by Katie Roman
“I’m sure Baxton has notified you that Lord and Lady Ghilian are coming today. It can’t have escaped your attention that they have been here quite often since Lady Anita’s birth.”
“Yes, my lord.” Aleka’s dull and lifeless voice sounded foreign to her ears.
“Lady Ghilian has requested you play for them during their visits.”
“I no longer have a violin, my lord.”
“I am aware of the accident.”
Something fluttered in Aleka’s chest. Accident. That was what Halia’s death was called. A tragic, regrettable accident; nothing more.
“I have gotten you a violin to play. You will be allowed ten minutes to tune and practice before you’re expected to perform. This is a request from Lady Ghilian, and you would do well to remember that you are indebted to her good graces.” The Admiral went back to looking at his naval papers, clearly done with Aleka.
A thousand angry words bubbled in her throat. She swallowed them all and left, feeling the stone in her gut grow.
~*~*~
The used violin was serviceable. The wood was scuffed in some places, but whomever had owned it before Aleka did their best to maintain it. It was in finer condition than Aleka imagined, given the fact the Admiral had bought it. As she tuned the instrument, Aleka wondered who had handled it before her. She plucked at the strings, finding they ran sharp.
She stood in the yard tuning and practicing, finding that her fingers didn’t dance along the strings as lightly as they did before. It felt nice to be playing again, but inside Aleka felt hollow. It wasn’t her violin. It wasn’t her choice to play. It was a demand handed down from on high, and the thought left a sour, vile taste in her mouth.
“Aleka?”
She halted her practice and turned to see Francis, her one-time friend and stealer of kisses. She blinked and swallowed her anger. He managed to represent so much of what dragged her down, though he had never actually been responsible for any of it.
“It’s wonderful to see you.” He moved to hug her, but Aleka held up the violin like a shield.
“The days of flirtations and stolen kisses are over,” Aleka said.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t still be angry.”
The thought of discussing anything with Francis made Aleka’s stomach roll in protest. “I’m not angry, I’m busy.” She settled the violin under her chin.
“Of course. I merely wanted to say hello. We all miss you at the magistrate’s house.”
Did they? Aleka wondered. Likely not. Aleka said nothing, but managed to force out a tight-lipped smile.
“What happened to your violin? Did you have an accident?”
There was that word again. Aleka’s entire existence was an accident. “You could say that,” Aleka said tightly.
Baxton came out into the courtyard. “They’re ready for you,” he said crisply, eyeing Francis with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips.
“I have to go.”
Francis nodded and let her pass. Deep down, Aleka knew he wasn’t responsible for her predicament. Yet when she looked at him, she saw another fool who would never speak up about the Admiral’s cruelty.
Aleka entered the sitting room to find Lord and Lady Ghilian already seated and conversing with Deana and the Admiral. Only Deana acknowledged her, offering a sad, tired smile. Aleka put bow to string and played though it all, but Deana treated her like part of the wall.
Chapter Twelve
Each time Lord and Lady Ghilian came to visit, Aleka played. Sometimes she received a few compliments from Lady Ghilian, but mostly she served as background noise to their conversations. They sat and talked of baby Anita, the Admiral’s naval work, the menace of the Fearless Dawn, and Lord Ghilian’s duties as magistrate…talking and talking, heedless that she listened to everything.
Even worse than being forced to listen to their inane chatter was that this was the only opportunity Aleka had to see Deana, and they couldn’t even speak at these junctures. Deana always thanked Aleka and made sure she was given a little extra coin for her performance, but no other interaction was allowed. The Admiral watched like a hawk every time Deana even looked at Aleka. The only woman Aleka could have called family was taken from her just like everything else.
“Duchess,” Amelia said one night as Aleka looked blankly at the wall before bed. “Are you alright?”
Aleka grunted a response. She felt weight on her bed and to her surprise, Amelia rubbed her shoulder.
“I was cleaning under the beds today. I found these.” She set Halia’s idols on the bed. “I thought they’d make you feel better. You’re just making yourself sick, sulking all the time.”
