Chapter 8

A city of white lay before them. It was as if snowfall dusted every inch of the capitol. Keira had forgotten just how beautiful it was. The capitol, home to her beloved Academy. Here she had wandered the streets a thousand times, losing herself in lush marketplaces and oasis gardens. Here she had learned to heal a broken limb with no more exertion than lifting a book. And here, somewhere among the chattering populace and shimmering buildings, was Roan.

Suddenly, the brigands began to dismount.

“What are we doing?” Keira hissed to Aiken.

He was already out of the wagon, dusting off his trousers and offering her a hand out. “Well, we can't just ride on up to the gates now can we?”

A thin, almost boyish bandit took the reins from each horse, tying the beasts together until they formed a steady line. Then he walked off, leading the horses around the city's gates until he was beyond sight, hidden by white stone.

The men walked forward, trudging, dragging their feet slightly, with Grove at the head. Crossing a bridge of marble over the azure moat, Keira and the Rustlers were stopped by two castle guards.

“What's your purpose here, ruffians?” A heavily mustached guard eyed them suspiciously.

Grove took off his filthy cap, cupping it against his heart and looking at the guard balefully. “ We're just a weary group of travelers, sir.” Keira started�"his voice, so rough and thick with accent, suddenly spoke with perfect clarity. How much did she really know about this man? “We were farmers once but...we were forced to leave our home village, Crete, when the�"the--” Grove broke off, wiping at his eyes.

Aiken put his hand atop Grove's shoulder. “The Rustlers. Attacked our village, stole our horses, burned our farmlands to the ground. We've come to look for work.”

The guard shifted his feet, settling into the gate behind him. “You know, I heard about that...incident We've had a fair amount of refugees from there.”

And with that, the guards set about opening the gate, which seemed to involve a great deal of cranking levers and winding gears. As the Ruffians passed the castle guards, Keira heard one shout “My condolences!” before settling back behind the gate of iron.

Keira was both relieved and appalled. How could those guards have been so...well, stupid. This wasn't some Smudge shanty town, inhabited by a lot of factory workers, too dull to even petition their rights. They were protecting the most important city on earth!

But, whatever the state of security was, they were in, and Keira couldn't help but find Aiken exceptionally clever.

“Just how many times have you done that?” She said cooly.

Aiken's smile was genuine, but his eyes were downcast. “It's a lot better than crawling through the sewers with the horses, like poor Clancy.”

She took a sharp breath. “Were you...were you there when they attacked Crete?”

“I'm always there, Keira.”

Aiken followed behind the Rustlers in silence; it took Keira a moment to recognize it�"shame. She shook her head fiercely, running to keep up with the pack of men before her.

Inside the gates of the capitol, Keira saw the bustle of the city just as she had during the best years of her life. Women in floral dresses filled their baskets with fresh breads, hair gleaming with health. A portly man stood boasting beside his produce stall, gesturing to plentiful rows of bright peppers, cabbages, beans, and melon. And above everything towered porcelain homes, stretching into the sky in elegant pillars.

But the Rustlers scurried through the marketplace, skirting the open courtyard where a festive troubadour sang a rendition of the Histories, enchanting a group of giggling women and their children. As they passed, Keira looked back to see the troubadour deftly snatching a pocketbook from one of the mother's skirt pocket.

Aiken leaned in close. “Keep note of our route, if you can. If we were to get separated, you'll need to find your way back.”

As they continued through the city, avoiding the large broadways, Keira realized she would never be able to find her way back to the city gates alone. Slowly, the glistening capitol she knew began to disappear, replaced by alleyways, taverns, and Smudge factories. The Velken highwaymen hurried on in a maze-like fashion, finally stopping at a block of warehouses.

Aiken noticed her staring at the crumbling structures. “They were once used to store the city's farming and milling equipment, but with the new mass-agriculture, they're no longer needed. We call it the Web.”

The old warehouses, rusting from disuse, surrounded a giant ditch that looked as if it were meant to hold water�"an old reservoir. It was filled with people. Wagons, upturned plows and water mills were transformed into stalls, layered with goods, and watched hawkishly by their attendants. The Rustlers passed by a large group of men, huddled over the ground. With a shudder, Keira realized they were watching a pair of dogs shred each other, coaxed into the fight by hunger and disease. She couldn't tell if the loud snarls came from the men or the animals.

Suddenly, the bandits stopped and Grove strode towards Keira and Aiken, long brown coat hemmed in mud. “Thief! You'll be bartering with Mag, as usual. We need to know where the King's refugee relief will be hitting next�"demand specifics from her, hear? Which towns, how many troops, what kind of defenses will they have?”

