The Theft of Sunlight

by Intisar Khanani

  He nods. “The research that you did, were the details lost entirely?”

  “It can be done again,” I assure him. “Kirrana was excellent, but, given both motivation and time, I suspect another clerk could find what she did. Especially now that we know what we are looking for. If I work directly with a clerk, I think we could re-create it relatively easily.”

  He smiles. “You are a wonder, kelari. I am sorry you must leave us.”

  I don’t have to, and I don’t intend to quite yet, but I have no interest in discussing it either. Instead, I dip my head in acknowledgment and make my excuses, retreating to my room.

  Chapter

  53

  Sitting at my dressing table, I let my hair down and brush it slowly, the action strangely soothing. Once it’s smooth again, I plait it into a pair of braids. Country style, and wonderfully comforting at that.

  And then my hands are still, and I can’t escape the memories of this afternoon. I open my dressing table drawers, as if that might distract, as if something as stupid and mundane as brushes and jewelry could drive away the thought of screams and bloodshed on the boat, the sound of the sailor dying. The sight of my knife cutting him. My hands start shaking and my stomach heaves. It was self-defense. It was to save the boy, I remind myself, but I cannot breathe through the horror of it. I push myself to my feet, gulping great breaths of air, but it’s not enough.

  Stop thinking. Just stop.

  Eventually, my panic subsides, my shaking with it. I stand a few moments, and then I start for the door. If I cannot rest, at least I can check on the children.

  As I step into the main hallway, Alyrra lets herself out of her suite. She looks toward me in surprise. “Rae?”

  I nod. “Do you require attendance?” I ask, almost hopefully. At least it will take my mind away from what I saw on the boat.

  “No. I am only going to the palace temple. Unless you would like to come with me?”

  I shrug and then find myself moving to accompany her. I rarely went to our temple in Sheltershorn, but perhaps it will do me some good. I can go to check on the children from there; they won’t remember me at this point, and will hardly be waiting for me. And I don’t doubt they’re all right now. A few minutes longer won’t signify.

  Alyrra says nothing as we pass down the halls, and in a short time we enter the temple with its plush carpets and great arches. There are shelves against the wall containing holy books and scholarly writings, but other than that, and the richness of the room itself, it is very much like the temple at home. We leave our shoes by the door and find different spots to sit quietly on the carpets. Alyrra rises after a time and prays, bowing and prostrating herself, but I only sit, letting the peace of the room seep into me. I repeat soft words of praise, letting the rhythm soothe my nerves, remind me that there is something to believe in above and beyond the violence of this world.

  Eventually, Alyrra finishes and moves toward the door. I follow her out, grateful that she does not break the silence until we part ways in the royal wing. It is only as I let myself into the attendants’ suite that I realize I’ve forgotten to seek out the children.

  I hesitate, turning back to the door, and a voice calls out from the common room. “Kelari?”

  I look back to find a page hastening toward me. “The king requests your presence.”

  “The king? Now?” I ask before I can help myself. Of course now. When else?

  “Yes, kelari. At once.”

  I touch my hand to one of my braids, but there isn’t time to put up my hair, not with the page waiting. Never mind. They are only country braids after all. But what does the king want from me? Is it something to do with the slave ship? Or something else entirely?

  “Do you know what this relates to?” I ask.

  “No, kelari,” he says, and gestures me down the hall. “We should go.”

  I follow him to a part of the palace I haven’t seen before. As he reaches a carved wooden door, he says helpfully, “This is the royal library.”

  At least that allows me to prepare myself for the sight of a great many books. Or it should have, only I had no concept there were this many in the world. The walls of the great room within are not only lined with shelves, but there are shelves standing back-to-back to create aisles—and not just one or two, but at least two score, if not double that number. The Black Scholar has nothing on this library.

  “How are there so many?” I ask as we cross the room.

  “Any book brought to the city has to be turned over to the palace scribes to be copied before being returned. They’ve the same policy in all of the port cities as well for any book brought in by a traveler.”

