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Shadow's Daughter by 
Shirley Meier 
Chapter One 
It was spring in F'talezon, and the Blutrosh, the Blood-roses, 
bloomed. The hand-sized blossoms nodded in the breeze over the 
head of a four-year-old child sitting on the white stone steps in 
the sunshine, pulling her tunic over her knees. The house was set 
into the ground, with only the windows, the door and the roof 
showing, like most of the other old houses in the Middle Quarter 
of the city. Her mother called the flowers her sisters because the 
newly planted bushes had first bloomed on the child's birthday. 
Megan Lixandashkya sat with her arms clasped around her 
knees, knowing she wasn't supposed to pull her tunic so far. She 
scrunched her knees up high; it wouldn't stretch so much that 
way. Her father had woven it new. Down the street one of the 
drover's husbands laughed with the roheji seller as he bought 
some of her pastries hot out of the oil. 
Around the corner she could hear the Old Brewery Gate 
rumbling open onto Brewer's Street; the horses snorting and 
stamping, harness jingling as they hauled the barrels out. She 
didn't like horses much, though she didn't mind their smell 
mixed with the bread-rising smell of the beer. 
Downstairs, inside, she could hear her mother singing, her 
hands flying over the lace-frame like the Veysneya, the 
Silverwings, in Koru's Temple. They flew in the light of the rose 
window, and the painted faces of the Goddess, hundreds of years 
old, gazed down from the smooth-polished rock walls. The 
Ladyshrine down the street in the park was a tiny shrine

compared to the temple, but Megan liked the statue of Koru 
there much better. Her father would take her there sometimes, 
holding her hand because she was too little to walk alone and 
might be lost, or stolen by those whose market was children. 
Lixand Mikhailovych, called Weaver, whistled as he opened 
the yard gate with one hand, balancing a sack of 'maranth flour 
on one shoulder. He was average height for a Zak, four and a half 
feet tall, with dark brown hair, and green eyes set in a lightly 
tanned round face that smiled more easily than it frowned. 
"Ness! Megan! I'm home…" He laughed and caught Megan's 
hand when she ran and hugged his legs. "Come on, bylashka, 
little princess, help me put this in the cupboard and come for a 
walk with me." 
Megan would stretch her legs and trot to keep up to her papa 
whenever they went on these walks, while he told her stories. 
Mama always said that if he weren't a Gospozhyn, a Great 
Master in the Weaver's Guild, he'd be a storyteller. Megan 
always liked listening, though she didn't always understand. 
They walked past the lawyer's house, with its red brick and 
worn black gargoyles. It leaned and always looked like it wanted 
to fall on their house, but never did; past the baker's house, that 
smelled so good, past the drovers' houses and the empty space 
that had nothing in it but broken, burned stones and grass taller 
than Megan; past the brewers' houses and the nigh grey wall of 
the Sysbaet School. 
They were good teachers as well as healers, almost as good as 
Haians, and she might be able to go to the school and learn to 
read. Megan wanted to learn, but her parents said that it cost a 
lot of Dragonclaws and they didn't have time to teach her more, 
though they tried. She knew her letters already because Papa 
said that it was a good thing to know. He knew because his 
family had had enough money for schooling before the Great 
Fire took most of his family, and Ness had learned from her 
mother, Grandma-who-was-with-Koru. If you couldn't read, you 
couldn't be apprenticed in the Guild and would have to be a 
beggar or a thief. 
The cobblestones were old; worn by the tread of generations

of people. Because the year had been dry so far the sewer in 
mid-street was cracking mud and didn't smell, which to Megan's 
mind was almost as nice as when the fall rains came and washed 
the mud and odor away. Her papa nodded hello to the neighbors 
who sat on their front steps or walked along Szyzka Lane. 
The bare trees' branches reminded Megan of old people's 
gap-teeth. The buds were just big enough to make small 
shadows to step in. She skipped from shadow to shadow, 
pretending the sunny spaces were the rat pits in the Va Zalstva, 
the Arena, where she mustn't step or she'd be devoured. Her 
papa got ahead of her a little and she gave up her game, running 
to catch up. Even this far down the street she could still hear the 
vats in the brewery groaning and sighing, like sleeping men 
snoring. 
"Megan, you mustn't let go my hand until you're bigger," 
Papa said and stroked her hair back out of her face. "Bylashka, 
my little shadow, in a crowd, anyone can get lost. I want you to 
be careful, even when you walk with me." 
"I will, Papa." She held tight to his hand and walked onto the 
dusty grass of the park as if she were grown up, instead of 
running ahead like she wanted to. 
The park was a small patch of grass with a few trees along the 
streets and the stream, and lilacs around the Shrine. Across the 
park the Sneykh tributary gurgled to itself, on its way down to 
Chas Lake. It was a shallow creek cascading from the Dark 
Lord's Temple in the northern cliff wall of the City. The Sneykh 
was usually dirty because the Dark Lord's priests sacrificed into 
the water. The other stream, the Byeliey, ran out of the 
Ladyshrine on the south cliff wall, and was carefully kept clean. 
"Tell me the best story again, please," Megan said. Papa sat 
down on one of the wood benches of the shrine and took her on 
his lap, and Megan hugged him looking over his shoulder at the 
white fountain with the statue of Koru. She's so beautiful, she 
thought. 
"Szyzka Lane," Papa began, "is a street with Middle Quarter 
ways of thinking, hanging on to the First Quarter's skirts with its

fingernails so it doesn't slide any farther down the rift. It's the 
sort of street that, every morning, blinks its shutters, looks 
around, and wonders vaguely where its grandeur has 
disappeared to overnight. It's the sort of place where quiet 
people live quiet lives, away from the notice of the Prafetatla 
above and the thieves below. We have nothing that either of 
them wish to steal and when the riots come, we pull in our heads 
and wait until they're gone. We didn't always have riots, 
Megan-mi." 
"Tell me, Papa." She didn't understand it all, but she liked 
sitting on his lap, hugging him when he had time like this, on a 
rest-day at Hand'send. She loved feeling his big arms around her 
so she'd be safe and cozy. 
"The Zarizan, the Young DragonLord, Ranion, is the only 
Heir. His father the Dragon, the Woyvode, was harsh, ruthless, 
the very spirit of Prafetatla before he grew old and weak, but he 
cared what happened to us, here and in the other lands. The 
Kievir nearest the young Lord, Dark One notice him, cares for 
himself and his own zight, or pride, and nothing else. When the 
Old Dragon fell ill the first time, the Four-days War happened 
with the Thanes. No protection was offered us, no retaliation for 
people persecuted. That was when pogrom began along the 
Thanish border—" 
"Which is why 
Mama-came-to-the-city-you-met-and-fell-in-love-andhadme!" 
Megan finished in a rush, glad to get to the best part. Her papa 
laughed, all crinkly laugh-lines that she liked better than the 
frown ones, then he stood up and swung her around, off the 
bench high like a bird, before setting her down and taking her 
hand. 
"Yes, yes, little bylashka. We had you." Then he poked her 
cheek gently with one finger. "Nice to see a smile there, little 
solemn face!" They walked all the way around the park, from the 
fountain past the path through to Svinina Street where the 
Guildhall was. Then Megan let go and ran and ran in big circles, 
arms wide, pretending she was a bird, flying high, always staying 
in sight and coming back to her papa.

Someone had made a swing out of an old bell rope and a 
board, and her father pushed her so she swung high, laughing. 
Then he took her down and said, "We'd better go back or your 
mother will wonder what happened to us." He always said that 
before they left, every time. She pouted, then tickled him, and he 
put her on his shoulders to "keep you out of trouble" and carried 
her up the street that way, higher than the world. 
She was high enough to see the sun shining in the bits of 
broken glass set along the tops of the garden walls. People looked 
different enough from this angle that she felt shy about waving 
to them, but did anyway; it was neighborly. 
Everyone's yard was different within the stone and brick 
walls; plots of dirt for vegetables later in the year, grass, covered 
flowerbeds or stone and sand gardens. As Papa opened their 
wooden gate, they could hear voices inside the house. "Hello," 
Papa called, and stepped inside as Megan ducked her head 
under the lintel. 
The inside door was still open, along with the shutters around 
the top of the house. From the landing, ten steps led down into 
the house proper, where the stone floor was covered with bright 
carpets. Sitting cushions were scattered here and there. In the 
kitchen corner a red-tiled stove sat and a small brazier helped 
keep the floor warm. Across from the stairs, the wallbed was 
open to air out and the feather tick, pillows and blankets hung 
outside to get the winter's mustiness out of them. Near the stairs 
stood a wooden chest with Megan's bed tucked in behind it like 
a miniature wallbed. The sun shone in through the shutters, 
cutting the room in half slantwise from top corner to bottom 
opposite, bright and dim light, dust dancing in the breeze from 
the outside. 
"Lixand, Marte's come to visit." Mama's voice was cheerful as 
she called from her cushion by the table, but Megan could hear 
tears in it. Beside her, Megan's aunt Marte put down her kahfe 
cup with a click. Mama cries sometimes when Aunt comes, 
Megan thought. When Papa put her down and went to greet his 
sister, Megan hid in her bed.

She crawled in under the feather tick and pillow, all her own. 
Her mama had traded at the Big Market for the feathers and 
sewed the patchwork cover with pieces of Papa's old green coat 
and bits of felt from her worn-out boots. The tick wasn't like her 
parents' that had a red cover all of a piece and two pillows each 
as big as Megan. Some mornings when Mama opened the carved 
doors of the bed, Megan would run across the cold floor and 
climb into the wallbed with them. She wasn't a baby any longer, 
needing her parents to keep her warm, and had a bed all her 
own, but she liked those mornings. 
It smelled wonderfully of cedar in the dark, but she poked her 
head out since it was getting too hot and her braids were coming 
undone. Then she moved to the top of her tick, hugging her 
stuffed bear Brunsc, listening to the adults' voices and the click 
of Ness's good cups. They sat on the cushions by the brazier, 
drinking kahfe, though Megan didn't understand why her 
mother would serve it; kahfe was only for special company. 
"Lixand, you have your position to consider," Aunt Marte 
said. "As next in line for the Guildmastership, you should at least 
live in a more prosperous neighborhood. Somewhere in the First 
Quarter, where you can associate with people of your own 
station, people of—quality." She always looked sideways at 
Mama when she said things like that. 
"We like it here," Lixand said quietly. 
Megan peeked over the edge of the trunk for a second before 
ducking down again. Like Lixand, Marte had dark brown hair 
and very fair skin that burned easily. Next to her husband, Ness 
was tiny with raven black hair and slanted eyes almost dark 
enough to be called black. Megan tended to favor her mother 
which, for some reason Megan couldn't understand, angered 
Marte. Aunt wrinkled her nose as if there were a foul odor in the 
room, and Megan pretended that Brunsc had teeth and could 
bite her. 
"Of course, I understand your tastes, brother," Marte said and 
smiled, but she kept looking at Ness. "Never quite refined 
enough."

"Marta Mikhailashkya, my tastes are none of your business." 
Megan remembered one time when he'd almost hit her; she was 
kin so he restrained himself. He was starting to sound that angry 
again. 
"Oh, certainly. Ness, dear, the kahfe is lovely." Megan lay 
down again and started to play with Brunsc. He only had one ear 
left because she'd chewed the other one off when she was a little 
baby. Her mama said she was a big girl now. She lifted him up 
over her head, pretending she was old enough to have access to 
the manrauq, the power of mind that all adult Zak had, and 
could make him float without holding him in her hands. Her 
mother could do that, but it would tire her out. 
Megan didn't want to listen to Aunt Marte. She didn't 
understand how Aunt could make Mama sad and Papa angry all 
at the same time without raising her voice. 
"Megan," Papa called to her. She pushed Brunsc out to see if 
it was safe, and when the toy just lay there dribbling sawdust 
from a little hole under his arm, she looked around the corner of 
the trunk. 
"There's the child! Megan, come here," Aunt Marte said, and 
held out her thin hands, beckoning. Megan didn't move. "Willful, 
isn't she? Just like western stock." 
"Megan, come out and be polite." Papa's voice was like his 
flint and steel scraping to start a fire. "Your aunt is just leaving." 
Marte had a peevish, annoyed look, entirely unlike her 
younger brother. She was taller than he was and her hair was 
streaky with grey. Lixand's face was flushed and if Ness held her 
cup any tighter she was going to break it. Megan crawled out 
dragging Brunsc to protect her and Marte held out her hands 
again. Those hands never felt like what her voice said, usually 
holding too hard or pinching. Megan shook her head and stayed 
by her papa, hiding her eyes on his leg. She thought that her 
aunt smelled like the medicines she made. "Such a sweet little 
grig! Such a child, Ness! With her looks you'd think that both 
her parents were City Zak of the purest sort," Marte said. Ness 
looked away, silent. Megan wanted to spit on her aunt's feet, but

wouldn't; she was kin. 
Lixand looked tired. "Marte," he said, "she looks like her 
mother and I am proud of my family." He took a deep breath 
and tried to be civil. "Tell me, have you made a connection with 
the Haian?" 
"No, but I've made some other good contacts, nonetheless. 
The Haian isn't likely to be here long, ever since the Woyvode 
started showing his disfavor towards them." She got up as she 
spoke, brushing her sleeves hard as if to slap the dust of the 
house off. "Good Blossoming to you." 
Lixand only said, "Shall I see you home? One can't be too 
careful in the City nowadays…" 
She laughed as she walked over to the stairs and her shadow, 
as she walked by, was cold. "Oh, no. I'm quite safe." She looked 
happy, which made Megan feel both small and scared. "No," she 
said again. "I don't have to worry. Especially with the new 
contract I have. Just think on my advice, little brother." He took 
her by one elbow and walked her up the steps as if to make sure 
that she left quickly. Ness was shivering. Megan stood a moment 
clutching her bear, then ran to hug Mama. 
"Your poor little cousin," her mama said, rocking her. "Poor 
Rilla." 
"Poor Rilla," Megan parroted. "Can she come't' stay again? 
She's a funny baby." 
"Maybe soon, Megan-mi. Your aunt says that she's too little to 
be away from her mother." Ness's face was closed as she 
repeated the words, and Megan could tell that her mother didn't 
feel them to be true. The door clicked upstairs and Papa came 
down, his feet making soft scuffing noises on the mat. 
"Ach, she's venomous today." He sighed, then kissed Ness. 
She shushed him and nodded down at Megan in her lap. That 
means I'm not supposed to hear that. Papa hugged them both. 
"Don't worry, love," he said to his wife. "She's been like that as 
long as I can remember, thinking I'm living below my status. She

knows I don't play the cutthroat games for position and I won't 
let her pour poison in my ear. It's not as if I'm the only candidate 
for Head of Guild, and it's safer if I keep out of the way till the 
dust settles. There are rumors of murder; we'll be safer keeping 
our heads down." 
Ness was silent, holding onto her family. 
"I'm four. I'm four." Megan skipped and sang beside her 
mother, holding her hand as they went down to the school. Four 
was important because that was when school could start. It was 
important enough for Ness to take time off from her work at the 
Guildhall, though they could ill afford the loss of her work time. 
Megan would normally have been with her parents in the baby's 
hall at the Guild. 
Instead, she was being very careful not to wrinkle her good 
black tunic and Ness had spent a bit of time brushing Megan's 
hair, braiding it up neatly out of the way. She took one long 
stretching step and three little running ones to keep up with her 
mother, humming. 
They stopped before the Sysbaet's gate, and Megan craned 
her neck up at the phoenix carved in inlaid light and dark wood. 
Ness sighed and Megan looked to see what was the matter. 
"Someone's stolen the bellpull again," Ness explained. The bell 
was too high to reach, being metal and very precious. 
Megan's eyes filled with sudden tears. "If they don't hear us 
knock we won't get in and I won't start school and I'll be a 
beggar…" She bit her lip, trying not to cry. 
"Hush. They'll hear the bell." Ness took a deep breath and put 
one hand on the gate to steady herself, closing her eyes. The 
clapper of the bell started to swing to the Zak woman's thought. 
She wasn't strong enough to swine the whole bell, so she started 
it swinging then pushed at the right time. In a minute it rang, 
once, a tiny ring— then louder, a jangle. Ness was breathing a 
little hard. "There," she said. "They'll hear that." 
"Thank you, Mama." Megan knew her mama was good at

magic, manrauq, even if she was only barely a red witch. 
The Sysbaet was older than the Weaver's house and dug 
further under the ground, perhaps the oldest place in the Middle 
Quarter. It was hard to dig so deep now with handtools. The old 
buildings had been dug out of the mountain with metal 
monsters before the Fire, when the sky burned. Some of the 
oldest tunnels were dangerous, full of the sickness that the 
Flames had burned away. 
"Yes?" The monk who answered the door had his brown robe 
tucked up into his belt, his sleeves rolled back, hands wet. Megan 
wondered what he was washing. "How may we help?" 
"One for the school, Sysbat." Megan looked up at him and 
hung onto her mama's hand. Suddenly she was afraid. What if 
they didn't take her? Or what would happen if they did? She'd be 
in a strange place where everyone knew lots more things than 
she did. Maybe she couldn't learn how to read or figure. 
"Isn't she a bit young, Teik?" Megan grabbed onto Mama's 
hand with both of hers. 
"She was four this spring. We understood that that was the 
minimum age for your scholars." 
"Four?" The monk looked away in apology for his tone. He 
was more used to laborers and their children, who were taller, 
almost like naZak. 
"She's beautifully tiny, Teik. Will you come this way?" 
"Thank you." They followed him down the grey and black 
stone stairs. The walls were smooth, as smooth and polished as 
manrauq could make it. The monk had been using his power to 
smooth chisel marks in a newly carved niche in the wall, dipping 
his hands into a bucket of water to cool them. 
The light came in from the bluish glass in the roof, glass out 
of the mountain where the metal was. Any glass now was 
brought up the river, from Bjornholm or the Empire of Arko. 
The sun hit the mirrors along the corridors, and where a mirror

wouldn't do the light came from kraumak, the glowing rocks as 
big as Megan's fist. There were quite a few in the halls, probably 
more than any naZak had ever seen. The first kraumak had been 
lit five hundred years ago. The manrauq made most naZak 
nervous. They call us witches, Megan thought, and burn people. 
The kraumak were in places where torches had been, from the 
soot marking the ceilings. 
They passed rooms filled with books—old books hung on pegs, 
new books on shelves and scrolls. Their musty leather and paper 
smell was everywhere, as if it were part of the rock. There were 
maps on the walls, showing the known seas, or the lands by 
country. There was a whole wall covered in feathers of different 
birds and near them… Megan hid behind Ness as they walked 
by. A stuffed Ri with black-on-black stripes. It was a horse-like 
creature with a carnivore's fangs bared in a snarl, silver mane 
falling down into mean, crazy green eyes. It held one leg up with 
all claws extended. 
A live gold squirrel chucked and flicked his tail at them then 
whisked into a crack in the wall, Megan craning to see where it 
went. 
They passed a hall where a choir was practicing, as the 
conductor tapped sharply on her music stand. "No, no. Don't 
breathe after that word. I want the sound to be seamless…" Her 
voice echoed off red columns, carved with herons and fish. 
Megan stretched back, trying to see as they passed the open 
doors, but all she could see was a mass of brown habits at the 
other end of the hall under one of the skylights. Mama squeezed 
her hand to warn her not to drag her feet too much. 
The monk stopped and bowed them into a waiting room. 
"Wait here, please," he said. "I will inform the K'mizar of 
Children that you are here." They sat down on the blue cushions 
and Megan looked at the green tapestry of the river valley across 
from her. I'm bored, being good, she thought. 
She kicked her heels against the floor and her sandals pushed 
up till they were balanced on her big toes by their straps. 
"Megan…" Mama said quietly. "This is very important." Megan 
sat up straight and tried not to fidget. There was a glass case

with the skeleton of a bird in it by the door and Megan wanted 
to get up and look at it, but she sat still. I'll see it, when I'm here, 
learning. The rich folk, the Prafetatla, their children had their 
own teachers, but Megan was lucky that she had access to some 
schooling. 
The door clicked and a woman with grey and red hair looked 
in and said, "Come along to my office, if you please. I'm Hanya, 
K'mizar of Children." 
"Certainly. We are Ness, called Weaver, and Megan," Ness 
answered, holding out her hand to Megan as she got up. "Come 
along, Megan." The K'mizar was a little taller than Megan's 
mother and very thin. She looked to Megan as if she were made 
of milkweed fluff, and sniffled as she walked. She wore a brown 
robe like everyone else, but her belt was red and white and 
pinned by a metal pin in the shape of a heron holding a candle in 
its curved beak. She was wearing fleece in her sandals, tucked 
around the leather, to keep her feet warm. 
Once in her office it only took a bit of talk, after they'd shared 
the salt, to admit Megan to the first class. 
A week or two later, Megan sat at the brazier with Brunsc, 
warming her hands, listening to the rain splash on the shutters. 
It was cold this morning and her Mama had already gone to the 
Guildhall. After she went in the student's gate, Papa would walk 
through the park, then along Svart Road up to Reyeka, to work. 
In the summer it wouldn't be too dark for her to walk to school 
by herself in the morning. When summer comes and I'm bigger, 
I'll be able to go to the park by myself, too. 
And then she could help Mama by shopping at the market on 
Svenina, as long as she didn't talk to strangers. Papa said that 
slavers preferred younger children, and she'd be old enough to be 
fairly safe by summer. The Watch patrolled regularly out of the 
First Quarter and came as far south as two streets up so the 
neighborhood was safer than either of the Quarters farther down 
toward the Lake. It had been quieter since most naZak had been 
chased out of the city by the Woyvode's decree; at least that's 
what the corner-criers had said.

Ness had a special project at the Guild. She'd left the house so 
early, to start a lace cloth for Zingas Xvan's wedding. 
"Eat your porridge before it gets cold," Papa said. 
"Yes, Papa." She didn't like porridge, even when they bought 
tree-sugar for it. She slapped the spoon in it, splashing. 
"Megan!" he warned. She shoveled it into her mouth, telling 
herself there was milk in it, which she liked. It's good for me. If I 
threw it on the wall, would it stick? She tried not to taste it, 
making faces at the gruel as she ate. 
Then she hurried because she liked school. She didn't 
understand why the other kids complained, but didn't say 
anything because they'd think she was strange. She looked over 
to the stairs where her boots were waiting. If she had real boots 
it meant she was old enough to play outside by herself, since only 
babies ran barefoot. Her boots were red and blue and black 
stripes with a fringe on top, fallen over on top of her slate and 
wax-board waiting on the stairs. 
She put her bowl in the bucket, hugged Brunsc goodbye, and 
ran to get ready. Papa's slow. She jumped up on the bottom step 
and her boot fringes swished. Her braids thumped on her back 
when she jumped down again. Up. And down. Up. And down. 
"Papa, come on!" 
"Don't be impatient, bylashka. I'm coming." like a grownup 
with always one more thing to do or put away. The bed was 
made, its doors closed, the bucket was full of water for the dishes 
to soak until Papa or Mama got home, whoever was first. He put 
the window pole down after he finished closing the shutters and 
pulled his coat on. 
It had stopped pouring but was still wet, cold enough to make 
her nose prickle inside, the air full of water; a heavy fog, almost a 
light drizzle. Ice coated every brown grass blade in the yard, 
slicking black on the wall. Most of the roses were protected 
under the overhang but some of the leaves and branches, coated 
with ice, hung down rattling as if made of stone.

She hung onto Papa as they slid down the street and he 
showed her how to keep her balance by sliding purposely instead 
of trying to walk and slipping. Her slate and waxboard banged 
on her back, bouncing on the leather strap as he slid her around 
him, laughing. 
They slid around the corner into the colonnade of Student's 
Walk and saw Vyaroslaf and his children ahead of them at the 
gate. Lixand went quiet because he didn't like his co-worker and 
would have to be polite and walk to work with him. Then 
tonight, when he came home, he'd be unhappy and tell Ness how 
much trouble there was at the Gospozhyn's Hall in the Guild. 
Since she was busy doing something special she'd have been in 
one of the quiet rooms and wouldn't have heard any of it. Megan 
thought that if Teik Vyaroslaf Vritaskovych ever smiled his face 
would break. 
"Good morning, Teik," he said to Lixand. Rosziviy, behind her 
papa, stuck her tongue out at Megan. She had pushed Megan 
yesterday and almost made her drop her slate. Her brother, 
Leonid, had stepped on Megan's foot because his big sister told 
him to, but Megan had stuck him with a pin later and he'd 
gotten in trouble for yelling in class. Megan smiled to herself, 
remembering. They were mean because she was smarter than 
they were. She was already in their reading group and Sysbat 
Karlovna had said she was quick. Leonid was the littlest in the 
class, next to Megan, but she knew her words quicker. 
"Good morning, Vyaroslaf. The spring is late this year, is it 
not? Study hard, Megan." Papa patted her and she went in the 
gate with Rosziviy and Leonid. 
"Megan eats worms, baby Megan eats worms!" Leonid 
hopped both feet together down the steps in time with his chant. 
"She's gotta because her daddy's got lower zight than our 
daddy," Rosziviy said, and giggled. "He's gotta be po—li—ite!" 
"He does not! I do not! He isn't. He's lots better than your 
papa. He's a better weaver 'n anybody! You're lying!" They were 
all on the lower stairs by this time, and the other kids had 
stopped playing around in the waiting hall and stood around

watching. 
"I'm telling!" Rosziviy said. "I'm not a liar!" 
"Eats worms," Leonid squealed and jumped down from the 
bottom step onto the floor. Megan jumped on him and the other 
kids gathered around them. He fell down and didn't fight back, 
just yelling, "TEACHER!" 
Megan was picked off him by her tunic and shaken. "Megan!" 
It was Sysbat Karlovna, frowning. "Fighting? I'm disappointed." 
Leonid was sitting on the steps blubbering, even though he was 
bigger than Megan and last week had blackened her eye in a 
fight outside the school. 
"He's just trying to get me in trouble! He… he said—" 
"He didn't say anything, Sysbat." Rosziviy's best friend 
Danacia interrupted. "She just hit him." Rosziviy was 
whispering in her ear and they both laughed. 
"I did not!" 
"Megan, that's enough!" Karlovna angrily shook her again 
before thumping her down on the steps. "One more word and 
you'll go speak to the K'mizar. We were worried at letting you in 
so young, but we've apparently let a vixen into our midst." 
It wasn't fair. She looked at their blank-paper faces and 
Rosziviy's smug one. 
"Leonid, stop sniffling and wipe your face. Come to order, 
children." Sysbat Karlovna let go of her and swept into the 
classroom followed by the other children, leaving Megan alone 
on the stairs. "Megan, come!" She looked at the open door, not 
understanding how it could have gone so wrong, so quickly. 
She dragged her feet down the steps, thump, thump. Her 
fringe swished but she didn't like it anymore. Everyone sat in the 
circle on their cushions by the big slate-board. She walked all the 
way across the room to her box and opened it. The hinge 
squeaked and everyone watched in silence. She put her slate and

waxboard away, pulled her boots off, and sat down on her 
cushion. Sysbat started the Icicle Song, but Megan didn't try 
very hard to remember the words. 
Leonid stopped singing when Sysbat Karlovna turned to help 
Elexiy and whispered, "Just wait, Megan Vixen, we're gonna get 
you." 
Her waxboard was cold as she hugged it. The Assembly Hall 
seemed much bigger and full of frightening echoes with no one 
in it but her. The herons stared down from the pillars as if she 
were a frog, and because they took the extra lights away when 
not needed, the hall was shadowed around the edges. 
The K'mizar had said she needed extra help with numbers 
from Sysbat Tenara in the library and although Megan knew the 
Hall now, and the classrooms, she'd never been in there. 
She hid in the shadow of one of the pillars, away from the 
heron on it, peeking around at the library door. Rosziviy said 
that the librarian was a naZak who stuffed stupid little kids and 
put them in the museum. Rosziviy's dumb. Then Leonid said 
that the little kids weren't supposed to go in the library or the 
museum or the oscasa— the bone museum—and if they were 
caught, the librarian put their bones in the oscasa with the other 
skeletons and then stuffed them for the museum. He's dumb too. 
They're both lying. But Vika said they had people's bones in 
there and he wouldn't lie. 
The library door stood in the shadows, closed. Was she 
supposed to knock or just go in? She tried to comfort herself 
with the knowledge of all the books behind that door, and that 
thought kept her from running away; that and the hope that the 
Sysbat wouldn't be there. 
Megan looked down and counted the black tiles between her 
and the door as she stepped on them. One. And one is Two. She 
could put both feet on one tile. And one is Three. She was far 
away from the pillar now and hugged her waxboard tighter to 
her middle, wishing she had Brunsc there; or Mama or Papa. 
Somebody slammed a door in the upper gallery and it echoed

around against the walls; Megan ran back to the pillar, telling 
herself she wasn't scared, but waiting until the echoes had 
quieted before coming out again. One. And one is Two. And one 
is Three. I did those already. The other kids were just being 
dumb, just trying to scare her. And one is Four. The door looked 
very heavy. Maybe it's locked and I’ll just go home before it gets 
dark. And one is Five. 
Rosziviy couldn't laugh at her for being a scaredy-mouse if no 
one were there. And one is Six. And one is Seven. She could try 
to open it, then go home. And one is Eight, and one is Nine, and 
one is Ten. She scratched her neck. And one is Eleven. She 
looked up at the big rosewood door, shivering. I'm there. 
She put down her board, reached up to the black glass 
doorknob that was slippery but turned; click. The door hinges 
gave a tiny mouse's squeak and it stopped, open just a crack. She 
picked up her waxboard and wiggled through the narrow 
opening. 
On one side there stood a desk with a shaded kraumak on, 
making a blue puddle of light on all the papers. In the dim light 
she could see cabinets on either side and the bony tail of a 
skeleton poking out behind them. It was quiet, except for a big 
clock that sounded like the one in the Guildhall that was taller 
than Papa and had brass gears and a brass pine cone on the 
bottom swinging in time with the tick. Her papa had told her 
that it was one of the only ones in the city. 
This tick sounded like something big breathing. In the back 
Megan could see low desks and sitting cushions. One of the 
cabinets was open. 
It smelled of books, of leather and thick pages, glue and dust. 
There was a sharp odor, high and thin and acidic from the 
museum she guessed, and the oscasa. Encouraged by the silence, 
she slid along the wall, peeked around the corner of the open 
cabinet. Someone getting up from putting a book away on a low 
shelf almost bumped into her. "Oh!" Megan squeaked and 
dropped her waxboard. 
The person getting up hadn't touched her, but both were

startled. Megan turned to run but the woman put a hand on her 
shoulder and stopped her. 
Sysbat Tenara was a giant, taller than her parents, taller than 
anyone, with long blond hair and blue eyes, and a long nose and 
a square-shaped face. The Arkan spectacles she wore made her 
eyes look like blue marbles in jelly pudding. "What are you doing 
in here, sneaking around?" She spoke with a strange accent that 
clipped and slid around some sounds. Her voice was deep and as 
firm as if she hammered nails with it. 
Megan tried to explain. "I'mmm not sn—sneaking. Th-the 
K'mmmizar's-s-sent…" 
Sysbat frowned down at her. "Megan, yes, that's the name," 
she said. "I recall. Humph. Well." Then she squinted down at 
Megan. "You're shaking, child. Are you all right?" 
Megan couldn't say anything, couldn't answer, looking up at 
the Sysbat who looked down at her. Is she deciding where to put 
me?
Then the teacher sighed and shook her head. "I don't eat 
children. I don't stuff them and put them in the museum. I don't 
boil them up and put their bones in the oscasa. I don't even snarl 
at people unless they hurt my books, despite any stories the 
other children will have told you." She half-smiled with one 
corner of her mouth. "Even if I am from Arko, I'm not a 
barbarian." Megan sniffled. 
"Here," Tenara said, and directed the child over to the desk. 
"The K'mizar said you needed extra help with your numbers." 
She wiped Megan's eyes and nose with a big white handkerchief. 
"Blow your nose. Today I'll just show you the library, tomorrow 
we'll worry about arithmetic." 
I suppose she needs a kerchief that big because her nose is 
big, too. I'm ashamed that I cried. Only little kids cried, Vikoria 
said, and she was in the third class above Megan's, almost 
halfway to being apprenticed. Megan bit her lip and tried to 
smile and the librarian smiled back.

1 is a smithy, a steel-maker's hoard. 
Megan tried to make her letters as neat and tidy as Sysbat 
Tenara's. She'd been the librarian for a long time and said that 
Megan should try to put the numbers with words to help her 
remember them. 
If she copied the verse out neatly tonight, then she could use 
the sheet of new paper Sysbat gave her, write it in ink and it 
would get put up on the children's board. Megan had taken the 
precious sheet of paper and put it away in her box at school, 
between the pages of the counting book, so it wouldn't get 
crinkled or dirty. 
2 is a two-fang instead of a sword. 
Her hand hurt, so she put her stylus down for a while. She 
was lying on her stomach on the rug and traced the outline of a 
green flower in it with her finger. When she did her homework 
she got to use her Papa's lap desk. She pretended her finger was 
a pink caterpillar trying to crawl up one of the snort legs. 
"Megan, are you doing your homework?" 
"Yes, Mama, just resting." 
"Well, don't rest too long, you have—" Ness looked over her 
daughter's shoulder, her hands wet and soapy "—eight more 
numbers to go, and two extra lines." 
"Yes, Mama." Ness had come home early today, mad at 
someone, she said, but not at Megan. The child picked up her 
stylus again and chewed on the flat bone end, though she 
shouldn't because it was the end she used to smooth out 
mistakes in the wax. It already had teeth marks. 
Ness dried her hands and trimmed the wick on the lamp, 
then went to her cushion, picking up the lace-frame, though she 
didn't want to work on it, Megan could tell. 
3 is a laceframe whose teeth are all broken. Something had 
happened at the Guildhall, Megan thought. Something loud and

with lots of shouting. 
The front door banged and Lixand stamped the mud off 
before opening the inside door. Papa must have come through 
the park; there was thick mud on his boots. Megan ran to help 
with his packages because that was one of her jobs. The parcels 
were bulging string bags full of 'maranth tubers and potatoes, 
rye bread, milk in a clay jug. There was even a wrapped sausage 
for the barley soup Ness was making out of beef bones, but there 
was no butter to be had at the market unless you could pay in 
silver. He'd been lucky to get almost everything because there 
were many things you couldn't get in spring. Megan had never 
liked the feel of the damp bag of tubers and the burlap smelled 
musty, but she helped carry one corner anyway. 
Ness hugged him, though he was wet through. Once he had 
his coat and boots off he came to help her get dinner ready. 
4 is a chain that we shw as a token. 
That was the broken chain on the altar in Koru's Temple. She 
couldn't remember the first time she'd seen it because it was 
always there, but she knew her papa had showed it to her. It was 
important because the Goddess freed everybody from chains. 
"Ness, how could it have happened?" Papa was pacing. "You 
set the tension yourself. I convinced the acting Guildmaster that 
you'd be the best weaver for the commission, because you are. 
What could have happened?" 
Mama slammed a cupboard door. "I couldn't say this there. It 
would have done more harm than good, Lixand. The teeth and 
pegs were worn, set in a new frame, so they slipped. Even with 
Koru's hands on the frame, it couldn't have held the tension. And 
you know who has jurisdiction over equipment." 
"Vyaroslaf." Papa sounded tired. He tasted the soup, 
sprinkled in a bit of salt, and put the lid back on. 
Five are the Silverwings, silver that flies. 
They were in the Ladyshrine, too—the Veysneya. They sipped

the nectar from the Blutrosh around the fountain. 
"Ness, all we can do is for both of us to go in tonight." 
"And replace an iron-cycle's work?" Mama looked partly 
angry and partly as if she wanted to cry. "I was half done. Zingas 
Xvan's wedding is less than fifteen days away. It's impossible." 
Papa sighed so deeply that Megan looked up from her 
waxboard. "Both of us working together can do it. It's your 
design, and that was what took the time." 
She stopped and looked at him. "You mean secretly?" 
"I have to salvage something out of this mess. I've lost zight in 
this fiasco." He walked away, put his hands on the edges of the 
wallbed. "Vyaroslaf and I were about equal before. I have to do 
something!" he said voice rising. Megan ducked. Mama went 
over and put her arms around his shoulders, leaned her head 
into his back. 
"I'm sorry Ness," he said quietly. "It's just so close. The vote 
for the Guildmastership is this summer and I don't have room 
for mistakes, but I won't sink to his level. Vyaroslaf drives me 
mad. The man is so corrupt he—" 
He'd turned around and Mama put her fingers over his 
mouth and nodded at Megan. He looked at her for a minute, 
then relaxed, smiled, and pretended to bite her finger. Mushy 
stuff, Megan thought and went back to writing. 
Six is the Dragon that holds up the skis. 
"No, no, Megan," Mama said, looking over her shoulder. 
"You've forgotten the 'e' in skies.' Megan looked but couldn't see 
where the "e" should go. Ness pointed and she squeezed it 
between the "i" and the "s." She put her tongue between her 
teeth and dug the stylus into the wax for the next line. 
Seven is the Goddess of loving and living. 
Koru. All-Mother. The Lady. She saved the Zak when the

world burned, everyone—even Thanes and Arkans— though 
Megan couldn't understand why the Goddess would want to do 
that. Her statues were always white or red stone. 
"Well eat first. Then we have to take Megan along to my sis—" 
"Lixand, I don't like leaving her with that woman, even for an 
evening. Leaving her own daughter in her care is bad enough!" 
Megan looked up again. She didn't want to go to Aunt Marte's 
even if she did get to see Rilla. 
"She's kin. Megan will be safer with her than leaving her 
alone." 
Ness thought for a bit and sighed. "I know, love. It's just that 
she enjoys hurting people so much, especially me." 
"She's reliable, even if sharp-tongued. She's just like that. 
What would she do? She's my sister." 
"Well, she can look in later rather than us taking her over 
there. Megan, are you done?" 
"No, Mama." 
"Well, hurry, bylashka. Dinner's almost ready." 
Eight, Elder Brther, his heart always giving. 
He was the Goddess's boy, who fought the Dark One and was 
almost lost in Halya. Megan liked hearing that story from her 
papa nearly as much as Heart of Coal. The soup bubbled on the 
shelf of the stove and the lid banged, letting good-smelling steam 
out. She didn't want Aunt Marte to come to look in on her. 
Nine is the Dark One whose laughter is death. 
Megan shivered as she wrote that. The Dark One had white 
hair, iron claws, and wings like an eagle. All his demons were 
black eagles as well, with white heads and arrows in their claws. 
She hugged Brunsc to make herself feel better and chewed on 
her stylus again, almost finished.

Ten is our Power, our Life and our Breath. 
Manrauq, that manifested around puberty. Lixand was a red 
witch, able to cast illusions, just as Ness could move objects with 
her mind. Megan wanted to have a very strong Gift, but her 
mother had explained there was a price; the more manrauq a 
Zak used, the sooner they died. 
Ness pulled out the cutting board for the bread. It made a 
crusty noise, then a crunch and a thump when the knife hit the 
wood. Papa just wiped off the table. I'd better hurry. 
Thes are the numbers we hld in two hands 
We think, we creat and we cherish our lands. 
She didn't understand all of that, but Sysbat Karlovna said 
she would when she was older. There. She pushed the stylus into 
the wax till she heard it tap the wood, to make a finishing mark. 
Then she put it away through the leather loop and the cover 
closed with a clap, and she called her mother to help her tie it 
shut. 
Then she pushed the desk over to make room and ran to get 
everyone's pillows; another one of her jobs. She'd plump them up 
and put them around the table. The blue one for Papa. The green 
one for Mama, and the red one for her. The wind whistled 
against the shutters upstairs. 
"Megan, we have to go out so I want you to be a good girl 
until Aunt Marte comes. I don't know if shell bring Rilla." 
"Yes, Papa." 
They closed their eyes and raised their hands for Ness and 
Megan to pray. Lixand hummed the deep bass note while 
mother and daughter sang: 
"We've lived yet another day, been blessed with wholesome 
food. 
Lady grant our children life, air and water good. Shelter us

from naZak fires, steel and sword of fear, and as the day draws 
to its close, Goddess, please draw near." 
The next day Megan played skip rope in the children's 
playhall. Her numbers would go up on the children's board and 
Rosziviy would bite her tongue because she didn't have anything 
up.
Megan sang the words to a jump rope song under her breath, 
hearing other kids jumping to it too, but they were playing with 
five instead of just one. 
"Price for magic paid in size. 
Twice a sin in naZak eyes. 
Haysa, Hosa 1,2,3 
I change you and you change me! 
There's a naZak without sense 
Make him think that he's a fence. 
I don't care he's twice our size 
He thinks it's all tricks and lies. 
Here comes anger, here comes fear. 
Here comes fire on our ear. 
You'll get caught here if you stay 
Haysa, Hosa run away!" 
Last night had been spooky. Before they left, her parents had 
banked the stove and put the brazier out so it wouldn't tip. It 
was serious or they wouldn't have gone and left her and Brunsc. 
Aunt Marte had put Rilla in bed with Megan, and they'd told 
each other stories under her feather tick until they'd fallen 
asleep. The wind had been howling at the shutters and Aunt 
Marte sat by the lamp with some wine that she brought to drink,

because it was chilly outside, she said. She'd fallen asleep, too. 
Megan thought her papa was angry about that when they came 
home, but she'd only woken up when they took Rilla. 
"Hi, Megan," Ursella said. She was six whole iron-cycles older 
than Megan, but she was born on the same day the younger girl 
was, so they were best friends. 
"Hi!" She wasn't like Danacia, who showed off her finger rings 
with the blue ribbons between each finger. Ursella jumped in 
with Megan, who passed her the rope and jumped out. That was 
one trick Rosziviy and Danacia couldn't do. 
They played jump and change a few more times before Leonid 
came over to watch and stick his tongue out. They ignored him 
and he went away for a while, then his ball rolled into the rope 
under Megan's feet and she fell and skinned her knee. It hurt like 
a pulled tooth, sudden and sharp, and she sat looking at the hole 
in her pants where the scrape oozed. Ursella picked up the ball 
and stared at Leonid, then held it up out of his reach when he 
grabbed for it. 
"Hey!" she said loudly, holding it up over her head. "Look at 
what I found!" Leonid shouted and jumped, but she just held it 
higher. Megan stood up. Seeing Leonid jump made her feel 
better. 
"It's mine! You didn't find it. It's my ball!" he sniveled. 
"Ursella, give that back," Rosziviy yelled from across the hall. 
"It's his!" She ran over and tried to push Megan out of the way. 
"Yeah?" Megan said, refusing to move. Rosziviy poked a 
finger into her shoulder. Megan slapped her hand away. "He 
shouldn'ta lost it." 
"Mine! Is mine! Gimme, gimme!" 
"Crybaby! You're crying over a stupid ball!" Ursella threw it 
across the children's hall where it rolled into the corner. 
Leonid ran after it with Elixey shouting after him. "Crybaby!

Crybaby!" 
Ursella and Megan stood next to each other, staring at 
Rosziviy. 
"That was his ball," Rosziviy said, but more uncertainly. 
"So? You wanna fight about it?" Ursella laughed at her and 
Rosziviy went red. She pokes me with her finger one more time 
I'm gonna hit her. 
"Children! Children!" Sysbat Karlovna clapped her hands for 
them all to come to order. 
"What's wrong, here?" She looked around at all of them, 
particularly at Megan. 
"Nothing, Sysbat," Ursella cut in. "Leonid thought he lost his 
ball and was crying about it." 
"All right then. You all play nicely now." 
"Yes, Sysbat," they chorused. 
Ursella waited for Megan to get her slap rope and they went 
behind the ramp to sit down in the narrow place underneath. 
There they inspected Megan's scraped knee and swore to be 
best friends forever. Ursella gave Megan her Baba doll and 
Megan gave her her red Glassy, a glass marble as big as an eye, 
and second-best stylus. 
"Children! Lessons! Children!" Sysbat Karlovna called, and 
they scrambled out from under the ramp, running to line up. 
When they were allowed into the classroom, Megan went to 
her box to get her counting book with the precious blank page. 
But it wasn't white and clean and flat like it was supposed to 
be. Somebody had dripped ink on it, big splashes and scribble 
marks and dribbles all over, then crinkled it. But… 
"Megan!" Sysbat Karlovna grabbed the page. "What did you

do, wicked child! Look at it! Ruined. Wasted!" She waved the 
piece of paper at Megan. Everyone else in the room looked up at 
the commotion and went quiet. "Your parents are spending 
quite a bit of money to send you to school and this is how you 
show your appreciation? Fighting, ruining expensive paper?" 
Megan couldn't see she was crying so hard, then grabbed the 
paper out of Sysbat's hand and ran, heedless of Karlovna's call 
behind her. 
Sysbat Tenara looked up from her desk as Megan burst in, 
trying to explain, trying to get in her lap and show the page all at 
once. The librarian let her cry for a little then sat her up. 
"Show me the page. Well, they were pretty thorough about it 
weren't they? Humph. I'll see to it, Megan. Don't worry. One 
ruined sheet of paper, even good paper, isn't the Fire that 
burned the world. I'll speak to Karlovna, even if she's not likely to 
listen to me, and the K'mizar, who is." She wiped away tears 
with big naZak fingers. "You look at this book for a while. I'll get 
this straightened out." She left Megan safe in a nest of cushions 
with some books and the clock for company. 
Chapter Two 
Rosziviy didn't talk to her anymore, probably because her 
papa told her not to. She walked around pretending Megan 
wasn't there, even if she stepped on her toes. Leonid still teased, 
but Megan could easily pretend he wasn't there. 
A few weeks later, Megan took Brunsc in to school, to show 
Sysbat Tenara, and she let him sit on her desk. Megan had 
forgotten to get him back before the holiday and missed having 
him. 
It was going to be a good holiday—sunny. Midsummer. 
Megan sang the words and swung on their gate, waiting outside, 
for Mama and Papa to come. It was after the midday meal and 
she wore her new tunic—yellow with a green and blue edge—and 
she had green ribbons in her hair. 
They'd be going to the Ladyshrine, and then to the Big

Market, because today the Year Kievir would be chosen. The 
priest who won would be the Woyvode's advisor and the tenor of 
the City would change. The Dark Lord's years were times of 
decay and death, the Lady's of charity and cleansing. 
Teik Vyaroslaf and his wife walked by, with Rosziviy and 
Leonid behind them. Leonid's tunic was smudged and he already 
had dirt on his face. Rosziviy wasn't looking at him, trying to be 
like her mama with her nose in the air, being careful not to get 
her boots dirty. She looked at Megan out of the corner of her eye 
when they went by and stopped long enough to whisper, "My 
papa's better'n your papa." 
Megan had promised not to get dirty today. "He is not," she 
said back. 
Teik Vyaroslaf looked back and frowned. "Rosziviy, come 
away from that child." 
He wasn't any more polite than his daughter. "Greetings of 
the day, Teik," Megan said. 
"Humph. Well. Yes, child. Rosziviy, come!" Leonid's mama 
had him by the arm and brushed him off, hard, scolding. He 
squealed just like a baby pig at the market. 
Rosziviy said, "Yes, Papa dear." He turned around to speak to 
Leonid. "My papa's going to get your papa," Rosziviy hissed, 
and went to stand with her parents while Vyaroslaf scolded his 
son. Megan spat on Rosziviy's shadow when she turned her back 
wondering why they had to keep walking up this street instead of 
Vyetryena. 
When they went away Megan leaned against the gate and 
made it swing again and stood on the bottom until it closed with 
a bang. Bang. Bang. Then she opened it and did it again. It was 
almost as much fun as the swing in the park. Someone had taken 
it down some time ago and given the bellpull back to the 
Sysbaet. Grownups were no fun. 
The birds squeaked in the ivy on the wall outside where the 
leaves were big enough now to hide them. Brown sparrows and

yellow Soltsniy birds chattered and scolded the lawyer's grey cat 
on his windowsill. They all sounded like Rosziviy's mama to 
Megan. 
"Come along Megan-mi, stop swinging on the gate. You'll be 
big enough to break it soon," Papa said, and held out his hand. 
Megan put one hand in his and her other hand in Mama's. 
Mama's tunic was like Megan's, but green with yellow and blue, 
while Papa's was black. Lixand stopped to lock the gate and they 
went up the street with all the other people, Megan swinging 
between Mama and Papa's hands. Then Papa lifted Megan up on 
his shoulders and put an arm around Mama. Mushy stuff. 
Megan was almost high enough to bump her head on some of 
the overhangs on Brewer's Street. The cobbles there were pink 
and the walls were higher than her head, even on her papa's 
shoulders. There was room on the street for flower baskets and 
potted trees, but most of them were bare and the pots full of 
muck. 
The tops of everyone's head looked like a brown and black 
bobbing sea, and Megan pretended that she rode a ship over 
those waves. 
Some ladies wore bright scarves on their hair, and up ahead 
she saw a blue hat and a group wearing sailor's wool caps. There 
were many people wearing bright red, and almost as many 
people wearing dark green. "I hope the Woyvode has many years 
left to him," Papa said. 'The struggle for the regency if he dies 
soon will tear the city apart; whoever wins gets to try and control 
young Ranion." 
"Surely the Old Dragon is getting better, Lixand. That's what 
the reports out of the Nest have been saying, and he's making a 
public appearance today," Ness answered. Megan couldn't reach 
down far enough to touch her mama's head, though she tried 
and started to slip. "Megan, don't," Lixand said absently. 
"That's true. I suppose he thinks it's important to appear 
strong. Kievir Mikail's faction has the upper hand, but Kievir 
Khovorbod has a gained quite a few of the young Prafetatla on

our side," Papa said, reaching up to steady Megan. "Notice most 
of those wearing green are quite young." Megan, looking down 
over his bangs thought he was smiling because she could feel his 
face muscles bunching. "Megan, sit still." 
It was noisy. People talked to each other and little babies 
cried and a kidpack ran around people's legs, chasing a dog with 
a blood-sausage in its mouth. 
The whole City was out today: River Quarter, Lake Quarter, 
even the handlers of the dead from around the Lake. Someone 
close was wearing too much musk perfume, and one woman's 
hair was so black and shiny it looked like the Dark Lord's Temple 
after a rain. Megan twisted around to look at the temple behind 
them. In the sun the grey cliff stones sparkled, except the black 
square that was the Dark Lord's Temple. 
Today the Year Kievir would be chosen. Megan turned to look 
ahead but she couldn't see the Ladyshrine because the 
Gazhtinizia Garden was in front of them. The playhouse was 
large because Nuov-Kievir Kostonavic was a good patron. 
"We should have gone the other way," Papa said. He was 
looking at Market Street. There were so many people there that 
you couldn't see the cobbles, and above the noise of the people 
Megan heard an ox lowing. 
On the corner a flower-seller on the corner shouted, "White 
flowers! White flowers for the Goddess! Buy Koru's roses! Show 
support for her Son!" The roses were wilting a little. 
Megan banged her heels against Papa's chest. "Megan, don't 
do that." She leaned over his head and looked down at his nose. 
At a new odor she looked around and spotted the pie-seller 
and a cookie-maker. "Papa, may I have a cookie?" 
"Not now, Megan. We have to get to the shrine first." He 
looked and then said, "Megan, if I hold you up, can you see how 
crowded Market Street is, over the wall?" 
"I think so."

