by Kester Grant
I turn my head away, as if that will stop me from hearing her words. To suggest I could one day be Lady of Thieves is to envision Tomasis’s death. Tomasis, my Father, who took me in and protected me, whose care has been a shield around me. How could I think of a world without him in it?
“Death the Endless comes to us all,” Corday says, as if reading my mind. “There’s nothing to fear in the grave. But while we live, it is instability that we should fear. The Guilds need strong, ruthless Lords who are not afraid to maintain peace at any cost.”
“Even at the cost of the Law?” I bite out, thinking of the Tiger.
Corday smiles, baring her teeth. “You must make your enemies your allies. And if you can’t do that, then destroy them. Them, and all who follow them, so that fear doesn’t come for you when you sleep.”
We ride along in the darkness, Corday’s words echoing in my head. She’s clearly been driven half mad by too many assassinations, to speak in such riddles.
“Who paid the blood price for the death work this evening?” I ask. It is a bold question, but Corday seems inclined to talk. “How many of the Guild’s children partook of the water before it was known that it carried death? Did Orso send you to avenge what the nobility have done?”
Corday looks out the carriage window before speaking, and maddeningly, her answer is not a response to any question I have asked. “Is it known that those who join the Wretched shed their old skin, forgetting what came before. But sometimes, in the darkness, I remember.
“Once, many years ago, when I was a Child Who Walks by Day, I had kin, blood relatives, who could not bear the shape of the world in which they lived. So they decided to change it. They were very brave, and very naïve. For what person can truly ever change the fate of a nation? They were betrayed one day, surrounded by enemies. They knew they had failed and there was nothing more they could do. So they chose to stand and face Death the Endless. Their enemies set their hiding place on fire to burn them out, and they gave themselves to the flames rather than be taken.
“It was Orso who saved me. He had a different name then. He was a friend of my father’s, and it was he who carried me from the flames.”
So the rumors are true. Orso saved Corday’s life when she was young. No wonder the Ghosts and the Bats are such firm allies.
“If I lived a thousand years, I could never repay the debt I owe. It is deeper than blood and bone, stronger than iron. For if the Dead Lord had not taken me into the sewers, if he had not brought me to the Court and sworn me to the service of the Death Dealers, I would have been hunted down and slaughtered like a dog in the streets. My body would have hung at Montfaucon, dancing on the wind, a feast for the crows.”
I remember this. All the families and allies of the revolutionaries were hunted down, and none were spared; wives, children, all blood, all kin bearing their name, all were fed to the guillotine or hung at Montfaucon as a message.
“So I was not sent tonight,” she says, turning to me, her eyes shining. “No Guild paid a blood price for tonight’s work. It was done willingly, for when we learned what they had done, we could not let it go unpunished.”
Her voice is ice.
“You sit here in this carriage, little one, and you think yourself safe because I am telling you stories. You think you can trust me because I am allied with the Dead Lord. But I tell you the truth, and mark it, for it will be your salvation: it is not wise to be so vulnerable.” She gestures to Ettie. “She is your heart, and anyone who strikes at her wounds you. No child of the Guilds can hope to survive with a weakness so exposed.
“There are no friends in the Miracle Court, only allies. You may think you have purchased her freedom tonight, but others will come for her eventually, including those you think are your friends, those you believe you can trust.”
A shiver runs through me, for I don’t have the bread price. How am I to protect Ettie without it? And if Corday is to be believed, any safety I buy her won’t last. I fight to keep my lips from trembling.
The carriage slows to a stop. Montparnasse alights. I wake Ettie and we climb out.
Some Assassins have gathered in the cold, near the carriage behind our own. Behind it are a dozen more carriages, all bearing the royal insignia.
“What’s going on?” Ettie asks.
Montparnasse beckons to me. I approach him warily.
“The dauphin gave strict orders that these carriages were to accompany us,” he says, pointing at an open door. The Assassins step aside for me, and I have little choice but to peer inside.
“Oh, Nina!” Ettie says breathlessly beside me.
For the carriage is full of bread, from floorboards to roof. I look at the line of carriages behind us and hurry to the second one, yanking open its door. This one is filled with dozens of bags of grain, all full to bursting, as are the next and the next and the next….
* * *
Two nights pass before the Miracle Court is convened. The air burns with the light of a thousand candles illuminating the Lords at the high table. Corday comes in, followed by her Assassins, who are bearing armfuls of bread. She takes her place among the Lords and calls me forward. My eyes are drawn to Lord Kaplan, who watches me with steely intent. I try not to shiver.
The Assassins put the bread on the table before the Lords; they pile it high until it makes a mountain and starts tumbling onto the floor. The Court has not seen so much bread in one place in years, and the sacks of grain will ensure that none of the court’s children will go to bed hungry tonight, or for months to come.
“Speak then, little Cat,” Corday tells me.
I step forward, shaking from head to toe, not sure whom to look at. Tomasis, Femi, Orso, and Loup are all watching me.
“I offer the bread price for Ettie, daughter of the Dead Lord,” I say. “I have paid the full price, as witnessed by my brethren,” I add, looking to Corday. “In a time of famine, there can be no higher price to pay.”