  Ah. I remember being asked at the city gates if Veria Sanlyn or I were bringing in any books. It had been an odd question, but easily answered in the negative, and I’d thought no more of it in my excitement to see the city.

  “This way,” the page says, and I follow him down a back aisle to a hall where there is a series of private rooms. The room we enter is lined with books—there must be easily a thousand here, possibly more—and armchairs, and in one, the king sits, a book by his side, looking everything and nothing like the Scholar. A second, empty armchair faces him.

  I curtsy and immediately wish I hadn’t, my ankle throbbing. But there’s no standing up now, without the king’s permission. I hold my curtsy as the page makes his own bow and departs. And still I wait as the king looks me over. Finally, he says, “Kelari Amraeya.”

  I push myself up, half stumbling as my foot informs me that I cannot learn to bow fast enough. But that thought brings back memories of Diara, her throat gaping open, blood spurting through the half-light of the hold. My stomach turns and I make myself focus on the carpet underfoot instead, try to regain that tranquility I found in the temple.

  “There is something we need to discuss,” the king says, gesturing to the armchair set at an angle to his.

  I limp across to it, perch on the edge.

  “You have put me in quite the quandary.”

  Surely he isn’t referring to the snatchers? I look up, dread curling in my stomach. If the king is involved—

  “My son tells me that you saw something he did not intend last night.”

  “Last night?” I echo, bewildered.

  “With the snake.”

  Oh, that. It feels like a hundred years ago. “Tarin,” I agree.

  “So,” the king says.

  I once thought Kestrin capable of holding back every emotion, of appearing to harbor no more feeling than stone, but his father may as well be sculpted of ice. There is not even a memory of warmth in his eyes as he looks at me.

  I wait, my shoulders tense. Kestrin wanted a hold on me, but Filadon promised me this morning that he would try to sort it out. I did not expect the king himself to take up the conversation, at least not so quickly, though perhaps I should have. Kestrin is his only son and heir.

  “I understand,” the king says finally, “that you are loyal to Zayyida Alyrra, and to our family generally. But the secret you carry could unbalance the monarchy and quite possibly lead to shifts in power that would result in war. Simply put,” he says, turning one hand over, palm up, “your knowledge concerns me.”

  I take a slow breath. It’s going to be a great deal harder arguing with a king than with Filadon. “Is my word not enough, tarin?”

  “It is something,” the king says, and there is a regret in his voice that I don’t quite trust. “But it is not enough. There is little choice here, kelari.”

  I wait. I know I could make this easier for him, ask him what he wants of me, but there is no reason I can imagine to politely aid someone in causing me damage to save themselves—even if I understand the wider reasons.

  “Filadon promised Kestrin he has a hold on you that would even the balance,” the king says softly, watching me. “If you will give me that hold, then I need nothing further.”

  I don’t even hesitate. “I cannot, tarin.”

 
; He nods, as if he expected no different of me. “I have one other option. You have seen the Blessing to stave off the Darkness.”

  I go still, my insides clenching. I shake my head at him, a denial that has nothing to do with his words.

  “One of our court mages, a man whom I trust implicitly, can perform the task,” he explains. “If you wish, you may submit yourself to him. He will remove just those memories related to what you saw that night. You see the items there, on the table.”

  I glance to the table, noting for the first time a silver tray bearing a pitcher and a familiar silver goblet, a low round bump beside them that must be an opal.

  Submit myself. Have my memories destroyed, and hope that this mage only takes what he must. Or give up Niya. I shake my head again, but now I’m trembling, my hands gripping the fabric of my skirts.

  “It is your choice, kelari,” the king goes on. “I will hold your secret in trust. There is no reason to resort to such measures.”

  “No. Tarin.” As if there were any other answer to give. I could not put Niya in such a man’s power. “The hold Filadon has—I will take it to my grave with me. I would do the same with your son’s secret, if you would allow me to keep it. That is all I can offer you.”