"Tell me how many people are up ahead." 
"Careful, love," Ness said. Papa sat Megan on his hand and 
lifted her straight up. 
"There's so many people there, it looks like a mat, Papa, and a 
cart stuck in front." He let her down, swinging, and she laughed 
when he caught her and put her back on his shoulders. "Come 
on, Ness," he said to Mama. "If we can get to Avenue Street, we 
can cut across Piva and down to Reyeka. It's the long way, but 
we'll get there without standing in the sun all day and have to 
see the choosing from here." 
"All right." 
Papa had to turn sideways to get past a man with a basket of 
pots on his head and Mama followed, hanging on to his arm, but 
they got to the corner and went down that way, through an older 
section. "Megan-mi, don't pull my hair." 
Reyeka Road skirted the edge of the River Quarter. The 
houses were sooty and dark, as if dirt crept out onto the road 
from them. Even the grass looked dirty. 
Megan looked at a broken fountain as they passed. It had 
been a bear cub playing in the water, but its face had been 
smashed. It smelled of piss and shit and Megan wrinkled her 
nose, old enough to know that you were supposed to use the 
bucket and put the lid back on. Even Leonid didn't piss his pants 
or anywhere he wasn't supposed to. 
She tried to read the words scratched or painted on the 
bricks, but Ness saw her lips moving and told her they were 
words she didn't need to know. 
"We're late, Lixand," Ness said. "The priests are already 
beginning the rites. We'll never get into the temple and out 
again in time. We'll have to wait until after." 
"Well be able to see from here then, love." 
They were just off the Stairs bridge and Megan looked toward

the Dark Lord's Temple. Across the city she could see a sparkle 
at the big black doors. She could see the priests on the steps of 
the Lady's Shrine with their hands raised, surrounding the priest 
who was playing the Elder Brother this year. He raised his 
two-fang over his head. Mama whispered, "It's Beyis the Sage. I 
know his mother." 
His hair was very black and he was wearing the red and silver 
armor that the Elder Brother always wore when he fought the 
Dark Lord. The priests and priest-esses around him began 
singing, the Veysneya circling all around them, shining like 
copper-washed coins. 
Across the rift Megan could hear horns and drums and 
screams, and she tried to stretch higher on her father's shoulders 
to see the Dark Lord's priests. They stood, surrounding their 
lord, who wore red and blue armor. The whole City, watching 
from the steeply sloping lanes and alleys and streets went quiet. 
In the Piatyacha Tower by the Market, the Woyvode's banner 
unfurled, snapping slowly in the breeze. Megan looked around, 
puzzled as the whole world went tight and strange around her. 
All the adults had a set, tense look of concentration on their 
faces. 
The Elder Brother stepped away from the other priests, out to 
the farthest point toward the Dark Lord and shook the two-fang 
over his head. "COME OUT! I BEAR JUSTICE IN MY HANDS! 
SLAYER OF CHILDREN! ALL DEVOURER! ENSLAVER! 
MINION OF THE EAGLES OF WAR, COME OUT AND FACE 
ME!" 
A dog barked across the city. Megan couldn't hear the Dark 
One's answer but knew it, had learned it in school. He wouldn't 
answer right away. He'd wait until the Elder Brother called 
again. Then he'd say, "CHILD! FOOL! CHAMPION OF RABBLE! 
YOU LACKWITTED MOTHER'S BOY! HOW DARE YOU 
SNIVEL AT MY DOOR? FACE ME IF YOU HAVE THE SPINE! 
FACE ME!" 
A priestess struck a tiny bell in front of her and the chime 
rang through the whole City, echoing. The Elder Brother stepped 
out onto clear air, nothing under his feet. She'd never seen that

much manrauq before. Sysbat Karlovna had told them about the 
invisible bridge created out of a united thought, but seeing it 
was different. 
The priest walked out and then started trotting to the middle 
by the Piatyacha Tower where the Woyvode could witness their 
contest. The Dark One came out to meet him there, two-fang 
held like a lance. Megan clenched her hands in her papa's hair, 
praying for the Elder Brother. 
The wind howled and tried to pull him sideways. He slipped, 
caught himself; she gasped and held her breath. Neither priest 
could see the edge of the bridge, both of them in the hands of the 
Gods fighting for primacy. 
Elder Brother's two-fang flashed in the sun. The Dark One's 
hair was bright white, as if he were old, but he ducked, quick as 
a ferret, and slashed back. Elder Brother jumped over the cut 
and they changed places twice. The Dark One's black-painted 
two-fang wouldn't flash. 
Behind them, at the Dark One's Temple his banner in blue 
and red stripes flapped, flashing white stars. Their two-fangs 
whirled and jabbed, ringing off armor and scraping blades 
together like tinging Mama's kitchen knife with a fingernail. 
The Elder Brother was winning; he was driving the Dark One 
back to his temple. The setting sun shone on the two priests, 
shining with the Elder Brother's color: red. He'll win. I know 
he'll win. He has to. 
Then something happened that Megan didn't understand. 
Someone screamed, "The Woyvode, he's ill. He's down!" People 
were starting to shake their heads, the City's will faltering. A 
man nearby fell, holding his head. Lixand shuddered as the spell 
ripped, fell to his knees, weeping, trying to stand, trying to keep 
the bridge whole. 
"Hold on," he whispered. 'Hold the bridge. Enough of us have 
to hold…" 
The Dark One and the Elder Brother stopped fighting and

both turned to run for the Dark One's Temple as the City's 
concentration broke as the manrauq that maintained the bridge 
began to come apart. There were more yells and suddenly the 
two priests were falling. Someone had to catch them, Megan 
thought. They fell like leaves blowing, arms and legs waving. 
Someone had to catch them, Megan thought. But no one did. 
People were yelling all around them. Lixand dragged Megan 
down off his shoulders and took hold of Ness's shoulder, pulling 
her into a corner between the steps and a wall. Megan heard 
someone shout, "The Woyvode! The Woyvode!" Why didn't 
anyone catch them? 
"RED! RED! MIKAIL! MIKAIL!… GREEN! KHO-VORBOD! 
GREEN!" Two women in red pulled down another in a green 
tunic and struck her. She wasn't fighting them, just rolling as 
they hit and kicked. 
Lixand tugged at Ness's shoulder and they ran, carrying 
Megan. She held tight to his neck and cried. Glass smashed 
somewhere near. Someone wearing red swung a length of board 
at Ness, but she ducked and Lixand punched him. Ness grabbed 
Megan away from Lixand and the two men fought. Ness got a 
tight look on her face and a brick fell off the wall and hit the 
stranger on the head. 
They ran. The sun turned the scene around them red. 
Something was on fire. Ness stopped in a doorway. 
"Lixand! Take Megan." Ness pulled off her green tunic, left it 
lying in a heap in the shadow of the door; pulled off Megan's 
green hair ribbons. 
There was a roar up ahead and a mob surged into the street. 
Megan could see rocks clenched in fists and sticks waving, the 
flash of a knife. Their faces were bloodied and sometimes when 
they fell they didn't get up and were trampled as the fight surged 
back and forth. 
Papa looked up and shouted, "Ness!" He grabbed Mama, 
yanked her under an overhang as a hod of bricks smashed down 
from the roof, dust swirling everywhere. Lixand called, "Here!"

and squeezed between two buildings. It was too tight to breathe; 
Megan was squished against him and the bricks scraped her 
back. He pulled her hands loose and made her look at him. 
"We'll be all right, Megan. I've got to put you down now because 
it's too narrow, but I don't want you to let go of Mama's hand. 
You have to keep up. You have to. Understand?" He shook her a 
little. "Understand?" He had to say it loudly because of all the 
people on the other side of the pile of bricks in the street. 
She nodded. She didn't have any breath because she was 
crying so hard. The sound of the riot was loud enough that 
Megan couldn't hear herself crying. Someone outside the alley 
was screaming. Papa put her down and started sliding along 
between the two buildings. 
Megan took Mama's hand in both of hers. It was dark in here, 
the ground was all slimy and it smelled bad. Papa was too big for 
some spots and had to scrape sideways. At one point he stopped 
and kicked a rotten, two-board fence out of the way. Mama's 
hand was slippery and the walls scraped her, too. 
Megan looked up at a sky that was still red from the sun. 
Above, someone ran along the edge of the roof, then jumped 
across, almost over them. Papa waved a hand at Mama and she 
held Megan still. "Shh," she whispered. If someone noticed them, 
they could drop things. 
There were flies buzzing, crawling on the wall in front of 
Megan. She looked way up at the roof and at Papa. He was big 
against the sky and black, and by his stillness he was using the 
manrauq. Someone looked down and Mama's hands tightened 
on Megan's shoulder. They jumped across and went on. Papa 
hid us. 
Lixand leaned against the wall gasping. "Ness, we have to 
wait. I'm too tired to go on immediately. 
"It'll be safer getting Megan home when it's darker." She 
reached over Megan's head and brushed his hair out of his face. 
"Are you all right?" 
He nodded. "I'm fine, love. Though I don't know how anyone

can fight after the bridge spell broke." It was getting dark fast. 
"You must have a headache like mine." 
"A little one." Then Mama went down on one knee sideways 
and hugged Megan. "Are you all right, bylashka?" She wiped the 
child's face with her fingers and Megan hugged her. There was 
dust all over them, gritty between their teeth and in their eyes. 
Megan pressed her face into Mama's chest and nodded. I'm not 
hurt. It's getting dark. I'm tired. I want to go home. 
"I think it's all right, Ness." Papa slid down to the other end of 
the alley. "Come on." 
It was a little brighter outside the alley, but Papa hid them in 
the shadows as they made their way home, slowly. They spent a 
lot of time standing still while people ran past with torches. 
There were buildings burning and sometimes they had to go 
back or around. 
Megan hid her face in Papa's neck, hearing things, not 
wanting to look. Fire. There's smoke all around. He passed her 
to Ness and checked the street ahead. He was coughing and 
Ness's voice was hoarse. My eyes hurt. 
They were near Teik Khitza's toy shop, but Megan couldn't see 
the yellow and blue stripes of its shutters. The whole street was 
full of smoke like a cloud and there was only an empty hole 
where the store had been, with broken shutters and shelves and 
soot on the walls around. Broken pieces of toys lay scattered in 
the street. 
It was dark and past supper and Megan couldn't cry anymore, 
she was so tired. All three of them were covered in soot and Papa 
had a tear across the back of his tunic while Ness was still bare 
from the waist up. There were goose bumps all over her arms 
because of the cool wind blowing. They had gotten as far as the 
park and Megan could hear the Sneykh gurgle in the dark. Up 
ahead there was a small fire where somebody had dropped a 
lamp and the grass was oily and burning. Papa said, "Don't look, 
love. Or Megan." Before Mama's hand covered her eyes she saw 
the people lying in the grass. I didn't think that dead looked like 
that, Megan thought.

We're almost home. We're almost safe. We can close the 
shutters and nobody'll try to hurt us. She held tight to Mama. 
Their gate swung open in the breeze. 
"Lixand," someone said. Megan pulled her head up and 
looked. Teik Vyaroslaf stood in front of their house, several 
people behind him. The gate swung shut: bang. On Market 
Street Megan could hear a roar as if a monster were loose in the 
city, and the sound of glass breaking, wood smashing. 
"Ness." Lixand stood in front of his wife and child. He 
whispered, "Go." Megan saw that he was sweating. The air went 
tight again, and when Ness stepped closer to the wall she left a 
copy of herself and Megan behind, standing by Lixand. "You 
don't need to lay hands on us, Vyaroslaf, we'll come," he said. 
"You've sunk to this now rather than letting the Guild choose?" 
One of the men with Teik Vyaroslaf raised a hand as if to strike, 
but Lixand didn't flinch: Vyaroslaf stopped his man with an 
upraised hand, gesturing Lixand and his "family" into the 
garden. 
Mama pressed herself against the wall, her hand over Megan's 
mouth, and everyone passed them by as if they weren't there. 
The gate swung open again and she slid backwards along the 
wall, trying not to rustle the leaves. They took Papa. He went 
with them so we could hide. 
Ness ran, carrying Megan to the empty lot in the street and 
put her in a hiding place near some stones. Megan clung to her 
and cried. Ness pulled her arms loose and said, "Stay here. I'm 
going to help Papa. Stay here!" And left her alone in the dark. 
It's all broken. It's all red and sticky and fire and all smokey. 
Why did this happen? Someone was screaming like a bird the 
cat had caught. Megan scrunched herself down small and peeked 
through the long grass over the heap of stones, but couldn't see 
anything. Her eyes hurt, and she coughed and cried though she 
didn't nave any tears left. There were people running in the 
street. It was quiet for a while. Mama, come back. Papa, please 
come.

Then something blew up in the Brewery and there were more 
fires. She put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes tightly. 
The fire burned so bright, licking the sky, that she could see it 
through her eyelids. The brewery horses screamed and screamed 
even through her blocking hands. 
She looked and saw the fire on the other side of the lawyer's 
house. Their house was on fire. The wallbed and her bed and 
their cushions and cedar chest and lapdesk and the rugs and 
Mama's good kahfe set and everything was burning. Mama, 
come, please come back. Papa, come to get me. 
The fire roared up so hot she could feel it on her face. All the 
houses around were burning. The lawyer's house was full of fire, 
wings and teeth flaring out of the windows, chewing the walls 
above. It's eating his house. It's eating our house. A cracking 
rumble and the lawyer's house fell over onto their house as she'd 
always imagined it wanted to. 
It was so bright she couldn't see. Another Fire's come. The 
world's burning. It's all broken. Her lungs hurt. If she closed her 
eyes tight enough, if she put her hands over her ears hard 
enough, she wouldn't see or hear it—it wouldn't be happening. It 
wouldn't be real. Papa. Mama. Brunsc. Koru. Please, pretty 
please, put it back. Please. 
Papa Mama, Pa-pa Ma-ma, Pa-pa come. Please come. 
Please come. 
Chapter Three 
Some one touched her and she jumped, afraid to look. If I 
open my eyes it'll be the same, but she did anyway. Her eyes had 
been closed so tightly that all she could see at first were green 
and white trails in the dark. 
Her mama stood holding her papa up with her shoulder 
under his arm. Lixand, his hair scorched short, slumped over his 
wife, barely conscious, one arm so badly burned it was black. 
Ness ignored the burns on her skin. They were both covered in 
soot and dust and wood splinters, with bits of leaves and grass 
stuck on them. Megan leaped up to hug their legs, though they

smelled of fire. 
"Megan, don't knock us over," Ness said hoarsely. "You'll have 
to carry the bundle, I have to help your papa." 
"Mama, Mama, I want to go home. I want to go home. Can we 
go home, pleeeese?" 
Ness shifted, to keep Lixand from falling as his knees gave. 
"Megan, pick up the bundle. We have to go to Aunt Marte's to 
stay for a while." 
Megan stood and held onto her mother's leg, trying to see in 
the dark. The fire wasn't bright any longer and black smoke 
swirled around them. "No! I don't want to," she cried. "I want to 
go home—" 
"MEGAN!" Ness shouted. Megan wiped her nose with her 
sleeve, and sniffed, letting go of her mother's leg. 
"Megan, I'll explain later. Pick up the bundle and come on. I 
need you, child." Megan hesitated, then went to the bundle, a 
blanket heavy enough that she had to drag it as she followed her 
parents. It was sticky and black and smelly and there were 
splinters and bits of wood all over it. She shifted her hands to 
avoid a couple of damp spots. In the distance she could hear 
voices raised, a rumble like the waterfall, but couldn't make out 
words, or even if it was still a fight. Lixand stumbled on the 
cobbles and almost fell. Ness grabbed and tried to get him up, 
tried to get him to hold on with his good arm over her shoulder, 
but he kept letting go and almost falling again. 
People around the neighborhood were staying inside if they 
could, though some ran with buckets of water passed hand to 
hand from the Sneyekh and the splashes of water fell into the 
fires with no other effect than to hiss. Nothing's going to stop it. 
The three stopped to rest, and Ness let Lixand lie down. He 
didn't look like Megan's papa to her with his face grey and 
sweaty. Ness got Megan to put his feet up on the bundle while 
she pulled out a tunic to put on.

As she did, a man came up, saying something so low that 
Megan, who was at her father's head, patting his cheek, couldn't 
hear. Ness shook her head. "No. Go away." The stranger waved 
at Lixand with a dismissive gesture. Papa moaned and his face 
was sticky and Megan wanted him to get up and tell the stranger 
to leave them alone. 
Ness straightened and a quick move put her knife in her 
hand. She didn't look tired anymore. "Pickings are easier 
somewhere else, 'Rhokatzk. We have nothing we wish to sell." He 
backed away, both hands up. Ness kept her head up and the 
knife in sight until he'd gone. 
The going was slow, walking all the way to Pisznychiy Street 
at Lixand’s pace. He was trying to keep going but his knees 
would give, and every time he jarred his arm a faint whine 
forced itself out of his throat. In the light of a street torch Megan 
could see that his face was covered with tears. 
There weren't many people around now because it was so late, 
and near Pisznychiy Lixand couldn't go any further. His foot 
caught on a raised cobble and he fell, dragging Ness down with 
him. Megan dropped the bundle and ran back to them. Was her 
papa dead? 
"It's all right, Megan. Papa just tripped and fell." He was 
unconscious, lying as limp as Brunsc without any sawdust in 
him. "We'll be all right, Megan." Mama got up slowly. "We just 
have to get to Marte, then we can rest." 
"I'm tired, Mama." 
Papa groaned. Megan touched his hand and his skin crackled. 
He didn't twitch. "Get the bundle Megan," Mama said. "I have to 
try and carry him." 
They were just across Reyeka Road and Pisznychiy was only 
two streets away. Ness managed to get him up on her shoulders 
somehow, straightened her legs and stood up, breathing through 
her clenched teeth. Then she took a half step, then a full one. She 
sounded as if she sobbed every time her foot came down.

It was dark because the moon had set behind the City ridge, 
and though Shamballah was bright it wasn't enough to see by in 
the narrow streets. Maybe the Goddess could help us if I pray 
hard. She'd help and we wouldn't have to go to Aunt Marie's. 
Lixand’s head and hands dangled loosely. He can't be dead. 
Mama wouldn't let him be dead. 
The cobbles here were like Megan's back teeth, smooth in the 
middle, jagged on the edges, and the bundle kept catching on 
them. "Mama, is Papa going to be all right?" 
Ness didn't answer right away. "Ye… es, Megan. He just needs 
to heal." She stumbled, fell on her knees, and just caught Lixand 
from sliding off with one hand, holding herself up with the other. 
"I'm here, Mama. I'm here." Megan tried to help her mother 
up.
"N… o Megan. I'm all… all right. It's just… just a bit further. 
Run ahead and get Marte. Get her to come and help." 
Megan didn't want to go in the dark by herself. She could just 
make out her mama's face. Ness's eyes were squeezed shut and a 
thin red line of blood trickled on her chin from where she'd 
bitten her lip. 
It's just Pisznychiy Street. I've been here before, but I don't 
remember it really well. It's just Pisznychiy Street. She put her 
hands behind her back. "Megan…" Mama didn't say anything 
else. I have to. She left the bundle and ran. 
It was dark and the buildings looming around her were black 
and tall, the gargoyles on the walls staring down at her out of 
their shadows. She ran, her heart beating in her ears. There was 
the faint smell of smoke here, too, and Megan ran, imagining the 
fire looking for them, following them down the streets like a 
hound following a blood-trail. 
There were echoes everywhere, as if someone were pacing her 
running steps before and behind her, the light of fires in the 
First Quarter flickering from the low clouds just rolling in over 
the stars. Megan tripped and fell, scraping her knee.

There were no torches in the brackets on the walls, and 
something ran along the wall and hissed at her. A big cat, she 
thought. Just a big old cat. Her imagination filled the dark with 
slavers and monsters. Koru's statue in the shrine on the corner 
shone bright white in the dark like a promise of salvation. 
Megan hid in the shadow of the statue and hugged it, but Koru 
was just an old statue and didn't hear her crying. Megan looked 
to where Aunt Marte's house was. It was dark between here and 
there. 
Papa was hurt and maybe Mama, too. Aunt Marte was kin. 
Even if she didn't like Mama or Megan, she'd still help. She had 
to. 
Three houses. That's all. Koru, help me. Even if you are just a 
crumbly old statue with pigeon poop on you. She bit her lip, let 
go of the statue, and ran. Two houses. One house. Here. 
She pushed the gate open, glad it wasn't locked. Lights from 
inside shone around the edges of the closed shutters. She could 
hear Aunt Marte singing, in a high, wavery voice: 
"Red roses for my love, dragon's blood in plenty, red blood to 
fight for, lest we be drained empty. Red is the setting sun, red 
the victory color, red roses for my love, red blood for my lover…" 
Her voice stopped suddenly, then she laughed and Megan 
heard a man's voice when she knocked. There was a rustle from 
the room below and she knocked louder. "Aunt Marte! Aunt 
Marte, open the door please!" She knocked harder. Someone was 
climbing the steps. "Aunt Marte, Papa's hurt, Mama's so tired. 
Aunt, please help." 
"Marte, what is it?" The man's voice again. "A problem?" 
Marte laughed, shortly. "No, Varik. Nothing I can't handle. 
M'kin, showin' up on't'is stormy n-night." 
"Hrmmm." The man sounded big. Aunt Marte shot the bolts 
and opened the door. 
"Megan. Where's my brother? He's hurt?" She was dressed in

red like all the rioters supporting Mikail, with her tunic unlaced 
down the front and her hair loose around her shoulders. She 
didn't look particularly happy to see Megan. She smelled of wine 
and incense and spices. "Wh—ere's Lixand? Not come't' help me 
cel'brate, hmm?" She swayed a little, clutching drunkenly at the 
doorpost. 
"Mama carried him, everything's all burned up, Mama sent 
me and can't carry him anymore and he's not awake and…" 
"Shhhush. Hush. Slow down," she said, waving Megan silent. 
"You mean my little brother got himself caught in the thresher 
today?" She hiccupped, not moving from the door. 
The man whose voice Megan had heard came up the stairs 
behind her. He looked like a brewery horse with a long black 
mane, a lot of old scars on his chest and right hand. He wore 
pants and boots, and on his shoulder was a blue tattoo that 
looked like an open-work diamond. He grinned at Megan, a 
gap-toothed grin where he was missing one of his eye-teeth. 
"Your papa's hurt and your mama carried him here out of the 
riots?" 
"Almost here, she can't anymore and… and…" Megan's voice 
stopped as if she had a ladle full of porridge stuck in her throat. 
Her eyes felt full and hot, but she didn't want to cry anymore. 
Aunt Marte's shaking her head, no. She can't say no. She can't. 
"That woman, won't hav'er…" 
"Come on Martie, my dearling," the man said. "You're too 
drunk to know what you're saying lovey. They're your kin and 
you're not the kind to slough them off." He turned her around 
and patted her behind. "I'll help the kid. Go on then and fix up 
your spare room like a good girl." She wobbled downstairs, still 
muttering. He looked down at Megan and she felt scared, but he 
was helping more than Aunt Marte so she tried not to show it. 
"Snow me where your folks are, kid." 
He got a torch and came with her, and as they went down the 
street Megan heard Aunt's voice rising behind her, complaining:

"Tha' dam' wo—woman. Get m' lil' brother in trbl. SHIT! B'chy 
whore. Won' hav't. C'nt. Lixand’ll be fine once I help… 
Unlicensed whore!" But they got further away and Megan 
couldn't hear what she was saying even when she shouted. 
"How far have you folks come?" the man asked her. Megan 
ran to keep up with him as he walked. 
"Szyzka Lane," was all she had breath for. He whistled 
through the gap in his teeth but didn't say anything else. 
In the time Megan had been gone, Ness had managed to get 
up somehow, still carrying her husband, and come a few more 
steps. She stood with her knees bent and her head down, 
shaking. 
The horsey man, Varik, stopped and put the torch in an 
empty holder on the wall. "Here, Teik," he said, and took Papa 
off Mama's shoulders. "I have him." As he was shifted, Lixand 
woke, struggling weakly, then lay still again. 
Ness stumbled when the weight came off her back, almost not 
believing that it was gone. Megan went to hold her hand. I'm so 
tired. I want to go to bed, but my bed's all burnt up. 
They got to Aunt Marte's and stumbled downstairs, back into 
her spare room. "H—ic—ere! You're slobbing soot 'n my rugs," 
was all she said. Varik put Papa down in the bed and Ness 
thanked him. Rilla cried in the front room and Aunt Marte took 
the baby up on her shoulder, not saying anything to them now, 
just patting Rilla until she fell asleep. 
Ness undressed her husband as if she were a sleepwalker, 
washing and binding up his arm. Megan undressed herself. She 
used the bucket and put the lid on, like you were supposed to. 
Ness called her and lifted her up on her lap and held her close. 
"Megan. We're going to have to stay here until your Papa's 
better. You've been a good, brave girl and I'm proud of you. I 
love you." 
"I love you, too." Papa was asleep and everything would be all

right again. In the front room, from the wallbed, Megan could 
hear the rumble of Varik's voice and Aunt Marte's higher one. 
She sounded nicer when he talked to her, Megan thought, falling 
asleep on her mama's lap. 
Megan didn't go to school next day. They slept late and Ness 
slept all night in the chair, tending Lixand. He was fevered and 
his arm puffed up, burned patches peeling off with the bandages 
when Ness changed them. Bruises came up on his face; his eyes 
black and purple, swollen shut. 
Megan held Rilla, who was two years younger, and told her all 
about it. I don't like Teik Vyaroslaf. He hurt Papa. He burnt our 
house down. He hurt Papa. I hate Teik Vyaroslaf. I hate him. 
The distillery hissed and bubbled to itself in the corner like a 
sleeping dragon. The two children had been told not to touch the 
clear fluid dripping into the flask; it wasn't water. Marte's herbs 
hung from the ceiling, the drying plants making it look like a 
dusty, dark green carpet because she'd adjusted the shutters so 
the ceiling stayed shadowed. Megan looked up at the sound of 
voices in the back room where her father was. Aunt had gone in 
to speak to Ness after she'd vomited up the worst of her 
hangover. 
"He's badly hurt," Marte said. "If he dies—" 
"He won't!" Ness interrupted firmly. "He won't." They came 
out, closing the door behind them so they wouldn't bother 
Lixand. Ness looked over at Marte. "You hate me, I know, but I 
don't care about that. Hate me all you like, but don't stint him in 
any way. He's your younger brother." 
"I'll get one of the Brown brothers." 
"We'll need a Haian. If you won't pay, I will." They glared at 
each other until Marte shrugged and looked away. Ness waited 
until Marte left to fetch the Haian before she went back to look 
after her husband, leaving Megan to look after Rilla. 
The two girls played inside mostly because of the wet weather, 
and because Megan didn't want to go very far away from her 
parents. She was careful that they played quietly so they didn't

disturb her father. Once they brought more water from the 
water bucket and cloths to Ness in the back room. Lixand 
muttered, fumbling at the covers, pushing them off, dreaming. 
Mama won't let him die. He’ll get better. Aunt Marte's helping, 
even if she doesn't want to. 
The Haian came later that morning. She was dark brown all 
over her face and hands as if she worked in the sun, and Megan 
tried not to stare because Haians were supposed to be brown. 
The healer's accent was musical, stretching "i's" to "e's" and the 
other way around. Megan felt better just seeing her. Haians were 
the best healers in the world. 
Rilla played with her rag doll, while Megan sat watching the 
closed door. The Haian was in there for quite awhile and Megan 
strained to make out words as the healer talked to Ness. When 
the Haian came out carrying her bag in strong brown hands, she 
looked unhappy. 
"I will come agin," she said to Ness. "Tomorrow. Kip eet 
covered and eef the Spirit of Life is weeth heem, hee will recover 
somewhat. I hold out leetle hope of saveeng hees arm but one 
never knows. I will do my bist." 
"Thank you," Ness said, her eyes reddened with unshed tears. 
Marte looked up from the corner where she was putting stoppers 
in glass jars, snorted and went back to her bottles. 
Rilla hit Megan on the head with her rag doll. Megan pushed 
her away and Rilla sat down hard but didn't cry— just sat 
sniffling a little, looking first at Megan then at Marte. "You're 
mean," she said, but not "I'm telling." 
The Haian went upstairs to the door. "Unteel tomorrow. 
Spirit be weeth you." 
"And with you." 
When Mama came back down, Aunt Marte said, "If you waste 
all your money on a Haian, you'll be destitute." 
"I'm a weaver, I still have my skills."

Aunt laughed. "Oh, yes, and who is the Guildmaster now? Or 
will be, very shortly? Vyaroslaf. Do you think that he'll 
acknowledge your status as a weaver? And my little brother. If 
he recovers? He'll be a one-handed weaver. 
"We have our friends still." Mama stood at the bottom of the 
stairs looking suddenly small. 
"Friends. Where were they last night?" Aunt hummed a 
snatch of "Red Roses." 
"All green supporters. Even if the Woyvode isn't dead, only ill, 
Mikails won because Khovorbod had an 'accident' in the 
confusion. They won't dare help you." 
"I don't believe it." Mama stood up straighter. "I don't believe 
that people are so weak that they wouldn't help their friends.' 
She walked over to Megan, picked her up and hugged her. "I 
don't believe the world is what you think it is." 
"Ha! Romantic peasant shit! You'll find out. It'll chew you up 
and spit you out in little pieces. I'll help you because of my 
brother, but don't you ever try to come crawling to me for your 
own sake." Aunt Marte tied a bundle of weeds together and cut 
the thread with her teeth. Ness set Megan down, leaving a hand 
on her head. 
"Don't worry, Marte. I never will. Megan, come sit with me a 
while." 
"Yes, Mama." 
They went and sat in the hot, dim back room with Lixand. He 
would throw his head back and forth or fight the covers, 
drinking the water Ness gave him without opening his eyes. His 
hair was pasted to his face with sweat. 
"Megan, tomorrow you can go back to school as long as you 
promise not to say anything about me or your papa. We paid for 
the year and you should miss as little as possible since you're 
going to need all the schooling you can get."

Megan sat on the edge of Papa's bed and walked her fingers 
up and down the bedclothes. "Shouldn't I help you, Mama?" 
Ness poked Megan's cheek with a finger and tried to smile, but 
Megan didn't; that was Papa's trick. Little solemn face. 
"You may help, after school. Do you think you can walk all by 
yourself, to Szyzka Lane? I can't come with you." 
Megan nodded vigorously. "I can. I'm big enough to help." 
"You can help most by not saying anything, even if Rosziviy 
says or does anything to you. If her papa finds out we're all still 
alive he might try to hurt us even more." 
I really mustn't. I hate Rosziviy. I hate her papa. I wish the 
Dark One would take them away into Halya and freeze them in 
ice and burn them with steam and make all their skin fall off 
and their eyes boil and have eagles with fire for wings pick 
them. 
"I won't say anything, Mama. I promised' 
Ness smiled a little more broadly. "That's my bylashka. Why 
don't you go play with Rilla some more?" 
When Megan turned to go back out to the big room again, 
Papa started shouting and Ness leaned over him to keep him 
from flailing his burned arm against the bed. "No!… Vyar… 
Ness, get out! Take Megan. I'll… ahhh!" She was leaning on him 
and he was trying to get up, waving his arms. Megan watched, 
frightened, her stomach twisted, knotted together inside like the 
snakes and worms in the display case in Sysbat Tenara's 
museum. But Mama's all right. And Papa'll get better. The 
Haian says so and Mama'll make him get better. 
Koru, are you listening? I'm sorry I thought you were a 
crumbly old statue with bird poop on it. Please help us. Please? 
You're a powerful Goddess and it wouldn't be hard. Koru? 
Pretty please? We're all safe, even Brunsc because Sysbat 
Tenant has him, but can you make there be a home again, 
please? Amen.

Chapter Four 
Sysbat Karlovna stood in front of the class reading a history. 
Nobody liked to sit close to her, even if she did mumble, because 
she sprayed everybody in the front with spit. Megan didn't think 
Sysbat liked reading aloud much, and didn't really listen. Instead 
she thought about her papa and mama. The Haian had come 
back a couple of times in the last two days. 
"… the Zak leader, Dayovich, realized that the 
independent—can you say that word, children?—the 
independent tribes of the Zak could never win against the 
Armai, and swore that we would be one nation, one people…" 
Ness had tried to talk to Papa's friends but had come back 
both saddened and angry, saying they put her off. "Scared stupid 
that they'll lose their places if Vyaroslaf ever finds out about it," 
she'd said. "And all of them thinking the others would help more 
than they. They gave us money, because they're not that scared, 
but getting them to take legal action with us against a new 
Guildmaster? Phhaugh!" 
She was angry enough that Aunt Marte didn't even say "I told 
you so." She'd just watched Ness, like a lizard. Then she said, 
"The family… we can't afford an Advocate by ourselves. Besides, 
Vyaroslaf could out-bribe us now, with the Guild coffers behind 
him." Mama had stopped and stared at her, then went to look 
after Papa without answering back. 
After the door was closed behind them and Megan held the 
basin for Papa's bandages, she saw Ness try to hold back her 
tears. Lixand was often delirious. Megan had gone to play with 
Rilla as her mother had asked, but heard Mama sobbing into the 
clean bandages she'd been holding. 
Megan curled her toes inside her socks, hoping that what 
Mama had said—that they'd have a home again once Papa got 
better—was true. She looked around the other children listening 
to the history. 
Sysbat Karlovna had a thread trailing from the hem of her 
robe that swayed back and forth as she read. "… and when Iyesi

was an empire, we were one people again." Sysbat put the book 
down and told them to stand to recite. History goes a long way 
back. Almost all the way back to when the world burned. I like 
history better than the arithmetic that comes next. 
"First there were Zak. We had a K'mizariza, the age of Great 
Kings. Then came the Republic when the mob ruled. Then came 
the priests' Seven Hundred Years of Holiness and Corruption. 
Then came the Years of The Three—Priest, Priest, and War 
Leader. Then came the generations of the SmiurgTeik, our 
Beloved Dragon Lord, the Woyvode." 
Megan scratched her back, telling herself she should pay 
attention. I promised the Goddess I'd be good so she'd keep the 
Dark Lord from taking Papa away. 
Rosziviy smirked at her across the circle and Megan made her 
face stony. Ursella winked and Megan felt a little better. 
The day's heat sat inside the house where the night breeze 
couldn't touch it, though all the windows were open. The herbs 
on the ceiling rustled, but the breeze never came down inside. 
Megan lay on her pallet next to Rilla, watching the light under 
the door of the spare room, where the Haian was. The door was 
closed, although the back room was stuffy even with the 
windows open. 
Rilla was asleep. Earlier that evening Aunt Marte had hit her 
for being bad, though all that she'd done wrong that Megan 
could see was sing too loud. She had the marks of tears on her 
face and a bruised cheek. Mama's been with Papa all day and 
didn't see and stop Aunt Marte from doing it. 
The dark pressed down on Megan as if it didn't want her to 
breathe. Aunt Marte's house doesn't like us either. 
The Haian was doing something that clinked and rattled and 
made a strong smell as if the still was working. Rilla rolled over 
in her sleep and whimpered because of her bruises. 
Megan looked over to Aunt's wallbed where she was asleep, 
too. She'd drunk a wine jar empty, staggered around and

slammed a few doors, threw up, then went to bed. Her tunic got 
vomit on it and she didn't even put it in the bucket with water. 
It stinks, she thought, and woke up with a jump from where 
she'd dozed. 
The door clicked under Aunt Marte's snoring. The Haian 
stood by the table, leaning on it, looking tired. Mama had a 
whole bundle of bedclothes and there were dark splotches on the 
white sheets. 
The smell wasn't as strong anymore, but it was mixed with 
another smell like rust or the smell of a skinned knee. Marte's 
snoring was muffled by the closed doors of the bed. 
"I'm sorrie I could do no more," the Haian whispered, 
glancing over to where the two children were supposed to be 
sleeping. "He has hees life, and ay femily to care for heem. I 
weesh I could have done more." 
"Thank you," Mama said. "You did the best you could." 
"He needs quiet end weeth luck eet will heal up weethout 
eenfection. I will kip an eye on heem unteel the stump heals 
over." 
Ness walked the Haian up the steps to the door. "Thank you. 
I'll walk you to the gate." 
"He will be asleep for at leest enother hour. He might wake 
efter thet and go beck to ay more naturel sleep. The drug for 
pain is on the table. Eef he develops fever again, call me." 
The door shut behind them, and Megan got up and went to 
see her papa. It was very hot and still in the back room, and he 
lay on his back, sweat shining on his skin in the candlelight. 
Megan's shadow flickered across her father, making it hard to 
see, and the edge of the wallbed made a dark shadow across his 
burned arm. 
She felt better because she could see his chest rising and 
falling. He's alive. He looks better. He looks like he'll wake up 
and be fine. His left hand lay across his chest.

She put her hand over the wooden sill of the bed before she 
looked. His shoulder stuck out in a strange way and his chest 
seemed dented in. What happened? Then she saw that it wasn't 
a dent, it was her papa's shoulder, but his arm wasn't where it 
was supposed to be. It isn't there at all. 
Her hand was on the mattress, smooth and cool under her 
fingers. His shoulder was bandaged white and smooth and 
round like the eyes in Koru's statues. 
"Megan." Mama came up behind Megan and lifted her up, 
and she hid her face in her mother's neck. 
"The Haian took his arm away, Mama. She took it away." 
"Yes, Megan-mi. He would have died if she hadn't. She did it 
to save him." 
"Did Papa say he wanted that?" 
Mama sighed. "If he wakes up before you have to leave for 
school, you may sit with him. If not, you can talk to him after 
school." 
"Yes, Mama." Megan yawned. Ness carried her daughter back 
to bed next to Rilla. Rilla's sucking her thumb. I'm not a baby to 
do that. 
Megan hugged Brunsc until his sawdust squeaked, watching 
her mother's shadow bounce around the room as she tidied up. 
Ness took the candle back into the spare room, and when she 
blew the light out it was like a puff of dark. 
Megan hugged Brunsc. He's got teeth. Hell keep me safe from 
Aunt Matte's house and from Haians who need to take people's 
arms away. 
Papa's going to be all right. He smiled at me this morning. 
He'd eaten and sat up in bed and Ness cried happy tears. Those 
kinds of tears Megan liked. Marte stood in the door and looked 
at them all, hugging each other. The smile on her face had 
supposedly been for the family, but Megan suspected that Marte

would rather Megan or Ness had been hurt instead of her 
brother, as if they could have taken his place. 
Megan jumped over a puddle as she ran to school. She'd given 
Brunsc to Rilla because she needed him more. I'm a big girl 
with a nice mama and papa and I don't need bears with teeth. 
Rilla had cried a long time a couple of days ago, because Aunt 
Marte hit her again and yelled at her while Ness was at the 
market. Brunsc would help. 
Yim, the Koa Alley baker's boy, had his stand open to sell 
breakfast; stacks of sticky buns with honey running down them, 
and loaves steaming in the cool morning. The market-drovers 
who came in every morning by dark stood between the baker's 
and the kahfe stall where there was a street lamp still lit—unless 
the weather was bad, when they stood under the counting-house 
overhang. 
Their horses would pull back their lips from the cold water in 
the troughs, breath blowing steam in the air, like their masters 
slurping thick, hot kahfe out of Nanty's chipped mugs. The 
drovers would laugh loud and wipe honey-covered fingers on 
their baggy pants. Megan had been afraid of them at first. 
Megan wiggled between people's legs, and ran past one of the 
Honey-Giver's Shrines, whose Bearcub statue looked like her 
Brunsc. Rilla's Brunsc. She wouldn't have time to stop at the 
Shrine and pet Him this morning. Her books bounced on her 
back as she ran. She'd started taking them home with her, 
because ink and sticky things had mysteriously kept getting 
spilled on them while they were in her box, or they would 
disappear. Sysbat didn't even try to do anything about it 
anymore, acting as if it were Megan's fault. 
Megan tucked her jump rope more firmly in her belt so as not 
to lose it, looking forward to mealbreak when she and Ursella 
could skip. The Baba doll that Ursella had given her stood on the 
shelf over Megan's box, and no one dared touch her because then 
both Ursella and Megan would have been after them. 
It was foggy this morning, long fingers trailing along The 
Stairs. Up the street the leathermaker's sign creaked in a slow

breeze. Megan dawdled a bit along the Sneykh and poked in the 
mud along the banks with a stick. I don't ever walk up Szyzka 
Lane anymore. She had once, and saw the black place, a hole 
with bricks, and grass growing in it where their house had been, 
like a rotten tooth-hole in the ground. The trees were all dead 
too, though the Brewery had been rebuilt. 
She heard the boom of the Garrison drum up the city and 
started to run again. That meant the morning guards were 
coming on duty to protect the Woyvode (long life to him) and if 
she didn't run, she'd be late. 
Ursella wasn't waiting for her at the Student's Gate the way 
she usually was. At first Megan thought she was late, but 
everyone was still out in the children's hall when she panted 
downstairs. Maybe she's sick today. Maybe she's late. Maybe 
she had to help her papa sell bowls in the shop or unpack things 
. 
Megan didn't partner with anyone when they were called to 
line up, waiting for Ursella, then saw her best friend and 
Danacia come out from under the ramp and line up together. 
Megan ended up next to fat Piatr, who nobody liked. Why didn't 
she wait for me? 
Ursella was whispering in Danacia's ear and they giggled 
together. Sysbat Karlovna clapped and they filed into the 
classroom. I have a class, in a bit, with Sysbat Tenaru in the 
library. I'm glad I do. I'm glad. 
At the mealbreak, Ursella sat down next to her. "I couldn't 
pair with you this morning, sorry." 
"It's okay," Megan said munching on her piece of sausage. I 
don't want to talk to you. 
"I wanted to give you this back." She held out Megan's marble 
bag and stylus. Megan stared at her, her throat closing thick and 
tight. 
"You don't want to be my best best friend."

Ursella looked down at her boots, picking at the splinters on 
the bench. "I can't." 
"You swore." Megan took a drink of water and dabbled in it 
with her fingers so she wouldn't have to look at Ursella, looking 
at the black specks in the bottom of the cup instead. 
"Danacia asked me to be her best friend, and she's always 
with Rosziviy who's always fighting with you, and Danacia gave 
me the blue bead-rings I always liked so much." 
Ursella held out her right hand, four blue beads on thin wire, 
one ring on each finger, with a blue ribbon looping between. 
Everybody had said they looked good, even if there were ribbons 
instead of chain, and everybody had wanted ones just like them. 
"And I want my Baba doll back." 
Megan got it and gave it to her. Papa would say that they 
bought her. Then she stood there holding her cup of water while 
Ursella looked at the floor and the doll and the rings. "I liked 
having you as a best best friend," she said at last. 
Megan reached out and dumped her water on Ursella's head, 
and she slapped Megan who hit her back… 
Everybody else gathered around them in a ring, pushing them 
closer together, yelling, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" And Sysbat came 
and pulled them apart, trying to make herself heard. Megan 
could hear Rosziviy yelling that it was Megan's fault—"She's 
always the one fighting…"— as they got taken down to the 
K'mizar's office, where they both got three swats. When they left, 
carefully far apart, Megan put her chin up and clenched her 
teeth. She could feel Ursella's look and walked faster, not 
listening to Sysbat's lecture. I don't even want to cry. I don't 
care. Ursella's being dumb. She deserves it more than I do. 
She's not my friend. She swore. She promised. 
Chapter Five 
On the last day of school, Megan hugged Sysbat Tenara 
good-bye. There was no more money for schooling. Papa had

talked Aunt Marte into letting them stay at her house until 
Megan's year was done, just after she turned five. 
Ness had been doing a little lace-work, the land of thing the 
Guild wouldn't notice, pieces too small to care about. There 
wasn't enough of that kind of work to keep them, and Lixand 
had said that he couldn't rebuild the house because of the high 
building tax and because the land belonged to the Guild anyway. 
They had enough to rent some rooms in the River Quarter where 
other poor people were, and Megan was glad they didn't have to 
go all the way down to the Lake Quarter. Lixand had to find 
some work soon. 
"You take care, child." Sysbat Tenara almost looked as of she 
were going to cry. She never does that, but her blue eyes do look 
more watery behind her spectacles. She brushed Megan's hair 
out of her eyes. "You have a good mind. Don't waste it." 
"I won't." Megan looked around the library. It was pretty dark 
because the sun had gone down, but the kraumak still shone on 
Tenara's desk and the clock still tocked to itself in the back. She 
put her waxboard down on the desk with the slate because they 
weren't hers to borrow any longer. 
"Megan, this is for you." Tenara handed her a parcel wrapped 
in brown paper. "Just a little something to remember us by." 
Megan could tell that it was a book through the paper and 
realized that Tenara didn't want her to open it till later. She's 
looking at me as if she'd be mad if I said "No, it cost too much." 
"Thank you, Sysbat." Megan looked at the parcel in her 
hands. "I don't have anything to give you. 
"Shush!" Tenara straightened some papers on her desk, not 
looking at Megan. "I didn't give it to get something! As long as 
you promise not to forget what you've learned." 
"All right." Megan scuffed her foot on the floor, embarrassed. 
"Bye.' She turned away and walked to the door, having left 
saying good-bye to Tenara till last. I don't want to be here 
anymore. I don't. They don't want me here either. I don't want

to be here, truly. She could reach the glass knob easier, and the 
door wasn't as heavy as it used to be. She closed it carefully 
behind her. 
Faintly, through the closed door, Megan heard Tenara say 
"Goodbye, Megan." 
The hall was cold and the herons on the pillars stared down at 
her as always, but now it seemed like a friendly stare. At the end 
of the year Megan had always had to hang around with Fat Piatr 
and Elixiy, who nobody else in toe class liked. It happened. They 
were okay. They were just weird. Elixiy's one papa is a cutler, 
and he told me all sorts of things about knives. His other papa's 
a bone-carver. And Piatr wasn't really all that fat. 
Rosziviy had passed into next year second highest in the class. 
That was okay, too, because Megan had been first. She patted 
the stuffed Ri as she went by, and trotted up the stairs to go out 
by the Student's Gate. At the front gate, someone had stolen the 
bellrope for a swing again. When it happened, just after 
snow-melt, K'mizar had just smiled and said it was almost a 
tradition. It was dark now so she couldn't see Student's Walk 
and the patterns in the tile. 
She'd promised her Mama that she'd stop at the 
wood-carver's and ask if they liked the collars Ness had made. 
That was Ursella's place. They owe us for the lace-work, was all 
Megan thought. 
She hugged the book Sysbat Tenara had given her and ran 
through the park. They would be moving at the end of the week, 
and there was a lot to do at Aunt Marte's. 
"Ness, there has to be more I can do!" Lixand snapped. They 
only fight when Aunt Marte's not here. "Vyaroslaf isn't worried 
about us any longer. I have the Guild pension, but with your 
contracts and guild-tokens revoked, you can't work either." 
"There's one guild that will take me, unsponsored, that we can 
afford," Ness said quietly. 
"NO!" Lixand shouted. He stood up, rubbing his shoulder

where his arm had been. "That's not an acceptable choice. We 
are respectable folk. You are not going to apprentice yourself to 
the Thieves." 
"What are we to do then, Lixand?" Mama got up to face him. 
"The other skill you have is story-telling, and you'll be paying 
that Guild anyway. You already know they'll charge you for 
protection, and that we must! They control the Bedwarmers' 
Gu—" 
"Ness! You wouldn't enjoy it. You'd be competing with people 
who do and have been training for a while. Damn Marte for 
suggesting it!" 
I hate it when they argue. Megan ran upstairs and outside to 
play tag with Rilla, but she could still hear their raised voices. 
We have to be careful not to step on Aunt's herbs. 
The gate banged and Varik stepped into the garden. 
"Hi, short stuff. Your aunt around?" He was wearing plain 
brown clothes today. 
"No, Teik. She'll be back soon though." Rilla acted shy and hid 
behind Megan. 
"Mind if I wait?" 
"You'd have to ask my papa. Paaapa!" Megan yelled, and 
Lixand came up to talk, so the children went down to the shrine 
to play instead, Megan carefully holding on to her cousin's hand 
so she wouldn't get lost, Rilla holding Brunsc in her other arm. 
Megan had told her all about his teeth and how he could help, 
and ever since he was never out of Rilla's reach. 
"You help, Megan," she'd said, and hugged her older cousin 
and the bear at the same time. ' Mama's better now." 
"Oh. That's good." 
When they got to the shrine they played hide-and-seek 
around Koru's statue for a while, careful not to step on the

offerings, then sat on the back of the bench, pretending they 
were riding horses. Rilla said, "Megan? 
"Yes." 
"You going far away?" 
"Not that far." 
"Gonna visit me?" 
" 'Course I am!" Megan turned around, kicking her legs, 
pretending to make her horse stop. "It's only the River Quarter. 
It was a long way away, but Megan wasn't going to say that. 
"That's all the way down the Stairs." Rilla cried. She hugged 
Brunsc hard, on the verge of tears. "I'm too little to visit. Mama 
won't let me come see you." She threw Brunsc on the ground, 
crying. "You're going way far away. You're all gonna leave me." 
She thumped down from the bench and kicked Brunsc. "He can't 
help. You can't help!" 
"Rilla!' Megan cried out. Rilla had never gotten angry before, 
and it was as startling as having Brunsc bite. "You're kin." 
Megan got down and tried to hug Rilla, who pushed her away. 
Megan picked up Brunsc and hugged him instead, not knowing 
what to do or say. "Rilla. Mama and Papa and I aren't going that 
far. You'll be big enough to come down to visit by yourself soon. I 
can come up to get you. I'll look after you. I promise. If you need 
help, I will. I promise." 
Rilla, her face all dirty and teary, stood, hugging herself. "You 
promise?" 
Megan nodded firmly. "Yes. By the Lady, and the Lord's 
shadow." She swore the highest oath she knew. 
Rilla finally hugged Megan and took Brunsc back, brushing at 
the dirt on his for. "Forever and ever?" 
I don't swear that anymore. Ursella said forever and then 
went away because someone gave her better presents. "As long

as I can." 
"Okay." Rilla took Megan's hand and they went to the tap to 
wash their faces and hands because Marte always got angry if 
Rilla got the least bit dirty. Megan hated seeing Rilla get hit, so 
she made sure her face was clean. "I'm gonna miss you Megan," 
Rilla said. 
"So in I. But I'll come back lots. And I promised." 
They moved down to a rooming house, called the Flats by the 
inhabitants, on Cooper's Lane. As they walked down the lane 
Megan stared, fascinated. At one end, where they made the 
wheels, it smelled like wood and scorching and sawdust and hot 
vinegar; the air full of clamor as the rims were hammered on. 
Ness had to pull Megan's hand because she'd wanted to stop and 
watch. At the other end, near the Flats, it just smelled bad and 
her mama explained that it was because it was a spring heat 
wave. 
In the heat, people leaned out of the windows to catch a 
breeze. People were picking through the piles of garbage against 
the walls, scavenging for scraps to sell to the Ragman, Nomo, 
who lived across the street. 
He stacked his wares in front of his door, leaving only enough 
room for carts to pass one way. When Megan's family came 
down the lane he was standing, yelling and shaking his fist 
because a cart had just driven over one of his rag heaps. There 
was a basket of glass bits by Nomo's door. In school Megan had 
learned that glass and paper were both expensive because they 
were imported. 
The Flats had once been a manor house for a merchant family 
before the Middle Quarter shrank away from it. It was a large 
open square that had had a glassed-over courtyard with three 
floors below ground. Now it also had four above, the top three 
added after it was subdivided. The pillars, metal strapping to 
hold up the glass, and the glass itself had all been salvaged long 
ago and replaced with wood. 
They had a garden below ground, in the center. Mama said

it was a natrium. The galleries were all turned into closed 
hallways with pine boards nailed up for the winter and they 
hadn't all been taken down. In the gaps Megan could see the 
strung lines of washing. She peeked through one of the holes in 
the wall, down into the atrium where puddles of water stood 
between the turkey and chicken cages three stories down. Papa 
says there used to be ven-til-ation. 
A flock of pigeons quarreled with the miniature gulls nesting 
on the outside of the building, and the inside was brighter than 
she thought it would be. She looked across the atrium where 
people had painted the winter walls, bright swirls of color 
somewhat faded. Someone had painted a blue-skinned face with 
winking green eyes. There was a sign of a naked woman someone 
had painted over; the covering paint was peeling. Megan tried to 
sound out the letters. "The Lussious… The Lukious… Mama, 
what does that sign say?" 
Ness looked, and sighed. "The Luscious Peach." 
"Oh. Is that lady a peach?" 
"No, bylashka, a peach is like an apple with fuzz but they taste 
different. They grow further south, along the river or in Laka." 
"Oh." 
"Come away now. That side of the building is the business 
side." 
Megan winked at the painted face and pulled her head back 
in. Mama and Papa and the landlord were standing in front of a 
door. Their new home was a room on one below, a good location. 
Lower down there would have been the dampness and the dark 
and lack of air, with turkey cages close by, while any floors above 
ground were rickety and the wood walls were thin. Nobody 
would mind that in the summer because of the heat, but winter 
was much longer and more likely to kill you. 
Three and four above would be colder yet because they 
extended above the other buildings and caught the wind. Papa 
said that up there, you'd "Freeze your as… behind off." Megan

knew she wasn't supposed to hear because Mama had looked at 
him that way when he said it. But then Ness had smiled at him 
and hugged him as if she were afraid of losing him. She's been 
doing that a lot. I'm bigger now and I understand. He could 
have died. 
The landlord had a scraggly beard and the top of his face was 
wider than the bottom, and he had three teeth missing from 
when he'd been the bouncer at the Peach. He smelled of sweat 
and old beer. His husband kept the turkeys and their wife sold 
them in the lesser market, Mama said. He showed them the 
combination to unlock the door, then left. 
Inside, the room was painted a dirty brown/pink looking like 
what Megan imagined the inside of a nose would look like. The 
kitchen corner had dark purple tiles that were mostly whole, but 
had smears of hardened food on them. The brazier was missing 
a leg. It smelled like wet old people and, in the middle of the 
floor, someone had left a pile of dirt: mud and wood chips, bits 
of sacking and broom straws and splinters. A squishy green and 
pink flowered cushion, with white fuzz growing out of the seams 
lay in the mess. 
Ness stood, looking around at the dirt rounding off the edges 
of the walls. They still had a small kraumak that Papa had 
retrieved from the ruins of the house, but it gave the room a 
greenish color. The door stuck in its frame and there was a gap 
under it big enough for Megan to push her hand through before 
Papa stopped her. There wasn't even proper wallbed but one 
built of wood, like a wardrobe standing against the right-hand 
wall. It smelled of mice. 
"Well." Mama put her bundle down on the cleanest piece of 
floor. "A bit of work." 
"Hallo, then!" A cheerful voice called behind them. A woman 
stood in the door whose tunic was definitely in bad taste; red 
and pink stripes that clashed with the predominant red tint of 
her hair. 
"Welcome to the Flats! My name's Shenanya, called Stander. 
Or Wit. Pro'uy Half-Wit behind my back, but I get on better

with half than most folks do with all of theirs." A door down the 
hall to the left slammed, pointedly. Shenanya shrugged and 
rolled her eyes, accepting the fact that the neighbors could hear 
everything. "You folks need any help, jus' ask away." She winked 
at Megan and giggled at Lixand, though she was too old for that 
sort of flirting. 
"Thank you." Mama smiled at her. "Might I borrow an extra 
bucket and broom?" 
Shenanya looked at what little they'd brought with them and 
Ness's smile went away at that look. All they owned in the world 
they'd carried on their backs; it wasn't enough to need a cart. 
But Shenanya didn't say anything except, "Av course, luv. All 
three of you, come over to my place. I'll have us a cup of chai 
ready and we'll all be back in a flash!" She waved them out into 
the hall. "Come on, I'm your neighbor on the right." She leaned 
close to Papa. "Watch the old haux on the left. She's a buzzard 
with constipation of the brain and runs of the mouth all at the 
same time. You'll see. Zazan's her name. My use-name for the 
bitch is sli—" Mama tsked but Shenanya didn't stop, though she 
changed what she was saying mid-word. "—Shucks-for-brains." 
The door down the nail slammed again, harder, and Shen 
laughed. 
She sat them down and gave them a cup of bitter chai that 
Megan thought tasted like hot sweat. When no one was looking, 
she poured it into the cat's litter-box. "Gotta keep a cat or ferret 
or the mice'll eat the hair offn your head," Shen said. 
She told them all about all the neighbors. "Lotta decent men 
and women at the Peach, like Jerya, well, she's paying to learn to 
read and figure and support her boy, Dmitrach who's the best on 
the block, and Kijo, who's saving to go home." She mentioned 
the neighborhood had gotten better since the people around 
cleaned out the Dusters, especially from Sour Note Street off 
Victory Square. 
Then she rolled up her sleeves and came to help them clean 
up and move in. "Little work now, less later! That's my motto! 
Yup." She said that a lot, but Megan liked her despite it.

They settled in with help from Aunt Marte's friend, 
Journeyman Varik Borkyovych, a member of the 
River-merchant's Guild. Mama made new sitting cushions, with 
his help. 
Ness went out with Shenanya for a while, and Megan stayed 
behind to look after Papa. "Papa," she said, twining her fingers 
in his beard. 
"Yes, bylashka." He blinked and looked down at her. I'm 
almost too big to climb into his lap anymore. 
"When are you going to be better?" He jumped as if Megan 
had stuck him with a pin. To Megan's mind her papa had always 
worked, was always busy. Now he was always home, so he must 
be sick again. I thought he was all better. He just sits and looks 
at the walls. Mama keeps saying, "You re not useless, Lixand. 
We love you. We need you," but he says, "Yes, yes, I love you, 
too," like he was asleep. 
"I am well, Megan." He put his arm around her. "My stump 
healed up long ago." 
"Then why is Mama doing everything?" He didn't say 
anything for such a long time that Megan clung to him, 
frightened by his silence, not knowing what she'd said wrong. He 
hadn't even gone on any walks around Cooper's Lane with 
Megan, so they didn't know where the shrines were, or the parks, 
or anything. She jumped when a spot of water fell on her head, 
wiped it off, and looked up. 
Lixand was weeping. He held her close with his one arm and 
turned his face away but couldn't wipe his tears, so Megan 
reached up and did it with her small fingers. "S'all right, Papa. 
What's the matter? It's all right. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" He shook 
his head and cried for such a long time that Megan didn't know 
what to do. It's all wrong. The world is all wrong where Papas 
cry. 
"No. No, bylashka." He wiped his cheek on his shoulder. "I'm 
all right. I think I in better now. Yes, I have been sick in a way. 
I'll be better now."