“What do we have to offer her?”

Grove tossed him a large sack of coins. “Don't you dare give her all that.”

Aiken smiled, “I know how to handle the old girl. We might be a while though, she was quite stubborn last season.”

Grove narrowed his eyes. “We?”

Keira spoke quickly. “I thought she might be more easily persuaded by a woman. The academy did teach me something about diplomacy.”

“Diplomacy! I love it!” The Velken leader threw his head back in laughter. “Go on then, little woman. But don't think I won't send a Pixie after you if it comes to it.”

Aiken lead Keira away from the Rustlers. It was just too easy.

“What's a Pixie?” For the first time since Roan had left her, Keira felt hopeful, full of possibility�"and freedom

Shuttering, Aiken said, “They're mechanic trackers. But they aren't made to fetch. One cut and you're paralyzed. Two, you're dead.”

Keira wished she hadn't asked, and found herself looking over her shoulder periodically, half expecting a humming, winged dagger to be following them.

As they turned a corner, one cart caught Keira's eye, the wagon draped in ragged, blaze-hued quilts. Wind chimes in brass and deep wood clamored above the ruckus of the marketplace. A stocky woman sat atop it, flamboyant red and yellow petticoats stained with oils. She waved coquettishly to them, or Aiken rather. “Aikey! Ow me lub come up in here and seat yourself right by me.”

She hopped plumply off the weathered little cart, giving her skirts a rustle. Keira followed Aiken impatiently, hissing in his ear, “Have you forgotten we're trying to escape?”

Aiken ignored her, making his way over to the woman with slow, sure steps. Despite the pink flush on his freckled cheeks, Aiken managed to lean on the cart rather charmingly. “Mag, dear! It's been almost two seasons since I've seen you, how's the business?”

Keira nearly jumped�"this doughy woman, barely out of her thirties, was Old Mag?

Mag scoffed, pouting, “Let's not talk ov business, lovey.” For the first time her eyes flitted to Keira. “Who's your lady friend?” To Keira's dismay, Mag grabbed her hand and gave it a gooey kiss, before falling back in laughter.

Smiling, Aiken began, “Keir--”

“Keeva.” There was no way Keira wanted this half-deranged woman, infamous within the Web for her network of spies, knowing her name.

Aiken shot a meaningful look to Mag. “She's Grove's new...handmaiden.”

Mag's eyes turned sad as she looked at Keira. “Oh lub.” She stared for so long, Keira coughed in discomfort.

Old Mag seemed struck from her thoughts, her knitted brow replaced by a painted smile. “What was it He was needin' then?”

“Information on two men here in the capitol: Roan and Stavus. One's a lord, he would've just arrived a night or so ago. The other is an expert on the Pyre, a retired dueling tutor.”

Mag scratched her head with one slender, ragged tipped fingernail. “What's Grover care for a coupleh tots like them, eh? I swore he'da been lookin for a count o the soldiers or whutnot.”

Aiken didn't miss a beat, saying cryptically “They stole something of his.”

The colorful women searched his face, for what Keira didn't know, before nodding and saying, “Right. Well, it's gonna take me some time to track em out, so come back in a coupleh days, lad.”

“How much do we owe you?”

Mag turned to Keira, the corners of her lips quivering slightly. “For a job like this? Nuffin. But you come back too, Keeva dear.”

“I-I will”, Keira stuttered. Mag had taken her hand and was now rubbing her palm in cold, rough fingers.

As the pair made their way back through the Web, Keira began to relax: Mag hadn't suspected a thing, and within a few days, they would find Roan and be free of those Velkens.

Cheerily, she said to her companion, “You certainly know how to play that woman�"after that story of Keeva the w***e, Mag was ready to tell us anything.”

Aiken gave her a sharp look. “Don't use that word.”

“What?” Keira looked at Aiken in confusion.

He was weighing Grove's coin sack in one hand. “W***e.”

“Well why not?” Keira was flushed with embarrassment. This was as bad as being scolded by a tutor at the Academy.

“It's been used too many times to justify violence.”

Keira opened her mouth, but having found no retort, shut it promptly. They walked a few moments in silence, Keira always a step behind the man, when she thought of something.

“Won't Grove notice the purse is full? Mag would've charged us for a full count of the King's soldiers.”

Aiken smiled lopsidedly, a dimple forming on one cheek. “I guess that means we have some spending to do.”