The Bone Shard Daughter (The Drowning Empire, #1)(28)

I peered into the closing shops as I passed them. Their occupants wiped down tables or folded things into drawers. A tailor’s shop held a wealth of fabric, bolts stacked one on top of the other, the ends spilling loose, like a multi-hued waterfall. Next to it, a bakery, the air around it still suffused with yeast and steam. And then after that a drinking hall, its shadowed corners still filled with people murmuring to one another. Mugs clinked and smoke wisped from the entryway. It smelled like the sort of place that was always damp, with more than one puddle soaking into the weathered floorboards. A part of me wanted to go inside, to ask for wine, to fit myself in between these people and listen. What would I read on their faces? But I had a key heavy in my sash pocket. If I did not hurry, Father would return to his room and discover what I’d done.

So I strode to the blacksmith’s shop and slipped inside. The bell on the doorknob clanged against the old wood and the blacksmith looked up from his work. He only let out a little grunt – not satisfied, not displeased, but . . . wary.

“I have another key,” I said, reaching into my sash pocket. I pulled out the key. He took a moment before extending his hand and letting me press the key into the valley of his palm. Without a word, he peered at it, taking in the dimensions. He pivoted on his stool and started opening drawers. “The same price for this one as the last,” he said. He knew who I was now. He could have asked for more. I had it.

But I only pulled out the two silver coins and set them on the counter, watching as he pressed the key into the wax mold.

His brow furrowed as he worked. He flicked his gaze to my face, and then back at the key. A moment more and then he asked, his attention still on his work, “Did you find my shard?”

The blacksmith affected nonchalance, but he licked his lips, his shoulders tense while he awaited my answer. He’d asked the last time as well, and I found myself dreading the question even more than I had before. Because I knew where his shard was; I just couldn’t get to it without getting caught. “No,” I said, the lie past my lips before I could stop it. Though I pushed past the unease, it settled like a sickness in my belly. “There are many more rooms to unlock, and I don’t know which rooms are which. I’ll find it soon, I hope.” I took his same nonchalant tone – as though this thing didn’t matter.

It mattered to him.

And it mattered to me. It shouldn’t have mattered. My father always said I needed to look out for myself, that I couldn’t rely on others. But I was relying on Numeen, and he was fulfilling his end of the bargain. Sweat gathered on his brow, shining orange by lamplight. Past him, on a shelf, were a few small trinkets – a wooden carving of a monkey, a bouquet of dried flowers, some incense and a chipped mug. I wondered what they meant to him.

“How many children do you have?” I shouldn’t have asked, but like the drinking hall a few doors down, I felt drawn into this world I didn’t know.

The furrows in his brow evened out. “Three. A son and two daughters.” I watched this broad-backed man, who had spoken so roughly to me when we’d first met, turn from rock into sand. “They’re all too young to be helping me here, but they want to. The eldest especially.” He laughed at some private memory.

“You must love them very much.” Did my father ever speak of me that way to others? Or did he just lament my lost memories and tell them how he might cast me out? I tried to imagine Father’s cold facade dissolving as he spoke of me and couldn’t.

The warmth in Numeen vanished as soon as the words left my mouth, and I realized too late how they might sound to him. Like a threat. He jerked open another drawer and dug around in the back. “Here’s the key you brought me last time. I’ll have this one ready in another day or two.” He set it and the key I’d brought on the counter, took my two silver coins and turned away from me.

I recognized this at least. It was a dismissal.

So I took both keys, tucked them into my sash pocket and left. The moisture on the cobblestones soaked through my slippers as I ran back to the palace gates. Plaster wedged beneath my fingernails as I climbed the wall and found my way back down.

I made it back to my father’s room, breathless, sweat tickling the small of my back. Bing Tai only grumbled a little this time as I tiptoed inside and placed the key back where I’d found it. I didn’t wait around to see when Father would be back. I went to my room.

It was a cupboard compared to my father’s chambers, but I preferred it that way. It felt like being embraced by walls. Every place in my room felt safe; there were no unknown corners. Just the bed, the desk, a thick rug, a wardrobe and a couch. As soon as I closed the door behind myself, I let out a sigh and shucked off my dirty slippers, shuffling around beneath my bed for another clean pair. Bayan and Father both stayed up late. I’d wait them both out.

I folded my legs beneath me and did what Bayan had recommended. I meditated.

Whatever magic this had worked on Bayan, it didn’t work on me. All I could think of was Numeen with his furrowed brow and his laugh as he talked about his children. Surprisingly relaxing fare, but not revelatory by any means. I focused on my breathing and waited until the night felt truly silent.

And then I went to the door and out into the sleeping palace. I didn’t light a lamp; the moon shone through the shutters and provided enough light so I didn’t run into walls. And I knew these hallways well enough.