"Did I… did I do anything bad?" She twisted at one of his 
buttons, and he couldn't put his hand under her chin while he 
hugged her. 
"No. You did something good." He let go of Megan, reached 
up and poked her gently in the cheek with a finger. "Little 
solemn face." 
She laughed and threw herself on him, tickling. "May we go 
for a walk? Just us?" 
Smiling, he held her away out of tickle range. "Just us. Well 
find the nearest Ladyshrine, hmm?" he said, and Megan ran to 
get his boots. They had worn spots right over the toes and the 
soles were thin. She could never remember his shoes having been 
shabby before. Papa said he could get his patched but Megan's 
feet had growing to do. Megan helped him put them on. "Then 
tomorrow I'll go talk to Varik. He's been a good friend." 
"I like him, Papa." He smiled. 
Papa's all right again. Papa's all right again. She sang that 
phrase over and over as they went up the stairs to the street. 
Nothing bad can happen as long as Mama and Papa are all 
right. 
"Child!" Megan stopped and looked back over her shoulder, 
stick in hand, which she'd been rattling along the old railings in 
the wall of the gallery. "Come here this instant!" 
It was the lady on the left, Zazan, calling from her door, where 
she stood holding a long-haired yellow cat with snooty eyes. 
She looks like she's sucking on a big pickle. There are 
wrinkles all around her mouth. "Stop that noise at once! Didn't 
your parents teach you manners? Well, I suppose you learned 
what you were showed. From out-city I suppose. Well. You are 
not to run past my door, you are not to be noisy outside, I won't 
have it." She petted the cat absently. "Do you understand? 
Hmm? Well? Do you?" 
I'd answer if she gave me time to. "Yes." That's all Megan

said at first, because the cat lady was rude. She's nasty, so I can 
be rude too. Mama wouldn't like it though. "Yes, Teik." 
"Humph. Go on then." She slammed the door with her foot. 
I bet her manrauq is tiny. I bet she's a black witch who 
doesn't shine. Not like my mama and papa. Mama's a red 
witch and Papa's red-orange. Mama says that sometimes your 
gift is bigger the bigger your spirit is. 
Megan left her stick and went to one of the open places in the 
wall, looking over to the bottom. There were more washing lines 
strung, full of bright clothes. Just down the hall at another 
opening a man wearing a blue satin loin-cloth hung his washing. 
He waved. Megan hesitated a minute. Her papa said that the 
neighbors were all right to talk to, at least during the day. Most 
people wore loin-cloths in the summer, but she'd never seen 
somebody in a blue satin one. He worked at the Luscious Peach, 
Megan guessed. 
He pulled a clothes-peg out of his mouth to pin up a green 
and purple tunic. "Whal, you've met the old drag'n, eh?" he said 
in an out-city accent, smiling with one corner of his mouth. 
"Don't worr'ye about the aul biddy. She a dried up aul hoor. Her 
girl the Madame nu." He tossed his glossy black hair, putting on 
a careful city accent. "My name is Dmitrach." Then he stuck 
clothes pins back in his mouth and went back to his washing. 
Shenanya had said he was all right, he was the healer at the 
Peach. 
"Hi. My name's Megan." 
"Phlef chu…" He pulled the pins back out of his mouth, eyes 
twinkling. "Pleasured tah meet. Here, you wan talk, hold mah 
pins." 
So Megan ended up helping. It's not bad, living here. Mama 
and Papa were talking like we'd be moving out-city or to 
Halya. There's lots of nice people here. 
When Mama called her in, Dmitrach said thank you just as 
nicely as a Sysbat, even if he did say it in a rougher accent. "Been

a good day, to met you little Teik. Goddess guard." He bowed as 
if he was a great courtier at the Nest and he and Megan were 
both Zingas. Megan bowed back and ran down the hall, home. 
Over supper Papa said that he'd gotten a job as a storyteller, 
with his own corner at Zidium Lane. Megan thought Mama 
would be happy and Papa too, but they didn't talk much about 
it. Maybe hell buy something good to eat tomorrow. They'd 
been eating 'maranth tubers and soup without meat, and 
zahbeans. 
Megan spooned the beans, thinking that tomorrow she was 
going to find Zidium Lane. She was big enough to go out by 
herself. After all, she had when she went to school. Mama would 
be out looking for work tomorrow and Papa would be at his new 
spot, so she'd be by herself. I'm supposed to go to Shenanya, but 
I'll tell her I'm big enough to go out, because I am. 
Chapter Six 
It was late summer by the time they settled in. Megan looked 
up from her book, the book Sysbat Tenara had given her. Mama 
and Papa had been helping her with lessons as much as they 
could, making sure she kept learning. The bock was called 
Maysharis Fables, and Megan was proud that she could read 
most stories in it by herself. The one she liked best was a 
cautionary tale about a dog and a bone and a pond. 
Her parents couldn't help as much as they wanted to, with her 
Mama looking for work that was legal. It could be that she would 
have to try and find someone who would accept an adult as an 
apprentice. 
"Be a good girl today, Megan." 
"Yes'm." 
When Papa and Megan had gone for their walk a few weeks 
ago they'd found Victory Square and a Bear cub shrine and a 
Dark Lord's shrine. Lixand had said that His priests could make 
all His shrines shine black with manrauq, but one could see it 
more if you were powerful yourself. If not, then it was more of a

nasty, itchy feeling behind your eyes and you didn't want to be 
there. Besides, it's a year of the Dark Lord. He's the Year Kievir. 
"Bye, Mama! Love you!" Ness gave her a kiss and a quick 
squeeze, making sure Megan remembered what order she had to 
pull the latch-strings to get back in. 
Megan had been going out every day, because it was both 
stuffy and boring in the room with nothing to do but read the 
one book. First she'd explored the Flats from the roof down to 
the bottom of the atrium. Mama told me I was calling it wrong. 
It really stank down there, with the wet and the mud and the 
turkeys. There were both lands of turkeys in the cages, those 
with wings and those with four legs, though both were dumb, in 
Megan's opinion. The boards in the halls there were all rotten at 
the bottom, and people from upstairs sometimes threw garbage 
down, though they weren't supposed to, and the landlady, Teik 
Erham, would curse. 
Then she'd explored the neighborhood. She'd found Zidium 
Lane, running between the Stairs and the corner of Victory 
Square and the Little Market, full of shoemakers and 
paper-makers. Her papa's mat was on the flagstones under a tall, 
spindly pine between two shoemakers. Her mama had been 
angry when she'd found out that Megan was going out in the 
street by herself, but Papa had sighed and said, "What are we to 
do? Keep her in the Flats? She found my place and sat beside 
me, listening." Megan had gotten bored and he couldn't pay her 
any mind, so she'd come home the long way. There were lots of 
alleys between Cooper's and Sour Note, between all the real 
streets. 
Today she dawdled in the hall, deciding that the first place 
she'd go was down the alley to Sour Note Street, where all the 
instrument makers lived, then along Vischy Street to Zidium 
Lane and see if there were anyone to play with. There were lots 
of kids along Cooper's Lane and more around Sour Note, but 
they weren't being friendly. The kids fight a lot, I think. They 
yell a lot anyway. They all looked at me and Papa when we 
went through the first time, and I didn't pay any attention. I 
learned how to do that in school.

Megan locked the door behind her and went to say good 
morning to Shenanya and tell her she was going out, petting her 
skinny cat, Blue, who was really a bluish-grey, like a shadow on 
the snow. He only had one ear, was blind in one eye, and one of 
his fangs was missing because he got beat up a lot by other cats, 
Shen said. That was because he wasn't a fighter but a wuss who 
liked having his behind scratched. If you blew on his fur you 
could see the fleas run. 
She climbed the steps, skipping the cracked one third down. 
Teik Varik was a good friend. Ness had said they could never 
have gotten such a good room for so little if Varik hadn't spoken 
to Teik Erham. 
The door to outside had had patterned glass set in the doors 
at one time, but the spaces were all filled with good thick wood 
now, except one or two little pieces of glass over the outer door. 
Megan didn't like it dark and wet, and resolved that when she 
grew up she was going to live in bright places. Being too low 
underground was like being buried, the way naZak did their 
dead. I wouldn't like that either. I want my name to be called to 
the Goddess and have the wind and birds take me back to her. 
Being under all that dirt would be pretty bad. 
The first alleyway had a small opening but widened further in. 
She wasn't afraid of the rats because when she stomped they ran 
away. Papa said that was because there were enough people who 
hunted them to eat, and Megan stuck her tongue out at the idea 
of having to eat a rat. 
Farther down the alley a willow tree grew up beside a 
building, the wall bulging out from where the roots cracked the 
bricks. She climbed up because it was easy and at the top it 
wasn't dark. In the upper branches she was almost as high as the 
whole world, like being on Papa's shoulders. 
She sat, pretending she was a bird sitting in a tree and could 
fly away if she wanted to. I wouldn't because Mama and Papa 
would be sad if I went away. The Garrison drum boomed the 
mid-morning guard change. She was hungry but didn't want to 
go back to Shen since there was only cold rice during the day. 
Megan climbed down, getting her hands all icky on the bark,

snagging her braids. 
She could go up the alley behind the Sharpener's shop and 
hear the grindstone squeal as he sharpened knives and scissors 
or even a two-fang or a naZak's sword; even if there weren't 
many naZak left in the City there was always a chance one might 
be there. That would mean she'd have to walk all the way around 
Victory Square. 
Instead she went past the balika-maker's house at the end of 
Sour Note, next to the vacant lot. Someone had broken down the 
board fence, and people used it as a park or slept there in the 
summer because their rooms were damp and hot and dark and 
they didn't want their fingernails and toenails to fall off, which is 
what Sysbat Karlovna said damp and dirt could do. 
Her papa was busy with a crowd. She could see his arm 
waving as he described something. It looked like he was telling 
"Summer's Ending." That one always made Megan shiver 
because the Goddess had to ask the Dark Lord's help to find Her 
son's soul in Halya—and the story "Bargain," where They 
wandered for three days in frost and fire. 
She poked in the mud-puddle under the tap on the corner of 
Vichy and Zidium streets. The tap at Cooper's Lane was broken, 
for the third time this week. She watched the mosquito larva 
whip down to the bottom mud to hide and filled the puddle with 
a handful of mud before she went to watch the cooper put iron 
rims on wheels. She stood in the cooper's open door, watching 
her heat the rim in the fire so it would fit snugly on the wood 
when it cooled. 
From behind her somebody yelled, "Yeah! And you got 
worms!" 
"No, you got worms, wigglin' out'cher bum!" 
"Don' you spit on me! I'll spit on you!" 
"Gotta catch me first! Asshole, asshole, asshole!" 
"I spit on you and you catch worms!"

Megan turned to see what was going on. Three kids were 
chasing each other around out on the street, dodging through 
the crowd. A big boy with the black hair and narrow face ran up 
over the tongue of a cart waiting to have the new wheel on, and 
the oxen stamped and bellowed so the carter yelled at him. The 
other two kids, a girl with hair almost as light as Sysbat Tenara 
and another boy who looked like the cat-monkey Megan had 
seen in the Great Market, chased after him. Watching them run 
around were a bunch of other kids sitting on the street marker 
stones, shouting encouragement. 
"Run, Jorge!" 
"Get'im Eula! Spit on 'im good!" 
"Ivar's on Jorge's side! Eula, look out!" The cat-monkey boy 
climbed over the half-door of the cooper's storage shed and the 
girl turned around as he was about to jump on her. She spat on 
him and he fell down, rolling around in the dust holding his 
stomach. 
"Auugh, worms, I got worms," he squealed, pretending he was 
dying while she ignored him and chased after the other boy, who 
jumped up on a barrel with a bucket in his hands. 
"Spit on me and I douse you! Come on!" He waved the bucket 
at her and she stopped; spat disgustedly on the ground instead. 
"You started it!" she yelled, then grabbed a rotten 'maranth 
root off a midden heap and pegged it at him. As he ducked, the 
bucket tilted, showing that it was empty. "Yaahhh!" she yelled, 
and jumped at him. He rolled off and stood up next to where 
Megan watched. 
"Hey!" He was a lot bigger than Megan and looked at her as if 
she were a rotten tuber. "Hey, lookit this!" 
The other kids came around until the cooper yelled at them to 
get lost, they were blocking her door. 
I think he's the leader. Jorge. He might be way older than 
me. Maybe even eight.

"Maybe's a baby the Sour Noters' lost," someone said. 
"I am not," Megan snapped, answering to Jorge, even though 
he hadn't said it. "I'm no baby, I'm Megan." 
"Ohhhhh! It talks back. A Megan. He sniffed, as if she smelled 
bad. "Well, I'm Jorge and I'm head of the Cooper's Lane Killers." 
"Jorge, you just lukewarm runs who wants ta be real hot 
shit." It was a girl who had a burn scar on her right cheek. He 
pulled away from where he'd been leaning over Megan to glare at 
the other girl instead. 
"Marin!" 
"You yell't me, Jorge, and my mama won' give you even a 
burnt sticky-bun fer a whole year." 
He pouted at her. I don't pout. Much. 
"I live on Cooper's Lane, too," Megan said. "In the Flats." 
He ignored her. "Marin, I's just…" He looked down at his feet. 
"Come on, we're not the Killers an' you know it. We just one 
squat over from the Sour Noters, is all. Leave the freshie alone." 
He looked around, then said, "Stay outta my way freshie, ya 
got no zight with me. Marin, didjer mam have fresh sticky buns 
left?" 
As Megan stood there, wondering what she should do, they all 
decided to go visit the bakeshop and started pulling out stuff to 
trade to the baker, Mann's mother. I'm hungry too, but they 
don't like me, just like the kids at school and they don't want me 
to…
"Hey, freshie! You comin'?" It was the girl with the light 
hair—Eula. 
"Mann's mam'll give you sumin' anyway, 'cause you're new." 
The others had gone down the street already, leaving Megan and 
Eula behind. Jorge had a leatherwood stick and pretended to

lead a parade. Then Eula yelled, "Follow My Leader!" and 
climbed the wall to swing from a gargoyle's horns. Megan 
followed Eula and a lot of the kids came back to play 
follow-my-leader rather than parade behind Jorge. 
*** 
Eula told Megan that the vacant lot where everyone played 
was called the Ground. Crooked Alley and Vischy Street 
converged there, and Sour Note Street ended at the hole in the 
board fence, where the two "squats" touched. A squat was the 
ground a kidpack defended, calling themselves the "mesne" or 
owners of the squat. At the Ground, the Sour Noters and 
Cooper's Laners stayed at their own ends. 
Megan didn't like it when the other Cooper's Lane kids called 
her freshie, but she hung around anyway, determined not to be 
left out. Jorge was loudest of the kids, "all wind and no balls," 
like Aage the Older, Aage's second papa, said. 
Aage had a great scar on his forehead, right where his hair 
parted over his left eye, from a fight with the Sour Noters. 
Someone had hit him there with a thrown bit of brick. Aage's 
blood-papa was a blacksmith, and his second papa was a farrier. 
Some of the kids were children of quad marriages, and some 
like Eula and her brother Egon had just two parents like Megan. 
Onya and her little brother Yuri only had a mama, and Megan 
thought that was why Yuri was a scaredy-mouse who whined. 
Marin's only family was her mother and a big brother too old to 
run with the kids, choosing to help his mother in the bakery 
instead. The fire that put the scar on Marin's face had killed 
everyone else in their family when it burned down their block. 
Then there was pretty Tantine, who had two mamas and 
thought she was so pretty. She's always there if there're fights. I 
don't like her. There were fourteen kids all together, if you 
counted Megan. 
"Joooorge. D’ja like me?" That was Tantine, with a wilting 
daisy in her curly brown hair.

Jorge, busy tying bits of broken rubber together and winding 
them tight to make a ball, just said, "Nah, get lost." 
"You're mean." 
"Nah, you bug me." 
She sat down—next to him—pouting. 
"Hey! Ev’body! Lookit!" Serkai called from the street. He 
wants to be a guardsman someday. He hurried into the crowd 
of children, holding a bundle carefully in both hands. "I got two 
real knives!" 
"Where’d ja get em?—How'd ja get em?—Serkai, you didn' 
steal 'em, did you?—Shit, I was going ta get the first 
knife—How'd ja get 'em?—How?" 
Everyone was pushing to see. Megan, who sat on top of a 
broken bit of wall, could just see over Aage and Lixa's shoulders 
as Serkai unwrapped his prize, two plain steel knives, 
double-edged, leaf-shaped, with ridged horn handles, lying on 
the burlap he'd hidden them in. 
"Hey, let the Sour Note kids try something now! I'll cut 'em." 
He picked up one, then the other, and weighed them in his 
hands, grinning. Up until now, all the kids had been practicing 
fighting and playing cniffta, the knife-juggling game, with knives 
made out of wood or rubber balls. 
"I din't steal them," he said. "Well, not really." He started 
cleaning them, though they didn't need it. "I's up at the Market 
and there's a bad challenge at the cniffta circle. Somebody called 
somebody else a Kuritz h'Rokatzk!" 
Arvi whistled. "'s bad." 
"What does that mean?" Tantine whispered. 
"I don' know, but it has sumin' ta do with corpse handlers." 
"Eaaeu!"

"Yeah." Serkai stood up to tell his story. Not as good as Papa 
but okay. "Then the one woman killed't' other one." Everybody 
around him sucked a gasp through their teeth, going quiet. 
"Really?' Megan didn't see who whispered. 
"Really." Serkai nodded, firmly. "I saw. She's jumpin' an' then 
made a gurgly sound an' fell down with a knife in 'er neck right 
there." He pointed to illustrate. "An' bled like the 'Nest 
Fountain—pump, pump, pump. Then it stopped and 'er feet 
kicked. An' I's a knife fetcher. 
When she died ev'ybody forgot "bout the knives an' I scatted 
'fore somebody could count 'em all." 
"'s good, Serkai," Jorge said, looking at one knife. "You're still 
seven? Hey, 'f they caught you stealing ja know whatil happen?" 
"No." 
"Shit, din't anybody say?" Jorge looked around at the other 
kids, who shook their heads. "My older sister tol' me." He puffed 
himself up. " 'f you get caught stealing an' you're under 'prentice 
age, your ma or pa gets a hand broke so they can't use it." 
"Broke?" 
"With a big hammer at the Market block. They hit three 
times." 
Megan remembered something that had happened a while 
ago, when she and her parents had gone up to Teik Sandar's 
bathhouse. 
They'd been passing a crowd around the Block near the 
bookseller's and Lixand's face had gone grim. He'd hustled them 
past, saying that the girl was only eleven and had stolen 
something to eat and that he wasn't going condone a tyrant's 
brutality. Ness had hushed him, looking around to see if anyone 
had overheard. Behind them, muffled by distance, there had 
been a wet hammering and someone screaming. They'd broken 
her hand.

"Yeah," Jorge said. "An' when you're older than seven they do 
it to you." 
"Well, I'm not gonna get caught!" Serkai took his new knife 
back from Jorge. "Now I kin practice cniffta, two knives!" He 
rolled the knives away in the burlap, then picked up the stick he 
usually carried. It stood taller than he was and he'd scraped it 
smooth with a piece of brick. "I could tie one on each end an' 
make my own two-fang!" 
"An' get caught fer sure! Only Dragonguard kin carry 
two-fangs inna street, turkey-head!" 
"Blppppht!" Serkai put his tongue between his lips and blew 
air through them. "Turkey-head jerself! I got knives 'fore you 
did, maybe I should be leader." 
Jorge leaped on him and they wrestled and the rest of them 
all yelled, jumping up and down until Serkai, with his face in the 
dirt and his nose all bloody yelled, "Rhunay! Rhunay! I give!" and 
Jorge let him up. 
It's not fair, Jorge is older and bigger'n Serkai. He's all right 
though. We don't hurt each other. Well, at least the kids who 
belong don't hurt each other. I don't belong yet. I'm still the 
freshie. That's why Serkai didn't cut Jorge. Megan lent Serkai 
her kerchief, wetted in one of the puddles in the broken 
flagstones, to clean his face, and he let her see his knives. She cut 
herself three times trying to flip them like a real cniffta player, 
but she managed it, finding they were easier to throw than 
wooden ones. 
It hasn't snowed yet but there isn't much day to play in. She 
was with the rest of the kids, scrounging bits of glass to sell to 
the glass-blower in the Market. If you collected a whole basket 
she'd pay a copper Bite. Megan had done that last week, then bet 
Yuri his Bite against hers on a spider-fight that she won. She'd 
been so proud to be able to give the whole Fang to her mama 
who, at first, had been worried where Megan had gotten it. She 
was happy I wasn't stealing. I don't really steal. 
Eula had showed Megan a neat trick while they'd been in the

Market, hungry, with no copper or anything to trade. She'd said 
"watch this" and walked over to the apple-sellers, looking back 
over her shoulder to call back to Megan. 
"Eula, watch out!" One of the sellers had just stepped down 
from his wagon with a box of apples on his shoulder and Eula, 
not paying attention, bumped into him. He yelled, swayed, and 
she jumped out of the way as the box fell and broke, scattering 
apples all over the flagstones. 
"I's sorry, Teik," Eula said, almost in tears. "Please, lemme 
help. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She'd helped him pick up the apples 
rolling around and put them in a basket he'd grabbed out of his 
wagon. Megan made a motion to help, but Eula frowned and 
shook her head. She apologized so hard the apple-seller just 
waved his hands and gave her a couple of the more bruised ones. 
She said thank you and came back to sit on the other side of the 
square with the rest of the kids listening to Chandro, who had 
different stories from Megan's papa. In the crowd of kids, she 
gave Megan two apples. 
"But Eula, you said you were hungry too." Megan tried to be 
fair and give her one back, but Eula shook her head, grinning. 
"I have some," she said, showing three more apples hidden 
inside her shirt where her vest hid the bulges. "I picked 'em up 
while I was helping." 
Megan didn't think Mama would like her doing that, but they 
still tasted good. Eula said that Nomo the Ragman would pay for 
all sorts of things and not ask how they were gotten, paying the 
best for good metal, like buckles or buttons. 
After the first snow, Megan started looking forward to Dagde 
Vroi, the Days of Fools, in two more iron-cycles, when the whole 
city would celebrate. The Sysbaet and the Brown Brothers and 
the Ladyshrine priests would feed poor people in the River and 
Lake Quarters a big meal and everybody would get at least a 
piece of sausage. We've been eating a lot of 'maranth lately. 
Maybe the sausage'll be spiced with garlic. 
Everyone would be making their best costume to wear in the

streets or planning parties, and the Woyvode might have hot 
spiced punch given out at the Dragon'sNest Gate as he had in 
the Lady's Years. Papa says he doesn't have to in the Dark 
Lord's Years. 
There was enough snow for the kidpack to make 
snow-demons with wings and roll snowballs that had bits of 
leaves and grass stuck to the outside. Megan threw one at Jorge, 
not meaning to hit him smack in the face, but he didn't duck. 
"You… you…" He came and stood over Megan. "You don' 
really belong!" 
"I do so! I live on Cooper's, just like everybody else!" 
He sneered, "I'm leader of Cooper's Lane kids an' I say you 
don' belong!" and pushed her so hard she sat down. 
Megan got up, sticking her chin out at him—all wind and no 
balls. "Push me again and I'll bite you!" 
He laughed in her face. "See? 'f you were one of us, you 
wouln't say that! You keep hangin' around with us an' you play 
with us, butjer not really our friend." 
"Oh, yeah?" 
"Yeah!" 
"I'm just as good as you!" 
"Are not!" 
"Am so!" 
"Are not!" 
"Am so! I can do anything you can! I can do it better!" 
"Yeah?" 
"Yeah!"

"I could steal sumin' from the Wizard's House," he said. 
"I could too!" As she said it, he grinned. 
"I Dare You," he said. Everybody went as quiet as when 
Serkai had told them about the woman getting killed. 
"Jorge,'s not fair," Marin said in the quiet. "You never stole 
anything from the Wizard." 
"I snuck into 'er lean-to though." He swung an arm at Megan, 
who ducked. "She said she'd do anything better! Well, 'f she 
wants ta be one of us, let 'er prove it!" 
"Jorge, she shouldn' have ta," Aage said. 
"I said I would," Megan said. I'll show them. I'll show him. 
"Piss on you," she yelled, and kicked him in the shin, connecting 
solidly because he wasn't expecting it. "I'm goin' now and when 
it gets dark I'll do it!" 
He hopped, holding his leg, and by the time he thought about 
hitting Megan back she was already on the way to the Wizard's 
with everyone else following along. 
"Meg, you shouldn' have ta do this by yourself. Well come an' 
help," Marin said. 
"And get caught." 
"But…" Marin stumbled over explanations. "She's the Wizard 
." 
Now Megan was frightened by her rash promise, but she 
couldn't back down or Jorge would laugh and she'd never be part 
of the pack. The Wizard's house was built on the north side of 
Victory Square, the only place that didn't need a high wall 
because no one would dare offend her. She even had windows on 
the outside and didn't need to keep dogs. Around the garden 
there was a border of tied-up rose bushes as high as Megan's 
waist.

The Wizard lived in the River Quarter because she chose to, 
and her pipes never froze like other people's. It was rumored 
that she had so much manrauq that she'd lived longer than most 
Zak, perhaps even longer than a naZak. 
The rumors all said she was a witch strong enough to use the 
colors with no name, beyond violet. She could turn somebody 
into a toad. When she went out with her wing-cat on her 
shoulder, she went where she would and no one would dare lift a 
hand against her. 
The Honey-Giver's Shrine, where Megan stopped, sweating 
even in the cold, was already too close to the Wizard's house, just 
across Chigger Street. There were kraumak on the gate-posts as 
big as Megan's head, which you didn't see anywhere else but in 
the First Quarter or the Nest. There was even a night-siren in 
her garden; black, flat leaves just unfolding in the breeze, the 
scream of the wind through its branches still eerie and thin this 
early in the evening. 
If I don't go, Jorge'll laugh. He's like Bosziviy. 
"Megan, she might turn you into a bird an' put you inna 
cage," Eula whispered, looking across at the lighted windows. 
"If she does," Serkai said stoutly, patting his knives. "We'll 
come an' rescue you." 
"Thanks, Serk." Megan shivered, feeling the snow on the 
wind. They sat in the Honey-Giver's Shrine, since it was warmer 
than out in the square. This shrine was dedicated to the 
Mama-bear who was only roused to anger if her cubs were hurt. 
Koru, Goddess, help me. Mama-bear let me be your cub, at 
least for now. The drum from the Nest sounded the third hour 
of the day, and though it was getting dark no one went home. 
Jorge was still right here, wanting her to say she was too 
scared, a baby. 
"You'll be all right," Nikolai said, nodding reassuringly. 
"You're smallest, n you kin get in real tight places." She nodded 
again, and made the Goddess's sign on Megan's forehead and

chin. "She'll never see you." 
"You watch," Megan said. "You'll see," she said to Jorge, who 
looked a little sick because he hadn't thought she d actually do it. 
She looked at him, wondering if he were worth being friends 
with. 
Megan said, "Everybody stay here," and walked down to 
Yalshoi, the other street touching the Wizard's garden. She could 
hear the night-siren in the front garden wailing up and down 
with the breeze. If the wind picked up much more the siren 
would start flaring, sending blue sparks to the ground. It was 
starting to snow. Megan pulled her threadbare coat tight and 
looked for a safe way in. 
There was a small pine tree poking its branches through the 
back garden fence. It was darker here because the house on the 
other side of the street presented a wall covered with dead 
red-vines to the pavement. The pine trees down the street 
creaked and whispered and Megan started nervously, thinking 
they were watching her. She looked at the little pine wondering 
if it would grow fingers and grab her if she climbed it. 
She clenched her hands into fists in her pockets. She'd said 
she'd do it. In the left pocket she had her rubber ball, almost as 
big as her fist. She took it out and threw it over the border into 
the Wizard's yard, holding her breath. 
It bounced twice, raising a puff of snow, then rolled to a stop 
by a statue of a hermaphrodite with glass wings like a fly's. It 
was carved sitting cross-legged, with closed eyes. Maybe it's not 
a statue. But her ball was right by its knee. If she got caught, she 
could say she came into the garden to get it back. With her heart 
hammering, she jumped and climbed over the low fence, using 
the pine tree. 
The garden looked the same on the inside as the outside, with 
dead grass still poking up through the snow. Soon it’ll be deeper 
than I am tall. She ran to get her ball and away, but the statue 
didn't move. It had snow on its head and face, thick on its closed 
eyelids. It was snowing so hard that her footprints were already 
disappearing. She ran across to the wall of the house between

two windows and looked back. The statue's eyes were big and 
yellow, and Megan wondered why she hadn't noticed before. 
She thought of going back, but Jorge wouldn't believe that 
she'd come this far unless she brought proof. So she slid along 
the wall, to a door in a lean-to, and found it locked. 
The lean-to's roof let her get to a window that was open just a 
crack. It was dark inside, and even though the pane was only 
open a bit, she was small enough to wiggle through. 
She found herself in a warm room that smelled of books. 
When she peeked from behind the drapes, she saw the full 
shelves, as many books as the Sysbaet had. Megan wanted to 
take one, thinking surely the Wizard wouldn't miss just one, then 
thought better of it. A book was too expensive; all she needed 
was a little thing. 
There were thick rugs and a pile of furs and cushions near a 
cut stone fireplace. The objects lined up all along the 
mantelpiece were too high for her to reach. She started as a 
board creaked outside, and hid behind a globe of the world on a 
stand taller than she was, but nothing else happened. 
To one side the shine of glass drew her eye, and she tiptoed to 
look at a low shelf of bottles full of colored liquids. She squinted 
at one shadowy jar and flinched back when she realized she was 
staring at the toothed mouth of a pickled lamprey as long as her 
arm. Next to the bottles was a cat skull, like in the Sysbaet 
oscasa. 
On the shelf above was a bell shining in a ray of light from the 
window. She picked it up to read the writing on the rim but 
couldn't make it out. As she lifted it, it rang, and she grabbed 
the clapper, wrapping her mitten around the bell and stuffing it 
in her shirt. Jorge'd believe her now. As she turned away from 
the shelf, something hissed at her from the near corner. 
She ran, wiggling out the window but getting stuck half way 
because of the bell. Frantically she squirmed, trying to worm 
free. It'll get me. I don't want to be here ever again even if there 
are books there are things with yellow eyes in the garden and

things that hiss and look like big grey shadows. She wiggled 
free just as a light bloomed behind her. 
She looked back over her shoulder. The Wizard stood in the 
door, with a light shining around her hand. Megan almost fell 
through, and clung to the windowsill roof. 
The Wizard, a woman with long, curly black hair and eyes the 
same yellow as the statue in the garden, wore blue trousers and a 
shirt gleaming rainbow colors under a black vest. She had a 
half-smile on her face, more frightening somehow, than a frown. 
Her hand whipped down, as if throwing something, and Megan 
ducked, slipping, feeling an ice wind graze her head as she slide 
down the roof and rolled into the snow. She jumped over the 
fence and ran and ran and ran. Shell catch me. She knows who I 
am. 
"Megan!" somebody called in the dark ahead, and she tried to 
stop but ran right into Ivar and they both fell. I got out. They got 
up and the whole pack was there, asking questions, but she just 
shook her head. 
They all went back to the Ground where it was safe. I'm all 
wet and dirty and I lost my other mitt. 
"So?—Didja get in?—Nah, she couldn't—didn't— 
didja?—Hey… where'sa thing you said yah'd steal?" 
Jorge looted down his nose and yelled "QUIEEEETTT!" It took 
a bit, but everybody shut up. "So?" he asked. 
She stared at him a minute, then pulled the bell out of her 
shirt. He grinned all across his face and whooped, "Ya did it! Ya 
did it! Hey, Megan, yeah!" He pounded her on the back in 
congratulation and hugged her. Serkai lifted her up as high as he 
could, which wasn't very high, and they fell in the snow. She 
rubbed his face with her wet mitten and laughed. 
When they'd all quieted down, Jorge took the bell. He yipped 
and dropped it as if it had bitten him. It rolled over, ringing, and 
stopped against Megan's boot—TING. It rang louder than such a 
small bell should, and everyone held their ears.

When it stopped they waited, standing frozen, for someone to 
come and yell about the noise, but no one did. Jorge shook his 
hand and said, "I'm not touching 'at again." 
"Wh… whad is it?" Egon whispered from where he hid behind 
Eula. 
Megan didn't want to touch it either, but since she already 
had and it hadn't hurt her, she picked it up. It was cold, but that 
could be because it had been lying in the snow. "Just a bell, but 
it was too dark to read the letters on it in her house." 
"Shee-it." 
"Megan, I don' think the Ragman'll buy that," Marin said. " r 
you gonna keep it?" 
Megan didn't want to, but didn't know what else to do and 
stood there, biting her lip, looking down at the bell. 
"Well, you took it. You did sumin' Jorge Dared you ta. That's 
goodnuff ain't it?" Aage said slowly. "I kin take it to my dad's 
forge and melt it. Yeah kin sell the metal." 
"Would you? Please, Aage?" She only had her one mit to wrap 
it, so they found a scrap of burlap bag instead. 
"I'll do it now, then," he said. "Wait an' I'll come back." 
He took it and the rest of them all sat in the fort they'd made 
out of boards with snow for chinking. Every one patted Megan 
on the back and told her that she belonged. She enjoyed every 
minute, and though the idea of stealing from the Wizard still 
made her feel sick, she didn't show it. I wish I had Rilla with 
me. She's kin. I don't have to prove anything with Rilla. 
Blizzard wind was starting to whip the falling snow by the time 
Aage came back. 
He came back with a worried look on his face, still carrying 
the wrapped bell. " 'twouldn't melt," was the first thing he said. 
"I threw it into the forge an' it just lay there. I poked it an' it just 
lay there. My da's hottest fire." He looked at the bell, polishing it

back and forth with the bag. "I showed Da." 
"What!" 
"Din' say where 'twas from. He told me give it back, get rid of 
it."
Now everyone was looking at Megan. "I'll find somebody 
who'll take it," she said defiantly. "Piss, it's just an old bell." 
"Yeah, here." He threw it to her and she caught it with her 
bare hands. TING. She put it back in her shirt, and it lay like an 
ice cube next to her stomach all the way home. 
She hid it in the bottom of her bed. I don't know what I'm 
going to do. I belong with the Cooper's kids but I've stolen the 
Wizard's bell. At night, when she lay down, it made a cold lump 
against her feet. 
Chapter Seven 
"Are you feeling all right, bylashka?" Ness felt Megan's 
forehead a few weeks later. ' You might be fevered; and what's 
wrong with your hair, here?" She pushed Megan's hair back 
from her temple, exposing the roots. Megan pulled away. 
"I'm fine, Mama." Megan had just been thinking about the 
bell. Her papa had gone to visit Aunt Marte and Rilla to see how 
they were after the blizzard wind stopped. It was still snowing, 
filling the streets to the height of second-story windows again. 
They'd planned on going to Teik Sandar's for a Dagde Vroi party 
later if the tunnels were open. 
Ness appreciated the gap under the door now because it 
became the draft for the brazier, all along the floor 
unfortunately, but it was still warmer than not having a fire at 
all. She could keep the fire burning and it wouldn't use up their 
air. Candlers made it into the City only rarely once the snow set 
in, driving up the price of candles so most of the River and Lake 
Quarters made do with wadiki lamps when they didn't drink the 
fuel rather than burning it for light.

Most people smelled of wadiki in the wintertime— wadiki and 
sweat. Megan sniffed, looking into the brazier's coals. Our room 
still smells a little wet, but not so much. It smells more like 
home, like us. 
She hadn't been able to sell the bell, though she'd tried. The 
Ragman had just shook his head, flat no—no bargaining. Next 
she'd taken it to the Market and somebody told her that only a 
naZak would buy it because it was too "powerful." The 
silversmith who couldn't read the words on the bell either, had 
looked at her and said, "Take it back to whoever owns it, if you 
know." 
She hadn't told her parents about it, or about the Wizard. Her 
head had been cold at one temple, ever since she'd ducked the 
Wizard's gesture. I don't know what to do. She considered 
throwing the bell over the fence and leaving it to be found, but 
the Wizard had seen her steal it. The Wizard knew. 
Megan stirred the spoon in the 'maranth porridge, trying to 
think of anything but the bell. I used to pretend you made 
porridge with milk instead of water and there was tree-sugar 
for it. Mama got a treat a while ago. She bought some raisins. 
That had been when she'd been accepted as an apprentice to a 
jewelry-maker named Yneltzyn, on Teik Varik's 
recommendation. 
It was good there was some money coming in, because Papa 
didn't make much in the winter and still had to pay to keep his 
place on the street. He could work as a storyteller at the Rusty 
Cup on the Stairs if their regular performer, Vilischch, wasn't 
there, but it wasn't steady. Mama asked me to do a lot of glass 
picking before the snow fell. 
Ness looked at her daughter poking at her food, sighed, and 
said, "Megan." The girl finished eating in a rush, scraping the 
bowl clean. Papa would be home soon, and if they were lucky all 
the snow would be packed down when Days of Fools started, 
tomorrow. 
"Get your slate, bylashka," Ness said after they'd cleaned the 
dishes. This summer, Megan had found a slate tile in the

Grounds and brought it home. 
Now, Mama, when she wasn't working or weaving something 
or trying to patch clothes or anything else, was teaching her 
Enchian with the slate and a lump of chalk. Lixand could speak 
Enchian but not read or write it. Ness had learned when she was 
a little girl, and it was because she could speak to naZak that the 
jeweler had wanted her. The Woyvode had announced, through 
the city's corner-criers, that naZak would be allowed back into 
the City and there would be more business, even if they had to 
stay in the naZak enclave in the River Quarter. 
Ness and Megan sat down by the kraumak on the cushions, 
thinner than the ones lost in the fire because they couldn't afford 
as much horsehair or wool to stuff them. But Mama had gotten 
bright blue cloth from her friend Arvi, called Weaver, and the 
color made the room brighter. With the fire in the brazier on 
one side and Mama sitting hugging her, she was nice and warm. 
"Pamld I'Enchais?" Ness asked. Do you speak Enchian? 
Megan thought for a bit. "Putre 'nepu, tipu," she answered. 
Only a little, a tiny little. 
"That's good, Megan-mi." Ness hugged her. "Now how do you 
say, 'hello'?" 
"Juur!" 
"And good-bye?" 
"Ummm, reyiv?" 
Ness laughed. "Yes, but without the 'ummm'." 
"Tamee, mar!" That meant, "I love you, Mama," and Megan 
hugged her. 
"I love you, too." They both turned, startled, as the door was 
hit hard enough to jump on its hinges. Ness sprang up and as 
she did, the door slammed open so hard it hit the wall. Lixand 
stood in the doorway, snow-covered, holding something cuddled

in his arm. He'd kicked the door open. Megan had never seen 
him so angry before; she could see it by the way he moved even 
under the layers of wool over his face. 
"Lixand, what's happened? What's wrong?" Ness went to 
close the door and help him. 
"Careful, that's Rilla," he said, handing the bundle to Ness. 
His face, as he unwrapped his scarf, was white with two bright 
red spots on his cheeks and over his eyes. "That bitch. That 
bloody, vicious bitch." He pulled off his coat. "If she weren't my 
own sister I'd kill her." Megan ran to help her mother but Lixand 
shook his head, no. "Megan, go hang up my clothes instead." 
Mama unfolded the blanket wrapped around Rilla and made 
an unhappy sound. "We can't afford a healer, love." 
"I know. Megan, run and get Dmitrach." 
"Papa, what's wrong with Rilla?" 
He took Megan's hand. 
"Your aunt hit her too hard. I took Rilla away from her for a 
while. She'll be staying here." 
"I'll run." 
"That's my girl," he said, letting her go with a pat. 
Dmitrach was the healer for the whorehouse, usually only for 
little things and birthings, but he might be able to help. 
The hallway was dark except the cracks in the winter walls, 
and Megan could see her breath in the needles of bright shining 
between the boards as she ran around the near side to the door 
at the head of the hall that separated the rented rooms from the 
Peach. 
It was early and Megan didn't want to disturb anyone, but she 
knocked anyway because she had to, for Rilla. Boryis, Dimi's 
lover, answered the door. She could tell he and Dmitrach weren't

taking customers tonight, resting up for tomorrow, because he 
wasn't wearing his fancy clothes. 
"Hi, Meg. Problem?" He ran a hand through his shaggy 
brown hair and smiled at her. 
"Boryis, we need Dimi to help my cousin,'s he here?" 
He winked at her and said, "Your cousin, sweets? Is he good 
looking?" 
"She's littler than I am and we need a healer, not sex," she 
said, and he stopped teasing, his face sobering. 
"Sorry." He turned, calling into their rooms, "Dimi!" The 
healer came out, pulling his robe on, his hair tied back and no 
makeup on his face, but he woke up quickly when Megan 
explained. 
"Dmitrach, Papa says we can't pay you right away…" 
"Shush on 'at noise, sweets. Ay' cum." He looked plain in a 
shabby, worn robe out at the elbows, but Megan thought he was 
one of the most beautiful people she knew right then. He 
grabbed his kit. 
When they came in, Lixand had Rilla in the wallbed and Ness 
had some chai brewing. Papa didn't look angry any longer, just 
tired and sad. He called Megan to him while Dimi went to look 
after Rilla. "Stay out of the way, Megan." 
"We're not going to Teik Sandar's party, are we?" 
"No, Megan-mi. There'll be other parties." She sat with Papa 
and they waited, watching Ness and Dimi at the wallbed. 
After a while, the healer came over and settled down next to 
them with a sigh. Lixand handed him a cup. "Ay'm no Haian," 
Dimi said. "But ay think she be fine. Near ay can tell,'t arm's not 
broke, just out. I put her shoulder back, 'n the littl'un bruised 
bad. "Time worried "bout's her not wakenen." Megan could tell 
he was worried because his out-city accent was very strong.

"Her mother shook her hard enough that she was dizzy and 
vomiting when I came," Lixand offered. "And saw what was 
going on." 
Dimi shook his head. "'s bad, that. Her brain's shook, good." 
He put the cup down, went back to the bed. Ness held the 
kraumak closer while Dimi looked in Rilla's eyes one, then the 
other. "Well, nuh. She wakes up soon, she be fine. Mightbe 'f you 
call her, 'll help." 
When Papa tried to say something about money, Dimi 
shushed him. "It's a present for the Days, forget it, Lixand." 
He's got his city accent on again. Megan went over and 
climbed in the bed next to Rilla. 
"Bedtime, bylashka," Ness said. 
"Mama, may I stay, pleeeeese. I promised Rilla, I promised!" 
Ness kissed the top of her head and let her hold Rilla's hand. 
"No hugs, now. That would hurt her, Meg." 
"Okay." 
Rilla's face had bruises on it, blue and green and some old 
ones, yellow and faded. Megan lay down and held onto her hand, 
whispering in her ear that people would be mad if she went away 
and that Brunsc would be lonely and that she'd think Rilla was a 
turkey-head if she didn't wake up. 
Piss on Aunt Marie. She's what Jorge calls an asshole. She is. 
She is. You don't hit kin. You don't hurt kin. 
Megan roused late that night, when Rilla did. Mama and 
Papa were smiling and Rilla was acting sleepy and slow but 
understood that she was supposed to stay awake for a while to 
make sure she was au right. I'm sort of dreaming and 
everything's foggy and my eyes don't want to stay open. Papa 
said, "Go back to sleep Megan, well look after Rilla.' So she did. 
Next time she woke up, Ness was in the bed with the two

children, which made it a bit crowded. Megan wondered sleepily 
where her papa was, thinking that maybe he was in her bed, 
behind the rickety wooden cupboard bed, out of the draft. 
Rilla hung onto Ness, who held her cuddled close, with both 
hands. The wallbed doors were ajar and the cold crept in around 
the edges, but it was warm and smelled of feathers and wool and 
her parents. Megan scratched an itch then lay still, thinking that 
she had to get up because she'd dreamed of what to do with the 
Bell. She climbed carefully over Mama's legs, opened one door a 
crack, then closed it quick behind her so the warmth would 
inside. She hissed between her teeth as her feet hit the cold stone 
floor. 
The Wizard saw me. She looked right at me and threw 
something at me. My head still feels cold there. If she wanted to 
get somebody's hand broken, it would have already happened. 
So I've got to go give it back. Maybe I should tell Serkai in case 
she decides to turn me into a bird and keep me in a cage. 
"Megan," Papa whispered from the kitchen corner, where he 
was cutting bread. "Happy Days of Fools." He'd gotten some 
proper leavened bread instead of flat bread and it was still warm 
from the baker's. Megan put out the big plate they still had left 
from her mother's good set. Though they no longer had separate 
plates, they still had that. That, and a table because Aunt Marte 
had given them her old one and Teik Varik had sanded down the 
burns and scars. Megan didn't like it much, the old stains 
showing like ghosts as if Marte's presence were haunting them, 
but it was theirs now, anyway. 
Lixand spread the bread with a little nut butter and Megan 
got a cup of chai with milk and a whole handful of raisins 
because it was festival. The rest of the First day, everyone would 
eat only flatbread and drink chai without milk or anything 
sweet, but first thing in the morning everyone got a treat. 
Mama got up and went down the hall to the privy, while Papa 
put her cup out and Megan plumped her pillow for her. 
"Uncle?" Rilla called from the bed. "You said I could stay last 
night. Can I stay here? Pleeese?"

"You may stay with us for a while, Rilla. I mean to have some 
words with your mother." 
"I'll be good, I promise." 
Papa looked unhappy. "You're a good girl, Rilla, I'm sure of 
that—No, no, don't get up, stay there and I'll see you to the privy 
in a minute." Then he looked at Megan. "Megan?" 
"Yes, Papa?" She looked up from where she was pulling a 
splinter off the table. He was holding the bell out to her. 
"What's this?" 
"A bell, Papa." 
"I know, Megan." He set it down on the table in front of her 
where it made no noise at all, not even a click as it was set down. 
"I want to know where it came from and why it was in the 
bottom of your bed." 
"I… borrowed it from the Wizard, because it was pretty. I 
have to give it back today." That's what I dreamed. Maybe the 
bell told me to say that. "I din't think you'd like me borrowing it 
so I hid it—" He held up his hand, interrupting. 
"All right. All right. You don't have to tell me every detail. As 
long as it's borrowed and is going back today. Right after 
breakfast." 
"Yes, Papa." Megan ate very slowly. 
It was still dark, as it would be almost till the middle of the 
day. The Days of Fools were the darkest cycle of the year when 
any light was welcome. Megan hadn't told her parents that she'd 
lost a mitt, so she pushed her hands into her coat sleeves. It was 
getting a little colder but she stopped to look at the decorations 
anyway. Some people had enough power to make little kraumak 
of various colors that would glow for an hour or two, or even a 
few days. Those who couldn't afford to buy dreams from more 
powerful people would cut evergreen branches and hang them 
over doorways and around windows.

At one door a bunch of fairies with wings sat in the boughs of 
pine over someone's door, while the house across the street was 
wreathed in blue and orange flames, without burning. Next door 
to that was a house that was melting. Megan wondered what 
kind of people liked to live in houses decorated like that. 
During the last days of the cycle, people would come out in 
their personal costumes. I, I shouldn't dally. Papa said I had to 
give the bell back this morning. It's still morning. 
She walked past a tree that danced in place, roots making 
ripples in the ground, branches bending and waving in the still 
air. Someone had a phoenix as tall as Megan on top of their wall, 
slowly building its nest, and the whole street around it smelled of 
camphor and myrrh. Next door someone else built a bear out of 
snow and ice, with green witch-fire in his eyes. She told herself 
that she shouldn't stop and look at the decorations. I have to go 
to the Wizard's house. She shivered with cold, all over now, not 
just the spot on her head. 
She walked slowly but still got to Victory Square much too 
quickly. A bonfire had been built in the middle of the square 
where people were selling cheap mulled wine and expensive hot 
chocolate while the poorest got the hot, vinegary cider free. 
Megan stood in line for a cup, and the scent went up inside her 
head as she drank it, standing next to the fire where it was 
warmer, trying not to look across the square at the Wizard's 
house. 
It was well-lit and her main decoration was her garden where 
the winter had disappeared. Her roses were blooming, the grass 
and trees were green, and butterflies flew. Her fountains flowed 
with colored light. And her house door had teeth all the way 
around. 
The bell inside Megan's shirt was cold and she shivered 
despite the bonfire. Her hands were bluish and there was frost 
on her eyelashes though it wasn't that cold. The cold spread 
from the spot on her head. She gave the cup back to the cider 
people and tried to smile at the man who gave it to her. "Happy 
Year-Turning, Goddess guard," he said.

