The Impostor Queen (The Impostor Queen, #1)(30)
I shoot to my feet as a stout woman in an apron marches out from the storeroom. I step back, my gaze darting between her—mouth squinched over missing teeth, brown-gray hair hanging in sweaty tendrils from her cap—and the plate, on which there are still two uneaten pies. Probably a day old, probably headed for the refuse pile.
I lunge for the table, grab the pies, and run.
“Thief!” screeches the woman. “Thief!”
My breath saws from my throat as I sprint along the road, my feet splashing through deep puddles, each stride sending a bolt of pain up my legs.
“Stop, thief!” roars a male voice. Heavy footsteps stomp behind me. Getting closer. But ahead is an alley. If I can get there, if I can lose them in the darkness—
He hits my back like a millstone, and I scream as we fall to the ground. The meat pies fly from my grip and land in a puddle at the edge of the road. Agony blasts along my spine as the man crushes the breath from my chest. “Got her!” he shouts as boots and slippered feet gather around me. One of them kicks muddy water onto my face.
The man gets off my back and grabs a handful of my hair. He yanks me to my feet. Someone holds a lantern in front of my face. “You know we don’t tolerate thieves, girl. Where’s your family? Do you have a husband?”
I am a jumble of terror. If they figure out who I am, I’ll be taken back to the temple to have my throat cut. But if I’m not myself, who am I?
“They’re—I don’t—don’t know,” I cry as the man shakes me, making me whimper with pain.
He wrenches my head back. He has a thick blond beard and a scar across the bridge of his nose. His cap marks him as a miner—his hands are hard as granite. His dark-blue eyes roam my face, and I can’t breathe for the fear. Will he recognize me? Will he hand me over to the elders?
He glowers at me. “You stole from decent, hardworking people.” He looks at the market woman. “Probably a runaway, living on the streets.”
The market woman spits at my feet and wipes her gummy mouth. “Call the constable.”
The bearded miner grunts. “No need.” He drags me down the road, and when I peer through the pelting rain, I see lights up ahead, hanging from the archway of our city gate.
I had no idea I had walked so close to the edge of the city. Panic strikes like lightning, and I twist in the man’s grasp. He clamps a hard hand over my flayed shoulder, and I shriek with the pain. Fighting and clawing helplessly, I’m hauled through the mud with a small crowd following me, shouting insults. When we reach the gates, I’m held up before a man with black hair and black eyes and black teeth. He’s wearing a scarlet tunic and a brown cap. There’s a club hooked to his belt.
“Thief, Constable.”
The black-toothed constable looks at me with puzzlement. “Here now, you look familiar.”
The only sound that comes from me is a ragged squeak. His brows draw together. “Where have I seen you before, girl? Speak up, now. I could help you.”
My mouth opens and closes, but I have no words.
“Obviously has something to hide,” says the market woman. “Nasty little thief. I’m sure she’s done it a hundred times. That’s probably why you recognize her—she’s escaped your clutches before!”
Several people laugh, and the constable’s mouth crimps with the insult. He stares at my face for a moment longer, then turns his attention to the crowd around me. “You were witnesses to her crime?”
They all begin talking at once, how they saw my brazen theft, how I have no family, how I’m a boil on the arse of society, a lamprey that sucks away their hard-earned wealth. I’m hurting too much to defend myself—and what would I say? The truth, even if they believed me, would only result in certain death. But when the miner’s knuckles press between my shoulder blades, I arch back, made of agony, and wonder if death wouldn’t be easier.
The constable finally holds his hands up. “I’ve heard enough. She’s banished.”
“Banished?” I shriek, but before I can say anything else, the constable calls for the gates to open, and I’m shoved and chased through them. When I fall on my face and inhale a mouthful of mud, the bearded miner grabs the back of my cloak and dress. His iron fingers scour along my back. He tosses me forward as I cough and gag.
I land on the grass at the side of the road. Behind me, the heavy wooden gates slam shut.
My breath shudders from me as I stare at the city I love, the city I was supposed to rule. Dim lights wink within. Warmth pours from it. And now it’s lost to me.
Mim is lost to me too. What will she think, when she emerges from the temple and I’m not there? How can I let her know I’m here, that I need her?
And what if she needs you? If the priests realized she helped me escape, would they whip her? No. She’s too clever to be caught. Even now, she’s probably leading anyone looking for me down the wrong path, buying time. Even she would never think I’d be where I am, though. I can hardly believe it myself as I clumsily rise from the grass. Shock buzzes inside my head, making it difficult to hear my own thoughts. But I know I need help. Perhaps one of the farmers will have mercy on me. Perhaps someone will have mercy.
I limp down the sodden road, the long, thick grass of the marshes lit by occasional, distant flickers of lightning. The rain is tapering off, and the clouds are slowly clearing, revealing the moon and stars, needle pricks of light that once foretold the birth of the most powerful Valtia the world had ever known. I can’t fathom how I ever believed I could be her.