“There is no higher price to pay,” the Lords murmur as one.
“I have paid this price to buy my sister’s freedom. She’s a child of the Beggars Guild. By the Law, none shall touch her.”
“None shall touch her,” they repeat.
I risk a look at the Tiger. Before, Ettie had only the protection of the Beggars Guild. But now all the Guilds are sworn to protect her. That is what I’ve bought with carriages full of bread and grain.
In the shadows I see Thénardier turn to leave, his face twisted into a grimace, his ruined arm tucked into his coat. I’ve stolen his hand and his pride, and I’ve stolen Ettie from him yet again.
Tomasis motions to me, and I approach him, bowing respectfully.
“My Lord.” I present him with the small shining snuffbox. “It belongs to the dauphin of France.”
Tomasis laughs and throws his arm around my shoulder, dragging me to himself and squeezing me till I can barely breathe.
There in the warmth of his embrace I feel safer than ever before. I can almost forget that Tomasis would not defy the Tiger to save Ettie—this man who has cared for me more than Thénardier ever has. He’s the only true Father I’ve known.
“I don’t know if I prefer this or the tin cup,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “First the Châtelet, and now the palace? You will be surely be a Merveille of the Miracle Court. They’ll sing songs about you when you’re dead and gone. You’ll be more famous than le Maire and the Gentleman!” He pounds my back, almost knocking the wind out of me.
I look around. Femi is hovering nearby; he winks.
Ettie is being accosted by Gavroche and is hand-feeding him bread.
When I join her, she glances pointedly at Montparnasse. He’s standing alone in a shadow. She disentangles herself from Gavroche and, taking my hand, drags me over to the Assassin.
“Cat,” he says to me. “Ghost,” to Ettie.
Ettie nudges me.
“I got you something from the palace,” I say.
“Why?” he asks.
I flush. “To thank you for warning us…at the ball—”
“She got you a present because you’re friends.” Ettie cuts off my awkward explanation.
Montparnasse watches me with fascination. I fumble in my pockets, find the jeweled dagger, and hold it out to him. He looks at my hand as if I’m offering him a snake.
“Go on. Take it.”
He accepts the dagger cautiously and examines it, tilting it so it glimmers in the light.
“There are no friends to children of the Miracle Court,” he says, echoing Corday’s words. “There are allies, or enemies. Nothing else.”
He walks away, leaving Ettie huffing at his rudeness yet whispering that she still thinks he likes me.
As he goes, he tucks the dagger inside his cloak, so perhaps there’s something to what she says after all.
Then the frenzy starts. The Lords rise. Their Masters divide the bread, and it’s given out to the Court. Everyone eats. Some only a mouthful, keeping the rest for children or sick ones at home.
Femi approaches and sweeps me up, dragging me into a whirl of a dance that has no steps. I hold on tight as he swings me around. The room spins, grows distant, and I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
Then there’s wine, which is always plentiful. Loup brings us our cups. We all drink deeply. The Ghosts and Thieves gather around, demanding to hear the tale of how we got the bread and where we’ve been. There are songs and stories, and Ettie is there beside me, her voice raised in laughter. For hours we sit, leaning against the stage till rolling waves of tiredness hit us. Ettie grins sleepily at me, her eyes narrow slits. She yawns widely and I laugh at her.
She twines her fingers around mine and leans her head on my shoulder.
“You’ll be safe, I promise,” I whisper.
We can both rest for now. Here, in the warmth of the Miracle Court, everything will be all right.
* * *
Sometime later, I hear my name being called, but my eyes are heavy and refuse to open. My tongue feels like it’s stuck to the roof of my mouth, as if I’ve swallowed glue. I force my eyelids apart.
Montparnasse is looking at me, an odd expression on his usually blank face. He looks…concerned?
Another person swims into view. Short, bald, with round spectacles and a long, pointed bleached collar.
Col-Blanche, Master of Poisons.
I give a start and pull myself up, moving as far from the Poison Master as I can. My clumsy body fails me, and I smash into a wall lined from floor to ceiling with shelves and stoppered glass bottles, which crash to the ground around me. I yelp and skitter away as the Poison Master, frowning his disapproval, inspects the damage.
I hunch in a corner on all fours like a cat.
“Calm down.” Montparnasse’s voice rings through my head.
The Poison Master potters around muttering darkly, picking up several vials I’ve spilled.
I taste metal.
“What happened?” I ask, panicked.
“You were drugged,” Col-Blanche says matter-of-factly. I try to stand, but the room spins around me. Montparnasse is at my side, gripping me below my arm, helping me up.
“By whom?”
“By us,” Col-Blanche says, busily uncorking bottles and testing them with a slim silver spoon. “We were paid for it.”
“What?” Montparnasse snaps, glaring at Col-Blanche.
“Clearly, it was not meant to be fatal,” Col-Blanche says. “Just something to make you indisposed for a few hours, per instructions.”
I look desperately at Montparnasse, who shakes his head.
He didn’t know.