"May you never be foolish," she answered. I was foolish. I took 
a Wizard's bell. It was worse than the library the first time; that 
time she hadn't done anything wrong to own up for. She dragged 
her toes all the way across the square and into the puddle of the 
light at the gate, wishing for a shadow that she could hide in. 
She jumped back as the falcon on the left gatepost, under the 
kraumak, opened yellow eyes and hissed at her. On the right, the 
sandy-colored cat just watched, tail twitching; just the tip. It 
blinked and yawned, showing her its teeth. She had to give it 
back. She had to. She tried again, and this time the gate animals 
let her by. 
Beyond the gate it was warm, but the path was cooler than 
the flower borders and the rest of the garden, cool enough that 
she was glad of her coat. 
To knock on the door she'd have to step between the teeth; 
ivory incisors hanging down almost to the top of her head. The 
stoop had small pointed teeth set in red gums and the doormat 
was a tongue. I don't want to. I don't want to. The bell TINGED 
though she'd wrapped it in her shirt to muffle it. She 
streeetchhhed over the little teeth and put her foot on the 
doormat-tongue. Nothing happened. She hopped a little, getting 
both feet together. 
The doorknocker was like the pink uvula hanging down from 
the top of a mouth and Megan was glad she couldn't reach it. It 
looked sticky. I can hardly breathe. I'm too cold to breathe. Or 
I'm too hot, I don't know. She tapped on the door, very quietly, 
thinking that if nobody heard she could leave the bell on the 
stoop and go home. She tapped one more time so she could 
honestly say she tried. There's nobody home… 
The door crashed open all by itself. "Enter." Megan peeked in. 
If there was someone there, they were invisible. "Enter, I am 
waiting." She stepped in and stood on the landing. The 
blackwood stairs reminded her of Papa's old desk. She was 
shaking and the bell tinged again. "Ahh," the voice said. "Close 
the door, child." 
She does know. Maybe I won't mind being a bird; birds are 
happy. She closed the door behind her. It had a metal bird

painted on the inside. Megan put my hands behind her against 
the door. "Come downstairs, to the garden," the voice said. 
Megan was hot but her coat, wrapped around her, made her feel 
more secure, so she didn't unbutton it as she went down the 
stairs. 
The atrium had a sand garden with cactuses, centered around 
a pool with a cows skull next to it in the sand; a purple flower 
grew out of one eyesocket. The Wizard, dressed in a robe the 
color of granite, sat on a red cushion. Her face was impassive. 
"Come, sit down." She pointed to a spot in the sand before her 
and Megan walked over and sat down, not knowing what else to 
do, unbuttoning enough to take the bell out. 
"Ididn'tmeantotakeithere," she said all in one breath, putting 
it down in the sand in front of her where its ring, TIN—k, cut off 
as the edge was buried. Megan didn't look up, feeling the 
Wizard's eyes on her. 
"Didn't you?" 
"I had to." 
"Did you?" 
"Welljorgesaidldidn'tbelong. Andhecouldandlsaidl-couldn'—" 
"He dared you," the Wizard said. Megan nodded, looking up. 
The Wizard's eyes were plain dark brown, but they were still 
scary. She looked so young. 
A big boy with slanted eyes and yellow skin and hair so black 
it shone blue, came across the sand carrying a rake. 
"This is San. You met him in the garden the other day, 
wearing his costume." 
Megan gulped. "You mean the statue with wings?" 
"Yes." 
"Hi. I'm Megan." It was the best she could do. Mama'd want

me to be polite. He nodded at her then gave the Wizard a 
bedraggled red mitt. She put it on the sand beside her and 
talked to him in a sing-songy language. He bobbed his head in a 
half-bow. 
"He doesn't understand you, Megan, but I passed on your 
greeting." She picked up the bell as she got up. San plumped up 
the cushion and started raking the sand smooth. Megan 
hesitated, wanting to pick up the mitt but afraid to. The Wizard 
waited, then pointed. "Take it and come with me," she said, 
unsmiling. 
"Yesteik." They went upstairs to the second floor, Megan 
following a step behind, over the deep grey carpets in the halls. 
She walked so soft Megan couldn't hear her at all. She looked to 
see if the wizard had a shadow. That's silly, of course she has a 
shadow. Only demons don't have shadows. 
"Stealing, at your age, usually gets your parents ruined. The 
loss of a hand is disaster." She opened a door and Megan 
followed her into the library where the bell had originally been. 
Megan was suddenly cold again. 
"You should be careful who you steal from, if you're going to 
do it at all, though I can't fault you for your taste in victims. The 
current Blue Mage would have had you as one of his gate-posts." 
She sat down again and a big black wing-cat flew over to 
perch on her shoulder. Though Megan had seen pictures, she'd 
never having seen a live one before; for a moment startled out of 
her fear, she stared. 
"Most people would say, 'Don't steal at all,' though in current 
times it is often necessary. It will likely become worse before it 
gets better. Come here." She curled a finger at Megan, who 
scuffed her feet in the carpet uncertainly, then obeyed, and the 
Wizard handed her the bell that was suddenly warm in her 
hands. 
"Put it where it belongs, then come back here," she said, and 
waited until Megan stood before her again. "The words on the 
bell just say 'Be careful what you wish for.'" The Wizard took

Megan's chin in her hand and touched the cold spot at her 
temple, drawing the chill out. 
"If you must steal, don't get caught." She let go, reached up, 
and scratched the cat under his chin. 
"Yes, Teik." 
She smiled at Megan, like a cat. "You'll remember, believe me. 
Look in the mirror over there, then go." 
"Thank you, Teik Wizard." Megan went over to the mirror, as 
tall as she was, real silvered glass, to do as she was told. At her 
temple the roots of her hair had gone shining white. "Will it 
stay?" she almost wailed, pulling at the lock hair. That is what 
Mama meant. 
The Wizard nodded slowly. "One lock of your hair will grow in 
white," she said. 
Megan wanted to cry, to run, but just walked to the door. It 
isn't as bad as getting a spanking or Mama or Papa having a 
hand broken. 
"Megan." The child turned around in the doorway, holding 
onto the frame, sniffing. "Two more pieces of advice. First, don't 
ever steal from me again." 
"No, Teik." 
"Second, when you're old enough, get a good teacher of 
manrauq." 
"Yes, Teik. Bye." Megan ran down the stairs, out the door 
between the teeth, down the path out the gate. 
When Megan got home, Rilla was sitting in Papa's lap, in 
Megan's spot. Megan stopped. She felt bad that her place on her 
Papa's lap was filled by Rilla and at the same time guilty. Then 
Papa said, "Bylashka, come in, you're cold. There's only hard 
bread and chai since it's First day. Your mama will be back in a 
bit and then we'll celebrate." He held out his arm and Megan

cuddled under it, sharing his lap with Rilla, where she told Papa 
what the Wizard had said about the manrauq, not mentioning 
anything about stealing, or her hair. He hadn't noticed it yet and 
Megan guessed it would grow out slowly. I guess you can hardly 
see it. She sniffled and hid her face in his shirt, feeling better. 
After a while Mama came in and sat down, and Megan 
hooded the light so the room went black. Then Papa said, "This 
is where we came from. From the dark." 
Mama answered, "Outside it bums. Inside we are safe." 
Then Papa again. "Remember. The world died. The sun was 
dim and winter ruled for years." Then it was Megan and Rilla's 
turn. 
"We were born in the dark. We are hope." And Mama 
uncovered the light. 
"I love you," Papa said, and Rilla and Megan got hugged 
between Mama and Papa. Megan didn't like just hard bread and 
chai, but Lixand told the story of the last days of the Old World 
before it burned and just after, when hard bread and maybe hot 
chai was all anybody had to eat. Megan nibbled on the bread, 
glad that when the Days of Fools were over, the world would be 
safe from the burning for another year. 
Rilla stayed till after the year turning, healing; the two 
children running together, Megan sponsoring Rilla to the rest of 
the kidpack. They often went sledding with the other kids, on 
boards that they'd bent back; and made the hill in their squat 
icy by packing the snow down. At the bottom, everyone had piled 
up a snow mountain so you could whiz down and go ker-smack 
right into it. They could slide on the Stairs, but people 
disapproved, so they mostly stayed in the Ground to play. 
Ivar had said once that if you were being chased you could get 
away by sliding, and he'd prigged a buckle that way last 
iron-cycle. It had been right at the end of the Days when he'd 
seen someone with metal boot buckles and had cut-'n-grabbed, 
then slid faster than the guard could run. That had been all the 
way up in First Quarter, and he'd slid down and hidden in an

alley in River. 
The Ragman only gave him a half-Bite for it because it wasn't 
steel, but had said he'd pay a whole Fang for steel buckles and a 
whole Bite for a button. A Bite was paid for a big basket of glass 
that could take a Hand and a couple of days to find, while a Fang 
could buy a whole bag of 'maranth seeds for flour or porridge, or 
a little bag of barley or a thick sausage. 
Ivar had given the half-Bite to his da to help get his little 
sister Lixa's teeth fixed. She'd had one growing in wrong, in the 
roof of her mouth. 
Serkai and Ivar were always playing real cniffta now, getting 
their hands cut up when they missed, since Ivar had saved and 
bought his first knife. Megan had made herself a knife out of 
wood and practiced with it so when she got a real knife she'd be 
as good as they were. She almost had enough for her first knife 
from the cutler's, even though she gave her papa most of her 
scrounging money. Black-rock had just started costing more and 
Rilla needed milk while she stayed with them. Milk, and Mama 
said that they all needed a little fruit or their teeth would fall out 
and they would get sick. 
Rilla and Megan went sliding with the rest of the pack, then 
they all had a snowball fight with the Sour Note kids, trying to 
chase them out of the snow fort they built too close to their 
squat. We're the mesne of Cooper's Lane and all the Ground 
north of the gap in the fence at their street, and they can fight 
theirselves against the Victory Square kidpack. 
The Cooper's Lane kids never fought with Victory Square 
because they fought dirty, sneaking up to bash other kids with 
boards. During the snowball fight with the Sour Noters, Ivar and 
Megan tried to dig tunnels through to the Sour's wall, but they 
all caved in. It was fun until one of them put a rock into a 
snowball and hit Arvi in the head. Megan told Rilla to hide 
before the fray started. 
The Cooper's Laners threw rocks back and there was a lot of 
yelling and Serkai and Ivar's knives came out; and Eula had 
Serkai's stick. Arvi had gotten up with a bloody nose and Aage

held onto her so she didn't do anything stupid while Jorge 
challenged their leader, Moden, fists only. 
She bloodied his nose and he hit her in the eye so it started to 
swell up, but then he got her down because he was bigger and 
sat on her and shoved her face in the snow until she yelled 
"Rhunay!" and promised to give up the Sour Noter's chunk of 
the Ground. 
They were covered in snow and wet all the way to skin; Arvi 
and Jorge holding snowballs to their noses till they stopped 
bleeding, grinning and laughing and pounding each other on the 
back. 
Megan had to go back to find one of her mittens that she'd 
lost when her tunnel fell in. When she wiggled out, holding the 
mitten triumphantly, Rilla said, 'Im cold, Meg. Can we go home 
now?" 
When they got back to the Flats, Megan pulled the 
latch-strings, left, right, up, down, CLUNK and they went in. 
There wasn't a fire and Megan wasn't supposed to light one, 
either, until Mama or Papa came home, so the two children took 
off all their wet clothes, hanging them up on pegs that Teik 
Varik had put up. He hadn't been coining around that much 
lately, saying he had a voyage to prepare for downriver with his 
Gospozhyn, come break-ice. Whenever she hung up her things, 
Megan was always reminded of what he said when he put the 
pegs up; that wet clothes got to smelling like a pile of dead fish 
and you started to smell poor. 
Megan didn't want to smell poor. I bet Rilla wouldn't like it, 
either. She picked up the kraumak and they cuddled up in the 
wallbed in the blankets, where Megan told Rilla stories out of her 
book. Ness had said that if her Gospozhyn, Yneltzyn, was pleased 
with the gem she'd just been working on, he might grant her 
more copper, or even silver. She said that he earned steel Claws 
for his work, but she could only earn copper as yet. She was 
saving for feathers to make a tick that would be warmer, and 
Megan would get the extra blanket. 
Megan rubbed Rilla's hands and feet and her own, making

sure they were all warm. Somebody started thumping on the 
door, but Megan didn't move because she wasn't to answer 
unless she recognized who it was. 
Marte's voice came drunkenly through the door. "Lix-and! 
Lixand, don' you shu… shut th' door 'n my face! You answer! You 
an… answer now!" 
I don't want to answer the door. I should, though. She's… 
she's nasty kin, but she's family. Megan pulled her mama's robe 
around herself and told Rilla, "Hide flat behind the pillows." 
"Op… open up. I'm here f’ my daughter." 
Bang-bang-bangety-bang. Megan opened the door and Marte 
half fell into the room, bringing the odor of wine with her. 
"Whha?" 
"Hi, Aunt Marte. Mama and Papa n' Rilla aren't here." I don't 
want Rilla to go. Papa said that Aunt Marte was a nalcolic. 
"You can come back later." 
"Bitch." Aunt Marte scrambled up, hanging onto the door. 
"Lil’ bitch, jus' like your dam. F'r all you look like my brother! 
She shouted, looming over Megan who backed up, scared, 
tripped over the hem of her mother's robe, and fell backward. 
"Li-AR!" Marte raised a hand up to hit. 
"Shenanya!" Megan yelled as loud as she could, squirming 
backward, hoping the neighbor—someone— would hear. 
"SHEN!" 
Lixand, come home early because of the weather, caught his 
sister's hand from behind. "Marte." Papa saved me. Megan 
wiggled out of the tangle of robe, leaving it on the floor, and 
scooted to hold Papa's legs. "You won't raise your hand against 
my child.' Aunt Marte swayed, blinking at him. 
"Were's m'daughter, lil’ brother?" She waved her free hand 
vaguely, forgetting all about Megan. "Can' keep'er. Not by law." 
Lixand was shaking, he was so angry. "Marte, you are not 
getting your daughter back until you go to the healers and stop

this drinking. You'll ruin your life and hers." 
"And hers?" Aunt looked innocent—like Nikolai when she 
priggs sweets. "Why?" 
Papa put down the black-rock bag he'd been carrying and 
told Megan to go keep warm until the fire was going, so she went 
and pulled the doors closed so Aunt wouldn't see Rilla. She put 
her eye to the crack between the doors. 
Lixand got his sister sitting, with a chai cup in her hand 
instead of a bottle of wine. 
" 'ny beer li’l brother?" 
"No, Marte. We can't afford luxuries and won't drink the 
lamp alcohol." He struck a match to the kindling, stilling the 
shaking in his hands, the anger in his voice. 
Quietly, reasonably, Lixand explained now bad she was being, 
telling her that she was worse than a snake for hitting children, 
telling her she'd lose her business. She laughed at that but 
looked a little sick. "And Rilla is going to stay here, for all we 
can't afford to keep another child, until you are dry enough to be 
a decent person, much less a decent mother." 
She nodded finally and cried, sniffling and blowing her nose 
into his handkerchief, then had to go throw up, Lixand 
supporting her to the jakes down the hall. He came back long 
enough to tell Megan not to play with the fire, that he was going 
to walk Aunt home. 
At night when Rilla was asleep and Megan was supposed to 
be, she could hear Mama and Papa talking in the wallbed. Ness 
and Lixand took time for each other at night, even though Ness 
fell asleep quickly because of the hard apprentice work. Lixand 
mostly did the housework, with Megan's help, because Ness was 
worked so hard. 
Papa said, "Ness, what can I do? She's my sister. Rilla is such 
a good child. Marte… I just don't understand anymore. She used 
to be a better person."

"It'll be all right, love. She'll dry out and Rilla will be able to go 
home. Then the strain will be off." 
Papa sighed. "We'll be in trouble once my pension runs out, 
and that's too soon. We'll have to put off getting some of the 
things we need, if we're to save for Megan's apprenticing. Yakob 
said he'd take her, even if Vyaroslaf didn't like it, but he'd have 
to charge full stranger-price." 
"I'll be a journeyman soon enough, Lixand. We'll manage even 
if we don't have meat for the soup. Well make do with the 
bones." 
Rilla turned over and hugged Megan with one arm and 
Brunsc with the other. Someone walked by outside. There was a 
mosquito-sized sound; music from across the atrium, from the 
Peach. I think I hear Papa crying. I know that mama's asleep 
because she snores, but why is Papa crying? Mama said we'd 
be all right. 
Chapter Eight 
Megan scratched at a rusty spot on her new knife with one 
fingernail, spat on the stone, and looked at the edge. She'd 
bought it from cutler Varclaf's rust-stock, offering to run errands 
for him for a week to make up the difference between the metal 
she had and what he wanted for it. 
"Who's gonna walk me home?" Tantine said, leaning on one 
hand rolling the paste marbles with her other fingers. Serkai and 
Ivar both looked at each other like dogs bristling. 
"'s my turn," they said at the same time. "Is not—is so!" 
"I like both of you," Tantine said, curling a lock of her hair 
around her finger. Ivar and Serkai were always arguing over who 
was better, who had more zight, but this time it was worse 
because of Tantine's pushing. Megan listened with one ear, 
thinking about her knife. 
Varclaf's rust-stock was piled at one side of his biggest 
grindstone, where he sharpened axe-heads and scythes, collected

to sell as scrap to the smiths if they weren't too 
rusty. Nobody could do anything with rust because it just 
wouldn't melt. 
Megan, with Rilla by her, had looked through the pile while 
he kept an eye on them, haggling with another customer. The 
one she had picked was as long as her hand, with pimples of rust 
on it and the tip broken off, but it was the best there. If she 
could clean it and find enough scraps to leather the handle, it'd 
be okay. To pay for it she swept out his shop for him and 
gathered the sweepings for him to sift. Aage's father melted the 
sweepings so the dirt just burnt off. 
Megan stopped sharpening to look over at Rilla, who was 
playing cniffta-ball with Maya, practicing so she wouldn't cut 
herself if they played real cniffta. 
Rilla had a knife now, too. She'd prigged it while Megan 
wasn't looking, slipping the knife into her sleeve while Megan 
bargained with Varclaf. Megan wouldn't have minded if she'd 
gotten caught because it would have been Aunt Marte who'd get 
her hand mashed. But she decided that that wouldn't be a good 
idea because she'd be nastier if that happened. 
Inside Rilla's sleeve, it got caught on the wool and made her 
arm dirty red, but it was worth it. It was sharp only on one side, 
like Mama's kitchen knife, and when they'd broken off all the 
crumbly bits it looked almost good as new. Varclaf's watchdog 
had barked at the metal smell on her, but the merchant called 
him off because he thought the dog was barking at Megan, a 
paying customer. Megan tried not to listen to Ivar and Serkai's 
continuing argument. Tantine said a couple more things. Why's 
she being even more of a pisser lately? 
"Well, Iv walked you home last time and he only has one knife 
and I have two and—" 
"Oh, yeah?" Ivar got up, staring down at Serkai. "I can catch 
my one better than you can your two!" 
Megan wiped her rusty fingers off on her trousers, then

started guiltily. They were new, just given for her seventh 
birthday, and they should stay clean as long as possible. They 
hadn't been going to Teik Sandar's baths much anymore, and it 
was getting hard to keep themselves clean. Last iron-cycle, lice 
had spread through the Flats. 
Sandar had started saying that her bathhouse wasn't a 
charity, and she and Ness had fought about it. Mama and 
Papa's old friends don't ask us up-city much anymore. I think 
it's because they think we've lost zight. My papa hasn't. I'm 
proud of my papa and mama, and if they don't see that we 
haven't lost anything, then poop on them. 
It was still hard to make ends meet, though Lixand was 
getting more money now that it was warm enough for him to 
take his place on Zidium. When the daylight lasted eighteen 
hours, in the summer white nights, he made much more. 
Megan usually practiced cniffta with Serkai, hiding her 
cniffta cuts from her parents, though sometimes they would 
frown at her when checking to see if she'd washed her hands 
before dinner. Mama said I should be careful and she looked at 
Papa that way, that means she's afraid I'm learning all sorts of 
bad things. That was the reason Megan had brought Eula and 
little Noran home to meet her parents; Mama had liked them. 
She usually played with Serkai because Ivar was being a snot, 
spending most of his time fighting with Jorge and Eula over who 
was the leader of the Cooper's Laners. 
"I think you're just wonderful, Ivar," Tantine said, and offered 
him the back of her hand for him to escort her, their knuckles 
touching, just like a Zingas escorting the Woyvodaana to a court 
dance in the Nest. As she went, she looked over her shoulder and 
winked at Serkai. Tomorrow she's going to ignore both of them, 
I bet, and suck up to Jorge. Megan spat on her rock and kept 
sharpening. 
"Hey! HEY! Everybody! HEY!" Onya scrambled through the 
hole in the fence her face covered with tears and dirt. "Where's 
my little brother? Shit. Shit. The Guard came and got my mom. 
My mom hasn't done anything. Where's Yuri? Where is he?

Anybody seen him?" 
No one had seen him since he and Lixa went to the Market to 
hear Chandro. Maya got Onya to stop yelling and wait for 
everyone to get to the Ground. Nikolai got Mann, and Arvi ran to 
fetch Aage from the smithy. "My mom hasn't done anything 
wrong. She hasn't, she hasn't. Why'd they… oh, shit. Fishguts. 
Oh, piss." 
They gathered and went to the Market to try and find Yuri or 
what had happened to their mom. Ivar and Megan found Lixa 
hiding at the Card-painter's booth, scared green. 
"They caught him trying to steal a button off this fat lady in a 
sling-litter, and her guard came when she squealed but she hung 
onto him," she said, shaking. "They took him away to the 
guard-post by the block, and then they went and got his mama." 
The block-drum was being pounded to get people's attention, 
so Ivar and Megan took Lixa's hands and went out, though 
Megan didn't want to. I think I know what's going to happen. 
It's not fair. It's not fair. Yuri and Onya helped their mother pay 
the rent. They never ate well and Yuri's teeth were falling out. 
Their papa had been a guardsman who died in the north war 
against the Ice People. He'd gotten cashiered even though he was 
dead, so his wife didn't get pension. 
Onya's mother stood on the block between two guards, who 
held her by the elbows. To one side another guard held onto Yuri 
who kicked and yelled, trying to get loose, but there was only the 
Guard's armor for him to vent his anger on, no exposed skin he 
could bite. The Guard captain stepped forward, holding up his 
hands. 
"We call thee forth!" He's calling everybody out to see, 
formal, so we have to go. "We call thee forth! We call thee 
forth!" 
Onya's mama had been crying but she wasn't now, her face 
white. In the crowd of people Megan could see Aage holding 
Onya back so she didn't run up to the block. Many people don't 
like this. They know the family.

They're her friends. The guards held their two-fangs ready. 
"Thievery of a lad under age— One silver button from Zingas 
Imla. Judged guilty—" 
"By whom?" Someone shouted from the crowd but the Guard 
captain ignored it. "Where's the truth-teller? Did he steal it? 
Proof! Proof!" The crowd got noisier, shouting, drowning out the 
captain. The guard pushed people back away from the block, 
using the shafts of their two-fangs. The captain's voice rose over 
the noise. 
"Punishment is the breaking of the hand of the one who 
misraised him, by our Serene DragonLord's will. So decreed by 
the Third of the title; so upheld by the Fifth." Somebody behind 
Megan said, "Upholding truth with no truth-teller. With more 
people around there'd be a riot." 
The Guard captain held up the fate-coin to show that it was 
true: white on one side and black on the other. If the white side, 
Koru's side, showed after he tossed it, they'd crush the hand she 
used less often. Megan could feel the tension in the air, the 
crowd's manrauq, combined. They can't stop it, but they can 
make it better. 
The captain tossed the coin and everyone watched it spin up 
in the sun, up, white, black, white, black; and down so it landed 
by his boot, bounced three times and clicked flat, white showing. 
"Koru's mercy," he said. Yuri wasn't kicking anymore, just 
hanging in the guard's arm, but he watched them take his mama 
to the hand block where the K'gebar stood, holding the wooden 
mallet capped with black metal on each end. It depends how 
hard he hits, and if the hand is flat. Megan put an arm around 
Lixa, who was crying, and after a second so did Ivar. 
"Koru show you all the mercy you show us," Onya's mama 
said and put her hand out, but the guards still held onto her and 
the K'gebar raised the hammer. 
It came down almost gently, thump. Megan couldn't look 
away, blinking because it seemed so wrong that the arc of the

hammer should end/where her hand lay. The second swing, 
thump. Megan felt her stomach lurch, tighten, and the taste of 
bile clutched the back of her throat. Onya's mother wasn't 
kneeling anymore. She didn't yell, but her head was rolling back 
and the guards had to hold her up. Thump. There were cracking 
noises mixed into the last. Megan's stomach knotted again a 
thickness rising up her throat. The guards let go, and Onya's 
mama slid down as if they'd broken all her bones. 
When they let Yuri go he ran to her. Sour saliva gushed into 
Megan's mouth, and she turned and threw up. Around her the 
crowd was muttering. 
"Rokatzk," someone said. "h'Rokatzk DragonLord's answer to 
thievery."—"Starve us all, that way."—The noise was rising as 
people got angrier again and started to shout. 
"Calm. Everybody calm down. The last riot spawned a sweep 
through that hurt a lot of innocent folk, calm." One of the 
Sysbaet, a woman with brown hair, raised a pale, thin hand, 
holding people back. Nobody pushed against the soldiers 
anymore, but it wasn't because of the two-fangs but because of 
the Sysbat. They aren't supposed to help a criminal. 
In the quiet the Guard marched back to their posts, holding 
their fangs ready. A man jumped up on the mock and picked up 
Onya's mama. Yuri sniveled, held onto her, and then him too. 
"Sysbat, I can't pay hard metal for healing, but I'm willing to 
work in exchange," he said. I think he's sweet on Onya's mama. 
"By law, we cannot help," the Sysbat answered him, leaning 
on the words "by law," and more people spoke up. "I have a Scale 
or two to spare."—"And I." Others said that they could give a 
little toward healing though nobody could spare much. The 
Sysbat looked after the guards, then to where Onya's mama lay 
in her friend's arms, around at the crowd; then she nodded. 
People stayed around the block after they took Onya's mama 
away for healing, whispering. 
"Gettin' heavy-handed the old—man is; Dark Lord see him. 
Chases the Haians out. Raisin' tax on 'maranth and meat-beans.

Black-rock's gettin' dear…" They stayed, talking until the guard, 
a whole squad, came through again to break up the gathering. 
The kidpack headed back to the Ground, except Aage who went 
with Onya to the Sysbat healing hall. 
"Come on in, Megan!" Serkai yelled from where he was 
treading water. The other kids piled their clothes on an old stone 
block sticking out of the water. It was a hot summer day and the 
water was warm. She pulled her clothes off, slowly because she 
didn't know how to swim, but she couldn't sit while everyone else 
was in the lake. It looked deep, and cold. 
She stuck her toe in. It was cold. Megan stood, wishing Rilla 
were there. Marte had come to take her home again, since 
Lixand said Marte had dried out. She didn't look wet. Then he 
explained that he meant she wasn't drinking. I miss Rilla. It 
was fun this winter when she was with me. She waded in, 
crossing her arms across her chest, yelling and jumping up and 
down, yelling some more. 
"That's not the way to do it," Jorge yelled, running along the 
high stones, then jumped. "Yaaaaahhhhh!" He curled up like a 
ball and splashed thu-whu-swish into the lake. 
Eula and Jorge had thought that the pack should go 
swimming because it was so hot. The water side wasn't anybody 
else's squat, so they wouldn't get into any fights as long as they 
didn't run off the Stairs between their squat and the lake. I don't 
want to swim. She bobbed and picked up pebbles with her toes. 
"Megan's a scaredy mouse! Megan's a whimp-er!" Tantine 
yelled. 
"I am not," Megan yelled back, and splashed her so she 
squealed. They splashed and shouted and ducked each other for 
a while. I'm going to learn how to swim like Jorge. I don't like 
to swim though. The lake's dark, and when I bob I can think of 
all sorts of things floating 
up underneath me. I think of big big mouths full of lots of 
teeth. She decided to go sit on the stones.

The lake was bigger this year, with more water being let out 
of the mines, the catch basins, and temples, with the dam's 
fourth mark covered with water. The thunder of the waterfall 
was louder this year, falling a hundred pyash straight down. 
"Psst. Hey, Megan!" Ivar hissed from the top of the fence. 
"Hey?" 
"Yeah?" She wasn't paying attention to him, concentrating on 
trying to spin her knife twice and catch it on the back of her 
hand:. 
"There are a whole pile of Sour Note kids coming." 
"Here?" Megan caught the knife by clapping her hands 
together flat so it couldn't cut her. "We have to get everybody." 
"Yeah. I'm just going to yell for Jorge, but Aage can't come, 
he's working." 
"I'll get Marin if she isn't helping her mama." 
"Okay." 
Megan ran, and when she and Marin got back almost 
everyone else was there. Tantine, Eula, Jorge and Ivar were all 
there. Onya came running with Yuri behind. Their mama's all 
right, sort of Nikolai, Maya and Serkai sat on top of the fence 
watching for the Sour Note kids. 
"Good, you're back," Jorge said. "Let's go. We don't know 
where Arvi is, but we can't wait." Serkai lent Jorge one of his 
knives and the pack ran down to the gap in the fence. 
The Sour Note kids were already there, kicking up the dust 
where they'd promised not to come anymore. There were more 
of them than of Megan's kidpack, but the Cooper's Laner's had 
four knives—Serkai's two, Ivar's, and Marin because she'd 
borrowed her mama's knife without asking. The Sour Noter's 
leader, Moden, was the only one who had a knife as far as any of 
the Cooper's pack knew.

She walked out in front of the Sour Note kids and Jorge went 
out to stop her coming any further. She glared up at him and 
yelled, "This here's part of our squat, you bedbugs. Get lost! Take 
a walk in the Dark Lord's Temple!" She held her knife ready, 
bright, shining new as Serkai's. She prigged it, I bet. If she sticks 
Jorge, we'll get her. 
"Your family's raised a liar, Liar!" Jorge shouted back. "It's 
our squat! We're the mesne of all this Ground, we're the pack!" 
He leaned toward her, almost nose-to-nose because she was 
nearly as tall as he was. She put her free hand on her hip, 
shoving her chin out belligerently. 
"Leave my family out of it! Your father got you on a corpse 
handler!" 
"You take that back!" 
"You're all scum! And we don't want scum on our ground!" 
Jorge lost his temper and slashed at her. She ducked but not 
fast enough, got cut across the side of the head and cut back, 
then they both lost their knives. 
She grabbed his hair with both hands, yanking down, and 
kneed him. Megan heaved a rock at the Sour Note pack who 
were rushing them, yelling, saw a boy fall holding his head. 
For a moment it was all happening in a blur, then went slow 
and clear. A big boy swung a stick at her head, two-handed. She 
ducked and laughed as he hit the wall behind with a crack, 
dropping the stick. She brought her knife up, suddenly knowing 
she'd use it if he tried to hit her again. 
He shook his fist and they yelled back and forth, and when 
Megan stamped her foot he grabbed at her. She tried to cut him 
but her knife caught on his sleeve, so she let go and the clarity 
went away in a cloud of dust as they rolled in the dirt. He held on 
but she wiggled around, and when he tried to stand up she sat 
on his head, beating on his back with her fists. She was yelling, 
"Go away. Go away. We don't want you." He had snot running 
down his face. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

Everyone had gone quiet so Megan looked up, the wild feeling 
gone in an instant. The boy under her bucked. She got off him 
and he half-crawled, half-ran back toward the rest of his friends. 
They had retreated to the gap; Jorge had a long cut on his cheek 
and Eula had their leader's knife stuck into her arm. There was 
blood dripping all over her hand and on her face. 
Megan, breathing hard, felt at the scrapes on her cheeks and 
hands, the soreness where her hair and ear had been pulled. The 
Cooper's Laner's threw a couple of cobbles but not hard. She 
picked up her knife and went to where Eula sat with Ivar and 
Serkai and Jorge all around her, and the Cooper's pack stared at 
the Sour Note kids. They stared back and the only one moving 
now was Tantine, who handed one of the knives to Jorge. 
He stood up. "Go away and don't come back or I'll kill you." 
He started walking toward them, most of Cooper's Lane closing 
behind him. The other kidpack shuffled, backed up one step then 
two. Jorge had this strange look on his face, like a grownup; like 
Lixand when he went with Vyaroslaf so his family could get 
away. They backed up. Moden was limping and her one eye was 
swelling shut, blood from a cut trailing down her neck. They kept 
backing up until a couple of the littler kids started crying and 
ran, then they all ran. Moden spat on the ground by Jorge's foot 
and followed. 
"Ivar, get Nikolai to help you close up the gap in the fence," 
Jorge said. "They aren't going to come back." He stuck his chin 
out. "I'm going to help Eula." 
They knotted a handkerchief around the knife wound; Eula 
turning grey, shaking and cold. Then they made a chair of hands 
and carried her home where Jorge told her mama it was a bad 
throw in a cniffta game. Eula's mother looked him up and down, 
taking in the dirt and scratches and the cut on his face, but only 
said, "Go on. I'll look after her." 
Outside Eula's house Megan started realizing how awful she 
felt. She hurt all over and had a hole in her pants and her braids 
were all undone. 
Back in the Ground, Tantine and Megan redid each other's

braids and they all washed their faces, so their mothers wouldn't 
scold too hard. 
It was their squat now, though. We on. 
Megan told Serkai that she hated swimming and he and 
Tantine talked to her about it, though Megan wished he hadn't 
mentioned it to her. The two of them took Megan down to the 
lake and showed her how to swim a little. By the end of the 
afternoon she could keep her face out, though she needed more 
practice. 
Afterward they sat in the sun to get dry. Her hair was 
dribbling water down her chest and her stomach felt hollow; the 
funny kind of hollow you get if you stayed in the water too long. 
The roar of the waterfall was a thunder in the ground, more felt 
than heard. 
Prafetatla or Middle Quarter kids had towels for swimming 
all to themselves and they didn't come down to the lake. They 
went to the bathhouses or had their own. Megan lay on her back 
on the long mats of grass. There had been houses at one time, 
but now there was long grass and thick trees in the space 
between two big old warehouses. I guess Tantine's not so bad; 
not when there's only one boy around. Across the lake the high 
ridge and the mountain beyond was full of splinters of shadows 
from the windows cut into it. Over the River's Road in the Lake 
Quarter, the shadows of the dragons lay, each a carved spout 
about five hundred paces apart. They were the openings of the 
catch basins dug into the mountain, holding enough water to 
flood the City twice over even without the springs that fed the 
lake. When the seals wore out, the statues rained a spatter of 
water down the side of the mountain as if they were drooling. 
Someone had climbed up and tied a red ribbon around one of 
the fangs of the spout over the lake shore, for a joke. 
She shut her eyes, listening to the buzzing hum of flies and 
bees and locusts in the grass. I don't have to go home yet. 
Mama'll be working because her Gospozhyn keeps her late. She 
pulled a grass-stem to chew on and was tickling Tantine behind 
the ear with the fuzzy head when Marin came running, shouting, 
"Serkaüüi! Seeeerrrkaüü!"

"Here! What's happening?' They jumped up, brushing bits of 
straw off. Marin stopped to gulp air so she could talk. 
"You… you should… get dressed." She swallowed and wiped 
her face. "Your mama sent me. We're all supposed to go home." 
"Why? What's going on?" 
"Your mama came back from the Market looking scared. 
There are riots happening because of the 'maranth tax, she says, 
and they might spread, so she told me to tell my mama and 
asked me to get you home. You, too, Megan, Tantine." 
"Riots?" 
"Yeah." They were already yanking their clothes on, dragging 
trousers over wet legs. Megan with the sick feeling in the pit of 
her stomach, remembering the last time. "People are fighting 
the Guard with rocks and sticks and bricks and they can't close 
all the streets. If it gets bad the DragonLord might close the 
bottom door of the dam and let go one of the catch basins to 
flood out the bottom quarters, my brother says." 
Megan looked over her shoulder at the dam, set between the 
two ridges. If he did that then the lake would rise to the spur, 
and everyone but the Prafetatla would drown. She imagined the 
dragons spitting water, each mouth wider than she was tall. Was 
there more water dripping already? Papa had told her once that 
the first Dragonlord closed the dam until the City proclaimed 
her Ruler, but he never said that where anyone but family could 
hear. 
They ran up the Stairs and Megan tried not to think of the 
lake perhaps getting deeper behind them, following on their 
heels, going blurp, blurp up the Stairs. It sounds like there's 
another waterfall in front of us. 
She yelled good-bye to the others and squeezed sideways into 
an alley shortcut they were too big for. When she got to Cooper's, 
the usually crowded street was empty though it was midday. The 
Ragman's door was shuttered and his piles of stuff were scraped 
back against the wall. The sound from the Middle Quarter

echoed. What if somebody's locked the door, and I can't get in? 
"Pssst, Megan?" Boryis looked through one of the panes of 
glass over the Flats front door. ' Get in, quick!" He opened the 
door a crack, then climbed back up the ladder to keep watch, the 
afternoon sun streaming in around the shadow of his head. 
Zazan stood just down the way, twisting one of her frizzy curls in 
her fingers. 
"Are Mama and Papa were at work?" Megan asked, and 
Zazan said, "I think they came in…" in a whisper. 
Megan ran downstairs and found the door open, her parents 
there. They hugged her and the three of them sat listening to the 
reports that Boryis passed through Zazan. 
If the riots come here we should maybe try to run, or hide 
downstairs with the turkeys. I don't want this house to burn, 
too. I don't want Mama or Papa to get hurt. 
"The Guard! The Guard!" The words whispered down the hall, 
passed from one open door to another, and everyone held their 
breath. Megan wiggled out of Papa's hand. 
"I'll go look," she said, and ran though she heard him shout 
after her in a whisper: 
"Megan!" 
She ran up to two above, where Jerya's room was, and she sat 
on Jerya's lap with her boy Lavi, who was too little to run with 
the pack. They looked out the tall crack, as wide as Megan's 
finger, in her summer shutters. 
The Guard trotted down the street, boots clack-clacking 
against the cobbles, filling the street between the walls, 
dart-throwers shoved in their belts and the dart-buckets 
thumping on their belts as they ran to secure the Lower Stairs. 
Their helmets were painted with dragons and phoenixes and 
some of them were bloody, but it was dim between the houses 
and Megan couldn't see for sure.

None of them seemed to be hurt, so the blood was likely from 
the rioters. Lixand had said once that people would be going 
hungry or starve outright if the tax were raised, but the 
DragonLord wouldn't listen to commoners, or care if some died. 
The riots also would give the Woyvode the excuse not to open the 
common law-courts. 
I hope nobody's out. If they catch anyone in the River or 
Lake Quarter, the Guard can just take them to the dungeon, 
because they might be rioters or thieves or something. 
Sometimes it takes a lot of money and a lot of time to get people 
out once they're in, even if they are citizens. 
The street outside was bare again, the Guard having poured 
through like a long shiny black snake, scouring things clean. 
There should have been carters and lots of people out this time 
of day, but there was only the wind and the gutter-mud splashed 
on the cobbles. A cat ran across. 
It felt like the manrauq gone bad as sour milk, like Aunt 
Marte hitting Rilla. Megan squirmed out of Jerya's lap, blurted 
her good-bye and ran back down to Papa and Mama. We're safe. 
Like Papa's story. We pull our heads in and wait until the riots 
roll past. We don't have much that the Prafetatla want. She got 
hugged between Mama and Papa and they listened, though 
Boryis didn't pass down any more news. Megan could hear the 
turkeys downstairs, and Shen's cat meowing to be fed. The riots 
will go away again.
Chapter Nine 
The worst of the riots did go away, with the rain and the fall 
cold coming on, the days so short, but there were little ones here 
and there once a Hand or so that were put down by the Guard. 
They either killed the rioters or cleared the street into the 
dungeons. Most of those prisoners were sent on "reparation" to 
the salt mines at Talitsa. Then something happened that cooled 
the whole mood of the City, despite the new tax. The Fifth 
DragonLord, Piatr III, Woyvode, Defender of the People, finally 
took the stroke that killed him. There were no contenders for 
Regency, so there was no further trouble and the Red faction, led 
by Mikail, stepped in.

The plateau above the city was a holy place, where the 
Goddess wind blew forever. When someone married they 
followed the road under the Nest to the plateau and came down 
in pairs or quads with music. When someone died their kin 
carried them up and laid them out for the Goddess's birds on 
the Proletarian, the field of bones. When they'd taken Onya's 
mama up there it had been summer still. Her hand had healed 
and she had planned to marry her friend, but took summer fever 
instead and died. 
The bone-field was off to one side; the laying out platforms, 
open-spoked wheels were raised up on tall poles, set in holes or 
cairns, if raised in winter. The ravens wheeled there most of the 
time, but if a procession came up, they gathered in their 
hundreds. 
Her children and Teik Svarch, her promised husband, laid her 
on the platform and undressed her. Megan was one of the 
witnesses. 
Onya's mama looked so like herself, but also thin and empty, 
that Megan thought she would open her eyes and complain 
about them taking her clothes off in the wind, but she didn't. 
They laid her down as if she were sleeping and tied her body 
onto the platform, and then all the friends helped raise the pole. 
Megan had tipped her head back and looked up the pole to 
where the platform rocked a little as it settled, and one of Onya's 
mama's hands waved back and forth as if she were going to say, 
"I'm not dead, let me down," but she hadn't done that either. 
The other old platforms had bones around their bases and 
only the young birds waited for people to go away; the old ones 
were landing and squawking already, and Onya the Elder had a 
black feather cloak to cover her body, going to the Goddess. 
Now, in the fall, the whole city turned out to the laying out of 
the Woyvode. Megan stood between her parents watching the 
birds fly around and around over the plateau, so far away that 
they were slate-pencil dots against the clouds. 
The three of them wore the grey and red for mourning, in

honor of the old DragonLord, as decreed by the Regent Mikail 
and the Zarizan. The Prafetatla wore the same color as the 
crowd, but they would not wear plain cloth and leather; they 
wore grey silk and red fur mantles. Mama had made the family 
new mourning clothes, though they weren't warm wool. 
"Some people might say he was an evil old man," she'd said 
while sewing, touching the streak in Megan's hair that had 
grown out white. "But someone loved him once." Megan was 
helping her while Lixand read to them from a book he'd 
borrowed from the whorehouse library. There were some strange 
books in there, but good ones, too; the whores who wanted to 
teach themselves and their children spent money on books, and 
sometimes, once an iron-cycle or so, a teacher came. They didn't 
mind Megan's family borrowing because they were careful. Most 
of the rest of the Flats didn't bother. 
"If Koru can love someone like that," Ness had continued, "we 
can at least mourn his passing." She made the avert sign that 
means "Dark Lord look away." 
"Pray Koru that we won't need these for ourselves for many 
long years." 
"Yes, Mama"—"Yes, my love," Megan and Lixand had 
answered. That had been three days ago. Papa had said most 
people had their kin lay them out, or if they had no kin then the 
corpse-handlers. Mama had said "That's why it's so bad to be a 
h'Rokatzk, you have to touch and lay out strangers: naZak." 
Today the city smelled like smoky perfume, pine and cold and 
wet stone. It had rained all night, and the wind was cold. We 
might get first snow today. Everyone in the crowds held a pine 
twig, and Ness held Megan's hand so Papa could carry his. 
The DragonLord was going in the last procession through the 
City, carried at the head, wrapped in his phoenix robe. The 
Zarizan wasn't of age yet and couldn't help carry his father, so he 
walked before, with the red stripe painted across his eyes. He 
had a Greathound puppy with him, a white one taller than he 
was. Mikail was first bearer.

The Guard were all around him, carrying banners, red and 
gold and silver, the Ruler's Dragon proceeding before him, 
upside down. The walking drummers came behind, drumming 
his passing, making Megan's chest under her ribs shiver with the 
sound. 
There was no sound except the drums and the foot-steps of 
the walkers. Being quiet was hard, but they had respect for the 
dead, and when the procession had gone by the crowd closed in 
behind. 
The DragonLord would go up to the Goddess with only his kin 
watching, alone, just as everyone else did. The Guard, and the 
crowd, stopped at the Iron Gate and watched the bier. It was 
shaped and painted like a metal bird, carried by four, up to 
where the birds waited. 
There were two others to add their voices, calling the former 
Woyvode's name to the wind with Ranion: the Dark Lord's priest 
first, because she was the Year Kievir, then the Lady's priest. 
Megan remembered Onya, standing alone to call her mama's 
name to the wind. 
She had called it long and loud into the wind, and Megan was 
sure the Goddess heard it, even if there were tears in it, even if 
she was alone, because only those who could gift the Temple or 
Temples enough would have a priest there to call as well. 
Like then, the priests would go away and leave the Zarizan up 
there to watch, as Megan and the others left Onya. Yuri had 
wanted to stay, too, but couldn't; he was youngest and would 
watch the next year. There were no other kin, so the memorial 
would stop with his turn, though Teik Svarch might come up the 
year after Yuri, if he chose to. 
Megan was glad she didn't have to do that for her parents, 
hugging Ness's hand in hers, then taking Lixand's, pine twig and 
all, as they walked home. The whole city would stay in grey until 
the Zarizan Ranion became DragonLord or until Regent Mikail 
said so. The Hammer and the Scythe-blade would sit on the 
empty Dragonthrone until Ranion picked them up. I wonder if 
anyone ever dusts them?

Megan was getting very big now. That's good because I can 
help Mama and Papa more, though I tell them I get lots 
scavenging, she thought. She was quickest at prigging buckles 
in the winter, when sliding was the way to get away from the 
Watch in First Quarter. You took a board, the way Ivar had, and 
bent it up on one end. Some kids rubbed the bottoms with wet 
sand to make the wood smooth. It was fun, and made it easy to 
get away from the Guard since most of the streets around the 
Market were steep enough so you could cut a shoe or boot buckle 
and be gone before anyone could even yell. 
It wasn't so good that she was getting big because there was 
some trouble with her being apprenticed. Papa said she'd have 
to wait a bit longer. This was bad; she knew she could get too 
old. For Ness to be apprenticed as an adult had almost been a 
miracle from Koru. 
She was balancing six parcels and a broken basket she'd 
found that maybe could be fixed and didn't want to drop 
anything as she tried to open the door. "Hello!" A voice she knew 
called down the hall. "Hello, Megan!" She couldn't tell who he 
was though, not through au the scarves and under the fur hat. 
What was somebody with a fur hat, made out of better fur than 
catskin, doing in the Flats? 
"Here let me help, then." He tugged the hat off and she 
dropped everything and hugged him, snow and all. It was Teik 
Varik, gone so long, come home again. She tried to tell him 
everything all at once, and he laughed and swung her up as high 
as he had when she'd been a little kid. Her heels almost bumped 
the outside wall now, and he set her down, puffing. "You've 
grown some, little Meg." He poked her cheek with a finger, just 
like her papa did, over her scarf, and she smiled. Mama opened 
the door to see what the noise was, cried "Variki and hugged 
him, too. 
Papa came, and when Mama let go, hugged him and pounded 
him on the back. "Come in! Come in!" He was smiling more than 
she'd seen him do in a while as he picked up Varik's ship-kit for 
him. "You've been gone since before the Esteemed Dragon died! 
Come in for a cup of chai, at least!"

"Hello! Yeah, 'course I'll come in." He laughed. "Why, did you 
think I'd come a'visiting to stand in cold hallways?" 
"Varik," Mama said, "Lixand, enough teasing, get those wet 
things off and hung up!" 
Megan gathered her parcels and the basket and hung up her 
things, while Mama and Papa and Varik settled down on the 
cushions. That was fun because they didn't have a visitor's 
cushion so Megan got to sit in the wallbed and be higher than 
everyone. 
She went to get a glass of milk first, sniffed the jug by the 
door. "Mama, the milk's gone." 
Ness sighed a little. It meant making more thick-milk to eat, 
but there was no milk for chai. "Run over to Jerya's and ask if we 
can borrow some then. I'll be going to market soon and pay her 
back." 
"All right." 
When she got back they were being serious. "Lixand, you 
mean your friend won't take her?' Varik was asking. 
Lixand looked angry. "No, he's given me excuse after excuse 
and his price keeps going up." They're talking about my 
apprenticeship. Papa's friend had been going to take her on a 
long time before, and hadn't. Her parents had tried to get her in 
somewhere else, but the City was crowded with Zak coming 
away from the Thanish border disputes. Guilds were full; they 
could pick and choose, and Megan was on several waiting lists. 
"Hmm." Varik looked at them and sipped his chai, then 
looked at Papa in that way that meant he'd talk to him later. 
"Little Meg, you look like a jar full of questions…" 
"Yes! Where did you go? What did you see? Did you go all the 
way to Brahvniki? Were there pirates? Were mere storms? 
You're safe home so it can't have been bad. Did you make lots of 
money?—"

"Megan!" Ness snapped, irritated that her daughter had 
asked about money so bluntly. Megan put both hands over her 
mouth, but Teik Varik was laughing and didn't mind. 
"Ness, it's all right. Yes, Megan, the trip was—to our 
advantage, you might say. There were pirates but we outran 
them—rather we ran them aground on a shoal. And as for the 
rest…" 
He pulled his kit around and opened the top tie. "Look. He 
pulled out a purple scarf fine enough almost to see through, and 
a shell with spiny bits all over it in a yellow and black wood box 
that smelled like summer, and an arm ring that looked like red 
lace but was made out of stone. 
"Ooohhh." To Megan it seemed as if he were carrying the 
whole world in his kit. He'd seen the places the gifts come from. 
"For you!" he said, and gave the scarf to Mama and the shell 
in the box to Megan and the arm ring to Papa. "There. Just a 
little memento of my stay south." 
"Varik, we couldn't…" 
"Now don't go all proud on me now! What are friends for? I'd 
give you the same either way, rich or poor." Mama looked a little 
sad for a minute. Megan guessed she was thinking of all the 
other people who weren't friends any longer. 
Then she smiled and kissed Teik Varik on his beard that 
covered a new scar. Maybe he'd had to fight pirates instead of 
just run away. Teik Varik wouldn't run away, Megan thought. 
He's brave. "Thank you," Mama said. Papa was looking at the 
arm ring between wrist and elbow. 
Megan looked at her box and shell, and sniffed inside. The 
shell smelled like the box, and of iodine, too—a Haian smell. 
Then she heard a funny noise, and when she looked at Teik Varik 
his shirt was moving; it had a bump. Megan stared, and the 
bump wiggled across his stomach and a wet black nose peeked 
out of his shirt lacings.

"Varik…" Papa just sighed and said thank you, too. Then they 
all looked at Megan. She kept staring at the bump with a nose in 
Teik Varik's shirt. He looked down and laughed again. 
"This is my friend, Tik-Tik." He unlaced and pulled out an 
animal that looked as if a ferret and a raccoon had traded 
pieces. It had a long striped rubbery nose as if someone had 
grabbed it and stretched it out long as a finger; skinny black 
hands, and a black mask and furry black rings all the way down 
its tail. It made a chirping, whirring noise, and its long, long 
nose bent sideways when it sniffed. Then it sat up on its hind 
legs on Teik Varik's palms, twisted its fingers together, and 
bobbed up and down. "T'is little prigger snuck into my quilt bag 
one night," Teik Varik said, "on a beach in Krim, and tried to 
make off with my small-clothes, but I caught 'em by one corner 
and after a bit of a tugging and some talk he allowed they were 
mine. He's more a friend than a pet and'll steal anything not 
nailed down." 
When Megan reached out to touch him, Tik-Tik squeaked 
and dove into Teik Varik's shirt again, and the bump he made 
wiggled around the back. 
"Ah, little Meg, he's his own creature and he'll play with you 
by the by when he gets comforta'l with you." Varik's city accent 
was softened by strange foreign burrs, as if he were more used to 
speaking naZak. 
She hoped Tik-Tik would like her soon. She looked at her shell 
and box again, and Mama reminded her what to say. 
"Teik Varik, thankyouveryrnuchfortheshell. When you go 
sailing next can I come, too?" Then she could get a friend like 
Tik-Tik and see all those places, and Mama and Papa and she 
wouldn't have to live in one room that smelled like wet, with a 
cold draft along the floor. 
They all looked at her, biting their lips as they did when they 
didn't want to laugh. She hated it when they laughed at 
something dumb she said. 
"No, Megan, you're not…" Then Teik Varik got a funny look

on his face and changed the subject. I'm not going to feel bad. 
He was going to say I wasn't apprenticed and I'm almost nine. 
Ness and Lixand told Varik about what he'd missed in the last 
year, and about the regency and how it was going. Nobody liked 
the Regent much, but he hadn't done anything really wrong yet 
so there hadn't been riots, and the snow helped keep things 
quiet. Something might happen in the spring, but there were the 
wedding plans to distract people. Shortly after Megan's tenth 
birthday, the City would celebrate the Zarizan's wedding to 
Mikail's daughter, Avritha. Papa said the whole show was to 
keep people's minds off what was really going on. 
The Ragman and Varclaf had got dragged off to the dungeons 
a while ago, just for being in the wrong street. The Guard had 
closed it off and taken everybody, but Ranion and Regent Mikail 
had had a fight, and on the Zarizan's birthday he'd ordered 
everyone released, so they'd both got out. The Ragman had been 
skinny as a stick, but he was better now. Varclaf had had a 
cough and some sores, but his wives and husband looked after 
him. 
People said that clearing the dungeon was good, but Ness 
said it was as bad as taking innocent people without trial; she'd 
rather have the law courts opened again than let the Guard or 
one of the Prafetatla just say "guilty" and that be the end of it. 
Sometimes you could get people out if you bribed the Guard 
with enough money. 
That's not fair, Megan thought. But there's lots of things 
going on that aren't fair. She'd heard in the pack that the 
commoners' truth-teller's school had been closed and the 
children sent home, which meant that only the Prafetatla would 
have truth-tellers; none for the ordinary people. 
Megan decided to go out away from all the boring adult talk. 
She could play with Jerya's kid or maybe climb to the roof and 
see if it was still snowing; if she couldn't play with Tik-Tik, she 
wanted to do something that wasn't dull. 
Blue and Zazan's cat spat and yowled at each other on the 
stairs and Teik Erham swatted them apart with the broom. The

corridors got very dirty in the winter; snow, carrying soot with 
it, sifted in from the plank walls and down from the hall, then 
melted. Dimi's ferret bounced down the hall and the cats chased 
it until it whipped into a rat-hole where they couldn't follow, so 
they both sat with their noses pressed almost together, staring. 
The ferret wasn't dumb; it wouldn't come out there again, but 
stuck its nose out and screamed at them. 
Megan climbed to the top floor where it was cold and windy, 
because the walls weren't very good. Then she slipped through 
the crack between where the wood roof was now and where the 
glass had once been. 
When the landlord had closed in the roof, he or she hadn't 
bothered to dig a big plate of glass out, that had broken in a "v" 
from two of the supports onto a beam below, for salvage. It was 
worth almost a month's rent, it was so big, and when she'd found 
it she realized everyone had forgotten it. At first she tried to 
break it, because that would be the only way to get it out, but it 
had just hurt her hand, then when she'd kicked it the roof had 
shivered too, so she guessed it was partly holding the roof up and 
stopped trying. That was probably why it was still there. It was 
her secret place, her secret treasure, and she didn't want 
anybody to find it. 
There was a dark space between the big beams where she 
could stand up almost straight. One wall was the pane of glass 
and the floor was the wood ceiling and the other wall was the 
brick chimney. Someone had covered the hole where the glass 
had fallen in with more wood so it was like a wood sandwich 
with a glass "v" in the middle. It was her favorite place in the 
winter, as if she had a room of her own that she didn't have to 
pay rent for. It was getting harder and harder to squeeze in, 
though, as she grew. There was so much snow caught in the gap 
next to one of the chimneys on top of the outer roof that it was 
actually warm. If there was a fire below, the bricks heated up 
and she could even take her coat off. 
Only the cats knew about this place, and her. She rubbed her 
mitt over the cold glass next to her. It had spidery lines where it 
had cracked. Like people do, I guess. If she could somehow get

through the glass she would be able to walk the length of the 
beam at the top of the house, right over the atrium. 
She hoped things would get better soon. Mama and Papa 
were looking more and more like Zazan, or like Shen when she 
didn't think anyone was looking. Even Dimi looked like that early 
in the morning when it was his turn to get water for 
breakfast—crinkly around the eyes and old. 
But perhaps some people didn't crack apart, and she prayed 
every day that it wouldn't happen to her mama and papa. She 
couldn't do anything to help them but be the best she could so 
they wouldn't worry. 
I'm already the best cniffta player, she thought, and that's 
good, but that won't help Mama and Papa. Maybe Teik Vatik’ll 
help. I wish I could go with him. I wish I could see all the warm 
places he talks about. I want a friend like Tik-Tik. Teik Varik 
had been out-river a couple of times and seen beaches of black 
or pink sand, or sand so white it could blind you like snow. He'd 
told her about giant cormorants and Haiu Menshir's islands, 
and Hyerne where the men weren't allowed to fight and Arko 
where the women weren't. She closed her eyes and pretended, 
but couldn't smell the flowers even though she could see them in 
her head. All I smell is mouse shit and snow and wet. She was 
wet through the seat of her pants. I hope somebody apprentices 
me soon or I'll be too old. 
She went to play cniffta with Rilla, who was very good at it for 
one so little. They kept up until Rilla got cut; they'd used the two 
real knives as well as the wooden ones they'd made, and the steel 
ones flew differently. Megan helped her wash her hand so that it 
wouldn't get cut-ill, though it wasn't that bad—a nick that went 
from the bottom of her thumb to the long line. 
"Megan, I don't wanna go home.' Megan looked up from 
where she was dabbing the cut with a corner of her coat. Rilla 
was frowning as if the cut hurt more than she was saying. I 
guess her mam isn't in a good mood lately. 
" 'kay. Let's go to the Market."

Rilla smiled, which Megan liked; she'd been getting quieter 
lately. They went up to the Market, throwing snowballs at each 
other and the signs. Megan mashed snowballs on a wall; made a 
face out of them. Rilla stuffed some snow down Megan's neck 
and ran away yelling while Megan chased her with two handfuls, 
her hands bigger. Megan washed Rilla's face good, and she 
wiggled and swore. 
"Pig-kisser! I'll get you! Stopfffth that! Ug, stop, it was only a 
little snow! Fish-Face!" 
"Say yield! Say you're sorry. Say Rhunay! Say it!" 
"I give! Rhunay!" Rilla's face was all red, but she wasn't really 
mad, not any madder than Megan. Both wet, they stopped in the 
Papa-bear shrine on Na Yehk Road to get out of the wind. The 
statue was of the Bear rearing up on His hind legs, with all His 
claws out. She hung her scarf on one of His paws—I don't think 
He'd mind—and they brushed all the snow out of their collars. 
She bowed to the Bear and they both ran their fingers through 
the stone bowl in front of Him, having nothing to give. It felt 
cold and slippery, as she remembered good soap being, not like 
the sand-soap they used now. She picked up the clapper and 
tapped the bowl to make it ring sweet, like the honey He liked. It 
made her sad that she had nothing to give Him in winter, but 
she tried to make up for it in summer, giving both Koru and the 
Bear flowers. 
At the Market, they watched the cock-fights; it was too cold 
for outdoor spider fights, and the dancers in the circle and the 
shadow puppets. The priest came out with his black and white 
robes and furs afterwards and blessed them for watching. As 
they wandered away, Megan saw one of the perfume-sellers look 
around and duck to slip a fish under another perfume-seller's 
stand. It was only a little one. 
They went past the food stalls. She wanted a meat pie but 
they were expensive, and though she tried not to smell them, her 
mouth still watered. If there were more of us I'd try prigging a 
couple. But there's just us two, and I have to look after Rilla. 
The younger girl dawdled to look at something and Megan

was looking at the toy-seller's stall when somebody behind her 
yelled, "Stop, thief!" 
She looked; you were supposed to help if somebody raised the 
hue. If it's somebody I know maybe I can accidentally help 
them get away. They'd caught someone around the herbalist's 
stall… Oh, shit. 
It was Rilla. She wriggled and yelled and the stall-keeper had 
her by one arm, the hand with a herb bag in it. The Guard was 
coming. She could hear them, clangety-clank. What do I do? 
What can I do? What am I supposed to do? 
A guard had Rilla and was asking her something, shaking her 
to make her answer. She cried and kicked at his shins. "I'm six! 
Six!" she yelled. Megan wiggled past grownup to get close. 
"Teik Guard!" She didn't want him to notice her, but Rilla 
was her kin, and in trouble. "Please, she's my little cousin and 
she's six." 
He had a mean, thin stare and she felt smaller than a baby 
bug about to get stepped on. He'd been eating sausages in garlic 
sauce; he smelled like that and it was in his moustaches. He 
squinted at her and gave Rilla another shake. "Your parents' 
names, brat." 
Rilla pressed her lips together. He peeled her mitt open and 
pulled the bag of herbs out of her hand. "NAME!" he shouted, 
and she yipped. "Marte, Marte, called Canter." 
"And where do you live?" He tightened his hand on her arm, 
his leather gloves squeaking in the cold. 
"Pisnichy Street." Rilla had tears running down her chin and 
snot all over her lip. Megan wanted to kick him, cut him, make 
him stop hurting her. 
"Valyria!" 
"Yessir!" Another of the Watch.

