by Amber Argyle
“Did you manage to find a job?” Ash spoke softly, as she always did in her rooms, for they never knew who was listening through the seven peepholes they’d found in the walls. Not to mention the fact that Ash’s patron was still asleep in the bedroom.
Counting as she set out the dishes, Cinder wondered if she should tell her mother about the deal she’d made with Zura. But there was nothing to be done about it now, and talking about it would only upset her mother.
Unfortunately, Ash was quite perceptive. She took Cinder’s calloused hands in her soft ones and said, “I’ve heard that Mubia is more open to those with clannish blood. Perhaps you should go there to seek a job.”
“Zura would never let me leave the city. Not with my debts.” Cinder didn’t say the rest. Zura was convinced Cinder would be on the first ship to the clanlands, never to look back, even though Cinder had no intention of ever leaving her mother and grandmother behind.
Ash sighed. “Pour the hot water.” She went to a side table and removed the lid to a little jar. Here was the safest place to talk, since the bedroom was on the other side and no one could read their lips to tell they were whispering—something strictly forbidden. Ash pulled out three leaves of the wedlock weed that would keep her from having a child. Cinder brought her a cup and stood so their shoulders were touching.
Ash set the leaves in the sieve to steep. As the bitter steam wafted up, she met Cinder’s gaze. “Who is the new Luathan?”
Cinder bit the inside of her cheek. “A slave Zura is putting up for auction.”
Ash’s brow furrowed. “Then why is she with the servants and not being trained by the Luathan companions?”
Cinder tried to think of a way out of telling her mother the truth, then finally said, “I’m to teach her.”
Her mother removed the leaves, stirred honey into the tea, and took a sip of her tea, and made a face at the bitter taste. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Cinder sighed. “Zura offered me a job as the House of Night’s seamstress.”
Ash set down her teacup. “And you agreed?”
“I didn’t have a choice. Zura found the dresses I’ve been making. She accused me of stealing. It was agree to be her seamstress or go to the debtors’ mine.” Cinder shuddered at the thought. “I made her sign a contract. The moneychangers read it aloud to me.”
“Contract or not, you can’t trust Zura or her promises. Cinder, we have to get you out of here.”
She felt the old panic rising up within her. “I can’t leave you and Grandmother.”
Her mother took hold of her arm, fingernails digging in—a reminder to keep her voice down. “Listen to me. You—”
Her words cut off as the bedroom door opened. Wearing his sleep clothes, General Balthdur grinned at Ash. He was the main reason she hadn’t been retired yet; he was negotiating with Zura to purchase Ash as soon as his ailing wife died. Cinder couldn’t look at the man without wanting to strangle his fat neck.
“What are you two whispering about, my clanwoman?” Two arms snaked around Cinder’s mother from behind. Ash shot Cinder a fierce look that sent her scampering for the door. She closed it softly behind her, blocking out the wet sounds of their kissing.
Cinder had spent too long in her mother’s rooms. Already some men were in the corridors, reminding each other of the drunken business deals they’d made the night before—her grandmother often said the entire province was run from this brothel. Cinder kept her head down, moving smoothly to attract as little attention as possible. Still, she felt more than one pair of eyes following her.
If she couldn’t sew, Cinder decided she could at least train Naiba while she cleaned. On her hands and knees, Cinder counted strokes as she scrubbed the tile floor near the banquet tables. Naiba stood at the exact center of the platform like she was afraid the walls might collapse in on her. For the fourth time, Cinder stopped scrubbing to show her the Luathan dances. Soap bubbles dripped down her arms as she demonstrated the elegant curls and turns of the wrist and her feet stamped out the rhythm. The dance was meant to be graceful and powerful, but when Naiba tried it, she looked more like she was having some sort of fit.
Cinder scrubbed at the floor all the harder in her panic. “These are the dances of your people. How do you not know them?”
“These aren’t our dances any more than those were clannish stone walls,” Naiba said bitterly.
Cinder pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and thumb. “Let’s focus on your singing then—you can sing, right?”
