She wanted to hide, to lose him. Quickly. She peered around the docks: where would be the last place a self-respecting young woman go?
The answer came to her in an instant and her lips turned up in a quick grin — the Inn of the Broken Sun.
Krea took a deep breath as she knocked on the gaudy door. A large woman wearing nothing but a corset and stockings opened it, her face white with makeup and lips red with rouge. “Hello sweetheart, what can I do for you?”
“A room would be nice,” she said, swallowing her revulsion. Ibb had given her a lot of money. She slipped the woman a shilling. The woman grinned, “You have found the right place!”
The woman beckoned her inside. In the large front room, men sat around tables, drinking spirits and playing cards, with all sorts of women arrayed around them. The smell of smoke and thick perfume was gagging.
“This way, then.” The madame led her upstairs and to a room on the right-hand side. The room was dirty. Krea saw thick dust on the furniture. The whole room reeked of alcohol and smoke.
“Can I get you anything else?”
Before Krea could answer, there was a knock on the door. The madame turned around, her brows lowered thunderously, and yanked it open. A young woman curtsied and beckoned her close, a look of worry in her eyes. The two women whispered to each other in a hurried exchange. When they were done, the young woman disappeared and the door closed.
The madame flashed her a fake smile, “I will be back in a moment.” She gestured to the bed. “You can settle yourself there.”
Krea sat on the bed, relieved to be alone. She dropped her head in her hands.
She looked at her hand again. There were only three fingers. The fourth she’d hidden in her trouser pocket.
“Hello there,” a man’s voice called from the doorway. Krea hastily dropped her hands to her lap, then moved and sat on them.
She knew the voice. It was the thief.
Chapter Eleven: Hello Krea
“Hello Krea,” the man said. Krea jumped up and reached for her hat pin.
The man raised both of his hands, “I come in peace.”
“How do you know my name?”
“It’s easy enough to learn,” he said with a smirk, “if you know who to ask.”
Krea clenched her fists under her legs, glad that he couldn’t see them. Her face burned with anger. She felt the rage course through her veins like fire. She wondered why she wasn’t scared or frightened — the rage consumed her as much as fire consumed wood.
“What do you want?”
“I only want to talk,” the man said, hands still raised. He stepped toward her.
“I don’t want to talk to you. Get out of here!” Krea started to move further back on the bed, remembered her hands and thought better of it.
The man’s smirk turned into a grin. “I’ll leave if you show me your hands.”
“Why?” Krea demanded. He made no move, so she continued, “There’s nothing wrong with my hands! They’re cold, I see no reason to show them to you!”
“So only one finger fell off?” He asked, watching her jerk in reaction. He laughed. His grin broadened. “Just wait until the rest of them go!”
“How do you know that?” She wanted to punch him, but she knew she was weaker than him, he would easily overpower her.
“What do you —” she began. He cut her off.
“You and I are a lot alike.”
“I don’t even know who you are!” Krea said.
“I’m Jarin,” he said, extending a hand toward her. Krea did not take it. “Oh, I forgot! You don’t have any hands!”
She glowered at him. He looked at her a moment longer, shrugged, and said, “So what do you know?”
“About what?”
“About yourself, about what’s happening,” Jarin told her. Loud shouts from outside distracted him. “You help me, I help you.”
“How?”
“Get into bed with me,” he said, moving toward her.
“Never!”
“If you don’t, you’ll die,” he said, jumping onto the bed beside her. He threw her toward the headboard and scuttled up beside her, reaching for the bedspread with his other hand. He got underneath it and threw it over the both of them just as the door burst open.
“In the King’s name!” a guard shouted at the door.
“Keep these safe on you, I’ll come back for them,” Jarin said, thrusting a packet toward her.
The door burst open and two guards rushed in.
“That’s him!” one shouted.
“You’re under arrest, by order of the King,” the other said. They looked contemptuously toward Krea, dressed still in boy’s garb.
“You lad, do you know this man?” the first guard demanded.
Krea shook her head, eyes wide with fright.
“He’s a thief,” the guard said. The two pulled Jarin out of the bed roughly. With one taking each arm, they marched him out of the room.
Jarin turned back at the doorway long enough to catch her eyes and shake his head: say nothing. Krea was too frightened to consider speaking.
A long moment later, the madame returned to the room. “I’m terribly sorry,” she said. “He paid me more than you.”
“And so you prosper,” Krea said with a bitter look.
“You’re a girl!” the madame exclaimed.
“What I am is no concern of yours,” Krea shot back. “If you’ve any sense, you’ll forget you ever saw me.” She jumped out of the rumpled bed and headed past her, through the doorway. She turned back and said, “Where are they taking him?”
“The jail, no doubt,” the madame said. Her eyes took on a calculating look. “For a shilling, I’ll have someone bring you to him.”
“I’ve already paid,” Krea snapped.
The madame seemed to consider this and then, wordlessly, nodded. She started down the stairs, gesturing for Krea to follow her. At the front room she signaled a young girl and spoke to her in low tones. The girl gave Krea a quick look, nodded once, and motioned for Krea to follow her.