  It isn’t enough. I can see it in the slight crease of his eyes, a faint indication of regret that he will not voice. “Perhaps you require some time to consider your predicament. I will leave you here, and return within the hour.”

  He departs quietly, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. I hear the far-off click of a door, and then all is quiet. I curl into my armchair, arms wrapped around myself. It is loud, deafening, this silence that folds me up. I’ve seen the Blessing, and while I know it doesn’t destroy the mind, it robs one of all recent memory. What will be left when this mage finishes? Will he take everything that has happened in the last few weeks—the whole of my visit to Tarinon, and even before that? Or can he truly only take those memories relating to the prince? How can he know which they are?

  He can’t. I don’t believe it. And the king has given me this time to realize that. To understand the gravity of what might be done to me. Even if I were willing to give up everything I’ve learned—the whole investigation, everything we need to research Berenworth’s anomalies—I cannot give up Kirrana while she is still lost.

  Nor can I betray Niya in her place.

  Surely there has to be some other way.

  The king wants a hold on me. Something real, something he can use. I wipe clammy hands over my skirts. His son is a mage. And he has access to a whole host of other mages. There’s no need for me to betray Niya when I can give him a closer hold on myself.

  I rise, limp to the table with its double burden of silver goblet and opal. But this is a library, and on the shelf behind it waits paper and ink. I gather these and seat myself at the table, and draw out my bone knife.

  When the king returns a half hour later, I am curled up on the armchair, absently playing with the end of a braid. I blink up at him as he pauses in the doorway and find him looking somewhat taken aback.

  “Tarin,” I say, dropping my braid and rising to my feet, my ankle aching.

  He raises a hand, stopping me before I can curtsy. “You have decided?”

  “Yes.” I gesture to the folded paper on the table.

  He crosses to it, unfolding it carefully, and then pauses. I watch as his eyes skim the paper, his fingers carefully remaining at the edges. When he turns to look at me, there’s a certain humorous gleam to his eyes. “Kelari.”

  “You weren’t going to take my memories, were you, tarin?” I say, having reasoned this out in the calm after my decision. “Filadon would surely notice, and that would destroy his loyalty to you and to your son as well. I suspect the sort of loyalty he has toward your family is hard to come by. He wouldn’t betray you, of course, but you would have betrayed him, and he would likely depart to live in the country after that, unable to serve you so closely after such an injury to him and his family. Don’t you think?”

  A faint curve of the lips. “It was a risk, yes.”

  “Not one you would have taken,” I agree, encouraged by his reaction. “Your plan was always to frighten me into giving you a hold on me. There is your hold, tarin.”

  “Your hair and blood are an interesting sort of hold.”

  “Not at all. Hair and blood, given willingly? Zayyid Kestrin could easily find me with that, or it could be used by a mage in your service cast a curse on me. That should be incentive enough for me not to anger you.”

  “True,” he agrees. “I’m impressed you considered all this, especially given the threat hanging over you.”

  “You’re not getting any other hold on me,” I say firmly.

  “There is no need. Your actions have convinced me he is quite safe.”

  I blink at him, taken aback. He watches me, amused, and I find myself asking, “What would you have done if I’d given you my hold?”

  “Used it.”

  His words chill me to the bone. He is still very much a king, even if I’m being chatty with him. Still someone who uses power easily and dangerously. No doubt he can see the effect of his words.

  I swallow and say lightly, “But this suffices, tarin?”

  “Almost. Consider that even a trace based on blood or hair can be warded against.”

  Light and shadow! I knew that, was only just reminded of it today. This hold I’ve offered the king won’t serve at all if a ward can block it.

  He tilts his head. “To ensure that what you have given me will actually hold, you will need to allow a mage to, ah, create a connection, shall we say. One that can be drawn upon regardless of how well warded you may one day be. It requires a good deal of magic and a willingness on your part, but it can be done.”

