Brightly Woven(11)

The single window in the hallway was propped open by a thin book. I went toward it and forced the stubborn wood frame open the rest of the way. When it finally gave, a rush of cool air was my reward.

I stuck my head out into the night, and for one peaceful moment, I just breathed. We hadn’t stopped moving since leaving Cliffton, save for the few hours each night I could convince the wizard I needed to sleep. He was always talking, always moving, never stopping.

At this time of night, the bridges of Dellark were haunting but not frightening. Every now and then a couple would cross a bridge, laughing, so wrapped up in each other’s company they didn’t notice the full moon’s reflection in the dark water. Its face hovered there among the stars until a breeze came along and smeared them all away.

I leaned back, retreating into the warmth. The stars weren’t nearly as bright as they were in Cliffton, though I could make out each constellation. Astraea the magic giver, Salvala the sword bearer…

I barely noticed the tap on my shoulder, but it was impossible to ignore the full, flushed face of the man who had appeared behind me.

“Has anyone ever told you your hair is the color of Astraea’s?”

He was almost as short as I was, with hair that was unnaturally blond, almost tinged with orange. He wore a light blue velvet coat, and a greasy smile lit his face.

I took a step away.

“Yes…,” I said.

“A golden shade of red,” he mused. “The hair of our goddess, but the color Auster chose for their uniforms and flags. It’s all a bit ironic, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” I said. “Salvala is Astraea’s sister. They have the same coloring.”

A young man, no older than myself, appeared behind the man in the blue coat. He looked like Billy Porter, Henry’s cousin, and the thought wrenched my gut.

“What have I told you about keeping up?” the man asked pleasantly enough.

“Sorry, Mr. Genet,” the boy said.

Mr. Genet leaned over and muttered, “George is just my assistant; ignore him if you like.”

“You’re”—I thought quickly—“a wizard?” North had been so warm and I had thought the same would be true for all wizards, but it wasn’t as easy to identify them as I had thought.

“One of a few in the city, but the best of these parts—number one hundred twenty-two.”

“One hundred twenty-two?” I asked helplessly.

Genet let out a delighted laugh. “What a simple girl you are! That’s my rank in wizarding society. Out of over four hundred wizards, I am the one hundred and twenty-second most powerful. It’s quite an accomplishment, you know. My magister, the great Alfred Ollman, fell over himself to accept my application for training when he recognized what a child prodigy I was.”

I nodded, trying to move past him, but he blocked my path.

“You’re a special one, aren’t you?” he asked. “It took me a moment to realize it, but I felt it the moment I came out of my room. Join me for a drink downstairs?”

Genet must have misinterpreted my stare of open horror for awe, because my hand was suddenly in his, pressed to his droopy—and drooling—lower lip. I ripped it away.

“Sir!” I said. “Please!”

He reached for me again, catching my arm and pulling me back so hard I let out a shriek. His assistant took my other arm, and it was a long struggle among the three of us down the hall. I dug my feet into the wood and clawed at their arms, but once we reached the narrow stairs, I was wedged between Genet’s protruding stomach and his assistant’s sharp elbows.

I did it without thinking, though the moment my teeth bit down on Genet’s arm I regretted it. He let out an awful shriek of pain, pushing me down the last few steps and back into the tavern. I landed hard on my knees, knocking into the feet of two tavern patrons.

“Have some respect, you stupid girl!” Genet howled, stumbling down the rest of the stairs. “Do you know with whom you’re dealing?”

“Yes,” I snapped, struggling to my feet. “A filthy pig!”

Genet raised his hand, and I squeezed my eyes shut, sure I would be receiving the worst backhanded slap of my life.

Genet froze and whimpered, but didn’t back away.

“Oh, ho,” said a familiar voice. “That was close!” I opened my eyes as North’s free hand—the one that hadn’t caught Genet’s wrist—gently pulled my arm free. I pushed myself away from both of them.

“You interrupt my business?” Genet sputtered. “Do you know what this wench just accused me of being?”

“A filthy pig,” North said good-naturedly. “But there’s only one filthy pig allowed in her life, and the position’s been filled.”

Genet’s eyes swept over the length of him, taking in the foot of height that separated them with cool indifference.

“Up to the room with you, Syd,” North said under his breath.

“No, Syd, stay,” Genet said.

“Stop calling me Syd!” I cried.

“She’s agreed to come with me.” Genet did not seem to notice the tavern had quieted around us. Even the barman was studying our exchange closely.

“I don’t even know who you are!” I said. Genet grabbed for me again, but North was between us.