Naiba took a deep breath and let out a few crystal-clear notes in Luathan. Cinder looked over the girl again with new eyes. Though she wasn’t beautiful, she had an innocent freshness about her. With Storm’s and Ash’s help with makeup, the girl could probably be made into something near pretty.
“For now, forget the dancing,” Cinder told her. “Let’s just focus on your singing.”
Naiba wrung her hands. “If . . . if I fail, where will she send me?”
To a place where you will be used up like the rags I’m scrubbing the floor with, Cinder thought sadly. By helping with Naiba’s training, was Cinder trading this girl’s future for her own freedom? She pushed aside her guilt. Not training Naiba would only result in lower bids or the girl being sold off somewhere worse. “There’s no point in worrying about that,” Cinder said. “Right now, I want you to worry about what Luathan song you should sing.”
Naiba closed her eyes and opened her mouth. A somber, haunting rush of sounds broke forth. Cinder could sense the loneliness, even if she couldn’t understand the words. They worked on each note—when to hold it and when to let it go. How to build the song from something soft and gentle into a crescendo that left chills on Cinder's arms.
By dinnertime, the great room shone from top to bottom. Cinder hadn’t started on the dress yet, but she was beginning to feel a measure of hope that she could pull this off.
That night, she helped the companions serve their men and immediately cleaned up any spills or crumbs. As the evening wore on, Cinder grew increasingly tired. She’d slept so little over the last few months that she was rarely without a headache. She was tempted to try a bite of the lamb chops, but Zura’s spies were always watching.
When the last of the companions had retreated to their rooms with the men, Cinder went to the servants’ house. In the kitchen, Storm was clearing away the last of the dishes. Cinder took a bowl of lentils and counted each bite as she wound her way up the stairs to the stiflingly hot attic room. Naiba was already asleep. Cinder longed to join her, but she had only one day to finish the dress.
She sat down on her broken stool and gathered the rich fabric into her hands. Afraid of making a mistake in her exhausted state, she measured twice before cutting anything. Still, she cut the last panel too small. She stared hopelessly at the useless piece of fabric. No doubt Zura would make her pay to buy more. And she dared not try to hide it, because Zura always found out.
Cinder pressed her fingers into her burning eyes and rubbed them until they watered. Her thoughts would be clearer in the morning. The night had cooled considerably, as it always did in the desert. Bracing herself for the coming darkness, she blew out the lamp, then pushed to her feet and reached out to close the window. Below, a hooded figure slipping from the mansion made her pause. Instead of heading to the outbuildings, the person, clearly a woman, glanced around carefully. Instinctively, Cinder ducked behind the sill just as the shadowed gaze turned her direction. When Cinder peeked out again, the woman was moving toward the back gate.
Cinder tensed. Didn’t the companions all know about the new guard? Where was he, anyway? She searched the wall but couldn’t see him. The woman was headed straight for danger. Cinder almost opened her mouth in warning. Before she could, a form detached from beneath one of the garden trees and snatched the woman. Cinder swallowed a gasp.
What would he do to her? Worse yet, what would Zura do? The guard spun the woman around and said something too low for Cin
der to make out. And then he laughed. Cinder scrambled to come up with some way to help that didn’t make things worse.
But instead of dragging the woman back to the mansion, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Stunned, Cinder gaped at the two as they stumbled toward the garden shed. The guard broke away from the woman just long enough to push open the door. Before the pair disappeared inside the shed, golden lamplight bathed the man’s long face, revealing a strange mark on his cheek.
Cinder gripped the windowsill so hard her fingers hurt. A companion risked death by consorting with anyone other than her clients. Disgusted by the woman’s carelessness and lack of regard for her own safety, Cinder moved to the washbasin and wetted her finger before dipping it in salt and polishing her teeth—fifteen strokes on each side. She washed her face and shaved the sides of her scalp, then turned to go to bed. Beyond the window, the shed door swinging open caught her gaze. She shot a searing gaze at the two lovers.
The woman was adjusting her clannish dress, but the man grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him. Just before their lips met, her upturned face caught the light.
