Her stomach rumbled. The maid hadn’t been by again for a dinner order. Perhaps she was late. Perhaps people here ate late. Perhaps Sandis should have ordered a bigger lunch. She’d get a bigger dinner, one she could share with Rone when he got back.
Pressing her forehead to the windowpane, she peered at the street five stories below her. It wasn’t as crowded in this part of the city, and there were more horses and carriages in the streets than near the smoke ring, but the roads still bore a decent-sized crowd between the buildings’ growing shadows. She searched for Rone among the various shoppers and workers, but from up here, everyone looked like Rone, minus the ones with hats. He never wore a hat. And he shouldn’t—she liked his hair.
Forcing herself away from the window, Sandis plopped atop the bed, running her fingers over the striped pattern of its comforter. She’d taken a nap already today and couldn’t convince her body to sleep anymore. She’d paced a great deal, and thought a great deal more, though she avoided lingering on the events at Helderschmidt’s, or in that alleyway. She didn’t feel guilty, exactly, but she did feel . . . No, she wouldn’t think about it.
The priests would hate her now, wouldn’t they? Even if they forgave the gold symbols embedded into her back. Was it all right to kill in self-defense, or if the person was a really bad person? She couldn’t remember. Before her parents died, she’d only gone to the cathedral once a year. After they died, she and Anon had never had time. One of them was always working, and the other didn’t want to go alone.
Stop thinking about it. Rone would know. She didn’t think it would bother him if she asked a doctrinal question. If he was in a good mood.
He’d been gone so long . . . Instinct told Sandis he might not be in a good mood. But that was all right. She’d insist he have the bed, and she’d have dinner waiting for him . . . That would cheer him up, wouldn’t it?
Standing, she leaned toward the window again. Searched the rooftops. Still no sign of him.
He’s fine. His amarinth had reset, so he had ample protection. She’d seen him knock out five grafters before, including Galt.
Her stomach rumbled again.
Sighing, Sandis moved toward the door and looked out into an empty and carpeted hallway. Glad for something to do, she made her way toward the stairs. A tenant she passed on the second floor smiled at her. She smiled back, her hope garnering strength. There were still so many good people in Dresberg. So many. Perhaps Talbur Gwenwig was one of them. And maybe, after Rone got back, they could go to District Three and start searching. If the grafters were reeling the way Rone thought they were, then they needn’t rush.
For the hundredth time, Sandis wondered what her great-uncle was like. Was he in good health or no? She wouldn’t mind being his nurse. It would give him a good reason to keep her. To claim her.
As she started for the main floor, she smiled to herself. Perhaps he knew stories of her father, ones she’d never heard before. What if she’d met him as a child? He might even remember her. He could welcome her. She could have family again— A middle-aged couple stood at the clerk’s desk on the main floor; she watched them as she took the stairs down. She wasn’t sure where the kitchen was. Should she ask the clerk? She didn’t see the harm in it.
“Yes, for Jeris,” the woman said. Her hair was especially light for a Kolin. Her husband was balding, and . . .
Sandis frowned as she reached the last steps. The man was balding, but he had terrible burn scars over the side of his face. They reached into his receding hairline and down into his collar. Recent ones, too, judging by the redness of them— The man turned at the sound of her approach. Their eyes met.
Sandis froze.
The banker. The banker from before . . . from the last time Kazen had summoned Ireth. She recognized him. Her blood turned to ice.
She’d done that to him.
He recognized her, too, by the way his eyes widened.
Hunger forgotten, Sandis quickly turned around and raced back up the steps, hoping she’d misjudged his expression. Hoping he’d doubt himself. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut . . . Perhaps he couldn’t see very well. Perhaps he’d only stared because he was trying to clear his vision.
Oh Celestial . . . she had done that to him.
Her hands were shaking by the time she threw her shoulder into the door of Rone’s room. She slammed it behind her. Pressed her back into it. Threw the small bar above the handle to lock it. Her dress caught on a fine splinter as she sank to the floor.
Though Sandis had some memories from housing Ireth, they were more like fleeting impressions. Feelings. Rooms, fire, sometimes screaming. Sometimes blood. Always sadness. She hated the sorrow more than anything else. But until now, she’d never confronted the realities of what Ireth was forced—through her—to do. Never before had she seen one of the people again in everyday life. Of course, until now, her everyday life had been spent underground.
Her heart pounded in her neck, head, chest, and hands. Her fingers went numb, and she rubbed them together to bring the feeling back. Cool sweat pricked her spine.
He’s alive. That counts for something. She took a deep breath in, let a long breath out. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t Ireth, either. It was Kazen. It was Kazen who forced you both . . .
Then why did she feel like her skin was trying to suck into her center? Turn her inside out?
She leapt to her feet. Paced to the window and back, window and back. Perhaps the man hadn’t recognized her. Maybe it wasn’t even him. She could be mistaken, and even if she wasn’t, there was no knowing what he thought or remembered.
Ireth, are you there? She paused, hugging herself, trying to dig into her mind. Trying to send her thoughts into the ethereal plane, wherever it was. She closed her eyes. Ireth?
No impressions. No warmth. Sandis didn’t entirely understand her bond with the fire horse, but she wished she could feel him more often. Send an impression of her own. Have a reminder that he was there.
Opening her eyes, she reached back and traced his name at the base of her neck. It had made no impression on her skin, unlike the brands, but she knew exactly where to find it. These were the sole Noscon characters she could read.
Pulling her fingers away, Sandis hurried for the window. Pressed both hands to the glass and searched high and low. Please come back, Rone. Celestial, please protect him.
She swallowed. Paced some more. Sat on the bed. Picked a hangnail.
Her stomach grumbled. She pulled her knees to her chest. Food could wait. Everything would be fine once Rone got back.
She stared out the window, at the glare the descending sun made against the faint scratches in the glass. The false set would happen soon—when the sun vanished behind the buildings and the wall, its rays all pointing upward, turning from yellow to orange. Then the true set, and the clouds and smog would turn pink and violet. Then violet would dull to blue and fade to black. And then the stars, somewhere Sandis couldn’t see.
She let her thoughts focus on the sunset. She didn’t get to see many of them anymore. Maybe it was a blessing, Rone’s being late and her being alone in this room. It let her pause to appreciate the sky. She could be daring and open the window. Stick her head out and look up. Get a better view.
The yellow rays of the false set had begun to glimmer orange when someone kicked in her door, snapping the small lock right off the frame.
Sandis jumped off the bed and spun around, her hair whirling across her face and catching on her eyelashes.
Scarlet uniforms. Gold insignias of boats without sails.
The banker must have summoned them.
Sandis ran for the window.
“Grab her!” one of them yelled, and as Sandis’s fingers brushed the sill, hands grabbed her right above the elbows and yanked her back. Her heel hit one of the bed feet. Another set of hands grabbed her shoulders and shoved her face down into the mattress, her mouth filling with cotton.
Someone yanked down her collar, revealing the topmost symbols of her script.