Aleka didn’t respond, but closed her fingers around the soapstone Iuhry idol. The goddess of chaos was one of Halia’s last remaining gifts, along with the egret necklace Aleka carefully hid beneath her clothes. The stone was smooth under her fingers. She grasped the other wooden idols her mother held so dear. Praying to the Nareroc gods and goddesses had always made Halia feel better. Aleka turned her face into her pillow and cried.
~*~*~
“Victor Blackstone is a menace,” the Admiral declared to his father.
Aleka had heard the diatribe plenty as she played. Blackstone and the crew of the Fearless Dawn remained an eternal thorn in the Admiral’s side. Each time he brought it up, it filled Aleka with a grim sense of satisfaction. It was the only thing that made her remotely happy anymore. Victor Blackstone was a man who didn’t revere or fear the Admiral, and Aleka had to admire that. Sometimes as she played, she fell back into her daydreams of signing onto the Fearless Dawn.
“You’ll be on the seas again,” Lord Ghilian said. “Then you can hunt the knave down.”
Aleka ended one tune and went into a lullaby. No one cared. Deana was resting upstairs, so Aleka’s only encouragement was gone.
“You will bring him to justice. I am sure of it.” Lady Ghilian fanned herself as she spoke. “You’re the King’s law on the seas, after all.”
Justice. Law. Each word drove into Aleka like a jagged piece of glass. These people knew nothing of either.
“Indeed,” Lord Ghilian agreed. “Blackstone will know his folly soon enough.” He took a sip of tea. “He’ll feel your righteousness, son.”
Aleka played a faster song, finding a tempo that matched her heartrate. Righteousness, indeed.
“It was a grievous accident when I lost Blackstone off the coast of Uyn Struit. One I mean not to repeat,” the Admiral said with a sniff.
Accident. That word again! Aleka stopped playing. Her birth was an accident. Halia’s death was an accident. Her violin’s destruction was an accident. The word removed all fault from the Admiral, keeping him as an untouchable hero of Cesernan.
In Aleka’s pocket, the soapstone chaos idol suddenly felt very heavy. Around her neck, the hidden egret necklace burned. Iuhry’s wrath would do these fools good, she thought. Kunegunda would make them pay for the blood they spilled.
“Aleka, why have you stopped?” Lady Ghilian asked as she continued fanning.
Justice. Accidents. Words they threw about as though they meant something. Halia’s death proved there was no justice left, and murder became an “accident” where the nobility was involved.
Aleka looked at the violin in her hands. An “accident” destroyed hers. An “accident” took away the woman she loved most. My Aleka is going to turn the world on its head. Halia’s words bounced around in her mind.
“Aleka?” Lady Ghilian asked again.
Aleka took hold of the violin by the neck and dashed it into the wall. The wood splintered, leaving the strings to hold the instrument together. No one said anything, so Aleka threw it to the ground and stomped on it.
“You ungrateful brat!” Lord Ghilian yelled, rising from his chair.
Everything Aleka had pushed away and ignored came rushing up like a wave, dragging her into the undertow. She pointed the bow at him like a sword.
“Shut your mouth, Grandfather!
” Aleka snarled.
Lord Ghilian froze upon hearing the forbidden word. Lady Ghilian gasped and stopped fanning herself, eyes wide in horror. The Admiral sat stock still, turning red under his collar.
“You speak of justice like it’s something you understand, but if there was truly justice in the world, that son of a bitch would have been hanged for my mother’s murder! Her death was no accident, and everyone in this room knows it.”
Lord Ghilian took two large steps across the room until he stood right before Aleka, standing nearly half a foot taller than her. He reared his arm back and slapped her across the face. She felt the burn and the sting like a brand had marked her, but she refused to touch the mark. She would use the burn to scorch the Ghilians.
She balled her right hand into a fist and punched Lord Ghilian in the nose. He staggered back and Aleka pushed him, using the confusion to run. Behind her, Lady Ghilian screamed, and the Admiral yelled for someone to stop her. Baxton came to investigate the commotion.