Krea grabbed the girl’s arm as they left the inn. “If anyone asks, I’m your brother from out of town. Someone stole something from me and I’m trying to find them.”
The girl gave her a measuring look, brows furrowed, then nodded. “This way.”
Chapter Twelve: King’s Jail
The King’s Jail was a musty stone building set at the worst part of the dockyards. Here, the smell was fouler than anything Krea had encountered. The girl stopped outside and pointed before darting off, lost from sight in a moment as she flitted from one shadow to the next.
Krea hovered at the outskirts of the jail, wondering what to do when the guards marched through the gates with Jarin still between them. At least she didn’t have to worry about finding him.
Ibb had told her to find his driver. She didn’t know how long he would wait. But Jarin had said she would die and that he knew what was happening to her. How?
He’d told her to keep his packet. She felt in her jacket and pulled it out, careful not to dislodge her dead finger or hurt the stub on her hand. The packet was a small, red purse of fine velvet. The laces were gold. With a sense of growing dread, she opened it. Gold gleamed back at her. At the very top of a large pile of jewels and coins was the Crown Prince’s amulet. If anyone found her, she’d be jailed for certain.
A grubby child came rushing out of the jail, looked around, smiled grimly when he spotted her, and rushed over to her. Krea quickly hid the packet as the boy approached. His eyes were sunken in a starved face and he smelled.
“He said you’d give me a penny,” the child said.
“Who?”
“He’d said you’d know,” the child replied. He held out a grubby hand. “A penny for his message.”
Krea fished in h
er pocket for a penny from the coppers Ibb had given her. She held it tightly in her good hand, “What did he say?”
“He said to meet him, he’s just inside in the first cell,” the child said. “The guard will let you in for a shilling.”
Why is everything a shilling? Krea wondered as the child grabbed the penny and scampered away. She took a deep breath and crossed the street to the jail.
Her lungs burned inside her like she was breathing the heated air of her father’s forge. Father! she cried to herself. What would happen when she didn’t come home? How would he survive if she didn’t marry Angus?
“What do you want?” a guard called out from an alcove. Krea looked up, startled.
“Pl-please,” she stuttered. She remembered what she was supposed to say. “My brother. I’ve come to see him.”
“No one can see the prisoners,” the guard said, jerking his head toward the exit.
“I can pay,” Krea said pulling a silver shilling out of her pocket.
The shilling disappeared into the guard’s large hand. “You have five minutes.”
Krea nodded and rushed away, looking for the first cell and trying not to vomit at the horrible smells that assailed her senses.
“There you are!” Jarin cried, rising up from the straw strewn across the hard-packed floor. “You took your time!”
“I came as soon as I could,” Krea replied in surprise.
“After you had a drink or two, you useless knave,” Jarin roared back angrily. “Come here, let me smell your breath, prove that I’m wrong!” He beckoned her forward. When she hesitated he gave her a large wink of the eye furthest from
the guards.
With a sigh, Krea moved forward. Jarin grabbed her arms and dragged him right up to the bars.
“Here, here, enough of that!” the guard barked.
“Ach, you’re a liar, just as I said!” Jarin shouted, thrusting Krea away. “Get you gone! You’re no use to me and I’ve no use for you either.”
Krea gave him a shocked look — then realized he was just acting. But when would he share his secrets with her?
“Go on, go on, you useless knave!” Jarin shouted, reaching down and throwing dirtied straw at her. Instinctively, Krea ducked away.
“You heard the lad, away with you!” the guard said, moving toward her.
Head bowed, Krea left.
Outside the jail, she turned back in bewilderment. What was she going to do now?
Chapter Thirteen: The Fugitive
Was Jarin telling her true, that he knew something she didn’t? Or had he just used her for his own ends? And if so, what were they? And how did he know about her hand? Had the shaman told him? How was that possible?
Krea stood there, lost in thought for a long moment until a motion from the jail caught her eye. It was the guard looking at her suspiciously. She realized that if she stayed much longer, he might come after her.
She could go find Ibb’s driver, go to the cold north. She shivered. Even here it was already cold enough. Fall was slipping into winter and, from the chill in the evening air, she guessed it would be a fierce one. She turned back toward the docks, toward the meeting place Ibb had described to her, not far from the inn. She hadn’t taken more than two steps when a shout came from behind her. Before she could turn or do anything, a hand gripped her elbow tightly.
“Run!” Jarin cried, pushing her along in front of him. The noise behind her grew louder as more guards added their voices to the alarm. “Over here!” Jarin pulled her down a side street.
The next few minutes were a bewildering rush of twists and turns. Krea cried out in pain at his insistent jerking on her elbow — it burned so much that she feared it, too, might come off just like her finger. A moment later he pushed her through a back door. They were in shadow and silence.
“Why aren’t we running?”
“We’re safe, they’d never expect us to return,” Jarin told her. Krea sniffed and recognized the awful perfume of the Inn. “And, if I know you, you’ve got our escape all planned out.”