Cinder’s arms fell limply at her sides. It was Ash. Her mother kissed the guard, whose hands were all over her. Then she pulled back and tugged her hood over her head. The man slapped her behind on his way to unlock the gate, and Ash disappeared from view. Cinder’s mother would never be that stupid. Would never risk her life and the lives of her daughter and mother to slip outside the House of Night. Not unless she had a very good reason.
Before Cinder knew what she was doing, she had slipped into her own cloak and tugged the hood down low over her face. She grabbed the closest thing she had to a weapon—a pair of scissors—and tucked them deep in the pockets of her robes. Her gaze searched the shadows where her grandmother slept. At least Cinder hoped she was sleeping.
“Where are you going?” a voice suddenly asked.
Cinder’s head swiveled toward Naiba’s dark form beside her grandmother. “Out to the privy.” She felt the girl’s eyes on her, felt her hesitation, as if she knew Cinder was lying. There was a rustling sound and a long moment of silence. Naiba must have lain back down.
Relieved, Cinder counted her steps as she stole past the row of women. Soon she slipped into the velvety darkness and rushed toward the shed. She chewed on the inside of her cheek—if her mother was caught, she would be sold. And despite her years in Arcina, Ash did not know the streets. Cinder had to know why she would risk so much.
The guard turned around. When he saw Cinder, he jumped. “Get back in the house!” he snapped, his voice low. “No one is to be near the wall after dark.”
“I must follow my mother.”
He took a step closer. It was too dark to make out his features other than that he was lanky, with big ears sticking out against the star-strewn sky. When he grinned, his teeth flashed in the moonlight. “Twice in one night, and a new one at that.”
Cinder’s hand crept to her scissors, the weight of them reassuring in her grip. “I’m in a hurry. I need to get through.”
He cocked her a grin, his gaze sliding down her cloaked figure. “Me too.”
Before she could react, the guard had her pressed up against the gate, his wet lips plastered against her mouth. She struggled against him, but his grip was like iron. She jerked out her scissors, then grabbed the back of his neck and held the point to his throat. “Give me the keys.”
The guard tried to maneuver away from the knife, but Cinder held him in place and pushed the point into the delicate skin. He froze and she felt his throat working—one, two, three times. “And what do you think the mother will do when I tell her you took off?” he gasped.
“What do you think she’ll do when she finds out you bedded my mother and tried to bed me? You know we’re not for the likes of you.”
“As if she’ll believe you!”
Cinder gritted her teeth and pushed the scissors far enough that she knew she was drawing blood. She remembered the mark on the man’s cheek and suddenly realized what it was: a single-flame tattoo that was given to the queen’s redeemed—men who had once been criminals. In Idara’s time of need, Nelay had freed them, promising their marks of shame would turn to marks of honor if they proved themselves. But this man’s mark had not been finished. He had run, deserting his people in their darkest hour.
“And she would be more likely to believe the word of a fallen?” Cinder hissed. The guard didn’t respond. “You’re going to let me go. And you’re going to let me back in. If you don’t say a word, then neither will I about what you did to my mother.”
Very slowly, the guard took the key from around his neck and inserted it in the lock. With a snick, it gave way behind Cinder. She scrambled out and slammed it shut. Hopefully Zura or one of her spies hadn’t heard the commotion. Cinder held the gate shut for a moment, waiting for the guard to come after her. Instead, the lock snicked again.
Relieved, she whirled toward the empty streets. Her mother was nowhere in sight. Cinder’s gaze darted down the three possible routes, not knowing which her mother would have taken. She jumped up to grab the branch of a tree next to the tallest building and started climbing. When she reached the top, her hands were sticky with sap. She stretched out and took hold of a roof beam that stuck out from the mud-brick walls. She hooked her leg around the beam, pulled herself onto the roof, and peered into the night, glad for the light of the moon. She saw nothing to the west or south, but a dark figure moved to the east.
