The Theft of Sunlight

by Intisar Khanani

  Only as we reach the center of the city do the buildings seem to gain in wealth, fresh coats of paint on the walls, the streets wider. And the children are clean and well dressed. Finally, we enter the wide plaza before the palace gates. Beyond the impressive walls, the palace rises in a multitude of rooftops, all of them cloaked in dark green clay shingles. The walls are white stone, carved intricately, and the doorways arched. If I have never seen poverty the likes of which exists on West Road, I have likewise never seen such wealth as this palace. I just manage to close my mouth as we roll through the main gates and turn down a side road, skirting the palace itself.

  A few minutes later, the carriage comes to a stop in a small courtyard allowing entrance into a series of apartments, including, as I am informed, my cousin’s. A footman opens the carriage door for me, and I step down as Veria Sanlyn bids me a brisk adieu.

  The journey to Tarinon took four days, and each of them cemented further in my mind how little I want anything to do with the nobles of the court. To be sure, Sanlyn was not rude. She merely provided a space for a local horse rancher’s daughter to sit in between the cloth-bound packages of fancy dresses and uncut fabrics awaiting their final fate at a city tailor’s hands. After a kind greeting and a nod of her head, Sanlyn had no more interest in addressing me than she did my trunk, set at my feet.

  But I did not come here to pretend to be a noble. In my last week at home, I visited Ani daily, holding her when she cried and trying to ease her anger and despair as the days passed and even her most sturdy hopes gave way to grief. Sitting with Ani, I promised myself I wouldn’t stop trying to learn more about the snatchers. I don’t imagine I can stop them myself, but if I can ask the right questions in the right places, if I can just get someone at court to care, perhaps they can still be revealed and destroyed as they deserve.

  “Through the doorway there, kelari,” the footman says now. “I’ll bring your trunk at once.”

  I nod and cross to a wooden door, carved and inlaid with a bronze floral design. A maid answers my knock, smiling brightly. “If you’ll follow me, Veria Ramella is expecting you.”

  She ushers me past the ornate chair she must have been waiting in and along a short hallway rich with mosaic-tiled walls and carved ceiling timbers, to a set of elegant marble stairs. We proceed up these, the maid pausing at the top to allow me to catch up, and continue on through the first door on the right, into what must be my cousin’s apartments. They are not overly ornate, but I am taken aback by the richness of them, from the deep hue of the brocade sofas to the silver trays and crystal decorations. And there are actual luminae stones set in lamps, lending their steady magical light to the room. Luminae stones. If only Niya could be here to study them. Or I could take one home to her.

  “This way, kelari,” the maid says, a faint note of amusement in her voice.

  I tear my awed gaze away from the room to focus on her. “Thank you.”

  She ushers me through a connecting door to an inner sitting room. I step in with a sense of absolute relief: here is a room that feels just like those at home, wool carpet underfoot and cushions against the wall, and only half the room furnished with the fancier low sofas and wooden side tables the rich prefer. The room is an exact depiction of my cousin’s marriage, she from a merchant’s family, used to simpler living, and he very much a noble, however small his holding.

  They are seated together on the sofas, deep in conversation, Melly facing me. She looks up, her face brightening at the sight of me. Her belly is just beginning to fill out her tunic. Filadon perks up and twists to see me. He is handsome, his features bordering on pretty: well-shaped eyes, sculpted lips, dark hair curling around his ears. I have sometimes wondered how Ramella, whose beauty is of a simpler, gentler demeanor, managed to get past his facades, and how he, in turn, could have won her trust.

  “Kelari Amraeya has arrived,” the maid says, completely unnecessarily at this point.

  “Cousin Rae!” Filadon cries cheerfully, jumping to his feet.

  I grin and dip an awkward curtsy as the maid lets herself out. “Verin, veria.”

  “Oh hush,” Melly says with obvious amusement. “Don’t you go around bobbing at us like that.”

  “Well, I am at court now, aren’t I?”

  Melly just shakes her head and crosses the room to embrace me. She looks hale and hearty, her eyes clear and her skin glowing with health. “It’s been a long time—I’m so glad you accepted our invitation.”

  “Bean would have tied me up and delivered me herself if I’d refused.” And I couldn’t forgo the chance to learn more about the snatchers—though that’s a conversation for another time, after I’ve settled in.

  Melly pulls back from her hug with a laugh. “Bean is quite a force to be reckoned with, isn’t she?”

  “Always has been,” I agree. “So what will we be doing while Filadon is off being noble?”

  “Unfair!” Filadon cries. “I demand company. Surely you don’t intend to ignore me for your whole stay?”

  “I’m here for Melly, not you,” I inform him equably.

  Melly, ignoring Filadon, says, “I am hoping to introduce you to my circles before the wedding, and of course you’ll meet the royal family at some point in the festivities. As such, our first order of business will be to expand your wardrobe.”

  No doubt because courtiers don’t usually take care of their own horses, or wear the clothes to do so. I muster up a smile and nod. “I thought you might say that.”

  Melly raises her brows. “Oh, well done, Rae! Not even a grumble!”