Aleka barreled into him. Using her momentum, she knocked him into the wall. Upstairs, baby Anita began crying. Everywhere people shouted for Aleka to stop.
Like a fire chased her, Aleka flew out the front door. She ran down the walk, stopping only a moment at Lord and Lady Ghilian’s carriage. The roan and dappled geldings ate peacefully from their feed bags, unperturbed by much of anything. The driver sat in the driver’s seat, catching a quick nap in the afternoon sun. Aleka had no ill will toward him and she especially had none toward the horses, but she had to get away.
From the doorway of the house, Lord Ghilian called for the driver to grab her. The driver shifted and came awake in a minute, struggling to be fully coherent. Aleka slapped the rump of the dappled gelding and jumped out of the way as the horse panicked. The dappled horse frightened the roan, and together they darted up the street, the carriage clattering behind them as the sleepy driver tried to regain control. Aleka ran in the opposite direction.
She ran from the Golden Road district into the chaos of the market, pushing through the throngs of people doing business, trying to lose herself in the crowd. She stopped here and there, looking at fresh produce or handmade bracelets, so as not to draw any attention to herself.
She stood at a stand, fingering small wooden rings, picking up one every so often as though she was interested in buying. She asked a few questions on craftsmanship and price, and then moved on. She kept her eyes moving on the crowd, looking for any signs of pursuit.
Aleka was chatting with a fruit seller when she caught sight of four city guards clustered together in conference. It was impossible to tell what insignia they wore from where she stood, but word would soon reach every guard house about her. She bid the fruit seller farewell and steered herself into the center of the market crowd, trying to lose herself as best she could.
The bustle of the crowd drowned out Aleka’s furiously beating heart, even though she was sure the people close to her could hear it thumping away like a war drum. She milled about, smiling at strangers like old friends, trying to act as normal as possible. She glanced back to the guards, seeing that only two remained. Frantically, she looked around, trying to catch sight of the other two. Keeping an eye on the crowd for them, she headed for the edge of the market to sneak away, and then slammed right into someone as her attention strayed to the crowd.
“Excuse me,” she said, before realizing she’d knocked into a guard. Her blood ran cold.
“Lost?” the guard said. He had the sun, moon, and star of Golden Road on his tunic.
“I am running errands for my mistress.” Aleka kept calm despite every instinct telling her to run. She took a step back. “And she will be angry if I return late.”
“Who is your mistress?”
“Mistress Fanny Lionel, the dress maker.” Lady Ghilian had used Mistress Lionel’s services over the years. Aleka had met the woman enough over the years to know she apprenticed indentured servants in her shop.
“The same Mistress Lionel who is currently at the King’s palace, fitting Her Majesty for a new gown?” The guard grabbed her wrist and inspected her leather indentured bracelet. “This is the sigil for House Greyhome, if I’m not mistaken. Funny, they only just reported a runaway indentured servant. So, tell me again, girly, who is your mistress you’re running errands for?”
He pulled her close, reaching for his leather wrist thongs to secure Aleka. She knew it wouldn’t just be a night in the lock-up this time. It’d be a long drop, with a quick stop at the gallows. But if the Ghilians wanted to see her hang, they would have to come for her themselves.
Aleka drew in a deep breath and brought her forehead forward with all her speed and might, right into the guard’s nose. He released her, grunting as his nose began to bleed. Aleka stuck her feet between his as he staggered away, causing him to trip and fall. For good measure, she stepped on the soft parts between his legs, grinding her heel in just enough to make him yelp in pain.
“Help!” she cried. “He’s bleeding!”
People were already gathering around when they saw the guard go down. The area was abuzz with noise, drowning out his calls for someone to grab Aleka. She stepped into the gathering spectators, using their interest in a wounded guard to get away. She watched the crowd, seeing the other three guards move closer to their fallen companion. She pushed through the market, making her way to the nearest alley and ducking in.