Our escape? Krea thought angrily. “Why should I do anything more for you?”
“Because you’ll be wanted by the King’s men, for your part in my escape,” Jarin said, his teeth gleaming in the darkness.
“Why?” Krea asked, her brows narrowing. “They think I’m a boy.”
“How many boys use hatpins?” Jarin asked. Krea’s eyes widened. “How do you think I escaped?”
“You thief!”
“And you have my jewels,” Jarin said. “So we’d best escape quickly before the king’s men decide to return here.” He paused for moment, then asked snarkily, “So, once again I ask you: what’s your plan?”
Krea snarled at him, wishing she could bite his head off.
“Careful!” Jarin said, raising his hands. “You’ll burn us all in your rage!”
Krea realized that she could see. The darkness seemed lighter like someone had lit a lamp. She glanced down and saw that the light was coming from her.
“Calm yourself,” Jarin said.
“What’s happening to me?” Krea asked. She closed her eyes, wishing the horror would end. She felt Jarin’s arms enfold her.
“Shh, shh, it’s a good thing,” Jarin told her quietly. “Just calm yourself, and it will be all right.”
Angrily, Krea pushed him away. “I told you, don’t touch me!”
Chapter Fourteen: Fire Within
Everything had changed. Everything was different. Krea didn’t know what was happening.
“I’m to be married,” She said in the darkness.
“I don’t think so,” Jarin said. She sniffed in anger. He held up his hands soothingly. “You made a choice, you are seeing the consequences.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Later,” Jarin said. “This is not the time.”
“Tell me now or I’ll give your jewels to the guards,” Krea said, shoving a hand into her jacket.
“They’d kill you,” Jarin said. “We need to escape, go somewhere cold before too much happens to you.” He grabbed her shoulders. “What is your plan?”
“You’ll get nothing until you tell me,” Krea said. Impulsively, she added, “And you owe me a shilling and a penny.”
Jarin laughed. “Oh, that’s rich! You’re threatening me!” She could feel him shaking his head back and forth. “You even think to threaten me and you don’t know what you are!”
“Why, don’t people threaten you all the time?” Krea said. “You are a most annoying man, I can’t see why they wouldn’t.”
“I’m not a man,” Jarin told her.
“Well, boy, then,” Krea replied. He seemed to have not much more than her own sixteen years.
Jarin’s laugh grew louder. He dropped his arms. “Boy! You think I’m a boy!”
“What, are you a girl in disguise?”
“Ha!”
Krea burned with anger.
“Calm down,” Jarin said, suddenly serious. “I’ve no desire to get burnt with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You made a bargain, didn’t you?” Jarin said.
“A bargain?”
“Don’t be coy,” he said. “You made a bargain with someone dying.”
“It was a wyvern,” Krea admitted.
“What did she say to you?” And Jarin’s words were now like frost on the ground or ice over a river.
Krea was slow to answer. Finally, she said, “She offered me a gift, a chance for a different life.”
“And when was this?”
“Yesterday,” Krea said, surprised at the urgency in his tone.
Jarin took a step back from her. Then he turned, grabbed her arm and rushed them back out the door. His hold on her was so tight that she couldn’t pull away no matter how h
ard she tried. It was like her arm was in a vice.
They reached the docks and the piers before he slowed down. Krea was breathless.
“I —” he began.
“What —” she demanded at the same time.
He glanced upwards and gestured. Snow was falling, small flakes at first, then larger clusters.
“Good,” he said. “That should help if things go wrong.” He lowered his gaze to her. “Where are the jewels?”
Krea’s hand went toward her pocket before she stilled it, her eyes flinty. “You were going to tell me.”
“You should be dead,” he said, looking at her with pity in his eyes. “Why aren’t you dead?”
“The wyvern —”
“Annora,” Jarin said.
“What?”
“Her name was Annora,” he replied. “Annora Wymarc.”
“The airship shot her down,” Krea said.
“No.”
“I saw it.”
“Did you?” Jarin challenged her.
“Well...” Krea recalled what she’d seen. She’d seen the airship, the dissipating smoke, she’d found the wyvern.
“She died saving me,” Jarin said. “They fired at me and she pushed me aside.” He glanced at Krea. “She didn’t tell you, did she?”
“She was dying,” Krea said, as if that was all that mattered.
“And she offered you a choice,” Jarin said. “You say it was yesterday?”
Krea nodded. Jarin looked at her critically.
“You should be changed by now,” he told her. “I thought this was your first day. It only takes a day unless...” he broke off and gave her another, longer critical look. Finally, he said, “What happened, afterwards?”
“What?”
“When you woke up next to the body,” Jarin said, his voice catching on the last word.
“I...” Krea’s brows furrowed in concentration. “I didn’t,” she said. “I woke up in my bed.”
“So someone found you and brought you back,” Jarin guessed. “Who?”
Twin Soul Series Omnibus 1: Books 1-5 (Twin Soul Series Book Sets) Page 4