No, she assured herself. Kazen wouldn’t hurt them without Sandis there to watch. So long as she didn’t come back, they couldn’t be tormented on her behalf.
Her gaze dwelled too long on Alys, on her hair that seemed to shine even in the darkness. Sandis had taught the girl everything she knew, hadn’t she? Alys would be fine. Kaili would take care of her in Sandis’s absence, just as she had once taken care of Sandis. The thought tore at her heart. Go. Go now.
She might never see them again.
But family. She had family, somewhere in the city. Her staying wouldn’t stop Kazen’s experiments. Her obedience hadn’t protected Heath, only herself.
Gritting her teeth until her jaw ached, Sandis turned her back on the other vessels and slipped into the hallway. Every step she took broke a thread carefully woven between her and them, bits stitched under tables and in the dark, where Kazen and his men couldn’t catch them fraternizing. Snap. Snap. Snap.
She walked away from Kazen and his workroom with a calm, even stride. Head up, with purpose. Like Kazen walked beside her, one hand on her shoulder, permitting her to leave her confines. She moved onward, silently, passing through shadows. Snap. Snap. Staps, another grafter, leaned his large body against the wall in the hallway, picking at his nail, his corded hair falling over his shoulders. Sandis did not look at his face. She held her head high as she passed, feeling his eyes on her—but Sandis was the perfect slave. Kazen’s favorite. Staps didn’t bother her. No one wanted to risk Kazen’s wrath. Snap.
I’m sorry.
She prayed for each person she passed—at least the ones she knew by name. They didn’t know they’d already invoked Kazen’s rage.
Up the stairs. Through a door. Past a group of men gambling, then two prostitutes chatting in an alcove while they counted their money. One began to speak to Sandis, but her companion grabbed her arm and shook her head in warning. Sandis could feel their eyes on her back. She needed to hide her script before she left the lair. Any connection to the occult, even against her will, would sentence her to the noose.
Though sin was branded into her with flair and expense, the Celestial blessed her on her last, shaky stretch toward the city—a jacket lay on the floor outside the laundry room. The patches on the elbows told her it belonged to Kazen’s lackey Ravis, and while he was a thin man, the garment was too large for her. Still, it hid what it needed to hide.
A beefy man she knew as a guard stopped her at the door. His name was . . . Marek? “Where’s Kazen?” he asked, eyeing her jacket.
Sandis met his eyes, hoping fear didn’t glint in her own. She said the most terrifying thing she could think of. “Ireth is coming.”
If this man knew the details of summoning, he would know the emptiness of her words. But he had been hired for his size, not his study. His eyes widened, and he stepped back, pressing into the wall as if Sandis were some sort of snake. Glancing down the way she had come, he opened the door.
The cold dark night of Dresberg, carrying the familiar scent of smoke, engulfed her.
Chapter 4
Rone’s energy waned with the night; he liked to get his jobs done quickly and efficiently, so he’d already wrapped the headpiece in nondescript garbage and left it at the designated drop-off location. His payment had been waiting there for him, and it now sat happily and heavily in his coat pocket, opposite his amarinth. The sluggish sun had dragged itself over the horizon, obscured by Dresberg’s sludge-stained wall. While Rone’s own flat sang to him from across the city, he decided to make one more stop.
Knowing his mother, she’d already be up. Just in case, however, Rone used his key instead of knocking.
The door swung open to a nice, if simple, flat, nearly twice the size of his own. A living space stretched off to the right, and a kitchen with a small dining space—all the nice flats had dining spaces—sat to his left. A small bookcase stretched just inside the door was filled with foreign titles purchased at high prices from southern merchants. His mother’s room, privy, and storage space wrapped around the back of the apartment.
Rone kicked the door shut loudly to announce his approach.
A warm but stern voice called from the bedroom, “That had better be you and not an overzealous salesman, Rone.”
Rone smiled. “What if I’m selling cash?”
“You realize the absurdity of that statement, yes? One moment. I’m dressing.”
Rone pulled out a dining-table chair with his toe and plopped down on it, dropping his head back and closing his eyes. Sleep stirred in dull colors behind his eyelids. Maybe he’d pass out on the couch for a bit before heading home. He wasn’t in the mood for more jumping, or wasting money on a cab.
His mother came out a moment later, brushing her hair. She wore a smart but simple cotton blazer and skirt.
“You working today?” His mother took a shift three times a week for a lobbying firm near the Innerchord, where all the government’s lackeys congregated to act important. She filed papers.
“Yes, so I don’t need your charity.”
Rone reached into his pocket and grabbed half his stack of cash, then plopped it on the table. “Too bad.”
She set down the hairbrush and planted her hands on her hips. “Rone, I mean it.”
“You know I’ll just stuff the landlord’s pockets if you don’t take it.”
Adalia Comf sniffed and rolled her eyes. “Take half of it.”
“That is half of it.”
“Then divide it again. Why did I spend all that money on private education if you’re not going to use it?”
Rone snorted and divided the stack, splitting it too high to the top. He shoved the smaller “half” into his pocket, crinkling the bills. He splayed the rest in his fingers like a magician presenting the end of his trick.
His mother leaned forward and took the money. Wrinkling her nose, she said, “You stink.”
Taking his collar in his hand, Rone sniffed it. “Sorry.”
Adalia frowned and pulled out the chair beside him. Sat. Apparently he didn’t stink badly enough to drive her away. Her dark eyes stared squarely into his. “Do you want to explain to me why you’re gallivanting in the sewers again?”
He shrugged. “Work?”
“Mm-hm. And what exactly did you do all night? Don’t try to feed me a tale that you got up especially early to barge in here at the crack of dawn as a surprise.”
Rone grinned and spread his arms. “Surprise!”
His mother sighed. “I worry about you.”
“I’m whole and hale, Mom.”
“For now. Thank you for looking out for me, but be careful what you get involved in. There are dark corners in this city, waiting to eat up a nice boy like you.”
Rone barked a laugh at that. He couldn’t help it. His mother still liked to think well of him.
His mother pinched his arm.
“Ow!” He drew back. “It’s fine. Nothing scandalous or dangerous.” This last job was on the easy side of the spectrum, so he wasn’t lying.
“And that’s why you’re so open about it?” Shaking her head, she added, “What would your father say?”
His mirth died. “He’s not my father.”
“Biology, Rone.” Before he could retort, she held up both hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. But families are permanent. Remember that.”
Rone sucked in a deep breath and expelled it all at once, pushing his rising anger out with it. “Yeah, I know.” He stood, leaned over, and kissed his mother’s forehead.
“Ugh.” Adalia waved her hand in front of her nose. “Use the bath before you leave. You smell like an armpit.”
Rone smirked. “Then I’ll fit right in with the rest of the city.”
Sandis’s desperate need to fit in kept her from gawking as she walked the streets of Dresberg. She’d been taken outside by Kazen often enough, but being aboveground by herself, in the daytime, was near dreamlike. Like the whole thing was a rumor she’d suddenly discovered to be true. A feeling not unlike nostalgia brimmed her thoughts. Nostalgia, and urgency.