She hid herself in the shadows, leaning against the wall, putting her hand to her chest. Her heart felt like it would explode from the stress. Aleka looked at the bustle of the market, noticing that it was clear of people down the other side of the alley. Once she caught her breath, she would make for the opposite alley entrance. It would take her away from Golden Road and the market.
Beyond the market was Rogue’s Lane. Aleka had never been to that district before, but knew its reputation well. It served the poorest in Glenbard. It was run by a thief king, and rumor among the servants on Golden Road was that those on the Lane didn’t allow guards to sniff around. Even if no one helped Aleka, if gossip could be believed, it didn’t seem like any would actively betray her on the Lane, either. Without coin or provisions for travel, there weren’t many places for Aleka to go. She knew she would be hunted. She’d struck a magistrate, a member of Cesernan’s nobility. She broke her indentureship contract. For that alone, they would chase her forever. Reaching into her apron pocket, Aleka closed her fingers around the soapstone figure of Iuhry.
Something bubbled up inside her gut. It surged forth, erupting in a laugh. Aleka clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling the nervous giggle. She held tighter to Iuhry and looked at her wrist. The indentured servant band would mark her as paid help forever, but she had no way to remove it yet. She had no money, no friends, and no family. She’d punched a magistrate, a crime that at best held a punishment of a public flogging, and at worst, death. Yet the giggles still came, refusing to be quelled by the severity of the situation.
Aleka felt her resolve harden like the soapstone gripped in her palm. She was never going back. No matter the living she had to scratch out, she would never bow and scrape to people like the Admiral ever again. In fact, she would seek aid from the very people the Admiral loathed.
Chapter Thirteen
The Thieves’ Guild had a far-reaching reputation. Even the fine lords and ladies who passed through Lady Ghillian’s parties gossiped about the Guild. Rumor had it that most of the Lane looked to the Guild for employment or assistance of one kind or another. Guards turned a blind eye in exchange for bribes. At its head sat a king, Marcus Hunewn. His name was spoken as a curse in the Ghillian home, but Aleka knew going to the King of Thieves was her only option. No decent place in Glenbard would take her in.
Aleka left her alley hiding place after dark and made for the Fallen Angel Inn and Tavern. She’d heard guests at the magistrate’s home and the other servants mention the tavern as a gathering place for the Guild. As she walked, Aleka wondered in what mood she would fin
d the thieves. She had only ever met one, Essie, who likely wouldn’t even remember her. But there was nothing to be done for it now. The only way was forward.
The Angel was a loud, lively place. A fiddle played just under the conversations and laughter, its melody fighting through the noise to offer some stability in the chaos of the room. People danced, sang on and off-key, drank, ate, and a few even played cards or threw dice in the corner. Outside there was a slight chill in the air, biting through Aleka’s clothes, but inside the air was hot and stuffy. The smell of sweat and ale mingled together and sat heavily over it all. No one paid much attention to Aleka as she came fully into the tavern.
She didn’t know what this Hunewn man looked like. No one carousing about looked very kingly. Then again, what did a King of Thieves even look like? Scruffy, unkempt? Perhaps scarred and ugly? Or beautiful? A diamond shining in the dirtiness that was the Angel? She scanned the crowd for anyone who exuded an air of kingship. It was a fruitless endeavor.
Aleka stopped her hovering near the entrance and made for the front counter. A young barmaid kept watch over the common room, her hazel eyes taking in every detail around her. Aleka started, realizing Essie stood before her, watching the other patrons carouse.
“Need something, love? she asked, barely looking at Aleka.
“I’m here to see the King of Thieves.”
The barmaid’s eyes stopped looking for trouble and focused on Aleka. Her eyes glittered in the poor light.
“I know you!” She smiled, her teeth glittering in the candlelight. “You come here to make another report the guards won’t listen to?” She laughed and slapped her hand on the counter. “Or did you turn cutpurse?”
“No, but I’ve business with the King, nonetheless.” Aleka straightened up, trying to project confidence to Essie. She wanted to seem like she belonged here as much as any of his thieves.