"You heard. Get her. Bring her to the block." 
"Yessir!" 
The guard half dragged Rilla with him to the block, walking 
just a little too fast for her to keep up, even if she ran, so she kept 
falling and being pulled along. 
Megan was right behind. Papa was too far away to get. This 
isn't supposed to happen. This can't be happening, not to 
anyone in our family. I can't leave Rilla alone with the Guard. 
She saw Serkai and Noran across the lane of stalls looking 
over at the commotion, and shouted the pack's yell for help. 
"Serkai! Dzhai! Dzhai!" He's got to hear, he's got to hear me call 
. "Serkai!" He looked up and then waved. "Run to the Wooden 
Plate and tell my papa what happened, please?" 
He waved a fist, and he and Noran ducked down the alley 
next to the Deib's Den Inn. Megan found it hard to breathe; it 
was like breathing a knife as she gasped cold air into her lungs. 
Rilla, why'd you get caught? Why? 
The Guard waited on the block and they wouldn't let Megan 
up with Rilla, so she stood by the stairs looking up at their boots. 
"You'd think the River Quarter scum'd be stealing food before 
anything else," one of the guards said to another. "Zarizan's right 
when he says they just breed more vermin. Should clean the 
whole quarter out." 
"Shut it, Stavislev, the Comp'ny Small-Stick's listening." The 
first guard spat into the snow, just by Megan. 
A crowd had gathered from the winter Market, so when they 
brought Aunt Marte, they almost didn't need to call people out. 
She was yelling, two guards dragging her, but when she saw Rilla 
on the block she went quiet and pale. 
The Guard pronounced sentence just like in the summer on 
Onya's mama, but the air didn't go as tight and funny as then 
because Marte wasn't as well liked as Onya the Elder. Megan

wasn't surprised but still felt sick. Megan still wished hard when 
the fate-coin spun. It stuck in the snow on its edge and the 
Guard captain cursed and scraped the block with the side of his 
boot before doing it again. Everyone was quiet now. Tick. Black. 
"No! You little bitch! Why'd you get caught? I need my hands 
you…" Aunt Marte screamed at Rilla. The Guard dragged her to 
the hand-block. She didn't want to listen, didn't want to see, but 
she couldn't look somewhere else. 
Marte struggled, almost whining, with her right hand curled 
into a fist to try and hide it from the hammer. Then she gulped 
and sobbed, once, looking up at the K'gebar. She shivered all 
over and forced her hand open. She watched the K'gebar and the 
hammer, like a mark watching a shell-sharper take his last 
copper. The wind blew her hair across her face but she didn't 
even blink. Megan didn't think she could. 
The K'gebar raised the hammer and brought it down. Aunt 
Marte tried to pull away and they held her. She screamed once, 
then again before he hit the second time—it cut off when she 
fainted. She didn't feel the third time. Most people didn't. 
The guard let Rilla go, but she just stood looking at her mama 
lying in the snow. Megan climbed on the block, when the Guard 
had gone away, and held her. Rilla just stood looking. I'm 
ashamed. Papa, where are you? 
The crowd was going away, but Megan was high enough to 
see Papa coming through all the people. Serkai had him by the 
shirttail to stay with him. 
His face was closed. Koru, how much more is going to 
happen to us? When is it going to stop? But it wasn't really them 
it had happened to this time, but to Aunt Marte and Rilla. Marte 
had bitten through her tongue and it smelled as if she'd pissed 
herself. That didn't matter though; they all helped getting Aunt 
carried to Megan's home, where Lixand laid her in the wallbed. 
That meant Mama and Papa would share Megan's and she'd 
sleep with Rilla on a bed made in Mama's box to keep out the 
draft. It would be crowded but everybody would be warm. Then 
they asked Dimi to help again.

He didn't like Marte but helped as a favor to them. "He hit 
pretty hard; must naht been having a good day," Dimi said. 
"Don't know, Lixand, if she'll get it back. Mightbe a little. I've 
given her somethin' to make her sleep." 
"Thank you, Dmitrach." Papa gave him the copper he'd made 
today that was supposed to go to the rent. Maybe Mama had 
made enough; Megan hoped so. 
" 'ixand?" It was Aunt. She couldn't talk straight because of 
her tongue. "I hur'. She ha'es me. Ro'n kid. Ha'es me." She cried, 
slowly. "Nobo'y's faul' bu' te 'ragonlor'. Shi' on him, ‘n’ my poor, 
bad kid." 
"Hush, Marte, you'll be all right." Papa sat on the edge of the 
wallbed, making it creak. He patted her hand, then moved it to 
her forehead. Her hair was soaked at the temples from sweat 
and tears, and her face looked raw and empty. "Hush, sister, 
shhh, you'll be fine." 
Papa sent Megan and Rilla to get bed linens from Aunt's 
house because they didn't have enough for everyone. 
They went up to Middle Quarter and it looked strange to 
Megan. So much space; space between all the houses and small 
gardens. She'd forgotten. The pack ran through here to get to the 
Market, but stuck to the big streets, and she'd spent the rest of 
the time in alleys in the River Quarter. 
Rilla had always met her at Koru's Shrine because Megan 
didn't want to see Aunt, so she was surprised at the state of the 
house. It was dirtier than a bottom room of the Flats and it 
didn't have turkeys outside its door. The shutters were broken 
and rattled, letting the wind in. 
She opened her mouth to ask and Rilla interrupted, "We're 
doing all right." She had the stubborn look on her face that said 
"Don't ask." 
"Okay. It's none of my business. Linens?" 
"Spare room, in the walnut box."

"I'll get 'em." What has Aunt Marte been doing? She hadn't 
been cleaning. The still was the only thing not dusty. It smelled 
worse, nastier than the last time they'd come to visit two years 
ago. The herbs looked different, too. Megan dug down into the 
box to get the blankets and her fingers hit something cool and 
hard, and something that clinked. 
There was a whole row of glass bottles, of wine, she thought, 
some wadiki, and a pouch full of silver. Silver. And a whole silver 
Dragonclaw. 
I've got to show Papa, she thought. There's something wrong 
here. Eula had said the Blood-sibs, the "upstart assassins," were 
trying to get kids to apprentice. And they got paid silver for 
killing somebody. Eula said that her Gospozhyn had been "talked 
to," his Guild had him under protection. Mama wouldn't like it 
if she knew I was friends with an Other Guild member, 
somebody training to steal; but I learn all sorts of stuff. Silver. 
Was Aunt Marte a Blood-sib? Was she killing people? 
Rilla was at the door with a bundle of her mam's things, tears 
on her face. "Megan." Then she gulped and threw the bundle on 
the floor and really started sobbing. "I did it. It's my fault. I did 
it."
Megan went and hugged her. "It's okay, Rilla. She'll be all 
right. It isn't your fault. It's the DragonLord's fault for a stupid, 
dumb rule." 
"It is! It is! It's all my fault!" She was trying to hammer her 
hands on Megan's shoulders, and Megan had to hold on tight. "I 
did it on purpose!" 
"What?" She stopped squirming, crying so hard Megan could 
hardly understand what she was saying. 
"I… I got caught on purpose before I got too old." She grabbed 
on to Megan, buried her face in her neck. "I hate her. I hate her 
but she's my mam. She's my mam and it's bad to hate her but 
she hits me and… and… she hates me. She doesn't love me. Why 
did she have me? If she hates me why did she have me?"

Megan couldn't think of anything to say, wishing her mother 
were here to explain, but there was just her, and she didn't think 
Mama would want to hear Rilla say all those things. "We love 
you. Were your kin." Megan wiped Rilla's face with her sleeve. 
"Like when you got stuck in the hole, in the fence with the big 
dog chasing us and I came back and got you?" 
"Yeah." Rilla sniffled. "You gonna tell?" 
"Not if you don't want me to. I promise." 
"I love you, fatrahm." That meant father's sister's beloved 
child. Megan had thought Rilla was too little to understand 
formal speech. Megan hugged her. "I love you too, patrischana. 
We'll stick together, won't we?" 
They sat for a bit longer just hugging, then Megan said, 
"Rillan, what's your mama been doing?" 
Rilla looked around the spare room, then at the still. "She's 
been selling to somebody who pays lots and always comes at 
night." 
"You ever seen him?" 
"It's a her and she mumbles, but mam always makes me go to 
bed early so I don't see her." Rilla twisted the end of her braid. "I 
don't think you ought to tell. I think it's poisons, or 'Dust. They 
were fighting about price and the lady said '… for that price we 
can ship Dust in!' but I think she paid and mam got drunk again 
after that." 
"She promised not to." 
Rilla twisted harder. "She makes sure your da doesn't find 
out." 
"I gotta tell him about the bottles though." 
"Okay." They got the bundles, and Megan took the bag with 
silver to show Papa and tell him some of what Rilla had told her, 
except the sworn secrets.

Papa's lips thinned and Mama held him. Then they sent Shen 
and Rilla and Megan out to Market with a silver bit to change 
into copper and get all the food and black-rock they needed so 
Aunt could get better. 
When they came back with everything, it was like festival. 
There weren't enough cupboards for everything, and it smelled 
like home had before, with sausage and leaven bread and soup 
and an old hen boiling in the pot. Mama and Papa were angry 
but not at Megan, and Aunt wasn't saying anything, so when 
they ate it was hard to swallow, like swallowing the anger with 
the food. So after, Megan and Rilla went to the library, and 
Megan read to her cousin and started teaching her Enchian. Her 
mama wasn't spending money on school, so Megan would help. 
*** 
It was almost spring and Megan enjoyed having Rilla living 
with them again, though Aunt Marte complained a lot. Marte 
couldn't afford to keep the house when her hand was broken, so 
she and Rilla had moved down to the Dogleg, an alley off 
Cooper's Lane, further south and across the Stairs. Rilla was part 
of the pack now. Aunt came around too much, but she was 
behaving and not drinking, and even trying to do business 
again. I guess Koru's smiling again, or the Bear swatted some 
of our bad luck away. 
Mama had been doing well at Gospozhyn Yneltzyn's and she'd 
been getting quite a few gems to reset. Lixand had a space as an 
inside storyteller at the Wooden Plate because the owner had 
built another room on. Megan practiced sneaking around a lot. 
It was fun, and in the pack she and Tantine were the best at it. 
Tantine had gotten to be a better kid lately, because the 
summer before some of the other kids, mostly Jorge and 
Moden—the Sour Noters and Victory Square had joined 
Cooper's Lane so they were one big mesne—had got tired of her 
being so snarky and causing all the trouble, and ducked her in 
the lake. She yelled a lot and got a lung full of water, almost 
drowned without them noticing, so Megan had to yell at them to 
let her go. They hadn't listened, and Megan had waded in and 
gotten a lung full of water, and they'd faced Jorge and Moden

down together. Since then, Tantine had been Megan's best 
friend next to Serkai and Ivar. 
She and Ivar were kissing sometimes now. She'd thought it 
was messy at first and they bumped noses a lot, but it got to be 
fun. Shivery feelings ran through her when they kissed and 
hugged, but she didn't want any more than that. I don't want to 
have sex yet. I'm not old. enough and Ivar isn't either, but it's 
still nice. 
Jorge finally put his foot in it when he and Eula argued over 
who was leader of Cooper's Lane, and he said she was a half-Zak, 
Arkan bred. She got so angry that she hit him and they'd fought, 
seriously. He was stronger but she was quicker, and she'd put 
him in the midden behind the Deib's Den Inn. It had been good 
that it was mostly frozen or he could have drowned, but he had 
got stinking. They were friends again but she was leader. 
They'd been playing sneak-on-each-other ever since Dagde 
Vroi. The game was to sneak up on someone else and touch them 
before they knew you were there, or take something of theirs 
without them knowing. If they caught you, you had to do a 
forfeit. Marin got caught with her hand in Aage's pouch and she 
had to go three landings up the Stairs yelling "I am a dead 
horse!' Megan hadn't been caught by anybody yet. 
Today was a boring day so she tried to find a new hidey hole 
in the Flats, wiggling into the space between the inside wall and 
the outside. There were lots of places in the Flats where the 
division of the old rooms wasn't very good, so there were crawl 
spaces, and she was trying to find all of them. They were good 
for hide 'n seek, too. 
She heard Mama and Papa talking. I think I'll wiggle close, 
she thought, then I'll yell boo and won't they be surprised! 
"Lixand, I don't know what to do. I never thought… I can't 
stop. I'm a Journeyman, earning a real wage rather than just 
room and table's worth. I can't quit." 
"Tell me, Ness, don't just jitter, tell me everything that 
happened." Megan put her eye to a knot-hole and looked. Papa

was holding his arm out for Mama but she was pacing, too upset 
to keep still. 
"A thief came in to sell Gospozhyn Yneltzyn a gem. I wasn't 
there at the first. Yneltzyn had sent me out to fetch a repaired 
mould from Evgniy, and when it wasn't ready I came back to the 
shop early. I went in through the back, instead of the front, 
because I had to stop at the privy." 
She stopped to think. Her hands were shaking and she picked 
up the kitchen cloth to give them something to do. "I was just 
setting the piece for Teik Felekof when I heard them in the front 
of the shop. I thought it was a customer bargaining until the 
man all but said he'd stolen it from the Nest, and he had to sell it 
quickly because he might be followed." 
She was wiping off the counter, and knocked over a jar of 
lentils that spilled. She just stood looking down at the mess. 
"Gospozhyn Yneltzyn bought the gem… he was familiar with the 
thief." She started sweeping up with too-vigorous swipes of her 
hands. "I sneaked out because the thief was going to sneak out 
the back right past my workbench. What else was I going to do? 
Call the watch, call the Guard and have them haul us off to the 
dungeons because there's no courts?" The lentils made a slithery 
sound going back into the jar. Lixand was so quiet Megan could 
hear all of it. She held her breath. 
"What was I to do? I came in front and told Gospozhyn 
Yneltzyn the mould wasn't ready. There were a couple of 
DragonGuard in the street, but I didn't think about it. 
"They must have cut off the thief’s escape route because he 
was hiding in my tool cupboard. I didn't know that until later. I 
drew the half curtain at my bench and tried to work some, but 
the thief sneaked out and held a knife to me—" 
"Ness!" Papa started to get up but Mama's shoulders 
twitched and she kept on, "—and had me call Yneltzyn into the 
back because he thought he'd been betrayed, and they argued a 
moment before Yneltzyn convinced him otherwise. He took the 
thief up the pulldown ladder and let him onto the roof." Papa 
put his hand on Mama's shoulder and she held onto it for a

minute, then pulled away and started pacing again, stepping 
around Brunsc, whom Rilla had left behind when she visited last. 
"Gospozhyn Yneltzyn came back and looked at me and at the 
piece I was doing and said, 'you've forgotten, haven't you?' " Ness 
finally sat down, but on the edge of the open wallbed instead of 
her cushion next to Lixand. "Of course I said, 'Forgotten what, 
Gospozhyn?' He nodded and left me to finish. What else was I 
supposed to do? Lixand, what was I to do?" 
They were both quiet, apart in a way she hadn't seen them in 
a long time; not since the deep of winter when they hadn't had 
any money at all and Teik Erham's wife had tried to get them 
kicked out for not paying the rent. They'd managed then. Jerya 
had lent them some, but Mama and Papa had done a lot of 
fighting or holding each other. 
If everything was all right it didn't matter how far apart they 
sat, they'd still be together. When they were like this it was as if 
they were strangers to each other. 
Lixand sighed and got up, sat next to Ness, making the 
wallbed shake. "You did what you had to, love." He looked like he 
was carrying the Gate-rocks on his back, but still smiled at Ness 
and put his arm around her. "Hang on. Do the job. I'm sure he 
isn't trusting you to do anything illegal. When you're another 
step up, perhaps another jeweler will take you on or perhaps you 
can hang on till you're a Gospozhyn in your own right." 
"That could take years, Lixand." Her voice was thin. 
"The, ah, Re-Distribution Guild isn't all that bad. Not like the 
Blood-sibs. You've done nothing wrong, love." Ness smiled at 
him using the joking name for the Thieves. Megan agreed with 
him, though. 
Ness leaned into his shoulder and he held her for a long time. 
They felt "together" again. Then he kissed her ear. She put her 
arm around him and kissed his neck. Megan wiggled backwards 
quietly because it wasn't polite to watch someone else making 
love, especially if" you weren't supposed to be there in the first 
place.

"Megan, put that cat down, wash at the tap and come home!" 
Ness called over the edge of the gallery. "We have to go talk to 
Varik." 
"All right, Mama!" She was playing with Blue and Dimi's 
ferret, who ran in circles inside her shirt from front to back 
while Blue tried to catch him from the outside. Now she dug him 
out of the middle of her back, though he didn't want to come, 
and got Blue off her legs. Mama had said they were going to talk 
to Varik's Gospozhyn. 
The Middle Quarter had more space than River, but the First 
Quarter had even more than that. There were manors as big as 
the Flats, all given over to one family, and they had lawns and 
walls and gates around them that could have held five or six 
more houses at least. They had gardens under glass that you 
could just catch glimpses of through the gates. They even kept 
horses. 
In River where there were cobbles, they were loose and mud 
squished up between them and they wobbled and slid in the 
spring. Then there were some streets that just washed away, and 
couldn't be rebuilt until the rain stopped and the melt was done. 
On those streets you could sink all the way to your knees. Here 
there were granite blocks that fit together neatly and were even 
laid in patterns. 
The gate to the River Guild offices had a ship carved on it and 
the corridors went into the mountain; the stone blocks and wood 
panels changed to smooth stone and wool tapestries. There was 
a strong warm breeze blowing in all the corridors against damp. 
The halls were full of things from foreign lands and there were a 
few naZak; a man with a towel wrapped around his head and 
face, making Megan wonder if he were cold even inside, so tall 
he had to duck his head under the ceilings. Sysbat Tenara hadn't 
been that tall and Megan had thought she was a giant. 
The Gospozhyn's office reminded her of the Wizard's house, 
full of all sorts of neat things, but unlike the Wizard's house it 
was a mess. There were piles of papers mixed with books and 
ledgers, boxes and bags piled in the corners, parchments on the 
cushions; the samovar was almost buried. The cushions were

red and black, the carpet white, and the hangings blue. An old 
yellow dog lay curled up on the cushions, snoring. Varik was 
already there waiting. 
The Gospozhyn wasn't that old. He looked a little older than 
Lixand, but his hair was white and thick instead of thinning in 
the front, while Lixand's wrinkles had been going further and 
further up his forehead. Ness and Lixand stood nervously, 
dressed in their best clothes, trying to hide it. 
"Yarishk Yakushevyovych, called Silverhand," Teik Varik said. 
"Lixand, Storyman, his wife Ness, Gemsetter and their daughter 
Megan." 
"Ah, ah, yes. Do come in. A cup of chai?" Teik Yarishk dug a 
couple of cushions out from under the old dog and a pile of 
papers. "Here, do make yourselves comfortable." 
They talked very politely about the weather, how things were 
going in the city and the rumors about the Zarizan and the 
Regent's fights and the wedding coming up. This reminded 
Megan of when she'd been put in school, only worse, but Teik 
Varik was here to speak for her. After they'd shared the salt, she 
stopped petting the dog and listened. 
"Well, she is a bit old…" Yarishk said, and Journeyman Varik 
cleared his throat. 
"I mentioned the alternative, Gospozhyn…" 
"Ah, yes, you did indeed, but these good folk might not be 
interested." 
"Excuse me, Teik Yarishk," Papa said. "Which alternative is 
this? I understood that my Megan would find a position in the 
River Guild." 
Yarishk got up and paced, and Megan thought he looked like 
Dimi's ferret. She liked him, but wouldn't have wanted him 
angry with her. Ferrets bit. 
The dog started awake and scrambled up, woofing at Varik,

who stood up, putting one hand in his shirt. 
"Owl Little ingrate!" He pulled his hand out and bowed to his 
Gospozhyn. "If you will excuse me—" 
"Varik, how many times have I reminded you not to bring 
Tik-Tik in here with my Sashi?" He stopped pacing. "Not that I 
mind the little vermin, but it causes too many interruptions." 
"Yes, Gospozhyn." Varik looked sheepish. "I forgot he was 
there." 
"Well, get out, lad. Once you've stowed him, come back." 
"Yes, sir." But Teik Varik's not a lad. He's old, Megan 
thought. Almost five and twenty. 
"Well, please excuse the interruption. As I was going to say, 
the alternative is to induct your Megan into, well, not the River 
Guild directly. There is an affiliated Guild, very closely 
associated with us, that has no age limitations on 
apprenticeship." 
Ness got this funny look on her face. "Teik Yarishk, you mean 
that Yneltzyn took me on at such a low 'prentice price because 
he's a Gospozhyn in this Other Guild? Because Varik 
recommended me?" 
Yarishk smiled a little. "Well, in effect, yes. The Guild I'm 
speaking of has a policy of training 'Gospozhyn' under various 
other Guilds, mostly with the River Merchants, though we do 
need jewelers and so forth." 
Mama looked down and sighed, and Papa put his arm around 
her. "I will admit, Teik," he said slowly, "that I don't like the idea 
of being directly affiliated with the Guild in question—" Mama 
bit her lip, looked at Papa. 
"I can leave you a moment to discuss it," Yarishk said. 
"Please," Papa answered. Why are they so nervous about it? 
It's just the Other Guild.

"One final thing," Yarishk said. "The Guild in question does 
not deal in addictives, unwilling sex, slaves, or contract 
murders." They just steal, then, and mostly from people who 
need to be stolen from. She already prigged stuff like knives or 
food. Of course, Mama and Papa didn't know that. They 
wouldn't like it, she thought. They still think Middle 
Quarter-like. 
Teik Yarishk went out and Ness looked at her husband. 
"We're already paying them," she said. "And I'm, all unwitting, 
affiliated already." 
"Ness, we could manag—" 
"No, we couldn't." She was almost crying. 
"Papa," Megan said, "if I'm good I can learn what I'm 
supposed to and what Koru wants me to. I'll make lots of money, 
and when stuff gets easier to get and sell, I can switch to just 
merchanting." 
Papa looked at her sternly, then nodded. "I see I have the both 
of you against my tender sensibilities." 
"Lixand, think of what we must—" 
"Don't tell me 'must' again, love. I'm sick to death of having 
my nose rubbed in how little choice I have." He ran his hand 
over his face. "All right. I know. We have to. This is probably one 
of Megan's last chances in the City. I know." 
Ness and Megan both hugged him. The dog thumped her tail 
on the papers behind her and Megan ran to call Gospozhyn 
Yarishk. Things were settled. 
When Gospozhyn Yarishk came back, with the honey pot, as if 
he went to get it—Megan liked that, it was polite, pretending 
he'd left for another reason—Papa said, "Our Megan'll be trained 
as a th—" 
"No," Gospozhyn Yarishk interrupted. "She’ll be trained as a 
merchant, Teik, I assure you. We are not what most people

believe us to be." 
Papa nodded. "She'll be trained as a merchant." 
"My word on it. By the Lady's Name and the Lord's Shadow, I 
swear." 
"Our pride isn't that great," Papa said. "If you will take her, 
Teik, we have the price." 
Sashi snuffled over and dropped her head in Megan's lap for 
her ears to be scratched. I'm going to be a River Merchant, and 
a Thief, too, I guess, she thought. I don't know if I'm going to 
like being a thief, but that's better than being 'prenticed to the 
Red Brotherhood. I'd hate being a Blood-sib, like Aunt. 
I'm going to make lots of money and Papa and Mama’ll have 
their choices again. Lady Goddess hear me, I swear. I going to 
be good at both merchant and the other. I see already they 
don't—we don't like being called thieves. I'm going to be the 
best. 
Chapter Ten 
He had his head turned away. Megan sneaked her hand 
toward the pouch hanging on his belt. He coughed and she 
froze. Careful, she thought. When he bent his head to his book 
and started reading again, she risked moving. Her arm was 
shaking a little, but she made it be still. I can't get caught. The 
pouch looked heavy and she wondered if it had silver in it. She 
couldn't just cut it and run because she didn't have a razor, and 
would have to empty it without him noticing. The edge of the 
pouch was rough against her finger, some of the leather had 
gotten wet… I've got it, it's opening just a bit, tease it open a bit 
more— 
"Hey!" He yelled and grabbed her by the wrist. She pulled 
back but he had her. She shoved a knuckle into the spot under 
his thumb, yanked her hand free and ducked under the table, 
out the other side. 
"Well, Megan," Gospozhyn Yarishk said, shaking his hand.

"You might have gotten away, but you missed the pouch." 
She hung her head. "Yes, Gospozhyn." 
"Good enough though. Nal-Gospozhyn Olynkova has you for 
accounting and history next?" 
"Yes, Gospozhyn." Megan petted Sashi instead of looking at 
her master, and the dog wagged her tail and slopped her tongue 
all over Megan's hand. I wish I'd been more careful. 
"Go on then." He picked up the ledger-book again and dug 
the inkwell from behind a kahfe cup and out from under 
Megan's scarf that she'd left on his desk when she arrived for her 
lesson. "Oh, and Megan—" He sniffed and blew his nose into his 
handkerchief. 
"Yes, Gospozhyn?" Megan had gathered up her wax-board 
and fidgeted from foot to foot, impatiently. If he didn't let her 
go, she'd be late. 
"Don't depend on your size and quickness too much. 
Sometime you'll be in a place where you can't run or hide. 
"Of course, Gospozhyn." She closed the door as he blew his 
nose again. He always got grumpy when he got a cold, she 
thought. Almost everyone had caught something because the 
weather was so wet; the days when even the wind shivered. She 
sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve as she trotted down the 
hall. 
At first, she'd kept getting lost because the River Guild's hall 
was connected with the Other Guild that was spread throughout 
the northern slope of the City. She had to go through a couple of 
doors in the mountain tunnels, behind the bakery oven—that 
was good on a day like this, warming up the tunnel—then past 
the Tanner's Apprentice Hall. She could always hear somebody 
through that wall. They're boors, she thought. 
Then up a flight of stairs and through the next door that lead 
into the Minor Merchant's Guild counting house.

I'm only an apprentice now, but that won't be for long, 
Megan thought. She'd be a Journeyman proper, then a Yolculvik, 
then a Nal-Gospozhyn, then Gospozhyn. In Enchian one had to 
specify male or female for anything above "apprentice." Megan 
snorted. In Tor Ench, the Masters of guild were all male. They 
thought that women had to be hidden away in femkas in the 
back rooms of their husband's houses. Megan thought that the 
Zak idea of Gospozhyn was much better. 
The back tunnels were stuffy and plain because, while the 
River Guild showed off its treasures in its halls, you couldn't 
really show a counting house's things. 
It looked and smelled like a counting house: dull. But it was 
fascinating because you could keep track of where all the 
interesting things were. 
Columns and rows of numbers were a lot simpler than people 
because they would do what you made them. Kids can't tell 
anybody to do anything except the littler kids and that's not 
fair. Megan realized that other things ruled adults, and that 
wasn't fair either, but if you were a grownup with lots of money 
no one would boss you around. I'm going to be rich and Mama 
and Papa and Rilla and me are going to be comfortable and 
nobody's going to tell us what to do ever again if we don't want 
to listen. And maybe Serkai too, Megan thought, as she ran up 
to the third floor. Under her soft boots the stairs were worn grey 
stone, with smooth hollows to the right and left and the lip of 
each step worn round. 
Megan touched the earring Serkai had given her, with a bit of 
both their hair knotted together. He'd kissed her this morning 
and promised to marry her when they were both grown up and 
he was a great warrior to protect her rich ships and they'd be 
happy. It was possible that Ivar'd be part of their wedding if he 
found a girl or another boy, and they'd wed as a quad. Serkai 
had just been taken on by the DragonGuard as a squire. As far 
as Megan knew, his parents had sold their house to pay his way 
in, but he would earn enough to buy it back, soon, if he stuck it 
out. He'd given her the earring for her tenth birthday today. 
Mama and Papa had said she was to have a treat today, and

there was usually sausage in the soup again. 
She knocked on the door, breathing hard. "Ave," called an 
irritable voice from inside. 
Nal-Gospozhyn Olynkova was just a little taller than Ness and 
had black straight hair like her, but her face was rounder than 
most Zak, in fact most of the Masters of the River Guild and the 
other small Guilds allied with it didn't look as purely Zak as most 
others. I think that's because our Gospoznyn aren't as snotty as 
in other Guilds. 
Today she wore a bright yellow Aeniri-style vest over a red 
wool shirt, and her pants were plain black felt. Her slippers were 
curl-toed, embroidered in red and yellow. On her wrists she wore 
heavy silver bracelets and finger-chains with red or yellow stones 
at each knuckle. Since she usually wore dark blue and black and 
never wore finger-chains, it must be a very important party she 
was going to. 
"Megan, come in, shut the door. You're a little late, but I 
expect it was because of Yarishk." Without waiting for Megan to 
answer, she went on. "Ts not your fault. We can't waste much 
time then, though. History first." 
Megan was used to her Nal-Gospozhyn's abrupt manners and 
already had her waxboard open. Olynkova always rushed on 
without letting the person she was talking to answer. That 
wasn't so good for a merchant, Megan thought, but she was a 
higher rank so she must know what she was doing. 
"You were to read the fifth chapter of Social History and the 
Enchian version of Merchants and Thieves." She rubbed her 
hands together, rings chiming, unused to the pinch and scrape 
of the finger ornaments. "Recite, then." 
"Nal-Gospozhyn Olynkova, the Social History states that the 
rumors of the Thieves Guild began about twelve hundred years 
ago during the years of Holiness and Corruption. Zakrof 
recounts the quote 'apocryphal creation story of a thieves 
society' unquote, in the middle of chapter five."

Olynkova held up a hand to stop her. "Don't just quote it word 
for word, child, I know you've read it. Summarize in your own 
words." 
Megan sat and thought for a moment. "There was a priest 
who thought that the poor in the City and in the Zak Empire 
weren't being looked after, so she set up the Guild so that smart 
kids could get out and so that people who should be helping the 
poor were made to… by people stealing from them." 
"What was her rationale—her reasoning?" 
"Ummm. I think… I think she thought if there were a cheaper 
way to teach people a trade, 'cause the Guilds were stronger then 
and were charging more, more people could be helped. 
Enlightened self-interest." 
"Good enough." 
They switched to the accounting books. Olynkova had given 
Megan an imaginary company to keep track of. Megan hated 
losing money and having to fire people. 
Her papa had helped her make a couple of decisions but 
Nal-Gospozhyn said that was all right because even merchants 
could ask for advice. Problem is, she said, sometimes they could 
advise you wrongly. 
Last Hand-of-days, Megan had taken a good risk, but today 
Nal-Gospozhyn said there were rumors of a storm over that part 
of the River and Megan might have lost ships or would have to 
pay for damage. Megan hadn't known there were so many ways 
to lose money and had already been bankrupt once. 
Olnykova cut the lesson off early because of her dinner 
engagement at Kievir Anatoli's. Megan whistled to herself, 
understanding why Nal-Gospozhyn was so carefully dressed. He 
was almost as important as Kievir Mikail, controlling the fur 
trade. 
Of the nine main Kievir, Mikail ranked first, but if all the 
others got together they could push out another Kievir. The only

one no one could touch was the DragonLord, because he held the 
key and the code for the dam and catch basins, but even he 
wouldn't really want to make all nine angry. Most of the time, 
though, they spent fighting each other for position. Journeyman 
Varik said that political faction fighting was a Zak national 
sport. 
Because Megan's family lived in the City, she went home for 
the day of rest. Sometimes she felt sorry for Yegor and Tikhiy, 
who had to stay in the Apprentice quarters because they were 
from out-city, but they liked it fine. They both said it was better 
than being at home, herding horses, mucking out stalls. At 
Chorniy Street, where Krasniy turned into Market, she had to 
stop and wait for the passage of another herd of cows. They were 
being driven into the Va Zalstva, the old arena, for the Zarizan's 
wedding feast; his gift to the whole City—real beef and fine white 
bread. Not a scrawny old hen or sausage with big chunks of 
gristle. The Va Zalstva was the only place inside the City walls to 
keep that many cows. 
Yegor had said everyone should get mutton, too, but all the 
other apprentices sneered at him and called him a Thane. His 
use-name now was Lambchop or Mint-sauce, and he wished he 
hadn't opened his mouth. 
They wouldn't decorate Market Street for the procession until 
after all the herds had been moved in and the street cleaned up. 
The Dragon's horses aren't going to have to step in cowshit. 
Megan stopped to scrape her boots on a curb stone. They don't 
care if we do. 
Since the herds were moving through part of the Great 
Market, many people had moved their stalls into Reyeka Street, 
so it was more crowded and people almost stepped on each 
other's toes when they moved to let horse and donkey traffic by. 
It was so noisy Megan covered her ears with her hands going 
through the narrow bits that had between-house arches, where 
the haggling and shouting echoed under the full lines of washing. 
The Stairs were too busy to set any more booths on. 
Megan ducked under Tinker's arm as he waved a pot under a 
potential customer's nose, and squeezed between two

heavy-laden donkeys that idly twitched their ears at her. 
The wedding procession would start at the Dragon'sNest, go 
all around the First Quarter by way of Kharoshya Street, Yekh 
Road and Na Yekh, where they'd stop to be blessed at the Lady's 
Shrine. They'd have to turn aside to stop at the Dark Lord's 
Temple but they would, lest He be offended. Then the procession 
would wind back the Va Zalstva where Ranion and Avritha 
would cut bread and meat for the City, and around to the Nest 
again. Then the pair would have to go up to the plateau to be 
married. 
Megan had heard rumors that a priest of the Bear would be 
called from Brahvniki to do the ceremony because they'd be 
neutral. The Benaiat of Saekrberk, Zar Ivahn, would be there 
through a mind-speaker. 
The wedding presents had started arriving, and they would be 
on display to the City for a whole Hand of days. Gospozhyn 
Yarishk had said there would be a lot of thief-sniffers around, 
whose talent was related to truth-telling, though fortunately 
rarer, among the guards. 
Yarishk sometimes gave her the odd coin as spending money, 
so she bought a sticky-cake, though she shouldn't because it 
would spoil the dinner Mama and Papa would have for her. I 
just won't tell. 
All of the newest apprentices in the River Guild were assigned 
the task of figuring out where all the wedding gifts came from. 
Shepilova complained about it, but Megan thought that it would 
be fun. She sat down and dangled her feet over the edge of the 
Reyeka bridge, watching drips of water fall down and go plunk 
in the puddles on the ice as she ate her cake. The loose tooth 
hurt but it was almost a good pain and she worried at the tooth 
with her tongue. When it fell out or she managed to wiggle it 
out, she'd wash it and give it to Mama to keep. She spit out a bit 
of walnut shell that had gotten baked into the cake. 
Even more fun than just figuring out where everything came 
from would be figuring out how to steal something. That would 
take a Gospozhyn Rearranger to manage, though. I bet one of

their presents would feed a family for a whole year. 
Below, on the Middle Quarter bank there was an old fire still 
smoldering, wisps of smoke coiling up. There were only two or 
three houses burnt out so it hadn't been that bad a fire, probably 
because they were Middle Quarter enough to have thick fire 
walls. It was a good thing there wasn't a wind or it would have 
jumped the water. On the other side of the river it used to be 
Middle but was River Quarter now, with small wooden houses 
built between the big stone ones. When a fire took hold, there 
wasn't much anybody could do except try to keep it from 
spreading, if that. 
The rain knocked down the smoke and most of the people 
who got burned out were back trying to build again, probably 
without paying the building fee, but there hadn't been timber 
brought in for sale because of the wedding. The Regent thought 
there were other things more important than letting River scum 
rebuild. 
The fire reminded Megan of what was happening to Onya. 
There hadn't been someone with a Salamander's talent in the 
City for more than fifty years, Varik had said, because 
Salamanders tended to set themselves on fire and die when they 
manifested, if they weren't trained. Once trained, though, they 
could control fires. 
If Onya doesn't kill herself, she might be one. The Guilded 
Manrauq have taken her in for testing. She was being kept very 
carefully and if she were a Salamander, then her family could 
afford to live in the First Quarter. 
Varik had been teaching Megan the theories of manrauq and 
testing her to see if she were going to be powerful someday, 
when she became a woman. He had tried everything and finally 
said that maybe she'd have a little manrauq, but the signs 
weren't showing. He'd even taken her to a Power-Ferret, but 
couldn't find anything. 
Megan had talked to Onya just before she went into the Hall 
of Light, and had cried over her accounting books that night. 
Yarishk had found her and reassured her that it was too soon to

tell about her lack of manrauq. Later on she'd overheard him 
yelling at Varik for trying too soon because it might block her. 
I don't care if I'm going to be a stinking red witch all my life; 
means III live longer. 
Her mama had said that it wasn't as important as some Zak 
thought and that she probably won't be "deaf." Ness had said 
that she herself hadn't manifested until she was fourteen. I don't 
care. I'm going to be the best merchant there is, so manrauq 
doesn't matter. 
Serkai was starting to send sparkles, like fire-flies, and 
thought it was a turkey kind of manrauq, but Megan thought it 
would be better than nothing. Shepilova had just round out that 
she could "pinch" from a couple of feet away, and everyone was 
miserable for a Hand until she got doused with buckets over 
doors and had her bed short-sheeted three times. There were 
other ways than manrauq to get back at people, as house master 
Zyatki Yarovych said. 
It had been useful though, when Nar-Kievir Botek's son rode 
through in the Market Square. Megan and her friends had 
thought he was just a Prafetatla of the House because of the 
colors, but found out later that it was just himself. Megan, 
Serkai, Shepilova and Tikhiy were in his way and he'd taken his 
whip to them, calling them gutter-trash and so on. Shepilova 
"pinched" his horse, and it bolted straight through a 
cheese-seller's stall and then bucked him off in a garbage pile. 
They'd all had a good laugh about that after, though Tikhiy 
had to have a whip cut on her head looked at. Her hair would 
cover it mostly, except the tail end that curled around to her 
cheek, under her right eye; she scarred easily. 
Megan licked her fingers and rubbed them together, looking 
at the coiling fingers of smoke from the ruin. I'm glad it wasn't 
summer. Everything was so dry then that the whole City could 
bum. In spring the rain wet everything down. I'm glad that I 
wasn't alive to see the Great Fire the Paladium Dragon year 
when Papa was sixteen.

Fires were like monsters sneaking around, licking houses 
down. It smelled bad; like wood and wool and hair and meat. 
Like when their house burned, ages and ages ago. She didn't 
remember much, except the smell and that horses scream like 
people. 
She got up and threw a pebble into the river for luck, sniffed, 
and wiped her nose on her sleeve again. She shouldn't have been 
sitting on the stone because her pants were soaked through. 
The drains were plugged here, because somebody shouted 
down, "Pot!" from four floors up, and everyone hid under the 
overhangs so as not to get splashed. Phew, somebody has the 
shits. Mama would say diarrhoea because that's more polite. 
Arvi'd say 'the shits' too, but then he's going to be a blacksmith 
so he doesn't have to watch his tongue as much. 
The Apprentice Hall of the River Guild was near the Main 
Hall, down the street, on the Middle Quarter side. The 
apprentice rooms were on the second floor, with four wallbeds 
per room and a small window, all paneled in dark wood. Megan 
fluffed her pillow and smiled at the scent of clean linen and 
feathers. 
The gargoyles carved out of chestnut burls along the wooden 
stairs and the gallery had made her nervous at first, but now 
they were old friends. 
"Megan!" Tikhiy called into the 'prentice rooms where she 
was making her bed. "It's your sweet boy!" Megan ran out and 
leaned over the gallery rail. Tikhiy was still standing downstairs 
by Master Zyatki's office, looking up, so Megan dropped the 
pillow she was holding on her yelling, "He's just a good friend!" 
Tikhiy caught the pillow and tried to throw it back, but it fell 
short and hit Serk in the head. 
"Hey!" he sputtered, trying to smooth his hair with one hand, 
the pillow in the other, while Tikhiy giggled. She was always 
making gooey eyes at Serk and Ivar when they came to visit. 
"what's the matter, Tikhiy? Manifesting?" Master Zyatki 
stuck his head out of his study and was looking at them that

way, that meant they were all being too stupid mention. From 
where she stood, Megan could see Serkai blush. He's been doing 
that a lot lately, she thought. 
Tikhiy ducked her head and mumbled something about 
Megan and the pillow. Serkai was holding it and started to put it 
behind his back but stopped, embarrassed. "Well, a little less 
noisily then, hmm?" Master Zyatki nodded at them, looked up, 
winked at Megan, and went back into his office. He was the sort 
of person who could quiet a whole room full of rowdy 
apprentices just by raising an eyebrow; one reason he was the 
Gospozhyn of the Quarters. 
"I've gotta finish here, Serk, then I'll be ready to go." Megan 
said. 
"Okay." He handed Tikhiy the pillow and she ran up the stairs 
to give it back. Megan saw the twinkle in her eye and caught the 
pillow when she threw it, the air oofing out of her lungs. 
"Ow! You know, I wouldn't do that if you didn't dribble when 
he or Var come visit." 
"OOOOh! I do not dribble!" Tikhiy glared at her, then they 
grinned and hugged each other. Next to Rilla, she was the closest 
friend Megan had. 
Megan went back in to finish making her bed. Shepilova 
made a slurping, dribbling sound. "Tikhiy's like Sashi, she drools 
on what she wants to eat!" 
"Shut up!" Tikhiy said amiably. "You were the one making 
cow-eyes at Vladik!" 
"I was not!" She and Tikhiy kept trading friendly insults as 
they tidied up their parts of the room. The boys had already left, 
but Megan could see the toes of Yegor's socks poking out of his 
box and Vladik had just thrown his dirty clothes on top of his 
unmade bed and closed the door. Master Zyatki'll catch them 
both for that. Megan hurried because she'd promised Serk she'd 
go with him to see the presents, and then they'd meet Mama and 
Papa and Rilla to eat at the Va Zalstva.

She ran down the stairs and hugged Serk hello, then touched 
the puffy skin around one of his eyes, gently. "You all right? I 
didn't give you that black eye with the pillow, did—" 
He laughed. "No, Meg, I stepped into something that my 
arms-teacher didn't pull enough." She had to look up to look into 
his face now, because he'd started getting his growth around his 
eleventh birthday. She looked into his eyes, wondering about all 
the bruises lately, but he always brushed it off saying it was 
normal for a guard 'prentice. His instructor was one of the 
toughest women Megan had ever heard about, and by the way he 
talked about her, she could fight wildcats and give them the first 
two licks. 
Serk said that a lot of the younger apprentices, who were all 
boys, hated her because she was so tough. The guards picked 
now were mostly men. Papa said that was a Thanish or Arkan 
idea. They thought that God was a man and didn't like women to 
fight. That's dumb. Koru's the best God there is and she fought 
for all of us, right at the beginning. She was the best warrior of 
them all. 
Serk grinned at her. "I'll have to show you the move. It's 
something you could use in cniffta, you and Rilla." 
"Okay." She smiled at his un-swollen eye and put her arm 
through his. He was wearing his best red tunic and Megan was 
in her best dark blue, with her hair loose because he thought it 
was pretty that way. It was long enough now that she could sit 
on the braids. 
Tikhiy leaned around the corner, hanging onto the gargoyle at 
the top of the stairs as they went out, making kissy noises. 
Megan leaned back and stuck out her tongue. 
It was warm enough that they had their coats slung over their 
shoulders. It's funny, Megan thought. At the start of the winter, 
it would have been cold and we'd all be bundling up, but after 
the winter, when we got used to being a lot colder, this seems 
really warm. A blue Fchera sat on a bare tree twig, dark blue 
against a blue sky, singing, "Yes-ter-DAY! Yes-ter-DAY!" Megan 
tickled Serkai and he chased her down the street. She could have

gotten away if she'd wanted, too, 'cause she was sneakier than he 
was, but that's not what she wanted to do. 
It was weird. Serkai was seeing things in straight lines. He 
wasn't as sneaky as he used to be. I guess that's what he's 
learning. Zak are better sneaky. We can't walk up to just 
anyone and hit them straight on the head if they're trying to 
kill us, we have to whip around and hamstring them. That's 
what Yolculvik Varik says, even about business deals. 
Gospozhyn had promoted Varik from Journeyman just last 
iron-cycle. 
They dodged back along Chorniy and down Tsviet Street to 
the Stairs, because a crowd was already gathered in the square 
by the Va Zalstva. 
They'd figured there wouldn't be many people looking at the 
presents since it was the last day, and she'd have to complete her 
assignment from what she could see today. 
One could actually see the inner buildings of the Nest better 
from further out in the City. There was an outside wall that ran 
from one cliff to die other, with pointed crenels on top, like 
fangs. Right in the middle was the Iron Gate that wasn't solid 
but a metal shell on wood. It hadn't been closed for two hundred 
years, and the only part of it that was kept polished were the 
hinges, just in case. 
Krasniy Street went through the gate and into the tunnel that 
could be closed off with three other gates all along its length 
before Gorat Road began. 
But out this far one could see the buildings inside the wall. 
The Sto Solstne window, the height often people, in the Grom 
Hall was all of glass with an ivory sill, edged in paper-thin 
shaved stone. At night the glass and crystal chandelier shone 
there, hung by silver-washed chains, lit with five hundred white 
wax candles. The light glows through, Megan thought. It looks 
like the voice of Koru's wind, tike something sacred. 
All the doors and windows in the Nest were edged in carved 
bone or ivory, decreed by a DragonLord, three generations ago. 

Papa says it suits; bones, like a real is nest. 
The domes of the towers were painted, with copper-pointed 
tips, and the red banners flew like long, whippy tongues licking 
the sky. The tunnel underneath the Nest was lit with both 
kraumaks and reflected light from mirrors. 
"I don't usually come in this way," Serkai said. "I hardly ever 
see the public rooms, 'cause I'm usually in the training halls, 
over that way." He pointed to the smaller gate that led into the 
wing that melded into the south ridge of the mountain. The 
shutters of the mountain rooms were all open to let the fresh, 
spring air in. 
"We should come to visit you, Serk." 
"No, no. Don't." He stopped and held her by the arm. "If I get 
too many friends coming to visit from outside, I'll get too many 
marks against me and then I'm out on my ass." 
"Okay, okay, Serkai. I just thought I'd ask. We'd never do 
anything to get you to lose your place. 
"Well, they try hard to wash us out." His mouth was tight, 
making him look older. They were harder on the guard 
apprentices than they had to be. Mama says that they try their 
best to break you and build you up again, but different. I 
wouldn't like that for me, or Serk. He's losing bits of himself. It's 
like he doesn't dare laugh because he's afraid of stepping out of 
line. But he doesn't want to talk about it, not today. 
What were called the public halls weren't really public but 
marked the limit that anybody who wasn't a member of court 
could go on special days or audience days, but that hadn't been 
allowed since Ranion's grandfather's time. Now the way in was 
to bribe or know someone already at court. Megan ran her hand 
along the stone banister, liking the soapy-smooth feel. 
The first gift room was an animal garden, and the air was full 
of chirps and bleats and whistles and stranger noises. 
"Koru, Serk, look at all the cages!" They wandered slowly

down the carpet path between the thick, braided ropes. There 
were guards everywhere to make sure no one would try to step 
off the path, or touch Ranion and Avritha's precious beasts. 
"Yeah." Serk sneezed. "It usually doesn't smell like this." It 
wasn't bad, just hot and a little like cat and a little like horse. 
Megan ran over to a small cage to one side. 
"Snowcat kittens!" They rolled and squealed and played 
pounce in their litter of cotton scraps. Just past them was a 
cormarenc chick, taller than Serkai, just losing its fluff. It 
grawked and croaked and stabbed its beak into a barrel with 
fish in it, splashing water around itself. They stood well out of its 
reach, holding their noses. It let a big gob of shit go that stank 
until a slave shoveled it up and carried it away. As the man came 
in reach, the chick strained against the collar on its long, thin 
neck, trying to kill him with its beak. "Wouldn't want to have to 
keep that," Serkai said, a little nasally. 
"It wouldn't fit in the house." Megan giggled, and they sidled 
past it to the small bamboo cages full of singing birds, spotted 
and striped and tiny, smaller than the cup of Megan's hand. At 
the opposite side of the room from the cats were horses, a 
stallion with his nostrils flared and red, and his mare and her 
foal, from the Aenir. "The foal's cute, but he's just going to grow 
up to be a horse!" Megan said disgustedly. Serkai just rolled his 
eyes. 
"I like the third room best," Serkai said. "I've seen them 
before, but I like looking again. But I'm not going to tell you why, 
you'll see." Then he looked around. "Hey, it's Ellach on duty, 
come on!" 
"What? Serk should you…" 
He whispered to the guard standing there with his one 
gauntlet on his dart-caster. Megan swallowed and followed. It 
was going to be hard when Serkai was a guard himself. Nobody 
talks to them unless they have to. 
"… just for a second," Serkai was saying. The guard wasn't as 
old as Megan had thought he was. He's trying to grow a

mustache and it isn't working. 
The guard cleared his throat, looked around, then said, "As 
long as no one sees you." He jerked his head at the fuzzy-plumed 
tail thing. "Go on. You owe me one." 
"Come on, Megan," Serkai said, and ducked under the rope. 
"This one's real tame and only eats ants anyway. Come on, quick, 
before anyone else comes through!" 
Megan nodded cautiously at the guard, who ignored her, and 
she followed Serkai, scrambling through to pet the anteater. It 
was both fuzzy and rough and smelled like a stepped-on ant's 
nest. Its tongue is sticky. Megan had to peel it off her wrist as 
the guard hissed at them to get out of there. The servant who 
looked after the beast helped her and they ran, giggling. They 
were on the proper side of rope as a Middle Quarter family came 
around the end cage that had white-faced monkeys in it. 
Right at the door to the second room was a tank full of water 
with a plant floating in it. It had thin white roots coiled tight in 
with the green ones. Next to the tank was a bowl with 
thumb-sized bits of raw meat in it. "Here," said Serkai. "Try 
this." He picked up a bit of meat and waited until she did too. 
"Throw it in." As the bloody meat hit the water, the white roots 
snapped like springs and grabbed. 
"Ick," Megan said. "It's like Gospozhyn Farsht's sundew that 
catches flies." She threw her lump of meat. "It's neat, but still 
ick. What are Avritha and Ranion going to do with all of this?" 
Serkai hissed at her and she shrugged. "The Woyvodaana and 
the Woyvode, then," she corrected herself. 
"I guess they'll make the menagerie bigger," Serkai said. 
"More space we have to keep guarded." 
"Yeah." 
The next gift room was down a marble corridor, with mirror 
sculptures hanging from the ceiling that turned and moved in 
the kraumak light. "They're like silent wind-chimes," Megan

said. "But I think I like wind-chimes better. They aren't spooky 
and cold." Serkai looked up at them and shrugged again. Megan 
stared. Last year he would have noticed that they were cold first. 
The next room was so bright she almost couldn't see in the 
light pouring in the windows. It was full of bright things, all 
carefully displayed. 
"That's a Yeoli sword," Serkai said, pointing to a wall that was 
bare except for the sword and its fittings in green and blue 
enamel. "A kraila." Nearby was a glass case holding a weapon 
she'd never heard of. It had a tube on a wooden handle and three 
brass and paper things next to it, labeled 
"Shot-Thrower—Nubuah." Megan had never heard of Nubuah 
before either. "It throws those, farther than an arrow or dart. I 
never saw it work," he said wistfully. "But I heard about it from 
our commander, she did." 
Megan pulled him past it to look at the wedding bed bigger 
than Megan's family's room in the Flats, round and carved like a 
dragon biting its own tail, with red satin curtains embroidered 
in silver and sable blankets piled high on feather pillows. "I'll bet 
they didn't want to show the Thanish wool carpets," Megan said. 
"They're bright, but, well, I think they're ugly,' she whispered, 
looking at the wide red and blue stripes. "There's so much stuff! 
Who dusts it all?" 
"Servants. Don't be dumb." She poked him and he glared at 
her, so she tossed her hair out of her eyes and looked at the 
mahogany and gold brooms for the bride-pair to sweep out bad 
luck, instead of at him. 
The big wood table next to the bed had shells carved all 
around the edges, inlaid with real hammered silver. "That's an 
Enchian-style table," Megan said. On the table stood fancy jars 
of perfumes and ointments. They were rose quartz and red or 
blue glass, and one that she thought was a tiny amethyst but 
couldn't get any closer to see. "Won't the perfumes all dry up 
before anybody uses them? A person can only wear so much 
smelly stuff at one time," she said. "Even if they didn't bathe 
once a day, like they can."

"They'll use them, maybe, and if not, well, they're wedding 
presents. You don't have to use all of them." 
"Don't be a jerk, Serk. My folks did." 
"Yeah, well, so did mine, but our kin weren't Zingas." 
"No shit. My feet are starting to hurt." 
Next to the table was a large open space with sculptures in it; 
one of Ranion and Avritha, him standing and her sitting next to 
him. Megan plucked at Serkai's elbow, whispering, "I guess the 
sculptor did that to make Ranion look taller." He poked her 
back, grinned, then wiped it off his face. 
"Avritha's taller than he is, but then she's older. He might 
have some more growing to do." On pedestals all around there 
were other sculptures; amber and jade and turquoise. There 
were paintings that made the bridal pair more beautiful than 
people could be. 
There were rows of mannequins wearing furs and silks and 
satins to show off the new clothes and bolts of satin embroidered 
with gold and black and every color of the rainbow. "They could 
wear something different every hour of the day and never repeat 
in an iron-cycle, I bet," Megan said. 
"Yeah, I didn't think there was that much silk in all the 
world," he answered. There was a pain under Megan's chestbone 
and she put her hand up to it. I guess it's because they're so 
lovely. I didn't think that something pretty could hurt like that. 
Megan stopped to rub one foot then the other. This was only 
the second room. After the clothes, came the cases of jewelry. 
"Those are as big as my fist!" she exclaimed, pointing at the 
diamonds surrounded by ropes of rubies cut as smooth as 
eyeballs. In those cases there's a rosewood and gold mrik set 
from Laka, and a gold and glass chess set from Arko. "I won't 
have time to see it all. I want to. It's all so beautiful." 
"Don't stop too long here," Serkai pulled her on. "You stay too 
long in front of one case and the guards and thief-sniffers get

nervous." They stopped in front of a rainbow disk from before 
the Fire that must have been an ornament; it had a hole in the 
middle so you could hang it in the light. 
Serkai started grinning like a fool again, so Megan turned 
from the disk and tilted her head questioningly at him. He hid a 
smirk and pointed, whispering, "Ranion's favorite." 
Megan almost fell over laughing when she saw what was on a 
table in isolated glory. "It's so ugly," she whispered. 
"Shhh. It's his favorite!" he answered, putting one hand up to 
hide his grin. 
The sculpture was solid gold, a man's member as long as 
Megan's arm, shaped like the marriage blessing cakes except 
there wasn't a corresponding yoni. It had emeralds and 
sapphires set all over the balls; one diamond at its tip. "No 
wonder it's all by itself, it might attack something else," Megan 
whispered to Serkai. 
There were three guards around it looking bored and 
uncomfortable. Serkai giggled and turned it to a cough behind 
his hand. One of the guards glared at them, but his mouth 
twitched, too. Serkai grabbed Megan by the arm and dragged 
her out so they wouldn't embarrass themselves. 
Once they were out in the corridor to the next room they 
howled, leaning on each other so they didn't fall over. Serkai 
pretended walking as if the gold lingam were his own parts, 
leaning over backward and straddle-legged. Megan pretended to 
faint at the sight, and both of them laughed so hard they were 
crying. He hasn't laughed a lot lately, I think. That gold thing is 
so big; so ugly. It doesn't look like Papa's or Ivor's or Serkai's. 
Serkai said, "If any man had one that big, he'd pass out when he 
wanted to make love!" And they giggled again. 
"Toys!" Megan darted in to the third room. "Toys for the heir 
when he or she gets born!" 
"Shhh!" Serkai caught her and put his finger over her mouth. 
"The heir has to be male! Zarizan says so."