She had no way of knowing if the person was her mother or not, but Cinder didn’t have any other options. She took hold of a roof beam and dangled over the street before letting herself drop. She hit hard, her knees jarred and her feet stinging. Ignoring the pain, she sprinted silently through the deserted streets, counting her steps as she went. She carried her scissors firmly in her hand. The city watch was good at their job, but the shadows were deep, and this part of the city seemed eerily silent. Not even a glimmer of lamp light could be seen in the windows.
Cinder could taste blood on the back of her throat 1,958 steps later, when she caught up to the figure and confirmed it was her mother. Ash was hurrying along, the long dagger in her grip a deterrent to anyone who might think to molest her.
Tugging her veil over her face, Cinder hung back and tried to keep her steps silent. She’d counted 3,453 steps when her mother moved to the eastern side of the city, not far from the palace. Here, there were still lights on and people about, most of them drunk or up to no good, or both. Ash stepped toward a tavern called the Sand Snake. Cinder ducked behind an empty street-vendor cart just as her mother looked back. Breathless, Cinder waited to see if she’d been discovered. Seven heartbeats passed before Ash turned away. A moment later, she disappeared inside the tavern.
Frozen with indecision, Cinder watched two people stumble outside, sound and light coming with them. Despite the late hour, closer to morning than evening, the tavern sounded busy. Hoping she could blend in, Cinder checked her veil and hurried after her mother. Tribesmen filled the tavern. Rather than the rich colors Idarans preferred, the tribesmen’s robes were a nondescript tan, meant to blend in with the desert. They didn’t wear tattoos on their scalps, either. Their accents were fine and sharp, like sand blasting against Cinder’s skin.
Her mother sat at a table with one of the tribesmen, an untouched drink before her. Checking to make sure her veil was tightly secured, Cinder kept her eyes down and sat on the cushions at the short table behind her mother. She could hear Ash’s voice, low and urgent, but she couldn’t make out the words. She was speaking to a thin man in his forties with a piercing gaze.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cinder saw her mother hand the man something wrapped in a bit of cloth. He opened it, smiled, and leaned back in his seat. Cinder stood up, waving at the tavern maid as an excuse to see what the man held—rubies sparkled like crystallized blood. It was an earring Cinder had seen her mother wearing the night before.
She couldn
’t even begin to guess the value of the items her mother had stolen. Fire and burning, Zura would kill her for it. Under her veil, Cinder pressed her hand to her mouth and tapped her fingers to distract herself from throwing up.
A girl wearing a stained apron came to stand before her. “What would you like?”
“I’m waiting for someone,” Cinder said, the words barely above a whisper.
The girl huffed. “Well then, why did you wave me over?”
Cinder muttered some excuse. By the time she had her wits about her, her mother was already slipping out the door and back into the night. Cinder bolted after her, determined to catch up and demand to know what was going on. But Cinder had no sooner left the building than a hand clamped around her mouth, and a strong arm rolled her off her feet and spun her into the alley flanking the tavern.
She struggled, reaching for her scissors, yet his grip—he was too strong to be a woman—only tightened until she saw stars. He pinned her against the wall and searched her. He found her scissors and took them. “Who are you?” His voice was gruff and hard.
“I don’t have any money,” Cinder gasped. “Just scissors, and you already have them.” By the Balance, please don’t let him want anything else. She had managed to fend off the guard, but this man was obviously better trained and unbelievably strong. She didn’t stand a chance at stopping him if he wanted to molest her.
He pushed his forearm against her throat, and she struggled to breath. “Why were you following the woman? Why did you eavesdrop on their conversation?”
Cinder didn’t see any point in lying. “Because I had to know.”
“Know what?”
“Why she would do something so stupid!” she wheezed.
The man had just drawn breath to ask another question when someone else hurried into the alley and reported, “No one else was following Ash.”
The man holding Cinder wrenched her around and tied her hands behind her with quick, efficient movements. Then he forced her toward the rear of the tavern, to a set of stairs leading below ground. She struggled all the harder, remembering all the times Zura had locked her in the cellar for the slightest disobedience. The other man grabbed Cinder’s legs, and they hauled her into a lamp-lit room, where they pushed her into a chair.