Gates of Thread and Stone(14)

“One of my regulars makes me keep things for him,” she said. She looked down nervously at the map in her hands. “Things he wouldn’t like to be found with. I would be thrown out if anyone knew. B-but I overheard him talking once on the docks, and he said something about meeting with the Black Rider. At the time, I thought he was joking. But he might know something.” She pointed to the freight yard on the outskirts of the city. “This is where he lives. His name is DJ.”

“DJ?” Avan said. “Dusty Jax?”

“You know him?” I asked.

“He lives a few places down from me.”

The woman tipped her head to the side, her hair sliding against her skin. The movement was both sensual and innocent. “Then you won’t have any trouble.”

Avan gave her a cool, assessing look. I was skeptical, too, but if Avan knew this guy, then there was no harm in checking him out.

She folded the map on its well-worn creases and then withdrew something from her robe. A blade flashed. Avan’s hand snapped out and caught her wrist before she could raise it.

She didn’t struggle. She just looked at Avan’s hand and said, “This is mine. I thought you might need it.” Her eyes flicked up to his face. The smile she gave him made me want to shove them apart. “You have kind hands. Maybe too kind.”

Avan released her. She offered the knife to me. The blade was chipped and scratched and in need of a whetstone. Engraved marks decorated the handle, but they were indistinct and dulled with age.

“Why are you helping us?” Not that I wasn’t grateful.

“Because,” she said, fingers clenched around the knife handle, “if you find the Black Rider and Reev, then that means you might also find my sister. E-even though Tera’s been missing for years. Maybe . . .”

I accepted the knife. It was unexpectedly heavy, and I tightened my grip.

“Thanks.” I took the map as well and shoved both items into my bag. “I’ll ask about her, if I can.”

The woman watched me with slender fingers wringing at her waist. “Please be careful with the knife. It means a lot to me. If . . . After you find the Rider, I’d like for you to return it.”

It would depend on where my search took me. I couldn’t guarantee whether I’d even see this woman again.

“I’ll try.”





CHAPTER 7




“WE SHOULD CLEAN your cheek.”

Avan’s hand brushed my face. Heat shot down my neck, and I stumbled over the crooked boards of the bridge. Annoyed, I pushed at his fingers, and then blinked in confusion when they came away red. I touched my cheek, surprised to find it wet.

“It’s nothing,” I said quickly, and wiped at it. I didn’t wince at the sting, but I clenched my teeth, which only made my jaw ache more. I ignored Avan’s knowing look.

“And you’re willing to trust that the bottle was clean?”

He had a point. Okay, after we cleaned my cheek, then we would talk to DJ. Knowing which direction to take, any sort of lead, helped to temper the fear. The suffocating uncertainty of where the Rider might have taken Reev. The thoughtless rage that made me want to go back and throw Joss off the bridge.

Once we reached the other side of the river, Avan gestured with his chin for me to follow him. We walked along the bank, the waning light dyeing the river with ink. We kept above the sinking mud, alongside the stripped trees that stood like corpses in the gloom. The Labyrinth loomed behind us, a black shroud across the sky as the river angled north, and we continued east toward the freight yard.

Unlike the Labyrinth, the freight containers here had been arranged into neat rows, one level only, and with enough space between to provide the illusion of personal property. It wasn’t much, but the happiest I’d ever seen Avan was the day he moved out of the apartment above his dad’s shop.

My feet still ached. I tried not to limp but didn’t succeed. If Avan noticed, he didn’t show it.

We made our way through streets carved out by the large rectangular metal boxes. Some of the residents had set potted plants out front, bits of green that fought to survive beneath a sea of yellow clouds.

I cast furtive glances at Avan as we walked. I could barely see him in the dark, but he didn’t seem bothered by what had happened. Why didn’t he ask about what he’d seen? Now that we were safe, wasn’t he curious?

I wanted to know what he was thinking, but I didn’t want to ask. His silence was both frustrating and a relief.

His place turned out to be the last in his row. It sported a fresh coat of green paint. He unlocked the door and held it open for me to enter first.

Avan shut the door behind us and switched on a lantern. The place was larger than mine, in length anyway. A distinct kitchen area took up one end, sectioned off with a built-in counter and a stool. A rumpled bed larger than a cot—but not by much—sat against the adjacent wall beside a standing closet with a couple of tunics spilling out the bottom. There was even a real wall separating a washroom in the corner.

“It’s wonderful,” I said. His shoulders loosened a little. “You must love the freedom.”

“Bit of a downgrade from the shop, but it’s my own.”

He gestured to the stool and then disappeared into the washroom. I sat down as he came back with a jar and a clean rag. He dipped a corner of the rag into the jar and reached for my face.