”

  She could not deny the streets had been calling to her lately, the shadows stirring and beckoning to her, the night rousing her blood… But conflict yet remained in her heart. Her feelings were still complicated.

  “We never do know how much life is left to us,” Clevwrith countered softly, making a case for his own feelings without pushing his agenda on her. “But as I said…a rose is not meant to be kept in a cupboard. A lioness is not meant to be kept in a cage.”

  His tender understanding somehow made it so much harder to maintain her decision.

  Clevwrith considered her intently, as if committing her face to memory. “You said you know your limits, now. That you found them that night on top of the old cathedral. But you have hardly scratched the surface, Des. Of who you are, of what you can do. So all I can say is…godspeed. Because that is why you are doing this. That is why you are here. I really do understand.”

  The sorrow began to give way to relief, as he made her believe it was okay. That he was okay. “No more painting the city black with ash?” she teased him regarding his recent rampage. “Or shredding the king’s feather pillows all over his bedchamber?”

  Clevwrith gave a soft, sardonic sound of amusement. “I make no promises about the pillows. That was pure fun.”

  Despiris echoed his chuckle, and for an instant they were friends again, enjoying the moment.

  Then it passed.

  “So, then,” Clevwrith said with a sense of finality, trying just too hard to sound cheery. “For now, you will be here? You are staying?” He stood to leave, but waited for her response.

  “For now,” Despiris confirmed, though the conflict raged as nauseatingly as ever within her.

  Perhaps Clevwrith read her uncertainty in her demeanor, because as he searched her face, half-turned to leave, the moonlight glancing off his features showed a sudden, knowing grin. “Until next time, Shadeling.”

  What had he seen?

  Turning to make his escape, he paused once he stepped up onto the windowsill, glancing back over his shoulder. “Des,” he said sincerely, seizing her undivided attention one last time. “I hope you find everything you’re looking for here. And more.”