Inkmistress (Of Fire and Stars 0.5)(18)
Then I sensed a glimmer of familiar magic, like the flickering white of a dragon wing in my peripheral vision. Hope made me rise to my feet. I drew more heavily on the magic of the earth and that which existed inside me, widening the reach of my Sight. She had to be here somewhere. I sent out tendrils of my own power to seek anything that felt familiar or strong. Ina’s magical gift and formidable manifest would make her stand out anywhere.
The magic led me to a narrow building several blocks north of the town square. The lintel bore no mark over the door, and the shutters were tightly latched. Someone inside glowed with energy, far more brightly than those with normal manifests. My pulse quickened. I crept around the side of the building into an alley hardly wider than the distance of my arms outstretched to either side, hoping to find a window with open shutters. I’d only gone a few steps when fists began to slam on the front entrance of the building.
“In the name of the king, open this door!” a commanding voice shouted.
I spooked like a frightened horse. The only place to go was farther into the alley, which dead-ended against a retaining wall. I scurried in and ducked behind a short flight of stone steps that led up to the recessed back entrance to the building.
I had barely settled into my hiding placce when the door above me burst open. Three hooded people sprinted into the alley to flee the building, knives appearing in their hands gracefully as if the weapons had been conjured by magic. I surged to my feet, hoping one of them was Ina, crushed with disappointment when I immediately knew from their gaits that they weren’t. Before the three reached the end of the alley, they transformed into birds and parted ways over the roof.
I gathered my courage. If Ina was still in there, I had to know. No sooner had I taken one step onto the stairs than someone fell backward down them. He hit me hard, slamming us into the cobblestones and knocking the wind out of my lungs. Blood poured from his slashed throat, soaking through my cloak.
As soon as I caught my breath, I screamed.
He was definitely dead.
CHAPTER 9
I WRITHED OUT FROM UNDERNEATH THE BODY, Backing away in horror to cower behind the stairs again. Two thin silver blades were buried in his chest, one below the left collarbone and the other just beneath where his throat had been cut. He wore the same jerkin and red belts I’d seen on the city guardsmen at the city gate.
“They sure don’t train guards like they used to,” a woman said from the doorway. A simple brown hood like the other three had worn obscured her face. Somehow she didn’t see me as she strode down the stairs. With one fluid motion, she removed the blades from the guardsman’s corpse. A boy followed behind her, his hood pulled up, but his hands bare. His skin was the rich dark brown of the cattails that grew on the banks of the lake in summer. He stood considerably taller than me, his jerkin hugging his broad shoulders and well fitted down to his narrow waist.
The boy caught a glimpse of me and surprise flashed in his dark brown eyes. “Who’re you?”
“Get them!” someone shouted, and three city guardsmen sprinted into the alley.
Without a word, the woman shifted into a bird of prey and swooped out of sight. One of the guardsmen changed into a crow and winged after her, though I doubted he had any chance of catching up.
The boy cursed under his breath. I expected him to manifest or fight, but instead he put up his hands.
“Help!” I finally managed to say, scrambling away until my back was pressed against the crumbling stone of the retaining wall. I clutched my satchel to my chest like a shield.
Unfortunately, help was not what the guards were there to offer.
A guard with hawkish features grabbed the boy. The other snatched me, twisting my arms painfully behind my back and fastening manacles around my wrists.
“You’re under arrest for the slaughter of a city guardsman,” he said.
“Please let go,” I said, struggling against him in a way that only served to tighten his grip. “I didn’t do anything—that guard fell on me. Someone else killed him!”
“Sure.” The sharp-nosed man holding the boy sneered, eyeing the bloodstain on the front of my cloak. “The day a Nightswift isn’t responsible for the closest dead body is the day I’ll eat my boots for dinner. Finding a nest of you vipers on the heels of that double massacre in the mountains is about as surprising as snow in winter.”
My fear doubled. News had traveled much faster than I had on foot. They knew about what had happened in Amalska and the slaughter of the bandits, but not who was responsible. How could they be blaming someone else already?
“What’s a Nightswift?” I asked.
“Don’t play stupid. We’ll be the ones asking questions.” His breath smelled like rotting garlic. The guard shoved me alongside their other captive. They yanked off the boy’s hood to reveal an expression of inexplicable amusement. I couldn’t help but admire his chiseled jawline and rounded nose, both held high in spite of our situation. His hair was cropped close on the back and sides and styled into spiraling twists on the top.
I shot a pleading look at the boy as the two men shoved us toward the exit from the alley. He knew it hadn’t been me. Was he really going to let me take the fall for this?
The boy caught my eye and, when neither guard was looking, winked. A flush rose into my cheeks. Unless his good looks could somehow get us out of this situation, I couldn’t afford to be impressed by him. The two guards dragged us down the street, people parting to let us pass.