"That's not right!" Megan hissed back indignantly, standing 
in the midst of a family of stuffed lions. "That's a Thanish idea! 
Girls can be Woyvode, too!" 
"Will you shut up!" Serkai looked honestly scared. "Meg, don't 
say that here, okay?" 
She glared at him as if he could do anything about that. 
"Okay. But he's wrong!" 
Serkai walked under the stuffed giraffe, whose stubby horns 
touched the hall's ceding. "Yeah, he is, but I'm a guard—I'll be a 
guard and can't say things like that, or even hear them." 
"Okay, Serk. I understand. Look, I'm sorry." 
"That's okay. Lets look at the rest of the toys, okay?" 
"Yeah." 
There were more toys than any ten shops or stalls at the 
Market all put together: clockwork monkeys and a rocking pony 
with a red-silk halter and saddle, enameled building blocks and 
toy swords and little suits of armor and little two-fangs with 
wooden ends, and more than she could remember, later. 
She walked out holding Serkai's hand, feeling as if she'd been 
asleep and dreaming. When they came out of the tunnel it didn't 
seem right somehow that the sun should still be shining, that the 
outside should still be the same. That's weird. You could forget 
that outside even existed. Megan's stomach rumbled, reminding 
her there would be beef served today, beginning the first day of 
the wedding feast. She tugged at Serkai's hand saying, "Do they 
feed you meat in the Guard?" 
"Yeah, but usually only pork, let's go!" They ran down 
Krasnry. What's behind is a dream, something that's too bright 
to think about, when I know what's real. She sniffed the wind 
blowing from the Va Zalstva that smelled of hot fat, ignoring the 
odor of horse dung in the street. 
They found Mama and Papa and Rilla at the corner of Zalstva

Square and Krasniy. It's a good thing that we had a meeting 
place set out or we would never have found anybody. 
Megan hugged Papa and Mama first. When she hugged Rilla, 
her cousin whispered, "Meg, can I talk to you later?" 
"Sure, Rilla. Whenever you need to." 
"Okay. Thanks." 
Her mama and papa both had new tunics, and that made 
Megan feel good because it meant there was more money to 
spare. Since Megan was apprenticed, they didn't have to feed 
and dress her. I guess that helps, Megan thought. But Rilla stays 
with them whenever Aunt Marte goes on a binge. 
The Va Zalstva arena could seat forty thousand, dug into the 
mountain, a high, white stone wall with the entrance gates built 
around the street side. At one time the stone was cleaned every 
Hand, but that was when it had been used more often. The 
feasting would go on all day and night until everyone was fed or 
the food ran out, which might not be until the wedding a Hand 
from now. The first DragonLord had tried to hold blood-sport 
games but someone had finally managed to assassinate her 
without flooding the City. Bear-baitings were still held, and the 
rat pits were used for the executions of criminals who didn't 
deserve beheading or strangling. 
Today the pits were covered over with gratings, and though 
you could sometimes smell the rats, mostly the smell was beef 
and bread. There were even barrels of butter lined up on 
platforms on the sand next to the bread. Kievir Anatoli and his 
family were honoring the people by serving first, a holdover from 
the time of the Republic. They don't like it, but it's an old 
tradition. All the nine Kievir and their families are going to 
serve. Even Ranion and Avritha are going to serve once. 
Kievira Anatoli was standing by the first spitted cow with a 
long knife and two-tined fork, her sleeves rolled back and her 
face red from the heat. There were twenty fire-pits in the sand 
with cows roasting, and when she finished carving one, a servant 
would go on to carve the next while they put a fresh one on to

roast. 
After Kievir Anatoli cut a thick slab of bread and it was 
buttered by his Heir, Lilovyi, a piece of beef as thick as the first 
joint of Megan's thumb got put on top of that. The only one who 
looked as if she enjoyed what she was doing was the family's 
Heir buttering the bread, so Megan smiled at her and she smiled 
back. 
The juices dribbled on Megan's hands and she juggled it from 
hand to hand, trying to roll her sleeves out of the way. There was 
even beer if you brought your own cup, and Mama and Papa had 
brought one for the three of them to share. 
They sat in the spring sunshine on the benches carved into 
the mountain with everyone else, and ate and talked and toasted 
the wedding. 
"Mikail insisted, the rumor goes," Ness said, biting off 
another piece of meat. "Ranion didn't want to feed us. If he 
didn't though, the City'd be up in arms. What luck we've had this 
last little while would be ruined if that happened." Lixand 
nodded and handed the children a cloth to wipe their chins. 
"Avritha apparently supported her father. She might moderate 
the young Dragon." 
"Well, he's young and impulsive; shell steady him down once 
they're married." 
Ness raised her cup and around them others followed suit. 
"As long as Mikail doesn't get too used to wielding power just 
through his daughter," someone muttered. There was a second's 
silence as everyone got very interested with their meal, then 
turned the talk to something safer. 
Megan told them all about the toys and the thing that Ranion 
liked so much, and Ness and Lixand rolled their eyes at each 
other while Rilla giggled. Then Serkai and Rilla and Megan all 
went to the amphitheater because there was a wedding show 
being put on free, while the adults decided to spend their 
afternoon just walking.

The show was okay, not bad for something free, but a little 
dull. Serkai had to be back to his barracks by the late afternoon 
guard change, so the two girls walked him back to the south gate 
as the Garrison drums rumbled to life behind the Nest wall. 
"Bye, Serk. I'll come drag you out next Hand-ending. We'll 
watch the procession with the rest of the old pack, okay?" Megan 
shouted, holding her hands over her ears. 
His face was getting longer the closer they got to the 
barracks. There's more going on than he'll tell us. "Okay," he 
yelled back. "I'd like that. Goddess guard." 
"Don't let the Darkness jump on you." 
He grinned and went in, waving. 
Rilla and Megan walked down to Climbing Road Bridge and 
sat on the stone railings under the arches. "You wanted to talk?" 
The younger girl nodded. "Yeah. I don't want to ask your Ma 
and Da for any more help, but mam says she still doesn't have 
enough saved to 'prentice me somewhere. I think she's a liar and 
your da does, too. Mam wants me to learn how to be a Canter 
like her. That way she won't have to pay the fee." 
"How can I help?" I'll help if I can." 
"I've been prigging stuff from her chest when she's too drunk 
to know—" 
"Shit, she's that bad?" 
"Yeah. I don't tell your da much. It doesn't do any good, Meg. 
She cries and gets soppy and gooey-mothery and 'nothing's too 
good for my baby.' You know—lasts as long as she's sorry; stays 
dry for a cycle or two, then blows everything." 
"Yeah." Rilla was pulling mortar out and dropping it in the 
water, plink. Megan leaned her head back and looked up at the 
old carvings. Aunt Marte and her drinking made her tired. "Hey, 
not that I need to know, but does she still try to beat you?"

Rilla didn't answer for a while. The wind blew from the lake 
and a man down-city somewhere was singing "Young Widow's 
Ballad." 
Rilla sighed and shifted on the railing. The sun was going 
down red, tinting the clouds pink and purple; purple fading 
down into the black shadows between buildings. 
"Yeah. She still beats me if I don't run first. But I've always 
gotta go home,'s not so bad as all that." She leaned away, as if 
from a comforting arm, though Megan hadn't moved. "Last 
time…" Rilla gulped and wiped tears. "Last time she yelled that 
I'd broken her hand and that she'd fix me. When she grabbed me 
as I got out the window, I ripped my tunic. When I came back a 
couple days later, she belted me for ripping it, but that was 
better than getting my hand mashed." 
"Rilla!" Megan hugged her though Rilla didn't want her to at 
first and pulled away, but that almost pitched them off the 
bridge rail, so she hugged back. She cried for a while, then made 
Megan promise not to tell her mama and papa. I should tell but 
they'd just talk to Aunt more, and talking doesn't help. They 
couldn't take Rilla away, and the only way to help would be to 
get her apprenticed to someone other than Marte. Shit. 
'Rilla, how much have you got?" 
"Um, well, last time she got drunk I got enough to buy 
'maranth and groats and other stuff like that. She spends most 
of it on wine." 
"Oh." Rilla was trying so hard to be tough and just say 
everything without feeling it. Mama and Papa are probably 
helping all they can anyway, without knowing, and I know 
that Aunt Marte would, have to sign any apprentice 
agreement, even if we got the money. But there's gotta be 
something I can do. Perhaps Gospozhyn Yarishk could help 
somehow. 
"Rilla, I'm going to talk to my master. Maybe he can tell us 
what to do."

"You think so?" 
"I think so." Megan nodded firmly and wiped Rilla's face with 
her hand. "It can't hurt, 'cause he won't tell her and something 
good might come out of it. You feel better for crying?" 
She nodded. "Okay, 'm glad you're here, Megan." 
" 'love you, coz. I'll have to wait until I go back to the Guildhall 
next Hand to talk to him, after the wedding." 
" 'kay." 
Ivar and Arvi and Marin and Serkai and Rilla and Megan 
were all lined up sitting along the top of Tsik's studio on Market 
Square. They'd tried to get a seat on the glass-blower's, but that 
was too far away to see the procession, and the buttery owner 
had chased them off his roof. 
Tsik was an artist who made his money teaching rich kids art, 
renting studios to other artists, and trying to "capture the spirit 
of the city" with his brushes. He drank a lot and cried a lot and 
worked like a fiend sometimes. Whenever he got disgusted with 
the world, he would chuck his art things out the window and 
swear he'd go back to something safer, or steadier paying, like 
masonry, as he was trained. Tsik and his husband sat in the 
window one floor down with sketch pads. 
Earlier this morning it had rained, and might rain again; if it 
didn't it would be a sticky, cold-muggy spring day that made all 
the clothes you were wearing feel moldy and cold at the same 
time. The swallows flicked in and out of their nests under the 
eaves beneath the children's boots, and the chicks complained 
every time as if their parents hadn't brought good enough bugs. 
Megan slapped at an early mosquito on her neck. 
Ivar, who was nearest the corner, nudged Marin and she 
stood up to see. "They're coming!' From Koru's Temple, high on 
the south cliff, they could see the ribbon of color coming down 
the road between the crowds lining the way. Everyone who got 
fed is happy enough to cheer and sing and throw budding 
branches down in front of their horses.

The City banners came first, with the DragonLord's banner 
taking second place because Ranion hadn't risen to the throne 
yet. The banner-bearers wore all black armor, shiny and hard 
like ants. The Zarizan would come before Zingas Avritha because 
of his higher rank. 
After the City and Woyvode's banners came his personal 
guard. Behind them came two naZak women, tall as the bottom 
of the banners, both with red hair and black skin, wearing 
wooden slave-links, leading a pair of snowleopard kittens each. 
"He's a giant!" Rilla yelled excitedly, leaning out to point. The 
slave was twice as tall as the tallest person in the crowd and his 
skin was so black it shone like ink. Did he color it? His hair is a 
green mane. He must have colored it. Did he?" 
Ivar hauled Rilla back. "I couldn't even lift that spear he's 
carrying, or the shield." The spear had gold ribbons on it and a 
shield shaped like a lace-shuttle, all fringed in hair or dry grass. 
"He can't be real," Megan said. "But there's no wavery edge that 
would mean he’s a manrauq-made image." He left footprints 
and limped. She leaned out, trying to see more clearly, and 
Serkai caught the back of her tunic so she wouldn't fall. The 
warrior looked up and smiled. "He can't be real! His teeth are 
pointed." 
After the black man came more guards with their two-fangs 
canted at a precise angle; some were drummers and some 
carried small hand bells. At the end the big bells came; tube bells 
so long that it took two people to sound, one holding the frame 
while the other walked backward, ringing it with a mallet. The 
thunder of the big drums and all the bells ringing echoed 
between the buildings, drowning out people's cheering. Megan 
covered her ears, feeling the noise tremble in the pit of her 
stomach. 
"There's the Bear priest!" Marin called, pointing to the man, 
wearing plain red linen, walking alone in the procession, leaning 
on a carved staff. 
"And there's the Bear!" The image, with a honey-pot before it, 
was carried by twenty people dressed in blue. There was a long

gap in the procession and the children ran to the corner of the 
building to see why, but Tsik yelled from below. 
"My plaster's falling, sit down you young halyions!" 
Just out of their sight, at a bend in the road, there was a 
roaring and someone screaming. A giant spotted bear lunged 
into sight, dragging some of the people who had been trying to 
lead it. It reared up and swung a couple of people almost off 
their feet, swatting at them with black, dagger-like claws. Foam 
splattered its fur, spilling through an iron-strapped muzzle. It 
smelled like a dropped crate of rotten eggs. 
Arvi liked the bunch of balika players and dancers, though 
both she and Ivar liked the yellow witch walking in front of the 
Royal household with a ball of light just over his arms and head. 
"He's holding the sun." On such a dull day it shone very bright. 
Regent Mikail came next, riding a grey horse with a red 
harness. The horse pranced and half-reared while he sat its back 
like a grey-dressed statue. "The horse doesn't dare disobey him. 
Nobody does," Megan said. As he passed below them, the 
lowering clouds started to spit rain. 
"Nobody disobeys him," Serkai said quietly. "Except the 
gods." 
Ranion had a white and gold carriage like a boat, drawn by 
white horses with red eyes. The Zarizan sat surrounded by red 
flowers, his garland crooked across his forehead, and Megan 
could see a red wine stain on his wedding tunic. "Do pearls 
stain?" Megan wondered aloud. "If this were my wedding, I 
wouldn't look scared or sulky." Arvi laughed. 
Ranion's cloak was made out of red and green hummingbird 
feathers. "He waves like he's wagging a dead fish on the end of 
his arm," Rilla said, and Megan poked her. The horses rolled 
their eyes and fidgeted, trying to balk because of the bear smell, 
but the coachman managed to keep them going, though they 
snorted and flared bright pink nostrils. 
Marin squealed. "Lace! Oh, look, look! A whole bolt of lace."

Twenty bearers on each side carried the unrolled bolt of lace 
as wide as the street; silver flowers with tiny shells, which shone 
even on this dull a day. "I hope it doesn't rain harder. That 
might ruin it," Marin said. 
Arvi shrugged. "Sometimes the weather is too heavy even for 
the most powerful witch." 
There were more guards with the Regent's red and silver 
house banners. Behind them came the bride. 
She drove her own hand-polished wood troikamal, the three 
matched chestnuts stepping as high as her father's horse. Her 
over-tunic, in bride's red, filled the seat; the lace train was edged 
with tiny diamonds with two children on matching chestnut 
ponies to bear it, careful not to pull. Her hair was unbound, 
crowned with roses. "She looks as cold as her father," Megan 
said, and this time Serkai prodded her though she hadn't said it 
loudly. 
More dancers followed and another powerful witch, a green 
witch who had images of mother animals with cubs all around to 
grant the new pair lots of children. 
The crowd closed behind the last guards, still singing 
"Kha'khaya." 
"Let's go in. It's really starting to rain," Ivar said. Below, the 
street looked more grey now that the colors were all gone past. "I 
hope it isn't too muddy on the plateau for them by the time they 
get there." 
"My papa said the light-sky show might not be held if it 
rained, Megan said. "I wanted to see that. Mama heard that the 
Wizard was going to make a sky-dragon with light and pictures 
of Koru and the Bear and sunbursts and all sorts of things." 
They clattered down the skylight ladder, talking. "Maybe it’ll 
stop raining before tonight. Maybe the weather-witches can 
push it away. I hope so. I like manrauq shows almost better than 
the toys," Arvi said.

"You bunch of heavy horse-feet! Come down out of the wet 
and drink some chai," Tsik said. 
"Sorry about your plaster, Tsik," Serkai said- "We didn't 
mean to stomp it down." Megan looked for chunks on the floor 
but didn't see any. 
"Well, I suppose I shouldn't have yelled quite that loudly," he 
said, closing his skylight. 
They sat and drank chai and talked about the procession 
while the rain beat on the glass skylight. I don't think I'd like to 
get married on a wet day. 
Chapter Eleven 
Further Income: Fourteen bales of wool through Aenir'sford. 
Lading and carrying charges: 3 silver Fangs, paid. One crate 
glass ingots through Brahvniki. Lading and carrying charges: 
3 silver Fangs, 2 copper Fangs, paid. 
It was high summer and so hot in the Apprentice Hall that 
trickles of sweat oozed down Megan's back as she bent over her 
books. She chewed on the end of her pen and considered doing 
the last of her extra work on the roof where it would be cooler 
under the potted tree, but shrugged to herself and bent over the 
book again, deciding to finish here. 
Eighteen bags black-rock. Lading and carrying charges, 
vessel absorbed: paid. 
Tax and customs: 1 silver Claw, paid. Seals received. 
Profit on original cargo: 1 gold Claw, 6 silver, 5 copper. 
She didn't like summer as much when she had extra work and 
couldn't just go jump in the Lake. Three whole days to 
Hand-ending. She couldn't wait. 
Shareholders demanding payment on delivery, charges: 
18%, 10% & 5% of profit, respectively. Captain/shareholder: 
67%…

"Megan," Master Zyatki said from the door, "your mother 
sent a message that you're needed at home." 
"At home? Why? What's wrong?" 
"I don't know, Megan. You have leave to go. I'll pass on your 
excuses to your teachers." 
"Thank you, Master." 
"Run along then." Megan slapped the book shut and tossed it 
on top of the others on her shelf, yanked her sandals on. She 
pulled on the tie holding her hair back, to tighten it, as she ran 
down the stairs. There weren't many people around in the 
mid-afternoon heat. They'd mostly be somewhere cool inside the 
mountain rooms or under trees or snoozing. A fruit-seller 
languidly waved a fly-whisk over his baskets of berries, looking 
up under his hat as she ran by. 
It's hot. What's happened? Is it a problem with Marte? Is it 
Rilla? It's probably that. Koru, Goddess, keep us all safe. 
Running like this, without knowing exactly what was going on, 
reminded her of the long-ago run to get Matte's help, even 
though it was bright midday instead of midnight. 
She tried to reassure herself, but if the news were good her 
mother wouldn't just have sent a note summoning her home. 
She could hear her steps echo all the way across the bridge. 
She ran again, holding her side against the ache of a stitch. A 
flock of pigeons burst out of her way as she turned into Cooper's 
Lane. The Flats doors were open to let in all the breeze, all the 
galleries opened. Everyone from the Peach was out lounging, but 
she didn't stop to wave. She almost forgot to jump the fifth step 
down where Blue always slept, stumbled, and he climbed the 
railing, yowling at her. 
"Mama, I'm home, what's wrong?" The door would be open; 
she'd hear. Shen looked out. 
"Megan, good, you're here. Meg, your Papa…"

Megan stopped for a second, not wanting to be rude, but she 
could hear her mama crying, so she squeezed by. 
"Megan,' Shen said helplessly. 
Ness was sitting on her cushion, hands over her face, rocking. 
Megan knelt next to her, threw her arms around her. Papa? 
"Bylashka, they took him." Ness clutched her daughter. "He was 
just where he was supposed to be. He had a paid license to tell 
stories on that spot. Signed. But they just took him." 
"Who? Who took him where, Mama?" 
"The Guard. They did another sweep and… he's in the 
dungeons, I think. That's all I know. I tried to find out. The 
Guard wouldn't let me see him, I only had copper bits, not silver. 
All he would say is that a one-armed man had been brought in 
with other suspected thieves and riff-raff." 
"Oh, Mama. What are we going to do?" Megan choked as she 
realized. Her father, in the dungeon. Helpless tears welled up. It 
was hard to get people out or the Nest dungeons once they were 
in. What are we going to do? 
Shen hugged them both together. "We'll help you as much as 
we can, Ness," she said. "I'm sure our friends at the Peach and 
perhaps your Gospozhyn will help, too. He's a jeweler and should 
help his apprentice." She nodded at Ness. "If he has any shred of 
decency in him. Hush, hush now, Ness. You'll find a way to get 
him out." 
Megan's mother dried her tears on her shoulder and hugged 
Shen with the arm she didn't have around Megan. "Yes. I've been 
acting without thinking. I've got to find out how much it would 
cost. If only the courts were open. It used to be that they couldn't 
just drag you away without evidence of wrongdoing." 
"Great Bear grant that Ranion brings justice when he rises." 
Shen rubbed her hands together. "Well, we'd best get started 
trying round up some Claws. I have one you can borrow." 
Mama looked at her, then down at her hands, then at Megan,

trying not to cry again. This was no time not to accept charity. 
"Thank you, Shenanya." 
"Oh, go on with ya. I'd be a fine friend if I didn't help, now 
wouldn't I; like those white-nights friends who dumped you 
when you weren't Middle Quarter enough." 
The old gang will help us, Megan thought. Her other friends 
at the Guild would help, too, and maybe Gospozhyn, but she 
didn't say any of this to her mother. She wouldn't like to know 
where some of the bits are from, even if they do get Papa out. 
Megan was fighting tears because that wouldn't help right now. 
"I'll have to arrange an appointment with the Guard 
Commander," Mama said quietly. "Svaslasfyav isn't known to be 
a fair man." 
"Pay him and he's fair enough," Shen said. "He's saving for 
his days of peace when he's old." 
"Mama, should I come with you?" They looked at Megan. 
"No, bylashka. No, you do what you can, borrowing." 
"All right, Mama, I'll start at the River Guild. I've got friends 
there. And I'll come back tomorrow, okay?" 
"That's my strong girl." 
"Would Aunt help?' Shen coughed and Megan glared at her. 
Aunt's kin, even if she is a shit. "I could ask her, instead of you, 
for Papa." Megan remembered what Aunt said about Mama 
never to come crawling to her for help. I can, she thought. And I 
won't be crawling. She better help Papa, we've tried our best to 
help her. If she doesn't, well, III tell Rilla and well clean out her 
silver when she's drunk. 
"My mam doesn't have any silver right now," Rilla said. "She 
spent it on fixing the still." 
"Shit." They had to find some more money. Gospozhyn had 
looked solemn when she'd told him; said he'd see what he could

do, but it was going to be hard to get. He was angry, too. He 
said, "Does he think your poor mother is made of money?" 
A gold Claw is what file Guard Commander wanted, to let 
Lixand out. A gold Claw. He might as well have asked for a steel 
Claw, worth twice as much. Most of the River Quarter didn't see 
silver from one year to another, and he wanted gold. Mama 
looked upset but determined. She thought that he asked so 
much because she spoke like Middle Quarter. Shit on him. 
The Other Guild had been better to the family than anyone 
else in the City, even more than their own kin. I wouldn't care if 
I owed them the bribe price for years and years. 
"Thanks anyway, Rillan." She nodded and fingered through 
the stuff they had between them on Megan's kerchief. They were 
sitting in Megan's favorite summer hiding place, an old 
forgotten roof garden in a partly burned-out building. The two of 
them had often played here before; for a more serious purpose 
now. I don't have time for kid's things anymore. 
The gang got together, and all of the hunting in the Market 
scraped together a copper Claw's worth of bits. Megan shivered, 
thinking of her papa in the Nest dungeons. 
Koru, be with him, keep him safe. Don't let them hurt him. 
He never hurt anybody in his life, and if something happened 
to him it would be even more unfair than everything that has 
already happened. My papa's better n most people in this City 
and Mama loves him and I love him, so please keep him safe. 
She felt empty, crazy. The Nest had swallowed up her Papa. 
She looked up the City to where she could barely see the point 
and the banner on the highest red dome of the Nest, and wanted 
to see it burn. 
They managed to scrape it together, somehow, half a year's 
rent; with everyone's help, even Aunt Marte. She'd come, just 
yesterday, and given them three silver Fangs. 
Lixand had paid his license fees to the Other Guild through 
the River Guild office, so they added in because he was one of

theirs. Mama's Gospozhyn had given some and so did people in 
the Flats, except for Zazan and the landlord and his wife. Rilla 
and Megan sold their knives back to the cutler. 
There would be a birthday celebration for Zingas Avritha 
tomorrow and the whole City was disrupted for a few days. Shen 
advised that they should wait and see if they would clear the 
dungeons as they had on Ranion's birthday, but Ness said that 
the Guard Commander wanted his money now and that every 
day she could spare Lixand the dark would be a blessing. 
Svaslasfyav would get half today, and the other half when he 
released Lixand. 
Megan swept and tidied for when her mother would get back, 
thinking, she shouldn't have to worry about anything that I can 
help with. Blue came in and sat on Megan while she waited, and 
she talked to the cat, telling him everything she never told 
anyone else; not Tikhiy, not Serkai, not Ivar or even Rilla. 
Sometimes she almost thought he was answering, but Blue 
understood enough when she worried. Papa’ll be out tomorrow. 
Then everything will settle down again. The white-nights were 
here, and with the galleries and the roof opened the sun still 
shone though it was almost midnight. She could see the light 
under the door, but it was shut because they needed the privacy. 
Megan set Blue down and he gave her the "I wanted you to do 
that" look. When Ness came in she was sweaty and looked 
disturbed. They hadn't had a gold Claw, not quite, so she had to 
tell him that was all he was going to get because they didn't have 
another copper Bake. Ness undid her hair and pulled off her 
clothes because they stank of the dungeon. 
"He let me see your papa," she said. "He's in a cell with nine 
other men." They had water from the tap warming at the brazier 
and she washed herself all over, except her hair. I guess she 
wants to scrub the smell off, she's rubbing so hard. There were 
bruises on her legs, just coming up red. Megan, holding the 
towel, looked at them, then at her mother's face, not saying 
anything. "Thank you, Meg." She pulled on Lixand's old robe, 
rolled up the sleeves, and sat down with her daughter. 
"I gave him a hug from you, and he sent one back." She folded

up the collar of Lixand's robe and turned her face into it, 
rubbing her hands along her cheeks as if it were him touching 
her. 
"We're to be at the Va Zalstva high gate tomorrow. When the 
celebrations are under way, we'll meet the Guard Commander 
and pay him and he'll let your papa go then, when no one is 
likely to notice." 
Megan nodded, wanting her father now. She shivered and 
huddled under her mama's arm, hugging her. They held each 
other and Ness hummed "Mirror Eyes Lullaby" for her, though 
she was too old for that kind of thing. 
The Va Zalstva was crowded, though not as full as when the 
wedding feasts were held; here and there were seats or whole 
sections empty. Megan pushed her face between the wooden 
bars of one of the high gates and looked down the bowl of seats 
to the sand. The rat pits, evenly spaced around the circle of the 
arena, were uncovered, grills pulled back against the wall. 
Sometimes you could see the rats jump for the edges; big black 
and brown ones. 
The Dragon's box was on the mountain side of the circle, 
across and down from the gate they were at. It was hung with 
red satin, Zingas Avritha's favorite color. 
Ness fidgeted nervously, trying to hide it, leaning against one 
side of the gate, looking at the street where the Guard 
Commander would bring Lixand. 
Trumpets and drums sounded and Megan looked back down 
into the ring as everybody cheered. Avritha was just taking her 
chair, with her hand on Ranion's arm. He looked thrilled while 
she just looked calm. There would be a circus after, but Megan 
didn't care because her papa wasn't there to share it. 
Ness started away from the gate and Megan whirled around 
to face the street. "You have him? Where is he? You promised 
him to me, here, today." 
Commander Svaslasfyav, a very thin man, with a half-smile

on his face, said, "You're here for your man then, River-scum?" 
Ness pressed her lips together but didn't talk back, just nodding, 
holding on to what scraps of hope she had. 
"You won't get another flake until I see my husband." 
He snorted. "I couldn't do a thing about it." 
"What?" Her voice rose. "You were to free him, where is he!" 
He lost his pose of superiority, looking uncomfortable for a 
second, motioned with his chin over her shoulder. "Down there," 
he said. 
Ness whirled around, looking down into the arena. Megan 
stared at the Commander in his plain black uniform, then 
turned to look too. She saw her father in the chain of ten under 
the Dragon's box. The four chains, each with ten people, stood 
on the sand, blinking at the light. That was how the freeings had 
been arranged last time, for Ranion's birthday. A herald in the 
Dragon's box held up his arms for quiet. 
"I didn't have to pay you, then," Ness said. "Or bed you." In 
the background Megan could hear bits of the herald's speech. "… 
to suffer the fate of all those who would disturb the City's 
peace…" Svaslasfyav stepped closer, grabbed her arm, and 
yanked her back from the bars. She pulled her knife and Megan 
wished for hers. 
"No. Of course this might not be what you think." He jerked 
his head at the arena. "The Zarizan and his Zingas decreed this. 
Think a mere Guard Commander would dare sully the Zingas's 
birthday?" 
"… to show the swift justice in a ruling hand," the herald was 
saying. "As well as mercy." The guard were pulling the lines of 
chained people to their knees and unhooking them, cutting 
behind their heels and wrists and flinging them one by one into 
the pits. 
Ness screamed, her hand reaching through the bars. Megan's 
face was pressed between the bars and they wouldn't yield,

wouldn't let her through. Papa. Papa. They were going to kill her 
papa. 
The guard took him by the neck ring and his arm and he 
stumbled. The yelling of the crowd faded to an insect buzz, 
muffled and far away. Papa. He looked up and around at all the 
people as if they were the most precious things in the world; 
then at the sky and the sand under his feet. They unlocked the 
collar and the knife flashed in the guard's hand, three times, and 
the sand soaked redder. Lixand folded back on his legs as if he 
could stop the cut that was already done, cradling his arm 
against his chest, and the red soaked into his grey shirt. He had 
squeezed his eyes shut as they cut, then he opened them again 
and looked up, around at the high gates. Megan reached, 
screaming, with both hands as he looked, not knowing if he saw. 
They held him upright and Megan thought she could see tears 
on his face; they pushed and he fell sideways into the pits where 
the rats were squealing, loud enough to hear, high, high over the 
noise the crowd made, and blood sprang up, bright drops, just 
for a second. Papa. The rats. Papa, no. Please. 
Megan had borrowed Gospozhyn's spare knife without telling 
him, and got Ivar and Aage to come with her. Svaslasfyav used 
her mama, and her papa was dead. Ivar and Aage hadn't wanted 
to come at first, but she'd told them she would do it with or 
without their help. She hadn't been in the Guildrooms at all the 
last few Hands, but they thought she'd been staying with her 
mama the whole time. 
It was one of the few dim hours in the summer, when it never 
got dark, but wasn't daylight either. She lay on the roof of the 
house in the First Quarter, across from where Svaslasfyav had 
gone in. Ivar lay flat beside her, and Aage was on the roof across 
Bolduschchy Street. My papa's dead. 
They hadn't even had Lixand's body to take up and give to the 
birds. Ness had cried his name to the wind and cut bits of their 
hair, but her mama hadn't said anything since then. She would 
sit and cry, or try to but didn't have any tears left. She would 
make a hurt sound in her throat, like a moan or a whimper and 
Shen would hold her hand and wouldn't leave her alone for a

minute. 
Megan had wanted to get Serkai to help, but he was in guard 
training and would have to report it and they would have gotten 
caught. 
A light shone in the street as the door opened and Svaslasfyav 
came out. She'd been following him the last few days. He came 
here to visit his old father. His papa. 
He walked down the middle of the street whistling, and the 
children kept up with him up on either side on the house tops. 
He'd have to turn down that narrow street to get back to the 
Nest. 
He hit the trip cord and tucked and rolled and almost came 
up standing, except that Aage hit him in the head with a cobble 
as he came out of the roll. He staggered a step or two with his 
daggers already out, then fell on his face. The lantern boy was 
already running, squealing for the watch. 
She didn't want to touch him but did want to hurt him. Ivar 
and Megan slid down, lashed Svaslasfyav's wrists together and 
Aage threw down a rope. She tied a loop under the commander's 
armpits while Ivar swarmed up the building and he and Aage 
hoisted him up. Megan snatched up the trip rope and climbed 
after. When the Watch came, the street was dark. 
They used the ropes to carry him over several roofs and down 
to an alley in Middle Quarter. Sweat ran into their eyes by the 
time they got him to down to where no one would bother them, 
in the River Quarter. 
I hate him. The back of his head was sticky where Aage hit 
him, his hair all clotted together. She pulled his mouth open and 
grabbed his tongue; cut most of it off, sawing. His tongue was 
sticky, and when she cut it, it was like dead meat; trying to slide 
out of her fingers. She turned his head and the blood drooled 
down his chin so he wouldn't drown. 
He tried to scream when he woke, thrashing against the ropes 
they had him tied with. She gagged him anyway, to soak up the

blood. 
He pulled at the ropes tying his wrists and ankles, shaking his 
head, no, no. The pupils of his eyes were different sizes. He 
choked, coughing against the gag. 
"You used my mother even though you couldn't get my father 
out of the dungeon." He shook his head again, shivering like a 
wet dog. 
"Aage, hold his head still." He did as she told him, looking 
sick. She put the point of the knife against Svaslasfyav's left eye. 
He tried to wiggle away, whimpering, but Megan leaned her 
weight on him and Ivar held his legs. She pushed and his eye 
popped like a grape. He yanked loose, flopping around, almost 
biting through the gag, slamming his head into the wall as if 
that would make it stop hurting, slobbering blood until they 
caught him and held him still in the mud. He trembled harder, 
then went limp under their hands. 
Her hands were sticky. She thought of the rats and her 
mother screaming and popped his other eye. Then they waited. 
It was so late there wasn't anyone out and no one heard the 
sounds he'd made. I want to wait until he wakes up. Ivar pulled 
in his breath to say something and Megan shook her head at 
him, glaring. She didn't want to say anything. He'd try to 
convince her it wasn't a good idea. My papa felt something like 
this and he died. His guard had killed Papa for Avritha and 
Ranion to watch. My papa who never hurt anybody. She had 
tears on her face, but her mouth tasted like blood where she'd 
bitten through the inside of her lip. It stank in the alley because 
of the garbage against the walls and the smell from the guard 
captain as he pissed himself. 
Wake up, you, so you can feel more of what Papa felt, what 
Mama felt. 
She cut his hamstrings and the strings on the backs of his 
thumbs so he'd never be able to hold anything again; Serkai said 
something about it once. Every time he woke up it was with a 
shake, as if he were fighting not to, whining. Aage threw up into 
the dirt. Svaslasfyav wouldn't die, but someone would have to

look after him the rest of his life. He was alive, which was more 
than her papa. It wasn't enough. It wouldn't bring Papa back. It 
wouldn't make Mama feel better. He isn't hurting enough. He 
can't. I can't make him hurt as much as we do. She looked down 
at him, tied and his face bloody, his hands clawed, his toes 
trying to curl up to his shins, bleeding strings of black in the dim 
alley, wanting to throw back her head and scream and stamp on 
him, but it still wouldn't be enough. 
She whipped the knife into the dirt and pounded on the 
garbage with her fists, somehow on her knees …my teeth are 
going to break I cant make any noise Icantlcant-Icant… 
Ivar and Aage held her, one on each side. "Your mama needs 
you," Aage said in her ear, his breath smelling of bile. She 
shivered, wanting to throw up, still wanting to make everybody 
whoever hurt them feel as much hurt. I'm not sorry. I'll never be 
sorry. She got up and the two boys let go of her. "Come on," she 
said. "Let's finish it." She smashed his balls with a brick. 
They untied the Guard Commander, grey and cold with 
shock, and dragged him out to a road where someone would find 
him, then went down to the river to wash. They picked their way 
to the water from the dried mud on the edges. Megan looked 
down into the water under the bridge, listened to the cold 
gurgle, feeling watery inside, sweat pouring tracks down the 
blood on her face. She could feel it all over her, drying on her 
hands and cheeks, sticking her clothes to her body. 
She pulled off her shirt and pants, shoved them in the water, 
feeling the blood yank on her hair and skin, watching the dark 
stain float out of the blue cloth, get whisked away by the current. 
The water was cool, raising goose-bumps even in the heat, the 
stones in the mud sharp. She lay flat, holding onto a rock; 
ducked under, hearing Ivar and Aage's voices cut off, the 
thumping gurgle of the water running over the rocks midstream 
just an arm's reach away, letting the water wash the blood and 
hate off her. 
She didn't feel anything now. Ivar looked at her as if she'd 
gone crazy as they pulled their damp clothes on. She expected to 
feel sick sometime, but not now. Now she was going home to

look after her mother. Koru… No, I'm not going to pray. I 
prayed before and my papa died. If there is a Goddess, she 
doesn't give a damn about us. We have to look after things like 
revenge. There probably isn't a Goddess. She looked down at a 
blood smear on a stone near her foot and scraped mud over it 
with her boot. No, I don't think there is. 
Chapter Twelve 
"Mama, you have to eat something." Megan smoothed her 
mother's hair back away from her face and put the bowl down 
on the floor. 
"I'm just not hungry, Megan-mi." Ness turned away, rubbing 
her hands up and down her arms as if she were cold. Her hair 
was dirty, hanging around her face, and her eyes red-rimmed. 
She'd started getting dressed again, even going to work, but her 
Gospozhyn wasn't happy with her any longer. She was doing 
simple polishing but no cutting because she didn't care enough 
anymore. 
In the summer, Megan had seen to paying back everyone who 
had lent them money to get Lixand out of the dungeon; had seen 
how little was left. She hadn't been staying at the Guild 
Apprentice Hall at first, because of her mother, but she still was 
there for lessons, and used the Guild baths. 
Their room smelled musty and close, the autumn rains having 
started early this year. Ness pushed her spoon through the 
barley stew, not interested. 
"Mama, if you don't eat, you'll get sick." 
Ness sat and listened for a moment, as if that's exactly what 
she wanted, then jumped and looked at her daughter, instead of 
through her. "Megan, love…" She stopped as if the words were 
too big for her throat, the easy tears welling up. 
"Mama." 
Ness held out her arms and they held onto each other. "It'll be 
all right. It'll be all right. It's got to get better." Megan didn't

know how, but saying the words somehow helped. 
Her mother nodded. "I suppose I should do something, 
shouldn't I?" 
"Un-huh." 
For the first time since the summer heat, Ness looked more 
like herself. "Don't grunt," she said. "It'll give people the wrong 
impression." 
Megan's smile started slowly. It had been too long since her 
mother had bothered to correct her in any way. "Yes, Mama." 
Ness got up from her cushion and wandered the room, 
picking things up and idly putting them down again. Shenanya 
knocked on the open door. "Ness? I've got to deliver a bit of lace 
to a lady on Bolduschchy Lane. Would you want to come with me 
then, for the walk? We could stop at the baths first—my copper." 
Ness stopped, blinked. "Hello, Shen. I… that sounds nice. 
Thank you." 
Megan threw Shenanya a grateful look as she helped her 
mother on with her coat. That afternoon Megan had come home 
from the Guildhall to find the lamp dry, the wick burned away 
into a sooty smear, their kraumak only lighting the darkest 
corner. Her mama didn't mind sitting in the dark anymore. 
Maybe that was why she'd been having all the little accidents 
that left bruised shins or arms, tiny cuts or burns on her fingers. 
Ness often sat, turning an old shirt of Lixand's over and over 
in her hands as if she were looking for tears to mend. She was 
always getting his things out, as if he would be coming home 
soon and would need them. 
When Megan asked, she would only say, "They remind me of 
him," and go back to looking at the shirt or the trousers or his 
best fringed belt. 
Shen took Ness's arm companionably. "Well have a nice talk 
on the way. The sun's come out for a bit."

Megan stood by the door, watching them walk away down the 
gallery where Pol, the landlord's middle boy was nailing up the 
winter walls. She closed the door behind her and stood in the 
middle of the room, looking at everything that needed doing; the 
full bowl of stew Ness had left starting to dry around the edges, 
the breakfast dishes, the wallbed standing open with the feather 
tick hanging out, the floor needing sweeping. 
The room was full of silence and she found herself listening 
for her father's humming to himself as he used to, marking a 
waxboard with notes for a story. His cushion lay by the table as 
if he'd just gotten up to go to the jakes. She found herself 
straining her ears as if she could hear him if she tried hard 
enough. 
She gulped, swallowed tears, bent to pick up the shirt her 
mother had been turning over in her hands, and stood holding it 
as if she'd forgotten where it should go. She buried her face in it. 
It still smelled faintly like her papa and soap. That brought the 
tears. She moved blindly over to where his pillow was, now just 
for guests, burying her face in it as if it were his shoulder. There 
wasn't anybody to cry on, not anymore. Mama needs me. I can't 
cry on her shoulder. It wouldn't be fair. Nothing's fair. It was 
wrong. All wrong and it's Ranion and Avritha's fault. They're 
supposed to make it better and they killed my papa who never 
did anything wrong. She sobbed until her eyes were red and dry 
and her nose felt swollen and hot and the silence was there, 
would always be there, because it was the silence waiting to be 
broken by Lixand's voice. 
She lay still for a bit, then she got up and started cleaning. 
There was too much to do that Mama couldn't, and there was 
the schooling to do as well. 
Her hands were wet with the washing up when someone 
tapped on the door. "Hello?" 
It was Pol, nervously twisting his hands together as he stood 
in the hall. "Hi. Umm. Well, me mam sent me down… I hate 
asking but she said I should." He coughed. "Mam said you'd 
been good tenants but, well…"

"What, Pol?" 
He blushed and Megan thought that he'd never make a good 
landlord. "It's the cycle's rent… it's only a bit overdue." 
"Mama paid that, didn't she?" Megan's voice sounded thin in 
her own ears. Mama forgot? Mama never forgot, not once she 
told Shen that she could manage, and that was two months ago 
. 
"Well, mam said not." He looked down at Blue who wove 
around their ankles, purring. "'s long as ye know." 
"Thank you, Pol. She must have forgot. If you wait, I'll get it." 
Megan scooped up the cat. No, if her mother had just forgotten, 
then it was in the box. Blue squirmed and jumped down. She 
went to her parents' cupboard box and hesitated. It was her 
mama's business, something that Mama and P—that Mama was 
supposed to look after. But if Mama can't, I have to. Feeling 
worse than a thief, she opened it and searched for the rent pouch 
under their papers. She weighed it in her hand, wondering. Ever 
since she'd been helping with her Bits, Papa had let her help 
keep track and the pouch felt too light. "Hold on a second, Pol," 
she called over her shoulder, and counted out the coins. It was 
short. Not much but still short. If it's short and we don't pay, 
we'll be in the street soon with nowhere to go. 
She counted it out to Pol. "It's mostly there. I think Mama has 
the rest"—I hope she has the rest. She has to—"and she'll be 
around today, I think." I hate lying. I don't know. It's not a lie, 
really, I just don't know for sure. 
Pol grinned and nodded. "Okay,'s fine. Mam said yah'd likely 
forgot, what with all—uhm, well, that." He blushed again, 
suddenly interested in the wood grain at his toes. "Sorry," he 
stammered. "Din't mean tah remind ya." 
"It's okay, Pol." 
"Right then, Goddess guard." 
"Yeah, thanks." Like She guarded my papa? There isn't a

Goddess. "You too." 
She sat down and thought about the money, wondering what 
her mother might have done with it. There wasn't that much 
food; a little flour, a crock of peas and beans. There wasn't any 
fruit, or bread—not even stale—no meat or even any milk. 
She started counting up the things that had to be paid for 
aside from food. Clothes… Mama hadn't spent anything on 
clothes since the summer, except for new boots. A new coat? No. 
There were Guild fees that her Gospozhyn mostly took out of her 
pay; tax, always too much tax. Lamp oil? No matter how she 
tried to balance the money, it always came up short. 
Maybe she had lent some to Shen for some reason. That was 
probably it. Should I ask her? Am I supposed to ask her? I can't, 
Mama's always been on time with the rent. She'd never forget 
—but she did. It made Megan feel like a coal had just kindled in 
her chest. If her mother could be unreliable… I have to keep an 
eye on things. I have to worry about it or she might forget 
again and well lose our room. She felt helpless and small, 
fighting huge darknesses she couldn't see; the whole world, it 
seemed. Everything. 
"Hi, Rilla." Megan hugged her cousin, who met her at the 
Apprentice Hall gate. It was growing dark, lamps being lit and 
kraumak lanterns unhooded in the dusk like a carpet of fire-fleas 
glowing on the walls of the city. 
"Hi, Meg." Rilla squeezed back then tickled under Megan's 
ribs. Megan squealed and tried to wiggle free. "Feel better?" 
" 'f you stop, Koru, stop that!—eek, I'll—stop—tan your ass—'f 
you don't—" Panting, she wiggled loose, tickling back. 
"No fair!—hey!—I'm littler!" 
"Why'd you start, half-bite?" 
They played tag through a couple of streets, then ran down to 
Megan's hiding place. The cracked mosaic was still warm from 
the sun, though the air was cold; winter was coming fast. Megan

was glad that her mother had straightened out the difference in 
the rent when she and Shen had gotten back. It would be suicide 
to be out on the street in winter. 
Megan sniffed. "It's gonna rain. T'night or't'morrow, then." 
Rilla giggled. "You're starting to sound like Dimi when he 
forgets to 'talk up'." Megan bristled. 
"I do not. I don't! Yer wro—" Then she stopped, listening to 
herself. "I suppose ye—your right. I'm starting to sound 
River-like." 
"So, 'zat so bad? Nohow like out-city, that'd be a prigging, 
that." 
Megan wrinkled her nose, thinking. Her Gospozhyn at the 
Guild had been coaching her in other dialects and turns of 
phrase, but she'd never thought to listen to her own speech 
patterns. When she spoke, it was more carefully than usual. 
"That's funny, hearing you talk like that Rilla, but we have to be 
careful to sound like Middle, at least." 
"Whyza—Why is that?" Rilla pulled the words apart with 
difficulty. 
"We're not here forever. I mean, we started better and if we 
want to be better we have to sound like it, or everybody’ll laugh 
at us behind our backs when we get enough money to get out of 
River. Nobody'll respect us." 
Rilla thought about that, dropping pebbles onto the cracked 
tile from a height. "I suppose." She sounded doubtful. "You're 
more Middle than we are—mam and I." 
"Bullshit!" Megan said firmly, grimaced, then changed it to, 
"That's… urn… nonsense!" 
Rilla tossed the pebble into one of the holes in the tile; they 
listened to it hit one of the old beams a floor down, men the 
couple of seconds later it hit a puddle in the bottom, plink. 
"Y-yes," Megan continued. "We're family, kin, and if I'm Middle

Quarter, so are you." 
"Okay." Rilla thought a bit longer. "Mam's with your mama. 
One of our neighbors said something about her being slough-kin 
who didn't care about her own, and mam got offended. She said 
she'd show high-snot idiots that she was as good as any of them 
and could look after her kin as well as any." 
"Mama won't like Aunt being there all the time." 
"I guess not. I wouldn't, though my mam's been getting 
better. She's been dry after she blew it all getting drunk when 
Uncle Lixand died." 
Megan swallowed the hurt feeling, waiting for it to go away as 
it always did now; it was getting easier. What she tried to hold 
on to was her anger, which was hard but getting easier, too. 
Megan, arms full of clean laundry, walked carefully through 
the doorway and put it down on the chest. Tikhiy had helped 
her, so the washing had only taken half the time it normally 
would and the sun was still out. She didn't see Ness right away. 
Her mother sat with her back to the wallbed in the corner where 
Megan's bed had been. She held the kitchen knife in her right 
hand, making a pattern of small cuts on the left, smiling. 
Megan stood, staring. It wasn't accidents. She was doing it 
herself. Anyone in the City knew what that meant; especially 
mixed with the faint, sweet smell of the DreamDust in the room. 
DreamDust turned the pain you felt into pleasure. A Haian 
would use it only for the dying, if they used it at all. In a weaker 
form it was sometimes used to blunt grief. Once or twice, even a 
little more, was safe enough, but more grabbed you by the 
throat. 
"Mama!' Megan was too shocked to do more than exclaim. 
"Bylashka…" Ness smiled dreamily at her daughter, then 
down at her hands. "It doesn't hurt anymore. Not now. Isn't this 
interesting?" She held up her hand, where the faint cuts bled. 
"Look." She brought up the knife and laid another across her

palm, cutting head, heart, and life lines. 
"NO!" Megan pulled the knife away from her mother, who 
didn't resist, only bunked at the seeping cut. "That's where the 
money's been going. That's why you haven't been eating. Mama, 
you'll die. You can't keep doing this." 
"Oh." Ness blinked as Megan salved the cuts, scolding. Then 
she just sat and watched Megan search the bed and the room, 
finding one other packet of Dust. 
"Mama, you're going to bed and sleep it off." 
Ness got up at Megan's insistent pull on her arm, turned as if 
she were in a dream and, laughing, slapped Megan across the 
face. 
Megan stared, her hand covering her cheek. She hit me. The 
words floated through her mind like a bubble in syrup. She hit 
me and laughed. 
Ness grabbed the hand Megan had folded around the packet 
of Dust and pried her fingers open. "Give it. After all I've been 
through I deserve a little pleasure." She stopped and looked at 
Megan. "I'm not addicted. I can stop any time I want to, I just 
don't want to." 
"Mama…" Megan whispered. "Don't, please. Please don't. It'll 
hurt you—" 
"No, it won't!" Ness cried. "This is the best it gets for now, 
forever!" She shook the fist in Megan's face, clutching the packet 
so hard that the stitches tore. She stopped, looked at the powder 
on her fingers, sticking to the salve, and slow as a nightmare, 
reached up to put her fingers in her mouth. 
Megan, forgotten, backed away from her mother. She dodged 
around Ness and ran for the door, taking the knife with her. 
She ran for her hiding spot and sat for a long while, hugging 
her knees. Then she got up to go to Marte, though she didn't 
want to. Shen, Dimi or Varik were good friends, but only kin

could really help… if you could persuade them to. 
She walked down to her aunt's rooms, torn between getting 
help and the fear that Marte would laugh in her race. It's Mama 
who needs help and Aunt said "Don't come crawling to me." 
But it's me asking, not Mama. And there was the neighbor who 
made her feel bad about being slough-kin. 
She turned down Dogleg Alley, her steps slowing in the mud. 
The alley was far enough down the rift that it was almost Lake 
Quarter, with the street cobbles hidden under inches of mud 
washing down from farther up the City. On top of that lay 
garbage; more than around the Flats. Only the center of the 
street was hard packed, the piles of refuse on both sides rising 
almost hip high. Underneath, on both sides, you could hear a 
muffled rustling as rats burrowed in relative safety from the 
city's cats, or beetles spun webs of tunnels, chewing. In the 
spring rain these loosely packed ridges sometimes washed away, 
leaving the path in the middle of the street raised. 
Doorways were, often as not, dug down below the level of the 
street, steps cut into the muck that dried rock hard in summer. 
In winter it froze, but people had to be careful in spring and fall. 
Aunt makes more money than we do. Why does she live in 
this mess? Her steps slowed further. Aunt spends a lot of money 
on wine and wadiki. And Dust is more expensive… She stopped, 
staring at a Duster lying sprawled out of door well, half across 
the street. She'd never looked at them, lying in the gutters or 
under bridges, sitting in the shadows of the Market, staring and 
laughing at nothing. It had never been important before. 
The man stank of urine and shit, horribly cut by the smell of 
newly baked bread—the smell of someone starving to death. He 
was a naked rack of bones, great oozing patches all over his 
body, hiding some of the self-inflicted scars. Some of his fingers 
were missing. He was awake, eyes open, breathing rattling and 
wet, his lips and gums greenish blue. He smiled at nothing, flies 
busy around his and in his open mouth. He giggled and 
occasionally coughed, but the only part of him that moved was 
his chest as he breathed. That's what Dust does. That's what 
could happen… is happening to my mama.

Megan gagged, backed up and fled. No. No it's not. Not to my 
mama. She might not care anymore, but I do and in make Aunt 
care. I'll make her care. 
She ran, panting in the cold, fetid air between the narrow 
houses as if she could run from the memory of the Duster lying 
in the alley, until she stood gasping for air in front of the 
building where her aunt's rooms were. 
She hesitated another minute, waiting till she wasn't panting 
any longer. I'm always coming to Aunt, running. I won't 
anymore. It's not right. She'll always think I want something 
and, well, I'm going to stop it. She walked down the steps to the 
door, trying to feel something more than afraid. 
The inside the house it was almost as odorous as the outside. 
Musty wood, mud; a faint greenish almond smell that prickled 
the insides of her nose drifted down the hall from her aunt's 
rooms, from the drug still. Megan blinked back tears. It was like 
the smell of the Dust on her mother's fingers. 
Marte hadn't yet taken down the summer curtain that was 
the door and it moved a little in the dim light. From inside there 
was the clink of clay bottles, the low almost tuneless hum, a 
mannerism very close to Lixand's, as Marte worked. 
"Aunt?" 
"Hey? Oh, come in." Megan pushed the curtain aside and 
stepped in, stopping because it was even darker inside than out, 
the only fight a shaded kraumak over the table. The light glinted 
off the glaze of bottles on the shelves like beetle's eyes in the 
dark, ceiling a green fuzz of drying herbs, like in the old house 
but much closer overhead. It was warm and humid because of 
the still. Marte sat cross-legged at the low table, sorting bottles 
into a box rack at her elbow. 
"Megan. Hello." Marte sounded sour. "Rilla's not here. She's 
hanging about somewhere, I don't doubt." 
"Hello, Aunt. I didn't come to see Rilla; I came to talk to you."

"Oh?" Marte's voice went from merely sour to cold. "Another 
problem?" 
"Yes. I thought you were the best person to ask because you're 
a Canter." Marte looked up, silent, curious but waiting for 
Megan to go on. "I need to know how to get off Dust." 
"What!" Marte got up suddenly, unfolding herself quickly 
enough that the bottles rattled. "What would your father have 
thought?" Megan backed up but stopped when Marte just stood 
in front of her, squinting. "Come into the light." She pulled 
Megan forward by one shoulder. With cold fingers she tilted 
Megan's head back, peered into her eyes, sniffed at her breath. 
"It's not you that's on it," she said finally. 
"No, but I still need to know." 
Marte let go of Megan so quickly she staggered. "There's 
nothing to give anyone on Dust. They either stop or they don't. 
Mostly they don't; they just die." 
"Can you help them stop?" 
Marte looked at her from under lowered brows and finally 
said, "Sit down. You're going to tell me what's going on." For a 
second Marte looked like her brother, in the tilt of her head, as 
she briskly pushed Megan onto the visitor's cushion and put a 
cup of chai into her hands. Megan felt something inside her 
crack and she started to cry, though she'd sworn she never would 
in front of Marte. 
Her aunt stood a little awkwardly, patted her shoulder with 
bony fingers, then moved out of reach and let Megan cry herself 
out into her chai. "That woman," she snapped. "It's that woman, 
isn't it?" 
"My mama," Megan said, gulped, and wiped her face with her 
hands. "It's because of Papa, I think." 
"Well, she's just going to have to snap out of it!" Marte 
slammed the lid of the box rack shut and latched it. "I can't do 
anything!"