“How long have I been…” My voice trails off. There’s something else. There is actual worry in the eyes of Montparnasse, he who never shows his feelings. There’s something he needs to tell me. And he’s worried about how I’ll react.
“Where is she?”
“Gone,” he says quietly. “They were dressed like Ghosts when they carried her away.”
I push away from him as if he himself has betrayed me. I find the door, but it’s closed.
“I’ve something here that might lessen the side effects.” Col-Blanche pulls a bottle off a shelf.
There’s no time.
I fumble at the door for a moment and then with all my strength burst through it.
Behind me I hear Col-Blanche tutting at Montparnasse. “I realize she has Corday’s favor, but nonetheless, you show a remarkable attachment to the girl. It’s not healthy in a Death Dealer.”
But I don’t care.
I’m already gone.
I know where she is. There is only one person who would dare take Ettie from under the nose of her Guild and all the Lords of the Miracle Court.
Thénardier.
The snow and my grogginess slow me down. I run as fast as I can, ignoring the bite of the cold wind that howls at me as I go.
I round the corner near Thénardier’s inn in time to see a large man climb into a carriage.
I call out, but he’s closed the door; the wind swallows my words. And then the carriage is moving away.
There’s a flash at the window: golden curls and large eyes.
A voice that cannot be my own screams her name.
A small hand presses against the glass. She sees me.
I run behind the carriage, slipping in the snow, my voice tearing at my throat as I call for her, over and over, even as the horses drag her farther away. My limbs are like lead, stiff and slow, but still I run. I run even when the carriage has gone so far I can no longer see it. I run as if I believe I can still catch it. I run as if to stop would be to give up on her. I run until all that is before me is covered in white. My knees buckle and I fall, my hands trembling as they hit the icy ground.
* * *
My voice is spent. The cold seeps into my skin and settles in my bones.
Someone is breathing, heavy racked breaths, but it can’t be me. There’s the pounding of a heartbeat in my ears, but it can’t be mine.
Montparnasse finds me waiting for the snow to drown me. He takes off his cloak and wraps it around me.
“No.” I fight him feebly. He’s stronger than I am. He drags me to my feet and half carries me, my frozen limbs refusing to hold me up.
We stumble for what seems like hours through the snow. Everything is a blur: faces, darkness. The taste of blood on my lips. At first I don’t know where he’s taking me, but then I realize he’s heading away from the city, toward the Halls of the Dead. Where I can be surrounded and protected.
I stop. “I’m going back there.”
“No.”
I turn on him, my fists pounding, legs kicking, fingernails clawing at the edges of his cloak. He’s the Master of the Assassins Guild, but he lets me attack him, his head bowed.
“I’m going back. You don’t have to come with me.”
He just looks at me.
* * *
The bells of Notre-Dame are ringing, the heavy peals vibrating through me.
It’s time.
I hear the voice of the city around me: a beast, half mad with pain, clawing at my ears, demanding that I listen. Its pulse beats through the cobblestones, anchoring my steps as I climb up unscalable slippery walls that fall away beneath my fingers. But I’m the Black Cat of the Thieves Guild, and this is my hunting ground.
The bells ring out as I go. I hear the song they sing. The sky above me rolls and thunders. The buildings churn and shake. Around me, a screaming wind is roaring in my ears. Beneath me the streets cry out; above me the rooftops seem to shriek and wail. They say only one thing, but they say it over and over, like a soldier beating a drum.
My sister.
My sister.
My sister.
I enter through the roof. The rigging at the top of the Miracle Court is a disarray of ropes and scaffolding, a death trap for one less experienced than I. But I feel only determination. There’s a blur of silence. My breath comes in shallow gasps. My eyes are needle focused.
I can see them from up here. The Nine Lords of the Miracle Court, still drinking and talking. The entire Court is present.
Good.
I take my dagger from my sleeve and put it between my teeth, biting hard on the blade.
I look down. The table is almost beneath me. It’s heavy with the Lords’ purses, their gilded knives; their jackets and cloaks are slung on the backs of chairs. I see the sapphire stone at Tomasis’s neck, and the gray of Orso’s head. I reach for the ropes, find the right one, and take hold of it.
I’m not afraid. Not anymore.
I leap into the air, as graceful as a ballerina, and land on all fours like a cat in the middle of the Lords’ table.
The Lords jump back. All but the Tiger. He’s afraid of nothing. He sits completely still, holding his drink, a look of faint confusion on his face. After all, no one attacks the Lords. It is forbidden. No one attacks them in front of the Court. One would have to be mad to do that.
They don’t know what to do. It’s their second full day of drinking. They’re slow, and I have always been fast. Some of them reach for their daggers as the Masters thunder onto the stage, yelling.
The Tiger’s eyes focus on me and widen in recognition, but he still doesn’t rise or go for a weapon. He just looks at me as I lunge for him, howling. He doesn’t raise his hands to protect himself as my dagger flies through the air. It slices his cheek, and he jerks away as I land on top of him.
I stab my dagger with all of my strength into his arm as we fall. He makes a noise like a growl, and I see blood flower at his shoulder.