  I look up hopefully. I’ve never heard of such a thing, but considering the need for a mage to accomplish such a feat and the fact that there isn’t one within a day and a half’s ride of our town, that’s not altogether surprising. Niya wouldn’t have come up with it on her own. Still: “This connection—that’s all it is? It does not grant control over me?”

  He is definitely amused, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling. “No, that I promise it won’t. We’ll see to it tomorrow.”

  “Because you never intended to take my memories.”

  A smile now, clear as day. “As you say.” He sets the paper with its burden of hair and blood down. “I am glad you’ve proven your trustworthiness, kelari. The service you have performed my daughter-by-law, in protecting her from her brother’s intentions two times over, and the work you have done regarding these slavers?” He dips his head in an approximation of a bow. “I am grateful to you. I hoped you would make the right choice here.”

  “Thank you, tarin,” I say uncertainly. This unexpected honesty and forthrightness is almost as unnerving as his usual cool demeanor.

  His look is far too perceptive, but he says only, “It is unfortunate, I think, that you do not plan to make the court your home.”

  I curtsy and murmur my thanks, since agreement seems like it might be a dangerous commitment.

  With a soft hiss of laughter, the king finally dismisses me.

  Chapter

  54

  I leave the king’s library in hope of finding the children. From there, I promise myself I’ll go check on Melly. I am bone tired and want so much to see my cousin—to make sure she is well, despite her morning sickness, and just to sit with her, even if I cannot speak of what has happened. But making my way to where the children are being kept through unfamiliar hallways proves impossible, and it is not long before I’m thoroughly lost.

  I close my eyes a moment, turn around, and try to find my way back, but even that does not work. Eventually I find myself facing a gallery of paintings. I remember this hall vaguely from a short tour Mina gave me on one of my first days: these are the portraits of the royal family and those closest to the crown.

  I almost turn back, but
then I realize the nearest portrait is that of the king, ten years younger, with a surprisingly plain-faced woman sitting beside him, and between them a boy who would one day grow into the prince I know. The queen died a year ago, her death so sudden many considered it a mystery, or the workings of a curse I never took seriously. A curse that bears a name, and whom Stonemane and the Cormorant are working to oppose.

  This palace is so full of secrets it beggars the mind. I walk a few steps farther down, and here is a portrait with another family of three, sharing some of the same physical traits as the royal family, but different in the details. The plaque beneath identifies them as the lord and lady of Cenatil, the boy their son, Garrin. Like Kestrin’s family, they are posed upon a sofa, this one red with a floral pattern rendered in gold leaf.

  I tilt my head, studying the shape of the flowers, the starlike petals. Where have I seen those before? Somewhere recently . . .

  The truth comes to me so suddenly, I stumble back, my stomach dropping. No. No, it can’t be. I turn away from the portrait, then back again, staring at the flowers. Asphodel. And now that I look, they are engraved in the frame as well.

  It’s a coincidence. Nothing more. It must be. But every sideways clue, every oddity Kirrana and I uncovered, has brought us closer and closer to the wider truths we are fighting for. I reach out to touch the wooden frame, trace the curve of a flower there, cool against my fingertips. Asphodel. The same flower that graces Berenworth’s seal.

  This is a palace filled to the hilt with deadly games and twisted betrayals. For this is a portrait of Garrin, who volunteered to protect Alyrra and Kestrin from the ramifications of the investigation by taking it on himself, who consistently tried to downplay the threat the snatchers pose to the common people, who left Matsin and me to be locked in a hold and cut down rather than find one more piece of evidence.

  What fools Kirrana and I were, assuming that the Circle would be the top of it. No, Berenworth is backed by one of the most powerful lords after the royal family, a man in line for the throne himself, who benefits from every child sold into slavery. A man whom Alyrra and Kestrin trust to investigate the snatchers and assess Berenworth’s role in the disappearances. And a man to whom I have explained nearly all the details of what I know, and how we learned it. I’ve armed him with everything he needs to hide the truth . . . except for the very final details of what Kirrana and I found.