"You won't even try?" Megan looked at her, put the empty cup 
down. "All right. I thought I could ask for Papa's sake." 
Marte glared at her, her lips tight. "Don't. Don't you dare use 
that to force me to help your mother. If she'd tried harder to get 
Lixand out, my brother wouldn't have died." 
"That's not fair!" Megan stood up. "We did our best for you, 
and now you aren't doing anything!" 
"You're sounding more like an up-country, out-city bitch 
every day, brat." Marte's voice was flat. She stood up and slid the 
box onto its place on the shelf, her hands shaking. Megan stared 
at her aunt's back, whipped the door curtain aside. I had to ask. 
I had to. She's a… I don't have any words nasty enough, even 
the swear words. Piss, she saw me cry. 
"Megan!" Marte called from her doorway. "You wait right 
there. I have to lock up." She pulled the door to behind her and 
came after. "I didn't say I wouldn't," she snapped, stepping over 
the Duster in the street without a second look. 
They didn't say anything to each other all the way up to the 
Flats, walled off from each other. Megan glanced up at Marte's 
face. You're afraid, she thought suddenly, as if a door had 
opened in her head. I don't know what you're afraid of, but you 
are! 
The room was a disaster, worse than Megan had left. One of 
the cushions was ripped open, the laundry scattered around the 
room. One of the sheets had fallen into the lamp, but mercifully 
snuffed it rather than catching fire. Ness, half-undressed so the 
extent of her self-inflicted bruises showed, half-sat half-lay in the 
empty wallbed, the tick and the pillow tossed into the middle of 
the laundry. The water jar was broken, everything on the floor 
damp. 
Marte clicked her tongue impatiently. "Well, start the mess. 
Dusters are destructive, when they're still well enough to be." 
"Mama's not a Duster, she's just hooked on it for now," 
Megan said, ignoring the look Marte gave her.

Marte got the bed made and Ness undressed and into it as 
Megan cleaned. Under everything she found the arm ring that 
Varik had given Lixand, broken into three pieces. She looked 
over to the wallbed and clenched her teeth. I don't understand. 
She wrapped the pieces carefully and put them in her pouch. 
It was Megan who got fresh water from down the street, after 
borrowing a spare jar from Shen, but it was Marte who had the 
strength to hold Ness down. "I need it. I need it," Ness cried, 
alternately clinging to Megan and Marte or struggling to get 
away from them as she sweated most of the Dust out of her 
system. Finally, like a collapsing puppet, she fell asleep, leaving 
Marte and Megan to clean up the soaked sheets. 
"How long has she been Dusting?" Marte looked haggard as 
she sat over a bowl of porridge, after. "Do you know?" 
"I thought the cuts and stuff were accidents. Maybe an 
iron-cycle?" Megan hugged her knees and shivered. Was that too 
long? Was Mama going to be a Duster? She can't. She mustn't. 
"Well, she has a chance. The stuff can't have settled into her 
that deeply. If she's lucid when she wakes up and realizes, then 
she'll help us more as she comes off." 
"Oh." Megan opened her mouth but Marte cut her off- 
"And no there isn't anything else I can do, or give her. It'll be 
a couple of Hands before we can leave her alone. If she slides 
back then…" She shrugged. "I'll stay with her during the day, 
when you're at the Hall." She put the bowl down and ran her 
hands through her hair. "Whether she comes off, or not, we're 
quits as kin. I don't owe you or Lixand or anyone anything after 
this. Don't even bother asking." 
Megan looked at her across the table, where she sat on Papa's 
cushion, rinsing her mouth with chai. She didn't look like Lixand 
at all. 
Why are you so? Are you still afraid of something? Why? 
Isn't there anything in you to give? She nodded to herself. That 
must be it. Marte had only so much to give and it was already

gone. With some people being generous was always strong, but 
some people just cut that gift off at the roots and it died. 
Megan gathered up the dishes and set about washing them. 
She had to tell Yneltzyn that her mother was sick and couldn't 
come in to work. She hated to lie, but Ness would be mortified if 
her Gospozhyn found out why. Megan would have to pretend 
that everything was fine, except that her mama was sick. I'll 
have to get my books so I can study here, if I can. 
The first snow of the year tapped against her master's glass 
window, blowing white out of the dark afternoon. Yarishk folded 
his hands together with a sigh. "Megan. I know you've been 
through a great deal with your father's death and your mother 
being ill so often after, and I sympathize, but choosing to take on 
more when the house master tells me you've been staying up far 
too late at night to keep up your work, isn't a good idea." 
"Gospozhyn, I need to learn as much as I can, as fast as I can. 
That way I'll be a journeyman faster and…" 
He was shaking his head. "It's not that simple, Megan. You'll 
make yourself sick or your work will slip. It's more than book 
knowledge that makes a merchant, or anything else." 
She bit her lip. She didn't want to say that she didn't want to 
go home, and felt guilty about it. Ness was off the Dust, but it 
was as bad as the summer just after her father died. Her mother 
kept trying to get more Dust or was sick with one thing after 
another, getting thinner, her eyes bright and feverish. 
Yarishk looked at her as she sat on her cushion petting Sashi, 
and frowned. He wanted to help, but she wore pride like a coat 
and if a person didn't offer, one didn't pry. "Megan, why don't I 
see if we can arrange your cousin's lessons? The Other Guild 
understands some parent's whims in not wanting to apprentice 
their children and sometimes has to deal with them. Why don't 
you see if you can come up with the fee, using your latest 
lessons? I will teach her without formal permission, and you will 
have the extra work you want." 
Megan smiled at him, her hands tightening so Sashi grunted

and nudged into her armpit with a damp nose in protest. "I'll do 
it, Gospozhyn!" 
"Nah, nah, softly. You go home to your mother the rest of the 
day and start worrying about this tomorrow." Megan's face fell a 
little, but it felt as if he understood, though she couldn't bring 
herself to tell him anything about what was happening at home. 
I'll go scrounging with Tikhiy in the market after we eat, 
before I have to… before I go home. The snow was melting into 
rain. There wouldn't be many people out so it would be riskier, 
but with the wind up people didn't notice right away that their 
purses were gone. 
That evening she headed home with a few coppers in her 
pouch and a string bag with vegetables. Maybe Mama would eat 
something tonight. 
She trudged down the Stairs, feeling lower and lower. The 
cold rain had soaked through her cloak, first through the 
patches, then through the thin wool. She stepped around the 
streams of water running down the Stairs, but her boots were 
still wet. Her mood had started falling the moment she left 
Tikhiy. She'd wanted to see Serkai, but if she was "practicing" he 
didn't want to know. He was a squire now, with leather armor, 
starting to sound more and more like the DragonGuard, except 
when his voice cracked. When he kissed her, he was sometimes a 
little rough but always stopped when she complained. A few 
times they'd taken off all their clothes and stroked each other. 
That made Serkai shiver and moan and his member had just 
started to stand up when she touched it, hot and smooth, like a 
grown man's. He had a thin patch of black hair all around it and 
was starting to grow a thick line down his chest and back. She 
smiled to herself, thinking about it. He'd be starting a beard 
soon. 
When he touched her, it sent sparks all up and down her 
back, a warm glow in the pit of her belly. The exciting ache 
between her legs, where she was just starting to sprout hair, was 
new, and she shivered just thinking about it. It was shiny and 
precious, something to share with your favorite person, the way 
Mama and Papa had always shared with each other; kissing and

touching and holding each other close. She stopped outside the 
tenement, sniffing, wiping her runny nose. 
With Serkai, she didn't have to worry. With him, everything 
was all right. She wanted to see him, but he would be in the Nest 
barracks now, probably eating. And she had to go in. 
The smell of the turkeys in the bottom of the Flats rose thickly 
to cling inside her nose, pushed up from below by more stink 
and mud and noise. She hugged the string bag to her, peeking 
through the cracks in the winter walls, where the rain dripped 
through the atrium ceiling. I don't want to go home. Mama'll 
just sit and stare or moan to herself, shivering. Or she'll be in a 
screaming mood, and stomp around looking for something, 
anything to do that her shaking hands won't ruin. She'd broken 
her lace-frame in a rage the other day. She wanted Dust, but 
Marte was there or Dimi, so she couldn't get any. 
Aunt Marte had said she was ready to give up because Ness 
had to decide not to Dust herself. She already called Ness a 
Duster behind her back. 
The odor of cooking made her mouth water and she felt 
lonelier than ever. Ness used to cook like that. Megan cooked for 
them now, but Ness most often just pushed the food around the 
bowl. They couldn't afford anything to tempt her appetite, not 
even apples. For weeks Megan had been dreaming of the taste of 
oranges, waking up as she was biting into it, leaving her with the 
dry air of her wallbed filling her mouth. 
Megan pulled the latch, opened the door, and stood blinking 
on the threshold. The room was clean. There was nothing broken 
and the only person there was her mother. The kraumak shone 
on the counter where Ness was cutting—cutting!—tubers to 
roast. Her mother's hair was clean, pulled back away from her 
gaunt face. Her hands shook as she cut, bony wrists poking out 
of neatly tied sleeves, but she was being very careful not to cut 
herself. There was milk warming on the brazier and salt-beef 
simmering. 
"Mmm—ama?" Megan wasn't sure whether she wasn't 
dreaming. Ness carefully put the knife down before turning,

wiping her hands on the cloth. 
"Bylashka." Her smile was painful but determined. "I…" Her 
voice broke and she looked away, ashamed in front of her 
daughter. Megan walked in, still not believing that her mother 
was back in spirit. 
" 'salright. There's some greens I brought." She held them out, 
arm's length, not trusting yet. 
She saw the tears come up in Ness's eyes, but her mother 
didn't say anything except, "That was thoughtful, thank you." 
She took the bag, as offered, gently as if it were full of glass. 
Megan watched her, throat choked with hope and fear, finally 
turning away to do her old job of setting the table; Mama's 
cushion, Meg's cushion. It was almost too frightening, this 
sudden return to normalcy. 
Supper was full of careful words, Megan watching every 
mouthful that her mother ate. Ness ate slowly, steadily, as if 
trying to make up for the last cycles' neglect, though she didn't 
seem to want to eat. 
"I convinced your aunt that it was all right to leave me alone," 
Ness said, putting down her eating pick. "I… I realized…" She 
twisted her napkin in her hands, a tear splashing down to make 
a small, dark round spot on the red cloth. She looked up. 
"I want Dust but I refuse to need it. It isn't going to kill me, or 
keep hurting you. I've learned bad habits and it's going to take 
some determination to get rid of them, but I will. I swear off the 
DreamDust. By Koru, Goddess, Lady and Lord, hear me, 
bylashka." 
Through the whole speech, Megan had held herself still, 
suddenly feeling older than the world, older even than her 
mother. It made her dizzy, that her mother should apologize. 
"I—Mama, I can't make you keep that promise." Megan 
gulped and shrank away. Ness closed her eyes as if against a 
sudden pain.

"I know, Megan. I know. I have to keep that promise to 
myself." She sat still, like a Goddess image, her face full of pain, 
hands clenched, not reaching for Megan, letting her choose. 
"Oh, Mama!" Megan flung herself into her mother's lap, 
banging her hip into the corner of the table as she reached out, 
hearing the dishes rattle, feeling familiar hands and arms hold 
her close. "Mama, I love you! I love you! It was like you went 
away. Don't ever go away like that again. I missed you." 
Chapter Thirteen 
Midwinter, Ness's fever struck after she'd gone out too soon 
with a bad cough, back to work. It settled in her lungs, clogging 
them so she couldn't breathe. 
She smiled at Megan, who sat on the edge of the bed, holding 
her hands. "Bylashka…" Her voice was a cracked wheeze. She sat 
up, straining to look better than she was, to reassure her 
daughter. "It's all right. I've had a few illnesses this winter. This 
is just another." 
"Mama, I might be able to get some oranges…" 
Ness coughed, gasped a breath, coughed again. "No, love, 
they're too expensive." She eased back against the pillows, 
propped high to help her breathing. "I'm not that hungry, Meg." 
Megan laid a hand on her mother's forehead. Her skin felt 
papery and hot, her lips cracked. Dimi had said he'd be back to 
check if the fever had broken—it has to break, soon—later on 
that night. 
"All right, Mama." The water was low again, though Rilla had 
brought some in before she left as the wind came up, the 
ominous whistle that meant another blizzard blowing in; a night 
to stay inside. 
Megan checked the bag of black-rock with her eyes as she sat, 
wondering whether there was enough to keep the room warm. 
Water, the brazier has to stay lit, so that Mama doesn't have to 
be bundled up… Dimi says no blankets until the fever breaks.

There would be enough, at least until Rilla came back. Her 
cousin had made excuses for Marte, saying that she was busy, 
but Megan knew better. 
Ness's fingers trembled in Megan's smaller hands, the 
dampened cloths Megan had wrapped around her legs already 
dry. Her eyes flickered closed, then open, gaze wandering around 
the room as if it were full of mist and there was nothing solid to 
catch her eye. 
The brazier hissed as Ness struggled for breath, her thin 
fingers picking at the sheet, and Megan tried to get her to drink, 
laving her face. 
Shen looked in later, waving a hand at Megan as she put a 
basket of black-rock down by the door. 'Here, I'D get you some 
more water, luv," she whispered. 
"Thank you." The blizzard howled outside, bad enough that 
Megan could hear the Flats creak and shift under the force of the 
wind and snow, even one floor down. 
In the middle of the night, as Megan wrung out another cloth, 
dripping the water back into the bowl, Ness opened unclouded 
eyes. 
"Bylashka… love…" She stopped as if it were too much strain 
to speak, one hand fluttering on the mattress as if she were 
trying to lift it. She blinked and fell silent then, Megan hoping 
she'd sleep. 
Then her breathing stopped, her hands going slack. Megan 
flinched away as if death were a presence she could run from, 
heart pounding, then she sat still, holding her mother's hands as 
if that would hold her to life. "Mama, no. No. Please, no. Koru, 
Goddess, Lady of Mercy, don't let my mother die. No. No." 
Megan whispered that litany long after Ness's fingers were 
growing cool in hers. Then she sat listening to the lonely sound 
of her own breath in the room. 
When Dimi looked in, Megan still sat holding onto her

mother. She looked at him dry-eyed and said, "My mama's died. 
I didn't come to get you because there wasn't anything to do." 
Megan stood on the plateau in the freezing wind, ignoring the 
snow blowing in her face. Her hands wrapped her mother's cloak 
secure around her, holding it tucked close like an impossible 
hug. Though it was too big, it was warm around her mourning 
grey. 
All through she hadn't cried. It was too much to cry for. She 
stood looking at the platform, listening to the ravens yawping. 
The wind whipped through the funeral poles, and an old raven 
hopped closer, impatiently cocking its head sideways. 
"Get away! Get away!" Megan lunged at the bird a step or 
two, fists raised, cold wind sweeping into her clothing as she let 
go the cloak. "You can't have her yet!" It blundered into the air 
with a papery thrashing of wings. 
Yarishk, standing behind her and next to Rilla, made to lay a 
hand on her shoulder, hesitated. Behind them, politely out of 
earshot, stood the handlers of the dead, waiting to raise the 
funerary platform up on its pole. Marte wasn't there, though 
Shenanya, Dmitrach and Boryis, Jerya and Yneltzyn were. The 
snow fell thicker, clinging to Megan's face and eyelashes, melting 
like the tears she couldn't shed as she knelt down by the 
platform. As she had so often through the early part of the 
winter, every time Ness had been ill, she put out a hand and 
smoothed the hair off her mother's forehead. Only this time it 
was cool, not hot. Ness's eyelids stayed shut. 
prayed again, when Mama kept getting sick all the time. I 
said I'd believe again if she were all right. That didn't happen. 
If there's a God, then it's the Dark Lord, because the world is all 
snow and bones. 
Now on the plateau, Megan clung to her mother's corpse still, 
in the wind and snow, wanting to die too. Perhaps it had been 
her fault. Perhaps if she'd tried harder to get her to eat. Perhaps 
if she'd noticed sooner about the Dust, she wouldn't have 
weakened so. Mama, I need you. What am I going to do? You're 
with Papa but you've left me behind. If I don't cry your name,

some part of you has to stay with me. 
That evil little thought cracked the ice in her and she finally 
started to cry. She let go and got up, stepping back, the hot tears 
mixing with the cold melting snow-flakes on her face. I can't do 
that. That wouldn't be right. She sobbed, standing straight next 
to the funeral platform, threw her head back, and screamed her 
mother's name into the wind. 
"NEEESSSS, Weaaaveerrr!" The names echoed, flapping their 
way free, like the ravens roused by her scream. "Daughter of 
Anayita and Tomas of Raeschku Village!" With each word the 
body on the platform seemed less and less like someone she 
knew. "Lixand Weaver's wife…" She stepped back, whispering, 
"and my mother." 
Rilla hugged her and Gospoznyn Yarishk stood by them as the 
handlers of the dead raised the platform, the pole grinding into 
the cairn of rocks, swaying with the weight. Goodbye, Mama. 
Megan stood in the doorway looking at the empty room that 
had been home for seven years. Shenanya had tried to help, but 
Marte had come and said that she'd see to things, and since she 
had kin-claim no one said anything when the feather tick and 
the pillows were sold, the table and what few clothes Ness had 
had. Megan had bundled a shirt of her father's and her mother's 
cloak into her own things, so they might not be sold off with all 
the rest. Marte took the knife and Ness's good platter. The room 
was stripped. 
"You obviously can't live here by yourself, or even at the 
Apprentice Hall," Marte had said firmly. "You'll have your place 
in my home." And that had been that. Marte had kin-right and 
was adult, her decisions final. Megan looked at the bare room 
that she'd swept out as carefully as if her mother had told her to, 
for the next tenant, and wondered if she were dreaming. 
She shook herself, hugging the bundle of her things to her 
chest. She'd hidden her best things at the Guildhall, and would 
stay there mostly, despite what Aunt said. Rilla had been 
learning without being apprenticed formally and Megan had 
kept up her own 'prentice fees. IH make a merchant that Mama

and Papa'd be proud of. That set her tears off again as she 
closed the door behind her and set off down to the Dogleg, to 
Marte and Rilla's room. I'm never going to call that place home, 
even for Rilla's sake. It's not my home and never will be. 
Marte had insisted she turn out the bundle when she got 
there and picked over every piece with pinching, disapproving 
sniffs. 
"No wonder there was nothing left," she sniffed. "Too much 
spent on fancy things you'd just outgrow." Megan bit her lip, 
outraged. Her mother had embroidered the cuffs of their shirts 
when she'd had time. Marte lifted Lixand's old shirt and looked 
at Megan consideringly. Don't take it… Just don't take it. 
Marte sniffed again and swept everything together into 
Megan's arms. "Your bed's over that side. Don't know what 
you've been taught but you'll keep it clean." She nodded at a spot 
under the shelves, where a pallet lay. Megan swallowed. I know 
I'm dreaming now. A nightmare. Mama, I'd like to wake up 
now. 
Megan folded her clothes carefully, stacking them next the 
pillow of the strange bed that was now supposed to be hers. 
"Here, brat! I won't have you being too sullen, you'll give me 
more grey hairs than you've got." Marte tapped Megan on the 
side of the head where the white streak grew, sharp fingers 
almost too hard. 
"No, Aunt," Megan whispered. 
"Right then. I'm going out. Stay, or go, as you please but don't 
touch anything of mine." 
"No, Aunt." Megan had clenched her hands as Marte left, 
blowing out the candle, leaving only the kraumak that used to be 
Lixand and Ness's glowing in the dark. 
She'd run all the way up to the Nest and asked to speak to 
Serkai.

"Megan." Serkai smiled at her as she met him at the gate. 
"Hi, Serk." Megan hadn't wanted to go out, but Marte's room 
had been worse. "Serk…" Megan looked into his smile, not 
knowing what to say, full of words that couldn't fight their way 
out of her somehow. He lost the grin and patted her shoulder. 
"Meg… look, it's cold out here. I could buy you a hot drink or 
something at the Cup." 
She gulped and tried to nod, but the tears came back and he 
pulled her close to let her cry, stepping back into one of the 
niches in the wall by the gate. She knotted one hand in his long 
hair that he wouldn't cut until he was a full guard, crying into 
his chest. 
"Sa… Megan. It'll be all right. It'll be all right. Cry. I don't 
mind. Here." He handed her his handkerchief. "My mama 
always said that if someone dies you cry for being left behind. 
Twice a day—once for you and once for diem." 
She snuggled close to him, feeling real for the first time since 
the funeral. Her life felt broken, like an iron wheel with 
three-quarters of the circle perfect but the fourth hammered 
flat, grinding on cobbles, pulling the rest of the wheel out of 
shape. The wind blew in on them, smelling of snow and smoke. 
"Serkai, I don't know what to do." 
He nodded, his chin nudging the top of her head. "Come on 
in. I'll sneak you in and we can talk. It's an emergency. Besides, 
most of the older apprentices are celebrating the end of testing." 
It wasn’t far, through two small courtyards and then into the 
squire's barracks. Once inside, at his motion, she pulled off her 
boots and carried them. He left his standing below his peg 
before they tiptoed in. 
They scuttled under an open window into the corridor, where 
Megan could hear the scratching of a quill and the rustle of 
paper. They turned the corner and leaned against the wall for a 
second, getting back the breaths they'd held too long, and Serkai

winked at her. 
"That's the worst," he whispered in her ear. "Sergeant 
Tuqashevsky's easier to sneak by on the way out.' He led her to a 
small wallbed and hid her boots in a cupboard under it. In the 
distance she could hear balika music and stamping and it made 
her feel more alone. 
In the dark of the shut wallbed that almost smelled more of 
soap and leathersoap than Serkai, she cried herself out. 
"They're gone, Ma… Ma and Pa… Pa and I have to stay with 
h… er!" The straw mattress rustled as he shifted so her head was 
on his shoulder. 
"You'll be all right, Megan. I'm thirteen now, you're almost 
twelve, and that's only four years till you can marry me. I'll be a 
full guard, with a full guard's pay. I'll be assigned to guard some 
posh Zingas, or even the Zarizan's apartments—he'll be Woyvode 
by then—and we'll be fine." 
She shifted, sniffed, and wiped her nose. "You're right. It's not 
all horrible. I have you as a friend, and Gospozhyn. There's 
Varik, and I bet Shen and Dimi and everyone at the Flats won't 
stop being my friend, even if I do have to live with Aunt." 
"She's an asshole." 
Megan shivered, wanting to see Serkai's face. She'd never 
heard him that angry, that hard before. "She's… she's my kin," 
she said, though she agreed with him. 
His arm around her tightened. "Yeah, right. Sorry." 
They lay together in the warm, stuffy dark without saying 
anything for a long time. I'm never going to be able to talk to 
him about the Other Guild. He'd be duty bound to arrest me, 
she thought. Then Serkai touched her face, stroking, 
feather-light down her neck. 
"I love you. I want to marry you," he said.

She tried to smile. "We're too young, Serkai. It sounds silly 
when you say you love me." She hesitated. "I guess I love you too, 
I think." 
"Do you want to make love?" he asked, his voice cracking in 
the dark. Megan nodded against his shoulder, and they 
squirmed out of the rest of their clothes, tangling trousers and 
shirtsleeves and long hair in the crowded space. "We have to be 
quiet, though," he whispered. "You aren't supposed to be here, 
and if we get caught my sergeant'll have the skin off my back and 
her tongue is almost as sharp as the whip." 
"Okay." 
Before, when they'd explored each other's bodies, it had been 
more giggly, sillier. Now Megan touched him almost solemnly, 
hearing his sigh, feeling him tremble when she took hold of him. 
He was careful, holding her like she was breakable when he 
kissed her. They'd talked about him getting inside her, but 
decided that they were too young and she'd probably hurt too 
much. 
"Megan?" Yeah? 
"Do you like this?" He kissed her mouth, then her neck, then 
her navel and blew gently between her legs. She almost squealed, 
clapped a hand over her mouth. 
"Th… that's nice." She caught her tongue in her teeth as he 
kissed between her legs, which he'd never done before. This time, 
the sparks glowing up and down her back seemed to rise higher 
and higher toward her head, flow down her legs and to the ends 
of her fingers, as if all her hair could stand on end until she 
gasped and clutched his head close, wanting to cry out. 
like a sheet of lightning from his mouth she climaxed for the 
first time, and when tears came again after, it was because she 
felt so good. I shouldn't, I shouldn't… Mama and Papa are dead 
and I shouldn't… but I want to. She felt tired, floating and 
suddenly not like a child any longer, almost as old as the world 
and as if she knew everything. Then she cried for herself, slow 
tears flowing down her face that she wiped away, not saying

anything to Serkai. 
"You taste funny," he teased, but she could feel him smiling 
against the skin of her thigh. When she pulled his hair he added, 
"But good!" 
He slid up to hold her, but she wiggled down and said, "Fair's 
fair. Do men like that, too?" 
She'd seen him climax before, when she put her hand on him. 
This time she kissed him there. He smelled strong and musky, 
groaned, and pulled her close, hands opening and closing as all 
his attention narrowed to what she was doing. She took him in 
her mouth and he came right then. He was salty and his member 
jumped against her tongue as she tasted him. He tastes warm. 
The next few weeks were quiet. Marte had pulled Megan out 
of all but the basic classes, unwilling to pay for anything extra 
and since, as she explained, the child had a home in-city, it 
made little sense that the full apprentice fee be levied. Master 
Yarishk had to agree and return part of the fee. That meant that 
Megan could no longer stay in the Apprentice Hall or be fed 
there, and Marte had come with her to clear out her box. 
"Aunt?" Megan asked as they walked down Chashiy Street. 
"What is it?" Marte sidestepped a crowd around a street 
juggler who was calling people to toss snowballs into the things 
he held spinning overhead with only physical skill, not using 
manrauq. 
"Wouldn't it have been cheaper for you to let me stay at the 
Hall, rather than at your house?" 
Marte grunted. "I make enough money. It's a form of charity 
we don't need." 
Megan looked down at the box she was carrying. It doesn't 
make sense to me. It's not charity at all. You just wanted the 
money. 
After that Tikhiy met her at the gate every day and they

walked to first classes together. Gospozhyn Edischch, Tikhiy's 
great-master had, just this iron-cycle, started giving her the 
separate lessons Megan had already been learning from her 
Gospozhyn. Megan's friend was better at geography and plain 
bookkeeping, and they still teased each other about Serkai and 
Ivar. 
"Megan," Tikhiy said one morning, "do you think Ivar likes 
me?" 
"Yeah, why? You planning to ask him to lose his virginity with 
you?" Megan answered almost automatically, then looked at her 
friend. She hadn't asked in a joking tone. 
"Yes." 
Megan stopped right there on the steps and hugged her. 
"I'm so glad," she said in Tikhiy's ear. "He was asking and 
asking whether you liked him or Serkai!" Megan smiled, slowly, 
then more broadly. "Tikhiy's sweet on Ivar! Tikhiy's sweet 
on—mmph!" 
Tikhiy took her hand away. "You shut your mouth!" She 
settled her book and slate more firmly on her hip. "That's nice. 
Maybe we'll be a quad when we're old enough." She leaned 
sideways and giggled as Megan dug a finger under her ribs. "Ow! 
What was that for?" 
"For being a bayishha, arranging marriages at your age!" 
Megan laughed as Tikhiy just sniffed disdainfully. "I'll see you 
after my class with Yolculvik Varik." 
"Okay." 
That day was special, a type of warm glowing day that Megan 
had forgotten existed; a day when everything went right. It 
carried her through the silent dinner at Aunt Marte's, and the 
pallet almost felt like hers. 
Marte had been morose for the last few Hands and the 
housekeeping got bad, so Megan and Rilla tidied after their

schooling. Rilla was getting the lessons that Megan was 
struggling to pay for, prigging—no, she thought, stealing. 
Gospozhyn said it wasn’t right to pretty up something by 
calling it something else. Call a goat a goat and not high 
quality mutton—stealing purses in the market, risking her 
hands every time. 
Rilla put the scrub brush down one day and said, "Megan you 
ought to stop paying for my lessons with the Other Guild and use 
the money for yourself. If you get promoted fast, then you can 
look out for me better." 
Megan put the broom down and, after thinking about it for a 
minute, said no. 
"It won't help you learn things you need to know now, when 
you're younger. And it won't make me a grownup and able to 
dictate for the family in the courts any faster—if Regent Mikail is 
ever going to open the courts to the people again—so you'd 
better learn all you can now." 
It was Rilla's turn to think as she aired out the cupboard 
under Marte's wallbed in the back room, Megan going back to 
sweeping around the table. 
"All right. I guess it makes sense." Outside there was a faint 
thump, a staggering step or two, then another thump. Rilla 
straightened abruptly, her mouth going tight as she turned to 
the door. "Meg, is there wine or beer in the house?" 
"No, but…" Megan stood still, broom in hand, as Rilla swore 
and dived for their gloves and coats by the door. 
"Here, if you can get out for a couple of hours, maybe the rest 
of the day… she's gone and gotten d—" 
BANG. Marte nit or fell against the door, groping at the latch. 
Megan turned startled eyes to Rilla, who understood what was 
going on. 
Marte fumbled the door open and stood there, swaying. "Hey 
brat! Or is it brats, now? Yeah. Two of you. Whatcha doin'?" Her

tone was a mixture of innocent curiosity and anger. Rilla and 
Megan stood speechless as she staggered in a step and swigged 
out of a flask she carried in one hand. 
"Shit-it…'s empty," Marte said owlishly and dropped the jar, 
shattering it on the floor. "You, whore's brat! Cleanin' fer me are 
you? Not good enough, 'm I—" 
"I'm no—" 
"Shut UP!" Marte lunged for Megan, Rilla diving out of the 
way, under the table. Megan jumped sideways— no room—and 
was trapped by the wall and the broom she still held. Marte 
grabbed her by the ear and one arm, kicked over the pile of 
Megan's things in her way, and dragged her over to where the 
broken bits of jar lay on the curt floor. "Clean it up," she snarled, 
shaking Megan hard enough to rattle her teeth together, then 
flung her at the mess. 
Megan fell, holding onto the broom as if it could somehow 
protect her, sprawling over the clay pieces, felt one slice into her 
wrist, and cried out. This can't be happening. This can't be real. 
Nothing like this could happen to me. She's my aunt. She's kin… 
She rolled to one side, dropping the broom, trying to crawl 
backward toward the door, Marte not giving her a chance to get 
up.
Megan saw her hand go back, the beginning of the swing, her 
head snapped back hitting the floor, the end of the full-armed 
slap a black-edged shattering in her head. 
"Clean it up! Clean it UP," Marte shouted through clenched 
teeth. "Not good enough… I'll show you, brat…" 
Marte's face was all Megan could see; familiar, inhuman. The 
flash of another slap, and another—whipping her head around, 
hair in her eyes, cold grit on hands, sharp pain in one leg. She 
kicked me, help me, someone, anyone. The last swing, a bunched 
fist, thundering down the dark. 
She woke up a moment later. Marte had left the door 
swinging open, letting in colder air and the smell of sour

cabbage from down the hall. Rilla sat, holding Megan's head on 
her lap and all she could muzzily think was why? 
Why? And the answer. She hates me. 
"Megan? You okay? You'll be okay. She's not usually this bad." 
Rilla stroked Megan's hair out of her face, then helped her up to 
the pallet. 
"When…" Megan started to cry then, and Rilla held her. 
"When is she Wee this?" the younger girl asked. Megan 
nodded, throat closed by tears. "Whenever mam's hitting the 
sauce again, she gets like that. After one flask she gets ugly, and 
after two she gets too soused to aim properly. After three she 
passes out and it's all right, an avalanche couldn't wake her." 
Megan huddled on her pallet with the two blankets pulled 
around her, her face and head and leg hurting, holding onto 
Rilla. All she could think was, Oh. That makes sense. The bruises 
were coming up and her wrist stung where the cut had clotted. 
She sniffled, wiped her nose carefully on the blanket because her 
handkerchief was in the pile Marte had kicked over. 
"Is she going to be back?" Megan asked, dizzy, the idea 
frightening enough to make her sick. 
"It's okay, it's okay, Megan, she'll be too drunk to hit by then." 
Rilla grimaced. "And tomorrow she'll be sugary sorry and 
apologize all over you and be so nice you'll want to barf because 
you know she'll just do it again." She got up to close the creaking 
door. 
"Okay." Megan limped over to the water basin and washed 
her wrist and face, then came back to the pallet and started 
carefully folding her things together again. "Do you have room in 
your box for my things?" 
"Un-hunh, I think so," Rilla said, leaning over to help. 
"Thanks, Rilla." The cousins worked together in the quiet for 
a bit before Megan said, "We just have to make sure there's

always two jugs of wine in the house." 
"Megan!" Rilla whispered urgently, from up over the 
apothecary's shop, stopping her cousin as she was about to turn 
into the Dogleg. "Don't go home yet. Can we stay at the Guild for 
a bit?" 
Megan peered up into the dark. At this corner the buildings' 
overhangs leaned close as foundations rotted, braced apart at 
the top by a couple of beams, cutting off what little moonlight 
might have found its way to the street. Rilla leaned out on the 
wooden bracers of the second floor, over the window full of jars 
of leeches and the chest with the thousands of tiny drawers. 
"Hsst, up here!" 
"Rilla? She's drunk again, right?" From the almshouse next 
door, voices were raised, arguing. Her feet, in their worn boots, 
were cold and wet. "It may be too late to get into the 'Prentice 
Hall, the gates are probably—" In the distance the garrison drum 
boomed, faint and echoing this far down in the city. "There, 
they'll be locked. Gospozhyn will have gone home." 
"Won't Master Zyatki let us in?" 
"He might." 
"She's not drunk enough and I don't have any money for more 
wine or wadiki." Rilla slid down the remnants of an old, torn 
awning that crackled frozenly. 
"Okay." Megan could have cried, her hopes of getting dry and 
warm going as cold as her feet. 
They stopped under a torch bracket by Eksoticum, one of the 
unlicensed naZak whorehouses and taverns on this part of the 
Stairs. Rilla changed the one mitten she wore from one hand to 
the other, tucking the other in the armpit. "I lost one and now 
isn't the time to tell mam about it," she said when Megan 
looked. 
"Yeah, don't give her an excuse."

Rilla looked down at their shadows, flickering against the 
snow. "She doesn't need excuses," she whispered. 
Megan closed her mouth, her lips thinning. "She usually 
doesn't take out her hangover on you, but you can never trust it," 
Rilla continued. 
"Rilla…" 
"You didn't know. You just never knew how bad it gets." Rilla 
wiped her eyes clear of the snow that started falling around 
them, looking at the tall muffled forms of naZak passing by. 
"Now you do." 
Megan stood in the torchlight that was dimming in the snow, 
the torch hissing as it bled hot pinetar. The world was shrinking 
around her, the dark pressing in. She shook her head 
stubbornly. The world isn't this horrible. I know better. 
"Come on, I'll see if we can get into the Hall." Megan took a 
deep breath. "If worst comes to worst, I can try to pick the lock," 
she said, feeling in her belt for the finger-long bit of twisted wire 
she'd copied from Varik. "If I'm not good at it, yet, I guess I will 
be." She flung an arm around Rilla's shoulders. "We need to get 
more money somewhere, for the wine." 
"Yeah," Rilla said, a little muffledly. "It’ll be easier with you 
around, Meg." 
"Sure, coz. And spring is almost here. Come on, my feet are 
turning into solid cobblestones on the ends of my legs." They 
started across the City, back to the River Guild. 
"Oh, piss!" Megan swore as the third snowball she'd thrown 
up at the window burst with a muffled thump, bringing no 
response from Tikhiy. The sprays of snow shone against the 
shutters and stone wall. She stamped her feet, blowing on her 
hands. Rilla shivered. 
"Meg, it's getting cold real fast and you've tried three times. 
Can you try the door? Please?"

The snow was slushy during the day and when the sun went 
down at night it froze into sharp ridges and hollows that during 
the coldest part of the night could cut through worn felt or thin 
leather. Megan's boots had started out soaked, now they 
crackled and she couldn't feel her toes. 
"All right." She blew through the wool of her mittens again, 
feeling the damp warmth of her breath cool much too fast. 
The smaller doors had leather and wood latches, and she 
knew the sequences would have been changed since Marte took 
her out of the Apprentice Hall, but she tried them anyway. Only 
the main door had a wood and metal latch with a key, that 
Master Zyatki kept once the Hall was locked for the night. She 
longed to have the manrauq to lift the key from its peg in his 
office, between the door and the stairs. Even if she'd had as 
much manrauq as her mother, she would only have been able to 
pull it loose to clatter onto the stone floor. 
The latch was the beard of an ornately carved demon's head 
surrounded by oak-leaves, painted here and there with copper 
paint. The copper was covered with frost, as was the demon's 
keyhole mouth, and Megan was careful not to touch the metal 
with her bare fingers as she pulled the bit of wire out of her coat 
where she'd kept it warm. 
"Pray the Watch doesn't come," she said to Rilla. "We can't 
douse the torches." 
"Okay." Rilla's teeth were chattering, whether from cold or 
fear, Megan didn't know. "We can't go back now. If she isn't 
drunk enough, she'll beat us for being so late." 
"Yeah." Megan threaded the wire into the keyhole, following 
the worn spot on the left. "Shut up for a bit." She felt as if there 
were a hundred eyes watching her, waiting till the door opened 
before crying THIEF! She swallowed, reminding herself that it 
was dark, and late, and Rilla was watching out for her. 
She had two of the weights shifted and the third one refused 
to move. Sudden sweat trailed down her back and she felt it cool 
in the breeze that stuck icy fingers up her sleeves. She wanted to

shiver, but if her hands shook she'd lose the tumbler. There was 
nowhere else for them to go this late. She considered trying to 
huddle with Rilla in one of the burned-out buildings and 
dismissed the idea. Even if it weren't the time of year for 
graukalm, the grievous-wind off the steppe, they'd still probably 
freeze to death. Would the Sysbaet take us in? No, because we 
have a home and an adult relative… piss on this lock … It 
clicked as the tumbler moved and she eased the bolt back. The 
door squeaked open a fraction, letting out a draft of warm, and 
someone said: 
"Very well done, Whitlock. I trust there is some good reason 
for such a skill to be practiced this late?" Master Zyatki stood, 
with a very neutral expression on his face, leaning one shoulder 
against the inside lintel of the door, arms crossed. 
Megan and Rilla stood frozen for a long moment. "Master… 
ah… yes… well… there is," Megan stammered, floundering for 
some plausible reason. Before she could think of anything, he 
frowned. 
"You're both so cold you're blue! In, in, explain in my office 
next the fire." He shooed them in, and shut the main gate 
behind them with a boom, locking it again with the key. He 
herded the two into his office, supervised them sweeping snow 
off their shoulders and legs, pulling stiff boots and socks off, and 
had them next to the brazier warming their hands on mugs of 
chai all before Megan could think of anything. 
Rilla clung to her cousin, silent. Master Zyatki had met her 
once or twice before but she didn't know him well. Megan, in the 
familiar office that smelled of chalk, paper and damp wool 
mittens, sipped at her chai and felt sudden tears welling that she 
hid by blowing her nose in her kerchief. He's being so nice when 
he could be yelling at us. What was she to say? That they hadn't 
gone home because their kin would beat them? It was private. It 
was something that kin didn't do, and if some did, well, it was 
their shame. "Well?" he said, looked at Megan. One of the Hall 
ferrets rolled on his lap, chewing at his fingers. 
"Mastery Zyatki, there… well, it's… uhm… like this… I… we…"

He cut her stammer off. "How old are you, Whitlock. Eleven?" 
She nodded. "Certainly old enough to give a straightforward 
answer to a question." 
She blushed, looking down at her chai, wanting to melt into 
the floor like the puddles dribbling off her boots that stood by 
the door. She cleared her throat. "Master Zyatki, we had to come 
in to the Hall because my aunt, Rilla's mother, is… uhm… 
indisposed." She couldn't think of any other polite way of saying 
it. He looked a bit alarmed. 
"Indisposed? Is she ill? Then why… ?" He raised an eyebrow at 
her. 
Rilla blurted out, "Teik, she's drunk." 
For a moment after the only sound in the office was the ferret, 
scrambling under some papers on the desk, and the crumbly 
sound of coals settling in the brazier. 
"She's not at the passing out stage yet and we can't go home 
until then… we can't," Rilla plunged on. For a moment Megan 
had a wild hope that he might actually help them, get them out 
of Marte's hands as she saw anger flicker across his face, but 
then the hope withered. The only thing in his face was 
understanding and a shadow of helplessness. 
"You can spend the night, you two." He sighed, looking older, 
rubbed his eyes. "This doesn't mean I can give you free room and 
board. The Guild isn't the Sysbaet." 
"No, Master Zyatki, I know." Megan looked down at her chai, 
feeling Rilla leaning on her other side. He can only do what he's 
allowed to, by law. She didn't know what she was feeling… 
grateful that she was warm, that they had a place to stay, at least 
tonight. Angry, but she didn't know at whom. It was more man 
anger that she felt toward Marte, it was bigger than that, older. 
Nothing's fair. No matter how hard you try, something or 
someone kicks you in the teeth when you fall if you're poor. 
"I know the way up to the rooms, Master." She put her cup 
down, trying to smile thank you at him.

"I'll have Lida show you up. You're officially guests." He 
patted them both on the shoulder, turning them toward the door 
of his office. I know you're helping but that just makes me feel 
more like a stranger here, in my own Guild. She fingered the 
picklock in her belt. Crying hasn't helped me, or being nice. 
Nothing's fair. Make them give you what you need. She held 
her head up as she followed Lida up the stairs. 
"Good night, you two," he said from below. 
"Sleep you sound, Master Zyatki," she said. Rilla took her 
hand. 
Chapter Fourteen 
Varik looked up from an accounting book at the Greeters desk 
as Megan tapped on the door frame. "Megan, yes Yarishk isn’t 
back from a meeting yet, but you’re to go on in to wait." 
"Thanks, Yolculvik." 
He winked at her. "Examinations and reports are always hard 
to take, 'prentice. I remember." 
Megan nodded and went past him down the hall to 
Gospozhyn's office. She didn’t want to hear the report her 
masters had made, but it was the half-year. 
She and Rilla hadn't had to take refuge in the Apprentice Hall 
more than once since the winter, and that time they'd managed 
to get Tikhiy to let them in and spent the night secretly, giggly 
and crowded in her wallbed. 
Marte had sobered p more as the days started getting longer 
which in one sense was better because the money stopped 
disappearing and in others worse since she began paying more 
attention to what they were doing. Megan was glad, though, that 
they hadn't had to practice picking Marte's pocket for food 
money every time a customer paid her. 
Rilla was taking more classes, clandestinely, and was a good 
unofficial apprentice, Gospozhyn said. Megan opened the office

door and settled down on a cushion, looking around the room. 
He needs to let someone in to clean up, she thought. But he 
never thinks of it. Rather than sitting and fretting, she got up 
and started hunting out all the old chai cups and piling them by 
the door for someone to take downstairs, and added more water 
and chai to the samovar hissing to itself in the corner. Then she 
gathered the papers where they had fallen out of piles, re-piled, 
exposing more of the mismatching colors of the thick rugs. He 
could get rugs and wall hangings that matched if he really 
wanted to, cushions too. Olnykova laughs and says he pretends 
to have no taste. She straightened the shade on the kraumak, 
gathered up three mittens, a scarf, one green sock and a 
headband. The next piece of clothing she picked up gave her a 
bit of a pause; someone's pink loincloth. She shrugged and 
added it to the pile. None of my business. 
The knitted blanket for the nights he worked late and decided 
to sleep there was folded and put in its cupboard. Why is it, 
Megan wondered, that most of everyone's life is cleaning up 
messes? She went back to her cushion to wait, which she wasn't 
very good at, fidgeted a bit, then went and got a book from his 
shelf—the only thing he kept immaculate in the whole room. 
She was puzzling over a translation—is that "evaluation" or 
"enigma"?—when she heard Sashi's claws clicking on the tile 
outside. The dog's nose poked the door open and she panted over 
and flopped down, her head on Megan's lap, burrowing under 
the book. Gospozhyn came in behind her, saying over his 
shoulder, "If the negotiations are stalled, then we'll stop talking 
takeback mortgage and discuss post-closing adjustments." He 
stopped in the door. "If all that fails we can move to part 
payment in escrow. You worry too much, 'Dela… Oh, and about 
the new City tariff, we can't lobby for anything at the moment, 
Mikail—" He broke off, realizing that rather than finishing up he 
was continuing the discussion. "I'll talk later, over dinner 
perhaps? Goddess guard." 
She heard Nal-Gospozhyn Tydela's muffled good-bye receding 
down the corridor. Megan got up as Yarishk came in, earning a 
whine from Sashi as her lap disappeared.

"Well, you're on time and I'm late. My apologies, Apprentice." 
"Certainly, Gospozhyn." 
"Well…" He looked around the room. "Bored? Ah, me, the 
silent reproach of someone tidier." He smiled at her. "Thank 
you." She nodded, half smiling, not wanting to say anything. 
He sat down, pulled the lapdesk onto his crossed legs, and 
unearthed two folders as Megan settled down. In the silence, 
while Yarishk looked through the reports, Sashi lay down next 
her master with a contented grunt. "Megan, have a cup, if you 
like. I'll be a moment or two longer." 
She poured herself chai and one for him, then sat down again 
while he stared into space over his steepled fingers. This office 
was one of the safest places in the world, Megan thought. When 
everything else went down, the Guild held steady. They have 
enough money to weather storms. He touched a finger to his 
cup, so she was free to drink hers. Manners. Good manners. He 
noticed, even when he was thinking about something eke. I'm 
going to be like that someday. 
"Megan." 
"Yessir." She looked up from her cup, glad the waiting was 
over. 
"I only have one question for my examination." 
"Yessir." She twisted her hands together behind her back. 
"Tell me the difference between a Guild captain and a 
freelance captain." 
She blinked, startled because it seemed an easy question. 
Then she realized that it was straight out of advanced lessons. 
"A Guild captain is subject to Guild controls. That means that 
while prices are controlled, the quality of goods is controlled on 
Guild ships. It also protects those dealing with the Guild because 
if there is a problem, they can appeal to the Guild, even if the

town, or city's courts cannot or will not deal with the dispute." 
He nodded, but didn't say anything so she went on. 
"The UnGuilded deal in things that Guild captains won't 
touch, things on the edge of legal. Also, the merchants dealing 
through the Guilded are guaranteed either delivery, explanation, 
or compensation." She stopped, sipped nervously at her chai. 
That was a bit disorganized. I'll have to do better next time. 
"Good enough," he said. "Your report from the River Guild is 
very good, though your attention to mathematics should be 
more careful. Your accounting skills are adequate but not the 
best." 
"Yes, Gospozhyn." 
"Since you seem to be approaching fluency in Zak dialects 
and Enchian and are adequate in Thanish and Rand, I suggest 
you expand your language studies to include at least the theory 
of Arkan." 
"Gospozhyn." Megan interrupted him. 
"Yes, child." 
She put her cup down. "Isn't the Arkan Empire a little far 
away to worry about being able to speak to them?" 
He nodded again, thoughtfully. "Many people think so, but it 
never hurts to know something of the Empire, since it dominates 
the Mitvald Sea and the land north almost to the ice. You will 
likely have to deal with them at some point if you trade through 
Brahvniki." 
"I understand. If I study Arkan, could I pick Lakan or Schvait 
or Yeoli for the next language after?" 
"You may. Well see how your new courses settle first." He 
sipped his cooling chai, grimaced and put the cup on the floor 
for Sashi. "Your courses in history, geography and cartography 
are acceptable, though you seem to be shirking politics." He 
looked at her sternly.

"If they're all like the Nest, I don't want to know about them," 
Megan said stubbornly. "Gospozhyn." 
"Well, they aren't. If you don't have a grounding in your own 
culture, you have nothing to properly compare once other 
systems are introduced to you. Which they will be, shortly." 
"Yes, Gospozhyn." She felt her face get red, ducked to sip 
more chai. Sashi, finished with Yarishk's cup, ambled over to 
poke a hopeful nose into Megan's hand. The girl petted her then 
pushed her away. 
"The more practical aspects of river trading well deal with 
when you're sixteen and we'll be able to send you on various 
ships to learn that trade, since you seem to lean toward 
owner/captain, though…" He held up a finger. "Not all 
merchants are lucky enough to gain more than shareholder 
status, mind." 
He picked up the other file, flipped through it, then 
thoughtfully tapped one corner on the desk. 'The report from 
your other Masters…" He smiled. "Master Zyatki mentioned that 
he caught you practicing—" 
"I had to, that time!' Megan subsided abruptly at his raised 
hand. 
"So he gave me to understand. You are progressing very 
rapidly due to the extra work you do. I will admit, you were right 
there." She nodded, but that was all. He raised an eyebrow at 
that, flipped the folder closed. "An examination is due then, for 
that," he said. Megan sat up abruptly, startled. 
"I want you to pick the hardest target in the City that you 
think you could successfully get into and out of. I want a full and 
detailed report on how it would be done and the specific thing 
you mean to steal." 
Megan blinked at him and didn't stop Sashi from lapping in 
her chai cup. This was the bluntest he'd ever stated an 
assignment for the Other Guild. He tilted his head at her and she 
shook herself. Of course, he just wants the report.

"Here, you, get out of there!" She turned her attention to the 
dog, snatching the now-empty cup away. 
"You understand, Megan?" he asked quietly. 
"Yes, Gospozhyn." 
"I want to have that report in one Hand." 
"Yes, Gospozhyn." 
He smiled. "Other than that, so far, your marks are good 
enough, for all that you are doing. If you dropped one scholastic, 
I think I could have rated you top marks." 
She smiled back, shaking her head a little abstractly, her 
mind all ready on the assignment. 
"Kievir Vaizal?" Yarishk said a Hand later. "Her golden roses, 
she commissioned from the Karoshayie?" He looked at Megan 
over the paper he held. "Don't you think that's a bit ambitious?" 
She shook her head. "No, Gospozhyn." 
"She's involved with the Talistsa mines, no?" 
"Yes, Gospozhyn." 
"Any reason you chose her?" 
Megan looked at him blankly, shook her head. "No, 
Gospozhyn. I just thought of her. The whole City was talking 
about her roses." 
He gazed at her a minute longer. "You have this committed to 
memory?" he asked, gesturing with the piece of paper. She 
nodded. "Good," he said, and held it in the candle flame. "Go do 
it."
Of all the dumb things I could do, she thought. Why did I 
have to pick this one? The rain was a steady drizzle making the 
rock where she clung slipperier and colder.