  I raise my brows in return and say earnestly, “I believe going to court is rather like going to war: one must wear the appropriate armor, or expect to be stabbed through and trampled underfoot.”

  Filadon huffs with laughter. “Well, Melly, I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Rae is clearly prepared for politics.”

  Melly just hmms softly and offers me a cup of mint tea.

  The next two days pass in a whirl of cloth and confusion. I must get used to small things I’ve never thought about before—having a bed that I might fall off, rather than a mat I can roll away each morning; having a bathing room attached to our apartments with flowing water rather than a bucket and washcloth. “We can visit the palace bathhouse if you prefer,” Melly tells me, and though we have a communal bathhouse back home too, I don’t take her up on it.

  But the majority of my time is spent shopping. Melly takes me out into the city to search for all the fabric and trimmings we’ll need. “We’ll use my palace seamstress,” she tells me. “But there’s no reason you shouldn’t see a bit more of Tarinon.”

  The more I see, though, the more I wonder about the division between the palace and the people. In Sheltershorn, no one is truly poor. Not in the way I see here, half-clothed children, all sinew and bone, running past the door of a shop selling imported silks. It feels . . . wrong, somehow, to be buying such extravagant fabrics, ordering beadwork and embroidery done, when the moment we step outside, we cross paths with laborers in ragged clothing, their faces tight with exhaustion.

  Still, I can’t go to noble gatherings in just the clothes I’ve brought with me—however nice the three new outfits Mama and Niya made for me may be, they won’t last me the whole of my stay.

  On our second afternoon, as we step out from a shop where we have just purchased an abundance of lace, I spot a sidewalk vendor selling fried flatbreads from his cart.

  “Come on.” I grab Melly’s hand and tug her along. “I need to eat.”

  Her eyes light up. “I haven’t had street food in forever.” She casts a wary glance back to the main road, where we left the carriage.

  “Why?”

  “Nobles don’t eat off the street,” she says.

  “What?” At her somber nod, I drag her forward with renewed determination. “Who’s going to tell? Come on, I think he even has spiced potato ones.”

  Melly follows along more than willingly, happily buying
two for herself. We meander down the alley, for the first time all day not actually shopping.

  “Is it hard?” I ask, breaking the silence.

  Melly sends me a curious glance.

  “Being noble, I mean? Not having grown up that way?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know if I would have chosen it, if I’d understood,” she says. “We all have ideas about how wonderful it must be to wed a lord, or live at court, or whatever. It isn’t all pretty dresses and gold.”

  “I don’t believe you ever thought it would be.”

  She finishes her flatbread, wiping the grease from her fingers onto a handkerchief. “No,” she says. “But I still didn’t truly know how my life would change. Lucky for Filadon, hmm?”

  “Does he know how you feel?”

  “In part.” She grins. “Why do you think we visit you all in the country every year?”

  “Must be to curry favor with the high-ups,” I say wryly.

  Melly’s laugh is a short, halfhearted one, quickly gone. “I miss little things,” she admits. She gestures vaguely to the alley. “Filadon and I discussed whether I should call in the merchants I order from, or whether you might enjoy going out into the city more. We both agreed on this. Once I’ve introduced you to the other ladies and we start accepting invitations, you likely won’t get much chance to go out.”

  “What do you mean I won’t go out?” I demand, bewildered.

  “Not like this. Seeing all the shops, wandering the city? It isn’t done.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am,” Melly insists, gesturing to the muddy patches in the unevenly cobbled road. “Can you imagine a court lady walking through this muck?”

  “How do they buy what they want, then?”

  “We all have our preferred tailors or jewelers or what-have-you who come up to the palace and take our orders from the comfort of our own sitting rooms.”

  It takes me a moment to process her words. “You mean, they never leave the palace?”

  “Not to shop. And not to just browse and wander. There are a few parks, a river walk, that noble parties will frequent. They drive there and back, though.”

  “But how do they know they’re really getting what they want if they haven’t seen what’s available?” And how do they know what’s really happening with the common people if they live their lives shut up in their gilded rooms? No wonder neither the king nor the nobles have done anything to stop the snatchers. They’ve nothing to do with the world around them.

  “All the best things come to the palace,” Melly says.

  I raise my brows in disbelief.

  Melly smirks. “Fine, then. We’ll never know if some merchant who isn’t among the favored few has something amazing, because we’ll never see it.”

  “That’s absurd.” To think they believe themselves the best, when they’re shuttered away like ailing nanny goats.

  Melly shrugs. We turn back toward the main road, nodding to the shopkeepers whose merchandise we’ve already looked at. My eyes alight on a young man sitting on a stool at the front corner of a shop. He has a small bowl on his lap with a heap of early peas to shell, but his fingers have gone still, a single pea pod hanging from his fingertips. His eyes are dim, unfocused. As I watch, the shopkeeper crosses to him and gently lays her hand on his shoulder, calling his name. He doesn’t respond.

  “Rae?”

  I glance to Melly, find her watching me. “That boy,” I whisper. “Is he all right?”

  She follows my gaze to the boy and we watch as the shopkeeper takes the bowl and sets it aside, then helps the boy up and guides him to the back of the shop.

  “Come,” Melly says, threading her fingers through mine and leading me toward the carriage.

  “Melly?” I ask as we cross the pavers.

  “He’s as well as he’ll ever be, Rae. He has the look of someone who’s been touched by the Darkness. There’s nothing anyone can do for him but treat him gently and help him through his days.”

  I twist to look over my shoulder, but I can no longer see into the shop from here, and anyhow, the boy is gone. And I shouldn’t be staring.

  “The Darkness,” I echo, turning back to the carriage.

  “You’ve never seen what it does,” Melly says, the words not quite a question.

  “No.” We only ever lost a few children to the snatchers, and only one of them returned—and he fled into the plains to escape the Darkness. I never saw anything like the look of this boy, whole and handsome and utterly hollow. This is why the Blessing is necessary—to protect children who escape the snatchers from losing the very light of their minds and spirits.

  We clamber up into the carriage. I sit quietly, my thoughts caught on the memory of the boy, his hands gone still around the peas, his eyes unseeing. This is the other side of what the snatchers do, and the sight of it both sickens and enrages me. How dare the snatchers destroy our youth even after they have escaped? How can our only answer be a blessing that steals our children’s memory—instead of a way to finally stop the snatchers themselves?

  I’ve allowed the last two days to slip by without thinking too much about the snatchers, about the questions I promised myself I’d ask. It seemed wise to settle in first and then broach the subject. But I cannot shake the image of the boy. Tonight, when Filadon joins us for dinner, I’ll ask.

  Chapter

  8

  Filadon arrives just barely in time for dinner, sliding into his seat at the table—no low table with cushions to rest upon here!—just as the maid brings out the meal.

  “How was your day, my love?” he asks, leaning over to brush a kiss on Melly’s cheek.

  She blushes, the brown of her skin warming with a faint rose undertone. “You do see that Rae is here, don’t you?”

  Filadon turns to me with exaggerated surprise. “Rae! Wherever did you come from?”

  “The country,” I say helpfully.

  “Oh hush, you,” Melly says, swatting his arm. “Rae and I had a lovely day, thank you for asking. We spent the morning shopping and the afternoon with the seamstress, and by tomorrow the first of her new outfits should be arriving.”

  “I am impressed,” Filadon says. “With the first of the wedding festivities less than a week away, you must have been very persuasive to manage to order a whole wardrobe. Everyone must be ordering clothes.”

  “You know she’s always had a soft spot for me,” Melly says. “Now she likes Rae too.”

  “She was very kind,” I chime in. Melly’s promise to pay extra for a rush delivery did not go amiss either.

  “And how did you find the city today?” Filadon asks, as he did yesterday.

  “Lovely and chaotic and busier than Spring Fair,” I say. “But I saw one thing—a boy, actually.”

  “Ah,” Melly says at the same moment Filadon says, “Oh?”

  “Melly says he was touched by the Darkness.”

  Filadon looks at me, his gaze oddly intent. “I see. You’ve never met such a child before?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a tragedy,” he says with a slight tilt of his head, as if waiting for me to go on.

  “I wondered,” I say carefully, “what the soldiers here do to stop the snatchers—if anyone is investigating them. I thought you might know.”

  “Would I?”

  I shrug. “If anyone could stop them, I assume it would be the high marshal, or the royal family themselves. Do they—are they aware of the snatchers?”

  Filadon smiles, a quick, sharp grin that is bright teeth and brighter eyes. His words are strangely at odds with that look. “An excellent question, Rae. By and large, the court believes the snatchers to be a figment of the commoners’ imagination—a sort of bogeyman to scare children into behaving, and explain away the fate of runaways.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “And yet, it is what the court believes.”

  “How do they explain the Darkness, then?”

  “The natural re
sult of a sudden illness, or a blow to the head. Or”—he shrugs—“a purportedly magical bogeyman to complement the snatchers. If one doesn’t frighten you, the other will.”

  “Someone has to do something,” I say, desperation warring with disbelief. How can the nobles discount this reality so completely? “We lost another girl in Sheltershorn. She didn’t run away. She was stolen and couldn’t be traced—her father tried a mage in one of the cities he rode to. Niya tried within an hour of the girl’s disappearance. The snatchers aren’t some collective delusion. They’re real.”

  “We know,” Melly says quietly.

  I turn to her, trying to tamp down my emotions, but that fierce anger at Seri’s loss, that grief is still there, its claws buried beneath my skin along with the memory of Ani’s pain. “Then why does no one believe you? At least enough to look into it? If they investigate, they can’t help but find the truth of it.”

  Filadon weaves his fingers together and rests his chin upon them. “Melly can’t,” he says conversationally. “The court only listens to what they want to hear from whom they want to hear it. If she brings it up, it’s her common background speaking, not her intelligence or knowledge or ability.”

  Melly nods, her expression hard. I wonder how often her perspective is discounted because of her background. I haven’t even met the court and I’m already livid with them.

  Filadon sighs. “And I . . . don’t have quite as much power as you might think.”