She rested her arms, trusting all her weight for a moment on 
the climbing claws on her left boot. She was on the ridge near 
Sobota Gate, a good long fall away from the street. Vaizal 
Marteshkya's manor was at the end of Ulitsu Lane, at least the 
gardens were, the terraces and walls rising to the facades set 
into the ridge, one of the old manors with rooms deep in the 
rock. Megan, in the rain, both cursed it and was thankful. Few 
people stuck their noses out in the wet and it made a dark night 
dimmer. 
She climbed carefully past the last wall fringed with wooden 
spines, each tipped in painted iron. She d gotten Varik to help 
her plot the possible manrauq traps, because she still wasn't 
manifesting. He'd told her where they were likely to be that he 
could see, or had heard of. She bit her lip as she climbed, 
remembering his impatient click of tongue against teeth. He 
expected me to manifest long before. She headed for the window 
farthest from the wall, the one least likely to be protected, 
hanging on to rock that leaned out over the garden with hands 
that ached and trembled inside the climbing gloves. Anyone 
heavier wouldn't have made it. I'm glad I don't have to try it 
even a few months from now. The roses. I would have to pick 
something that expensive and recognizable. I'm risking 
strangulation, not just having my hands broken. The latter 
punishment was only for petty theft. She reached the window, 
rested the toe of one boot against the sill, and waited. There was 
a flicker and the window bulged, reaching with clear paws. 
Megan bed and they swung toward her. She froze—I am a 
shadow, not a person. I'm not here.—and they withered into the 
rain and washed away. The window smoothed out. Megan 
shifted a bit more weight onto the sill, watched the same thing 
happen, freezing again until the illusion faded. 
Good image. If Varik hadn't told me, I would have tried to 
get away and started believing it. It would have gotten me. The 
third time the glass only seemed to ripple before it subsided. 
Vaizal paid someone top price for that trap. Too bad. She put 
both feet on the sill. 
Nothing happened. It was a half-second's work to open the 
simple latch. Depending too much on manrauq, tsk. A soft step

down behind heavy curtains onto thick carpets. It was like the 
Wizard's library, the same sort of feeling, though more 
dangerous than it was then. She knelt and eeled under the heavy 
curtain, into the dressing room of what should be a guest suite. 
If I do this… never mind, keep your mind on what you're doing 
when you're doing it. Think about after, after. It was dark, 
except for the dim glow of the brazier set into a carved alabaster 
screening bowl, but she stopped a minute straining to see. This 
room was supposed to be empty, and was. It was bigger than the 
two rooms on the Dogleg; twice as big, and it was only the 
bedroom. There were faintly glittering tapestries keeping the 
damp of the walls out. 
The inner door wasn't locked. Dressing room. Guest's 
servant's room. Sitting room. Another sitting room. Each one 
was a different color, she'd heard, but they all felt the same; 
thick silk and spider-wool carpets, silk hangings to warm the 
stone behind. Even though there wasn't a guest in them, all three 
rooms were kept fresh. She could smell fresh flowers, when 
outside not even the snowdrops had bloomed yet. 
She was dry enough now that she didn't drip anymore and 
she paused at what had to be the hallway door, listening, then 
eased the door open a crack—metal hinges. 
The hallway, with a spindly Enchian chair and a heavy 
sideboard, was full of space and the odor of beeswax, lemon, 
cinnamon wood, the wooden floor elaborately inlaid. 
From downstairs, the strains of music drifted up with the 
scents of spicy food and mulled wine, the sounds of Vaizal's 
dinner party. Gospozhyn had been invited and the Kievir would 
be showing off her roses. He wouldn't expect Megan to have 
sneaked in tonight. In the dim hall, she grinned to herself. On 
the stairs, a board creaked and a light grew. She backed up a 
step or two toward the door she'd come out of, realized she 
wouldn't make it, dived for the sideboard. 
There was only a double handspan of space and she wiggled 
frantically under it. My hips, shit I'm stuck with my legs out, 
shit, don't panic, SQUIRM!! The sideboard rocked a bit, her hips 
slid past the skirt, and she pulled her legs in just as a servant,

humming bits of popular songs to himself, mounted the last 
step. He carried a candlestick in one hand, a bundle of linen in 
the other, and noticed the vase rocking on the sideboard. Megan 
held her breath, watching his feet in painted silk house-sandals 
walk toward her hiding place and pause as he steadied the vase. 
He called, "Puss, puss?" 
When no cat appeared, he shrugged and continued into the 
guest room Megan had entered from. Megan waited until she 
thought she'd die if she had to wait one second more. 
It'd almost be easier to get out and give myself up to him. 
She squashed the thought. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Just wait… 
until they spring-clean you out if they have to. 
Finally he came out and went back downstairs. She slid out, 
more carefully than she'd gone in, and padded after him, staying 
just outside the ring of light the candle cast. 
Down one floor to a main corridor, carpeted with 
jewel-colored rugs. All the candle-sconces were silver statues of 
women, their hair and hands outstretched to hold the colored 
wax tapers that matched the green silk on the walls between 
honey oakwood panels. 
Megan slipped into the shadow of a Rand vase twice as tall as 
she was at the main staircase as the servant went on down to the 
back stairs. The vase stood by the banister covered by a 
long-haired northern giraffe hide hung over it. Below was 
Vaizal's Great Hall, done in green and gold. Chandeliers that 
were hundreds of teardrop-cut quartz kraumak gave a 
yellow/green light. The Enchian style glass doors on the left led 
to the glassed-in garden/dining hall, where she could see the 
guests, still seated. From her studying, she knew that the heavy 
ticking was another fancy clock, in Vaizal's study just behind 
her, with its famous stained glass windows. 
She settled down to wait, hidden by the vase and the fur, 
watching. After dinner, the guests would likely promenade 
through to the main salon across the hall and servants would be 
in to clear the dining things. Then, if she were lucky, she'd have a 
few minutes to sneak in, snip a rose—maybe two—before the

room was locked. She'd have to be out before the dogs were let 
loose in the halls for the night. 
It wasn't dusty, though she'd somehow expected it to be. 
Stupid, Vaizal has almost seventy people for this manor alone. 
They wouldn't dare let it get dusty. She half smiled to herself, 
trying to imagine beating the dust out of a fur this size, and 
waited. Thinking of dust made her want to sneeze. 
Her legs were cramped before the servants opened the salon 
doors and the musicians, playing foreign instruments, began a 
passacaglia. Even so, the guests waited for Vaizal and her escort 
to lead and it took some time for them all to cross the parquetry, 
the back of each pair's hands touching, elegantly raised to 
shoulder height. The women's finger chains flashed gold and 
silver, gems matching their vested skirts and their makeup. 
Gospozhyn looks gorgeous! He's wearing the best I've ever 
seen. He usually looks a bit mussed and lost. He and his wife 
wore matching dark purple, with black satin trim. Among the 
guests were the famous soprano and tenor pair Lilya, called the 
Diva and Zima, called the True, Baron and Baroness Iyetska, and 
Zingas Avritha wearing red and gold, though her husband or 
father weren't there to escort her. 
Vaizal herself wore all red and white. A white silk shirt, a 
white vest, with ermine trim, woven white-on-white and 
embroidered with a delicate red vine pattern over red pants and 
boots. Her eye-paint fanned out to form a delicate butterfly on 
her cheeks, rubies and diamonds glittering on her hands and 
against her dark hair falling in loose waves to her waist. 
One of those stones would keep a marriage of six and all 
their children fed and housed for a year. 
The Grand Salon doors were shut behind the guests by two 
footman so no one would have to watch the servants clear up. 
She crawled along just under the edge of the fur, with it tickling 
her nose, till she was almost at the head of the great stairs. 
She peeked over the edge; the green marble steps seeming to 
flow away from her like a waterfall, ducked back as the butler,

chatelaine and footmen and women came in to carry away the 
leftover food and the plates. 
The great platter took six people to carry, even carved over, a 
small stag, gilded antlers lying askew in the gravy, herb garlands 
wilted and torn. Bowls and bowls of vegetables—potatoes yellow 
with butter—platters of breads and cakes, half-emptied bottles 
of wine and Saekrberk and brandy. Megan had eaten cold 
maranth porridge that morning, and day-old bread 
mid-afternoon washed down with chai. She watched the food be 
taken by almost underneath her, her mouth watering, pressing a 
hand against her middle, afraid someone would hear her 
stomach growling. 
One footman carried the metal underplates while another 
carried the scraped glass liners. Three people carried away the 
goblets, another the silver eating picks and knives. They came 
back once more, to polish the lacquer table and arrange the 
cushions around it, carry away the bucket for plate scrapings— 
I'd even eat that— and sweep the floor, dim the lights. The 
chatelaine surveyed the garden room, nodded at the butler, and 
closed the doors. Then there was only the empty hall and the 
faint sound of dance music through the wooden salon doors. 
Megan ghosted down the stairs past the life-sized crystal 
panthers at the bottom, eased the garden door open and closed 
behind her. She stood with her back to the wall so no one would 
see her through the doors, just breathing in the strange odor of 
the room. It was warm and moist air moved along her skin from 
unseen vents. The room was full of flowers—roses, lilies, tiny 
potted flowering cherry trees brought from the main 
greenhouse, orchids. Hummingbirds hovered, red and green and 
purple. Tall palm trees, imported from the Mitvald Islands, grew 
in the corners. It smelled earthy as well, as if summer had 
climbed into Megan's lungs. The roses are in here, somewhere. 
Probably near the table. Very faintly she could hear one of 
Vaizal's guests singing. The Diva. 
The lacquer dining table sat in a lake of black polished slate, 
with soft chamois leather cushions around it, one perfect red 
bowl by Tze Finiz gracing its center. A wall of climbing yellow

roses framed the head cushion. Megan looked for the vase or 
tray that would display the roses sculpted out of soft gold, but 
couldn't see anything like that anywhere. Is it here? It's 
supposed to be. The air whispered through palm leaves, a soft, 
alien sound, rustled lower bushes and made the blossoms nod. 
Where is it? I can't have gotten this far and fail because she's 
had the sculpture moved. I can't, I can't. Her hands clenched 
with frustration and she could have cried. I could take 
something else, but I said I was going to get the roses. It had 
gone so perfectly till now and somewhere in her a small voice 
whispered "Hurry! hurry!" tugging at her muscles with the will 
to do something, anything. She wiped a stray wisp of hair out of 
her eyes. I have to think—that breeze is nice, but I don't have 
time… Her jaw dropped. The breeze was moving all the leaves at 
that end of the room, except the climbing roses. 
She cast a glance over her shoulder to where the light came 
through the doors from the Great Hall and tiptoed over to the 
wall behind the head of the table. The roses gleamed in the faint 
light, glossy leaves showing dimly against the black marble wall. 
She reached out a gloved finger to touch one flower. The gold 
was almost soft enough, pure enough, to dent with the fingers, 
the leaves carved of green tourmaline, malachite and jade, even 
the pale green thorns. They looked real enough that she was 
tempted to smell them. She shook herself, pulled the box out of 
her belt. 
They were set into the stone with gold pins that sheared off 
easily with her knife. One, two, three. Don't be greedy. She laid 
the heavy flowers in the padded box and strapped it shut. Done. 
Now all I have to do is get out. It'll be easier now that my scent 
is mixed with all the other guests, it'll confuse the dogs. 
She made it out to the stairs before her luck went bad. 
A servant, carrying a tray of sweetmeats to the salon saw her 
and yelled. She bolted up the stairs. Shit. Oh, piss. Behind her 
the noise grew as the salon doors where thrown open. "An 
assassin or thief in my home?" Vaizal. Megan darted down the 
long, straight hall. Hide. I have to hide, Goddess help me. I have 
to get out. They’ll break my hands, my legs, then strangle me.

throw me to the ruts. She lunged at the nearest door that might 
lead to an outside room. 
Study. Clock. Windows… sealed oh shit oh shit… The crash of 
glass. 
When the Vaizal's guard plunged into the room it was empty, 
one of the windows smashed, strands of leading twisted 
outward, rain blowing in. 
"On the wall," Vaizal snapped, leaning through, careful of the 
broken glass. "Check the gardens, go! Retrieve that chair and get 
those dogs out of here!" The gardens were flooded with 
witch-light flares, burning eye-hurting white every hundred feet 
along the wall, throwing light so nothing could have moved 
without being seen; dogs running, dragging handlers on leashes 
to begin quartering the ground below. 
Vaizal turned to the crowd of nobles standing clustered in the 
doorway, chatting as if this were all part of the evening's 
entertainment and raised her hands in dismissive waves. "No 
need to get excited. It's all right. My people will surely catch 
whoever it is. Why don't we go down again and let them work? 
I'm sure we can find something amusing to occupy our time 
until the miscreant is caught." Her voice was almost more 
amused than angry or upset. 
'My father is right about the City riff-raff," Avritha said as she 
turned away, her hand on Yarishk's arm. "If they're this bold, 
one must be harder on them." 
As the nobles moved back downstairs, laughing, Vaizal turned 
to her chatelaine. "See that this is cleared up in the morning. 
Have someone block that window so nothing else is damaged." 
"Yes, Kievir." The chatelaine bowed. 
Squeezed inside the cabinet of the clock, Megan could barely 
hear what was happening, the TICK/clack, TICK/ clack clipping 
bits out of everyone's words, the pendulum swing just brushing 
her hair as she sat in the bottom, crouched with her face on her 
knees. She was shaking, trying to be as still as possible, biting

the cloth of her pant leg. It's dumb to cry, now. They haven't 
found me. I'm safe, for now. It's dumb to cry. Be still, be quiet. 
The box with the roses in it gouged into her ribs and one of 
the weights brushing her shoulder gradually got heavier and 
heavier as the clock wound down, but she didn't dare move for 
fear that the door would burst open. 
TICK/clack, TICK/clack, TICK/clack. She tried counting ticks, 
lost count after six hundred or so. By then, her shivering had 
stopped. 
The weight slipped off her shoulder to thump against the 
wood. She waited for someone to open the door and drag her 
out. When no one did, she pushed the door open a crack. No one 
was there. The mess was cleared and the window boarded. She 
fell out onto the rug, the clock jangling faintly. She was so 
cramped that she couldn't uncurl at first but just lay there. 
Out. I have to get out. The study door was half open so she 
shook her arms and legs, wobbled out of the room and behind a 
hall tapestry. She sat there for a time, with her face in her 
hands. I have to get out, now. It took her twice as long to get up 
to the hall where she'd gotten in, holding herself back from 
running, jumping at shadows. 
In the guest hall she paused by the sideboard, flinched, and 
nearly screamed as something brushed her ankle. 
"Meoow." The cat stropped against her again. She caught her 
breath, leaning against the wall. 
"I get scared one more time and I'm going to die," she 
whispered to the cat, stroked it, and nipped into the guest suite 
she'd come in by, closing the door so the cat couldn't follow. 
Standing at the window she saw that the weather had turned 
freezing again, the rain icing on the rock. Oh, 
joy. Thief's weather because only a thief would be out in it. 
She fought down the irrational urge to giggle. You're not out yet. 
She had to wait until they doused the witch-lights. She stood in

the warmth, heavy velvet curtains resting against her back like a 
congratulatory hand. 
As she stood and waited, she cursed suddenly and turned 
back into the room. I worked hard to get in here, why am I 
wasting it? There was still room in her pouch, aside from the 
box and she'd never be able to sell the roses, they'd have to be 
held for "reclamation." A small gold candlestick was what she 
grabbed; all she could carry. 
When the lights died, she pulled on her climbing gloves and 
slipped out the window into air icy on her skin. From a window 
below she could hear the party music and people laughing. 
Soaked through in an instant, she took a couple of deep breaths 
and forced herself to climb slowly down the way she'd come, 
slowly so she wouldn't slip. 
Yarishk, when he went to unlock his office next morning, 
paused with one hand on the door. He nodded to himself and 
turned the key. His wards had been disturbed, but he knew the 
by the feel who it was. 
Inside he stood looking down at Megan, asleep on his 
cushions, with the knit blanket pulled up around her chin. Her 
hair had dried in draggled wisps across her cheek and her 
clothes were hung here and there around the room to dry. 
He started the samovar boiling, dropped in a handful of 
leaves. She blinked awake at the smell of steam, yawned and 
stretched. "Good morning, Gospozhyn. I'm sorry I borrowed your 
office." 
"As you should be. Goddess morning to you, too. I have some 
idea why you might have gotten in here." His face was stern. 
"That's why I left my protections mostly down this Hand. If they 
weren't down, they might have killed you. Don't do it again." 
Megan looked down at her hands. "No, Gospozhyn." 
"Well, I'll send Barela down for some breakfast." 
"Yes, Gospozhyn." When he went down the hall, she scrabbled

her clothes together and darted down the hall to the jakes. 
When she got back he was waiting for her, desk on his lap. 
"Well?" 
Without saying anything she pulled out the carry box and the 
candlestick, put them on the desk. He lifted the candlestick first, 
then unstrapped the box and laid the three roses—click, click, 
click—out on the wood and gently smoothed one petal with a 
fingertip. "Hmm," was all he said. 
He lifted the desk off his lap and paced slowly around the 
room. "You returned Varik's climbing claws and equipment to 
him?" 
She nodded. What is he thinking? I did what I said I would I 
did it. "Good. The Other Guild claims two of the Roses, since you 
are apprentice. We will accept the danger, if caught with them. 
The value of the third rose and the candlestick I will hold in trust 
for you till you are of age, since you have no safe place to keep 
them and don't want kin to know of your possession." 
Yeah, Marte isn't going to know that I have money of my 
own, even if she pulls my toenails out. Then an awful thought 
struck her. 
"Gospozhyn, will they be broken up?" That hurt, though she 
told herself that she didn't care. 
Yarishk looked at her, his back to the window where she 
couldn't see his face. "Do you care?" he rumbled. He walked back 
to the desk, swept up one of the roses roughly, and she cried, 
"No, don't!" She closed her mouth, then said, more calmly, "I 
thought you were going to break it, Gospozhyn." 
"Their value is more than what they're made of. Well keep 
them… perhaps even sell them back to Vaizal… if she thinks to 
ask. I suspect she will pay the 'reclamation' fee." 
Megan breathed a relieved sigh. They were too beautiful to 
destroy.

"You think you're an accomplished little thief, then," Yarishk 
said. She blinked, puzzled. "Broke into one of the Prafetatla's 
manors and got away clean as a Goddess offering?" 
She shook her head. I'm not, until he says I am. 
"I have another assignment for you." He was packing the 
roses away and putting everything out of sight. "After you eat," 
he waved a hand at the reading alcove. "In there, out of the way, 
there is a file on a house I want you to report on, on Sto Bumaga 
Lane, Lake Quarter. Tell me what you mean to take and how you 
will get in." 
"Yes, Gospozhyn," Megan said, though she wondered what 
could be worth stealing in the Lake Quarter. 
The house was a hovel; a muddy, collapsing hole in the 
ground propped up with scavenged boards nailed over with 
other short bits here and mere to hold it all together. The door 
had finger-wide gaps stuffed with rags. One good storm and the 
mud and trash would shift and fill it. 
Megan walked by once, to find it, then again. Steal from mem 
? The lane was a dead end street, blocked by a rotten wooden 
building that had fallen, garbage mounding it higher. A path 
had been beaten over it, around one end where it was lowest. 
Megan passed other homes dug out of the dirt. 
This is where the unclean live, the h'Rokatski, the corpse 
handlers. The stink of dung and people and mud was almost 
overpowered by the smell of the nearby tannery. Someone was 
rendering down bones and fat, too. Megan put her hand over her 
nose and mourn, wanting to throw up. She found a niche in the 
crumbled building, where no one would see her easily, to watch 
the house. 
A family of eight. Two men/women pairs, one man/man pair, 
two children, with one of the kids, sick. She watched. They were 
worse off than Megan was, ever. They begged for their living, one 
pair trying to tend house, hauling water from the lake three 
roads away. That one kid cried constantly but sounded sicker 
every day.

The first night she went back to her aunt's and lay on the 
pallet in the front room, not able to sleep. Though it had been 
cold she'd washed in the lake, but she couldn't wash the memory 
away. Gospozhyn wants me to say what I could steal from 
them. It's an assignment. There isn't anything to steal but the 
begging money. I'll tell him that and it will be all right. He 
wouldn't tell me to steal from them. I know him better. 
"Do it," he said. Megan sat looking at him as he burned the 
report, just as he had the first time, sick to her stomach. She sat 
as if he'd turned into Marte and hit her. Then she got up and 
started for the door, still without saying anything. 
"Apprentice, don't be rude." 
She paused at the door. "No, Gospozhyn, my apology. I 
understand," she said tonelessly and left. 
I have to. It's part of what's kept me and Rilla going. They're 
bad off. The kid'll die. They don't have enough money even six 
begging. I… I. She tried running, up and down the Stairs and 
through the Market until she was too winded to run any more, 
and it still wouldn't go away. She couldn't talk to Serkai. She 
couldn't talk to Rilla, not to anybody. 
If she failed this, would Gospozhyn let her continue lessons to 
be a merchant? If she screwed up, would he stop teaching Rilla? 
If I can't learn, I'll be like them. I have to. I have to. 
She climbed to the rock spur by the waterfall, staring down 
into the thunder of the falls as they spouted out of the gates and 
down to the Brezhan, wanting to go away down the river, to be 
anywhere but there, to have any decision but that. She delayed, 
and delayed until her Gospozhyn called her in, the last day 
before Hand'send. 
"Well?" His face was stern. "You were quick enough with the 
other." 
Megan felt her face and hands go light and numb. She opened 
her mouth to try and explain, but all that came out was, "I 
can't."

"Eh? Your report was clear enough. The assignment is 
simple." He raised a lip in a sneer. "Aren't you good enough?" 
She clenched her fists. "I w… won't." 
He pursed his lips and, narrowing his eyes at her, asked softly, 
"Even if it means losing something you've gained?" She nodded, 
eyes clenched shut against what was coming. Suddenly, she was 
afraid of him, too. This wasn't him. She opened her eyes and 
stared at him, getting cold inside; cold and hard where no one 
would touch her. 
She swallowed. "They're too poor. I don't need their 
money—they need their money. It doesn't make sense. It's not 
worth it. We don't need to steal from people poorer than we are. 
"If I can steal from Prafetatla it's worth it. This is wrong! Set 
me on somebody worth it." She clipped off the torrent of words, 
shaking. 
"Well, well," he said coldly. "An ethical thief." 
She looked down at her open hands. She wasn't clenching her 
fists any longer because there was nothing left to fight. But she 
knew she could steal from very rich people—in some other city, 
she thought bitterly, and got up to go. 
"No, Megan, come with me." He rose, Sashi at his heels. 7s 
this important enough for him to kick me out himself? She 
pulled away from the hand he would have put on her shoulder. 
He didn't turn to the outside corridor but the inside one. 
"Come along." Megan followed him numbly. 
He tapped on Nal-Gospozhyn Zeyvoydna, the Guild healer's 
door, and Megan starting to wonder what was going on. Yarishk 
wasn't smiling but… 
That was what I thought he was like—nice. He's not. 
"In, go on." He waved her in and followed. "Hello, Zeyvoydna, 
as I warned you earlier, here we are."

"Sit down, on that stool, there," he said to her. This time 
Megan didn't pull away, puzzled. "Take your shirt off, Megan." 
"Gospoz—" 
"Shush, child." He turned to Zeyvoydna who was laying out a 
tattooing needle, swabbing at Megan's shoulder with a bit of lint 
soaked in alcohol. "I will witness." He smiled. 
"One—discreet—Journeyman's tattoo." He winked at Megan, 
who was clutching the table not to slide onto the floor, mouth 
hanging open. 
"An ethical thief, indeed," he said. 
Chapter Fifteen 
"Rilla, psst, Rilla wake up!" Megan jumped back as Rilla, 
waking up, struck out. 
"Huh? What? Wh… oh, sorry." She rubbed the sleep out of her 
eyes. "What's going on?" 
Megan pulled her tunic off, proudly displaying the small, 
open-spiral double diamond tattooed onto her shoulder. It was 
bright, sore around the edges. 
"That's pretty. Where did you get the money?" Rilla lay down 
again pulling the blanket up because the room was cold. 
"I didn't. It's a mark from the Other Guild." Megan grinned. 
"I made Journeyman!" 
"What?" Rilla's whisper threatened to spiral up into a shriek 
but she clapped a hand to her mouth, glancing at the door of 
Marte's room, dreading to see light around its edges. "What?" 
she repeated more quietly. 
Megan poked her in the ribs. "You heard. I made 
Journeyman, lie down before you catch a chill. Do you mind if I 
slide in with you? My bed's cold." 
"I don't mind. Journeyman. Like Varik was. Eula will just bite 
her tongue if you tell her."

Megan wiggled in beside Rilla. "I don't think I will. Besides, 
am I going to go around shouting, 'I just made Journeyman in 
the THIEVES GUILD?'" 
Rilla snickered. "No, ow, you're cold. Can I put my head on 
your shoulder?" 
"Sure, Rillan, as long as it's the other shoulder. Go back to 
sleep, I'll tell you all about it in the morning." 
They both froze when the wallbed in the other room creaked, 
relaxed when no other sounds came. "All right," Rilla whispered, 
then yawned into Megan's neck. "Sleep you sound." 
"And you." 
Hand'send morning. Megan was just grinding one of the last 
dried onions for stew when Rilla came home with the bread and 
milk and a marrow bone. "I couldn't get more than that," she 
said. 
"We’ll make do. Someone just ordered something from 
Marte." 
"That's good." Rilla put the bread away in the box and began 
rinsing out the milk jug. "Where is she?" 
'Not up yet. I think she wants to take advantage that it's Hand 
send and nurse her head… oh, there.' From the inner room faint 
rustlings got louder. A bang as the wallbed door was flung back, 
a staggering step or two, then retching noises. "I hope she didn't 
miss the bucket." 
"Yeah." Rilla poured chai for her mother, thinned it down 
with milk. She set it down on the table, turned to the wall of 
glass vials, picked one and shook the creamy-colored powder 
into a measuring spoon. She set it next a cup of water near the 
chai. "She has to make some more pain-soother; she's almost 
out." 
Megan shrugged. "We can go get willow twigs together. 
There's at least one tree in an alley that I know hasn't been

scavenged bare." 
"Okay." The inner door creaked open and Marte stumbled out 
to slump on her pillow. She picked up the chai cup with both 
shaking hands. 
" 'morning." 
"Goddess morning," Megan and Rilla answered automatically. 
Marte stirred the pain-soother into the water and drank it down 
fast, grimacing. Megan sliced the bread and slathered the pieces 
generously from the fat jar. Marte had felt rich a Hand ago and 
bought bacon and some beef so the drippings were good. 
"Good God, no, I wont eat that." Marte ran a hand through 
her hair, shuddering. "I'll eat later." They sat together, Megan 
and Rilla eating, Marte sitting with her forehead held in her 
hand, staring into the dregs of her chai. When she put her cup 
down sharply, both children flinched though they tried not to. 
Marte looked at the bruise on Rilla's face. "Hit someone, did I, 
last night? Humph, well." Her eyes narrowed. "What did you 
do?" 
Megan cut in. "Nothing, Aunt." 
Marte looked at her, shifting her attention and foul mood to 
her niece. "That's a lie, brat. I only hit you when you deserve it." 
Megan pressed her lips together, not saying anything. 
"And don't give me any of your dumb insolence!" She 
slammed a fist on the table and winced, holding her head. "I 
don't need that shit from a twelve-year-old." She sat a while 
longer, pushed up from the table and wobbled out the door, 
heading for the tap to rinse her head. 
Rilla looked at Megan, who started clearing the table. "Right, 
let's go." 
When they came back later carrying the bundle of willow 
twigs between them, Marte was back, her hair braided, 
measuring from the piles of crushed herbs on the table in front

of her, face still pinched with pain and irritation. She flickered a 
look at them as they came in, jerked her head at the corner by 
the door. "There." 
"Yes, mam." 
They tiptoed around and spooned themselves some stew. 
Megan looked for the heel of bread but it was gone. In silence, 
not wanting to disturb Marte, they sat at the opposite corner of 
the table to eat. That was like many evenings, though. They'd sit 
and the only sounds would be the clink and clatter of spoons or 
bowls, muted; kept to a minimum so as not to irritate Marte. 
Tonight the sound from her end of the table was a steady 
grinding as she turned dried Bluehood into power with the 
mortar and pestle. The still in the back room smelled sweet and 
sticky, like almost burned sugar. "Rilla, fetch me the Halyabore 
and the Colshchizn seeds." 
"Yes, mam." 
Megan gathered up the empty bowls and filled them with 
water to soak, her back to the room. 
"I want you to go to First Quarter with this," Marte said. "It's 
to go to the cook at Windwood Manor." The crackle of brown 
paper as Rilla tucked the packet into her belt. 
"All right." 
Megan rinsed the picks. "You'll be getting silver for this," 
Marte said. Megan stopped scrubbing for a second. Silver for 
herbs? To a cook? "It's been bargained already," Marte 
continued. 
"Okay." A bang as the door closed behind Rilla. Megan wrung 
out the cloth and hung it on its hook, turned around just in time 
to see Marte set down a flask of wine next to her as she settled 
back down to the table. Oh, shit. Marte didn't usually drink on 
top of a hangover. I have to get out of here. 
"Come sit here," Marte said, a little uncomfortably, nodding 
at a spot near her elbow. Megan hesitated but pulled her cushion

around and sat down. 
"You're almost old enough to talk sense to," the woman 
continued. "Never could understand kids anyway." She used the 
spatula to scrape the pestle into a small glass jar, carefully using 
a squirrel's hair brush to gather up the last crumbs. Maybe if I 
talked to her, shell be nice. Maybe I just never knew how to talk 
to her. She can't be all bad. "What's that for?" Megan asked, 
pointing. 
"Don't touch!" Marte flared, blocking her finger. "It's 
dangerous and can seep through your skin! Bluehood, you 
know." She seemed surprised when Megan nodded, then more 
enthusiastic. "Wolfbane it's called, or love poison," she 
continued, capped the jar, and sealed it with a pouring of wax. 
"For liniment, or to induce sweating and… other things." 
"Like Beautiful Lady," Megan said, and got another surprised 
look from her aunt. "I read it somewhere." 
"Yes." Marte uncorked the wine flask expertly and raised it, 
paused and set it on the table, looking thoughtful. "Get a couple 
of cups, will you?" She packed away the tools, and the herbs. "Go 
ahead and pour, brat." 
She's being nice. Not syrupy like she usually is. What's going 
on? Megan felt nervous, fluttery as if a bear had walked up to her 
and licked her face rather than tearing her head off. "Drink up, 
brother's daughter. Drink with your old aunt." 
The wine was sour red but warming. Megan puckered her 
face as Marte drained her cup. "Good for hangovers," the woman 
said, and poured herself another. "You know, when you look like 
that, kid, you look less like your bitch mother." 
"My mama wa—" Megan ducked as Marte raised a hand, 
waving her silent. 
"No, don't say it, and I won't have to belt you." She burped 
gently. "No, you look more like my little brother when you're not 
crossing me." She drank the second cup down. "When you look 
at me like that… like him. Only thing in the world worth shit. My

brother. Never did listen to me, and damn lucky apprenticed 
already. I only had the best of intentions after the rest of the 
family… Family was just us two." 
Papa told me about Great-Gran Diezhdi, Grandmamma and 
Grandpapa and Grandpa. They were a trey that had four 
children, Aunt Beda and Uncle Noltzha along with Papa and 
Aunt Marte. All but Lixand and Marte had died in The Great 
Fire. She sipped the wine and listened. Marte was crying, 
stony-faced as she drank. "Li'l brother… Start the family again, 
my Solntze died, too…" She drank a third cup, put her head 
down on the table. Megan, sipping at her wine, reached out and 
awkwardly patted her shoulder. "Lixand, shit, why'd you die on 
me, brother? You too? You too?" Marte snapped up a hand and 
caught Megan's in a crushing grip, lifted her head and glared. 
Megan pulled back but couldn't get away. "Family… 'n he had to 
marry her! Out-city trash despised me from the start…" 
' Have another drink, Aunt," Megan said frantically, knowing 
she couldn't pull away. "For Papa's memory." 
Marte stared at her for a long minute, still. "Yeah. I need 
something stronger than this shit." She got up and got a small 
glass bottle, the size of her palm. "Brewed this myself. Something 
really good, something Zingas pay in gold for. Nah, you don't get. 
It's powerful stuff? green like Saekrberk… Wormwood." 
As far as Megan saw it was green as poison, thick and oily as 
Marte poured it, the smell of bitter licorice faint. She set a jug of 
water on the table and mixed the wormwood oil with it, watched 
it turn milky. She drank the cup down, shuddered and grabbed 
the water jug, drank straight water. Then she mixed another. 
"To… my… li-tt-Ie brother!" she enunciated carefully and drank. 
Megan drank a sip of wine too, not quite daring to say anything. 
A few minutes they sat in silence. Marte drank a second cup. 
After a while she started smiling, a slow, blissful smile. 
She looked around, her movements slowing, shook her head. 
"One… more 'n I'm here fr''t'e night. Don' help!" She set her 
palms flat on the table, levered herself upright and grabbed the 
bottle of wormwood oil, the water jug and the cup hooked on her 
thumb, already staggering as she went into the back room to the

wallbed, bumping gently against the door frame twice before she 
made it through. 
Megan sat, shaking, the wine left in her cup splashing on her 
hands. She watched Marte close the door behind her, muffling 
the hissing of the still. 
Marte didn't get that drunk that night, or if she did, didn't 
come out of the room to vent it on them. Rilla came back with 
the silver and locked it away in the box. 
Next day, Marte didn't say two words to either of them and 
they stayed out of the house. Megan lingered very late with 
Tikhiy after they finished studying, and they talked about Serkai 
and Ivar and Master Zyatki and his wife's new baby girl. 
Rilla and Megan haunted the edges of Marte's house, feeling 
the storm brewing though there was nothing they could do. 
Marte made herself the pain-soother, then didn't get drunk at all 
for two Hands. 
Megan came back from the Hall after studying ship types 
with Tikhiy and Yegor, and she and Rilla carried water for the 
laundry next day. They borrowed three buckets from the 
neighbors so they could both carry and make half as many trips. 
Carrying the heavy swinging buckets on the yokes they'd 
improvised without spilling was tricky, and they made a contest 
of measuring who got back with more water. 
"I made almost two full buckets," Rilla boasted when they met 
at the tap. "I'm littler than you and I got more waaa-ter!" she 
singsonged. Megan, holding the filling bucket looked at her. "I, 
got-more-wa—spliffth!" Rilla spluttered at the face-full of water 
and retaliated with a handful from one of her buckets. Seconds 
later the buckets were empty and the two girls were soaked, 
standing on the muddy cobbles around the tap. 
"Well!" Megan said, grinning. "You certainly did get more 
water! Here, why don't you head back and I'll finish filling this. 
We ought to have enough now for one wash and rinse." 
"Okay, General All-Wet-Behind-the-Ears! Sir!" Rilla ducked

another handful of water and trotted carefully up the street, 
buckets swinging. 
Megan followed a minute later, stopping to adjust the set of 
the pole on her shoulders. When she came in, she heard 
something—a jar smash. She put the buckets down and ran. 
She burst in the door in time to see Marte drag Rilla up off 
the floor by the upper arm, start hitting her with the other hand. 
"… filthy chi'd! Lo—ok at you! Dirt. Wet. I…" 
"Aunt!" Marte looked up, Rilla hung crying, holding up her 
free hand as if to stop the next blow. "It's my fault. I got her 
wet." 
"Shut up!" Marte shook Rilla again. "She broke my flask." 
"… dn't," Rilla blubbered. Marte swung again, her face 
purpling. "Don" talk back! Insol't 'n' dirty! Evil girl! You…' Her 
fist bunched. 
"NO!" Megan flung herself at Marte, hanging off the upraised 
arm, kicking. "You bitch! You vicious bitch! She's kin!" 
Marte flung Rilla aside and seized Megan by both shoulders, 
lifting her up and shaking her with every word. "You called me a 
bitch," she said clearly. "You ungrateful child." 
Beyond scared, Megan yelled, "My father said so! He said so! 
You're a viper! He said so!" 
For an instant Marte held her by the shoulders, Rilla 
disappeared into the cupboard under the bed in the back room. 
The only sound was a shout down the hall—"will you keep it 
down for once, woman!"—and a dog barking outside on the 
street. Megan braced herself as best she could, Marte staring at 
her. 
"Your father said so," Marte repeated in a drunken monotone. 
"Your father." 
She dropped Megan suddenly as if burned, stamped over and

rummaged in the money box, cursed it being empty, and 
stormed out. 
Megan lay on the floor where she'd been dropped. "Megan?" 
Rilla crawled out from under her mother's bed. "Megan are you 
all right?" 
"Yeah," Megan said shakily. "Maybe we'd better get out for a 
while. Do you have the coppers from the money box?" 
Rilla nodded. "Thanks, Meg." 
Megan shrugged. "I couldn't let her just hit you." But her 
hands were shaking. Rilla hugged her, wet as she was. 
"Come on, big coz," the younger girl said. "Well get another 
two flasks and well be fine." 
"We ought to get into dry clothes at least," Megan said. "And 
get the borrowed buckets back." 
"Okay." They had just changed when Marte came back. 
"Megan. Come, come on." She stood in the door, swaying, the 
wine soured on her breath. Megan hesitated wanting to run out 
into the city but couldn't get by. 
"'ll no' hit yeah, but 'll drag. Come on!" Marte advanced a step 
into the room and reached for Megan, who dodged around the 
table, trying to get away from her. No. 
Marte reached, snatched up the broom. "Don' say no, brat." 
Rilla tried to get back into the back room. Her mother swung 
around as she moved, caught her across the back, the handle 
making the air buzz like a fist-size bee. Rilla was jolted forward 
and fell, her arms curled protectively around her head. Megan, 
half out the door, hesitated. I can't. Shell Mil her. She turned 
and darted back, grabbed the straw of the broom and yanked. 
Marte let go and Megan, staggering back, cracked her hip 
against the table and fell. 
Marte pounced on her. "Thought I's stupid, din't yeah," she

growled, and hauled Megan up by the wrist. When Megan tried 
using the thumb jab, Marte pulled her hand higher and dragged 
her out the door, yelling, "Yeah better be here when I get back, 
brat," over her shoulder at Rilla. 
" 'nuff of't, vicious brat,'t'ink I don' know that trick? Stop it 
and come on quiet or 'll belt 'cha." She walked down the alley, 
too fast for Megan to keep up without running. 
The girl tried to dig her heels in and get away, was dragged 
around in front of Marte and cuffed in the head, her wrist held 
in a vicious grip. "Look, brat." Marte jerked on the captive arm. 
"We can't live like is. Time you went onna river journeys—heh? 
'N we won' say stupi' thi—things't' each other. Be good fer you. 
Yeah." She turned east on the Stairs, pulling Megan with her 
into the crowds on the street; no one looked at them twice. 
Megan tried to break in, but Marte wasn't listening. "Aunt, 
Marte—" 
"Shut up." Marte just plowed on, through the naZak, like a 
lurcher in among wolf-hounds, her greying brown hair uncoiling 
from its Dun to bounce on her back. Megan's right hand was 
going numb in Marte's grip, the wool of her sleeve pulled tight 
from her shoulder. Where are we going? River journey? What's 
she talking about? At least she isn't hitting me. She hoped Rilla 
had the sense to put the broom and the wooden spoons away 
before they got back. 
"Aunt you don't have to hang on so hard." She couldn't feel 
her fingers. "Aunt, please answer me. Where are we going? 
Aunt? Aunt, please?" Marte's only answer was to drag her on 
faster till Megan didn't have the breath for questions, a stitch 
growing in her side. 
They turned off the Stairs at Yok Oblach Street, joining the 
traffic for Vikhad Gate. This half of the city was already dark, 
but the setting sun was still high enough that it gilded the other 
ridge and the underside of the storm blowing in from the north. 
The guards at the gate weren't slowing the line, practically 
waving people through the narrow corridor. The temperature 
was falling and Marte blew on her free hand to warm it up, since

she'd rushed them out without their coats. 
Megan blinked at the stab of sun as they came through the 
gate and plunged back into the shadow of Docking Cavern 
Road. A river journey? What's going on? My Gospozhyn should 
know… She squirmed harder and got Marte's fist across the side 
of her head for her pains, dazing her. 
The road led into the docking cavern, where the waterfall's 
thunder echoed against walls and ceiling and the eddies from 
the water flowed around the spur of rock that separated wild 
water from the calm. The water still kept the ships tied up to the 
stone docks moving, rubbing against the rope bumpers. Megan's 
head had cleared and she almost forgot her numb hand as she 
looked around. She'd been here so seldom it was almost a 
different world. 
A dhow. An arrowship. Racks of canoes for going north 
where the big ships can't go. A merchanter. In the outer harbor 
the bigger ships, with masts still stepped, turned slowly at 
anchor. The strongest smells were tar and paint at first. 
"Damn narrow walkways, can't they build—" 
"—pay taxes like this—" 
"Vilsh chavrash? Eilier!" 
"—watch where you're stepping, you—" The bits of sentences 
that Megan could catch, mostly in Zak and Enchian, seemed to 
bounce off the ceiling with the echoing water. 
Marte shouted a question at a woman down in a jolly boat 
but all Megan caught was "—leaving?" The woman pointed out 
two ships in the outer harbor. 
"Where's the jolly boat berth for the Dulshe Vi then?" Marte 
called. Her answer was a wave back through the crowds to the 
other side of the wharf. "And the other? The Zingas Brezhani, 
the River Lady?" 
"Oh, right there." Another sweep of hand, indicating the next

quay over. "Hei, ask for Atatra—Atraha—shit, ask fer 
Goldhair—Sarngeld—he know nobo'y ken say's damn name! 'E's 
captain/owner!" 
"Thanks!" Marte shouted back and pulled Megan over to the 
next stone pier, elbowing their way through the crowds. "Should 
bui'd mor blashted dockin'," she snarled as someone jostled 
them and almost knocked them both into the water. In here, out 
of the wind, it was warm with body heat and smelled—of rotten 
fish and unwashed wool and bodies, of burning grease as block 
and tackles hoisted cargo, of garbage washed in, a dead rat 
floating against the pier where a duck scavenged, adding its 
dung. Megan only faintly heard the rumble of thunder but could 
see the distant flash of lightning outside the cavern. 
Marte hesitated a second, looking down at her niece, but her 
face hardened at some thought and she pushed on. 
"I'm Atzathratzas Joannen," the man rumbled, straightening 
from where he'd sat on a crate, watching his crew load the boats. 
"Owner." He paused and looked Marte over slowly. "Teik." He 
was a large naZak, an Arkan of about forty, muscled and scarred, 
a broad leather belt holding in the beginnings of a belly. His 
blond hair was long and straight to his waist at the back, the 
strands of white in it not showing yet, his forehead rising bald to 
the line of his ears. 
"You take on River-Guild apprentices?" Marte asked. That 
drew another look and his attention shifted to Megan. 
Gospozhyn should be arranging… this isn't right. This isn't 
right. She tried to pry her hand free and Marte took her 
attention away from the Arkan long enough to shake Megan 
hard. "Stop that, brat." She didn't, and got clouted again. She 
was starting to feel sick, starting to realize… 
He watched. "What terms?" he asked, more interested now. 
"You selling her… ah… bond?" He used the term for 
"guild-bond," meaning the agreement between parent and guild. 
Marte hesitated again. "Well, woman?" His tone made it an 
insult. "Do you want to bargain?" He stepped close and put a 
hand under Megan's chin, tipping her face up to where he could 
see it more clearly.

"Yen," Marte said shortly. "In metal, not goods." 
"Aunt, shouldn't Gospoz—" 
"Shush, child, it's for your good." Marie's attention went back 
to Sarngeld who was considering, one scarred thumb rubbing 
thoughtfully over his lower lip. 
"A gold Claw," he said. "Unlimited, no haggling." He turned 
away to let Marte think about it. 
Unlimited? But that's illegal, except for criminals, and never 
to foreigners, but if I get away, where do I go— Gospozhyn, hell 
save me. "Aunt—don't do this, Aunt—" 
Marte called him back. "Done! Though you're offering less 
than you should." 
"Do you think I care? Here." He rummaged in his pouch and 
came up with several bits of metal, three small gold Fangs, six 
silver Claws, and counted them into Marte's hand. 
"Go with him, Megan, he's your new ma—Gospozhyn," Marte 
said and pulled Megan forward. The girl struggled frantically. 
"No, Aunt. Don't do this, you're kin, help me, don't, for Papa's 
sake—pleees—" Her voice was cut off as Sarngeld put his hand 
over her mouth and lifted her down to the jolly boat as if she 
were a doll, his hands clamped on her tightly. 
He sat down between two burlap bags that smelled of flour as 
the boat was pushed off, giving his orders in Arkan. Megan had 
only enough of the language to catch "—wait… cabin, leaving 
tonight." Her heart was pounding, hands sweaty. Koru… Im 
afraid. Unlimited bond? 
The jolly boat pulled out into the outer harbor, bobbing in the 
choppy waves. The wind was coming up and the cold was a 
shock as they left the warmth of the cavern—Freeze tonight for 
sure—the sailors avoided looking at their captain or her. He put 
her down and she considered trying to jump out and swim, but 
the waterfall would have made it dangerous even for a good

swimmer, which she wasn't. 
She looked ahead to where the river ship swung at anchor. 
She was an old merchanter, maybe a hundred tons, with the 
paint peeling off the name Zingas Brezhani and the figurehead. 
The blades of the single rank of shipped oars were like teeth, but 
missing two or three. Megan wrinkled her nose as they got close. 
The bilges 
She was passed up like a bundle onto a deck where the 
caulking bulged between the boards. "Come on, kid," one of the 
crew said, a slight-built young Zak, with a wavy black hair and a 
mustache narrow enough to almost have been inked on. "You're 
down for his cabin where you're to wait." He looked away and 
led her toward the stern, stepping around an uncoiled rope on 
the deck. 
Is everyone on holiday? Megan thought. I thought ropes 
were supposed to be out of the way and a furled sail was 
supposed to be better tied than that. 
"Okay," she said, following along. "My name's Megan, called 
Weaver's Daughter." She offered her hand, palm out. He looked 
uncomfortable, touched her hand for a second as if he didn't 
want to. 
"Piatr, called Quick. Come on." 
She followed him down the deck and the short ladder under 
the poop. There were only two doors there, and he opened the 
one on the left. 
"Thank you," she said. 
She waited by the portholes, watching the storm blow in, 
hearing the various thumps and bangs as things were loaded. 
With a groaning rattle the anchor was drawn up, the clatter as 
the oars were unshipped to walk the ship out of the harbor. He 
must want to make the great rock at least before it rains. The 
room was low, cramped and dark, a rope-slung bed filled one 
end of the room—big because he's naZak. She smiled to herself, 
a little nervously. He wouldn't want his legs to hang out of bed.

There was a table and chair and a chest pushed under the bed, 
an unlit lamp swinging gently from the beam over the table. 
There's nothing here that tells me what he's like. She sat 
down on the chair and waited. Thunder rumbled. More 
bumpings and banging outside, the squeal of a block and tackle. 
A heavy tread came down the companionway ladder and a board 
squeeked outside the door. 
Sarngeld opened the door, stooping so he didn't hit his head 
against the beams, and locked it behind him. Megan's heart 
jumped into almost a painful pounding in her chest. 
"Gospozhyn?" she whispered, hoping that she was wrong, 
hoping that the world was better than she feared. 
He looked at her, pulled off his gloves and his belt. "Enough of 
that babble," he said almost amiably. "You're mine and you'll 
speak a civilized tongue to me." 
Megan slid off the chair and backed up a step, switching to 
Enchian. "Yours? I'm your apprentice—" 
'No. You don't understand do you?" He pulled his tunic off, 
rubbed a hand over his shaved chest. "Come here." He grabbed 
for her. She dived under the table, tried to keep it between him 
and her, but he reached over it and grabbed her by the hair as 
she tried to dodge again. 
"You're learning," he said. "Come to father now…" He dragged 
her over to the bed and held her between his knees as he pulled 
the rest of her clothes off. She bit him and he hit her hard 
enough that the room spun. 
Chapter Sixteen 
It was a nightmare, it had to be. Then, No, this is the way 
things are and will be. There isn't anything else. Megan shifted 
her weight, squeezing her eyes shut as pain shot through her 
groin. Thunder faded away southward, the sound of pain. The 
rain was freezing, now; on the rigging, on the spiny coils of the 
rope under her hands, on the deck around her. Tears of ice

clicked on her eyelashes, though she refused to cry. If I cry, I'll 
break, shatter like the ice forming on the wood. She was 
crouched in the port rope-well, too cold to shiver. The oak 
slave-links he'd locked onto her, from one wrist to the collar on 
her neck, clattered. 
He'd done that and shorn her hair close, though he hadn't 
shaved her head. The stubble stood almost straight up, icy. The 
Brezhani was anchored in the lee of the rock, with oaks and 
pines leaning out over the gorge. The trees were shining with ice, 
cracking and groaning from the weight, the rock black with it. 
If I wanted to die, I wouldn't have to do anything but sit 
here. The air will fill me full of ice. Like he did. The only warmth 
was the bleeding from between her legs, but that cooled fast, too. 
The water below was like pupils of the Dark Lord's eyes. The 
Arkan had let her run— crawl—away because he knew he could 
catch her, but all she needed to do was go over the side. She 
couldn't swim well. I want to die. She leaned, letting go the rope. 
Sarngeld's gloved hand darted down and grabbed the wooden 
chain. "Come here." He pulled her up to the deck. I'm bleeding 
all down my legs. She almost fell and he gathered her up in his 
arms as if to protect her. He smells like blood and like his sweat 
and my fear. She hung in his hands, not fighting anymore. His 
chest was red where she'd scratched and bitten him. 
He carried her below and patted her dry, his hands gentle 
now. "There, there, my little girl. There, there." He wanted her 
again, and pulled her head down. I could bite him—it would be 
worse— She bit him, and didn't see his hand move, only the dark 
and red, the sound of thunder. If I pretend hard enough, think 
hard enough, I won't be here. I can make it not real. I'm not 
here. 
"Hush, child, it's all right." Megan thrashed, clawing at the 
voice and the hands, felt her wrists caught, blinked awake to see 
a woman's face. 
She was a round-faced girl—no, a woman, with long brown 
braids woven with blue ribbon and Aeniri hair bells. "You'll be 
all right. I'm ship's healer, Katrana called Healheart." She

smoothed back the stubbly hair on Megan's head. "You're in the 
officer's quarters—my clinic— for now. That's across from his 
cabin." She tucked the feather quilt around Megan's shoulders, 
sighed and looked away from the girl, grimacing. "I can't tell you 
he won't do it again. But next time it won't hurt so much." 
"Why?" Megan's voice was a husky whisper, throat sore. 
"He's Arkan and likes children." Katrana finished mixing 
something in a cup, the glass rod clinking. "Drink this down 
now. I've told him you've had more than enough. He's satisfied 
for a day or two at least." 
The cup was bitter and tasted of valerian and fennel. "Thank 
you," Megan said, and winced as Katrana laid a warm compress 
on the insides of her thighs where she was raw. "I… I don't know 
what to do." 
The healer pressed her lips together. "Wait him out. You're 
his slave. Until your hair grows back and he lets you out of the 
chains, you'll be brought back to him. He's a captain/owner who 
can keep slaves, and people will believe his word first in all open 
courts. Berths are too scarce for an able-bodied sailor to witness 
for you, they can't risk losing their livelihoods, and he's usually 
more discreet than this. The last boy had to wait three years but 
managed it… he was old enough that Sarn-geld didn't care much 
about chasing him down." 
Megan stared at her. Three years. Then she turned her face 
to the wall and lay still, thinking it couldn't take very long to die 
if she never moved again. 
Katrana insisted that she get up, that she eat. F'trovanemi she 
saw through the porthole; the fortress rock guarding F'talezon. 
The Rock was slick with cold and blowing rain, fortifications like 
a gate, shutting home away from her. She crawled back into the 
blankets, feeling burned inside. 
As much as she didn't want to, she healed, being young, and 
over the next few days she found out one important thing that all 
her books hadn't mentioned. There was little room aboard a 
ship, no privacy and more importantly no place to hide. He

always knew where she was and most of the crew, aside from the 
most casual of words, ignored her as the Brezhani worked her 
way down the river, whether out of shame or just indifference, 
she didn't know. 
Some, like Katrana and Piatr were as nice as they could be. 
Some laughed and called her Captain's Toy. She stopped looking 
after herself, hoping he'd be disgusted. Instead he called her a 
slut and beat her. She found herself wishing he'd hit too hard, 
that she wouldn't wake up again. It was too much. Her family 
was dead. Marte had sold her. She couldn't make herself believe 
that Rilla would miss her. 
She was sitting in the rope-well again, the most private place 
on the ship, listlessly staring at the water, her hands idly pulling 
at her greasy hair. If I die, he'll win. Everyone who hates poor 
will win. Papa and Mama will have died with no one to 
remember them and the City won't care. If I die, they'll all win. 
But it would be so nice not to care. 
Katrana slid down beside her and started whittling at a stick 
she carried. "It'd be easier if you cried when he wanted tears, 
Meg." 
"I won't cry for him. Not for him, not for anybody." Katrana 
tugged thoughtfully at her braids with her knife hand, studying 
the piece of wood in her hand, hair bells chiming. 
"You could pretend," she said and spat into the water. "You 
got anyone to get back for? Anyone, even friends?" Pale yellow 
slivers of wood curled away from her knife to drift down into the 
brown water. 
Megan nodded reluctantly, then shrugged. "My cousin, I 
suppose. She's still with… her mother." Dark Lord be damned if 
I ever acknowledge her as my kin again. 
"Ah. Kin still to live for. You don't know how much she needs 
you." 
"She probably doesn't." Megan pulled another strand of hair 
out and dropped it in the river.

"Ach, did she need you before?" 
Megan lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "I suppose." 
"Then you can't just abandon her, can you? You aren't 
slough-kin, as far as I can see." 
Megan hardly looked up. Katrana gestured with the knife. 
"You know how to use these a bit, hmm?" At Megan's nod, she 
smiled. "As a healer I've stitched people up often enough. I could 
give you a few pointers how to slice them, as long as he doesn't 
find out. Piatr'd show you a trick or two if you asked nicely, and 
the quarter-master, Zaftra, is a teacher in knives—and manrauq, 
once you manifest." Megan nodded, head still hanging.' Hey!" 
The girl looked up, startled. "And if you ever decide to cry, let me 
know. I'll lend you my shoulder." Katrana's stick snapped and 
she tossed it into the river, where the pieces bobbed beside the 
ship, drifting toward shore. 
Cheboks was a small wooden town with a chalk cliff behind. 
The Lion of Cheboks, turf cut away from the chalk, showed for 
miles down river. The festival to clean the image was just 
beginning when they docked, and Megan saw the spring green 
just misting the ground, turning winter grey and brown into 
something alive again—just when she felt dead. 
"I call thee forth!" The first mate, Hanald the Thane, a 
bandage around his shoulder, bellowed from the poop. "Listen to 
the wise judgment of our captain, owner of this ship. Zhena, able 
crew, did rashly raise her hand against a deck officer, for no just 
cause!" 
Standing with the crew on the deck, Megan could feel the 
anger glowing among the Zak. Sarngeld couldn't quite get along 
on the river without hiring women, much as he disliked it, 
Arkans thinking that women were both stupid and lazy. 
The first mate had wanted Zhena in his bed. Although he 
reminded her of the glut of able crewfolk on the river and that if 
she didn't sleep with him she could lose her place, she told him 
to suck sheep. Then he'd tried to force her, physically, and she'd 
stuck her knife in him.

"Captain calls judgment!" Hanald bellowed smugly. "Twenty 
lashes and revocation of her status!" They'd strung her up and 
stripped her, but she still spat on the deck by his root. 
"What?" The voice came from on deck. "That's…" The voice 
was lost in an angry growl. If her status was revoked then she 
was landed; no one would hire her on without her papers. The 
other deck officers stood by, armed. 
Sarngeld stood to one side, arms crossed, his long Arkan 
sword at his belt. "Silence! Silence, you dogs!" He stepped 
forward. "Who spoke? I'll have him on shore so fast he won't 
have time to spit! Be silent and watch justice!" He waited until 
they stopped muttering and stepped back, signing with this 
head to Thoman, the bosun, who acted as K'gebar. At the first 
stroke, everyone went silent. Megan felt something tingle behind 
her eyes and all along her skin. She shook her head, thinking for 
a minute that she'd seen a blue lake shimmer where the crowd 
stood. 
In the midst of daylight it was hard to see, but light glowed 
over the Zak in the crowd and Thoman, a naZak, suddenly flung 
the whip away screaming that it had bitten him. 
"STOP IT! Cease or I'll burn her as a witch!" Sarngeld 
shouted. "She'll burn and I'll drop anyone else I think is a witch 
in the river, weighted with rocks." The tense feeling of manrauq 
in the air dissolved into ordinary hate as he stood glowering 
down at his crew. The naZak crew shifted nervously in amongst 
the Zak, but most didn't move away from them, united for once. 
The bosun gingerly picked up the whip again. 
"We can't stop it," someone near Megan whispered. "Not 
now." 
Maybe later. The idea of being alive and present when 
Sarngeld finally pushed the crew too far, gave Megan a toe-hold 
on life again. She went away thinking of how she might help that 
day along. 
She borrowed a comb from Kat and started washing again. 
She made friends with Piatr and his net-mate Reghina—at least

cool friends, afraid to open up to anyone. She started hiding 
what she though behind a smooth, expressionless face. Sarngeld 
was an older man and didn't want her more than perhaps twice 
in a Hand, often less. 
Late one night, Katrana jerked awake in the dark. "Who's 
there?" There was no answer but a sniffle and a muffled sob as if 
someone stifled the sound with the bedclothes. "Meg?" 
Megan clambered up and lay with her head on Katrana's 
shoulder. The healer gathered her in close, pulling up the covers 
over both of them and Megan cried, finally starting to heal 
inside. She cried until her head was aching and sore and she fell 
asleep cuddled between the healer and the bulkhead of the ship 
that whispered and hissed to itself as the current pulled them 
further south. 
Aenir'sford, on the split island, was full of half-timbered 
houses and noisy Aenir. The metal dragons arcing over the 
harbor mouth, were a wonder of the world, eight hundred paces 
high, five hundred long. 
"Megan?" Piatr called her away from the rail where she 
watched the jolly boat take Sarngeld into the city, away from 
her. 
"Yes?" She was being very careful of how she spoke now. The 
more the captain called her a whore and a slut, the more care 
she took with her language, even the Arkan. 
"Watch," Piatr grinned, and started juggling a potato, a 
belaying pin, and a boot—all three at once. She watched intently, 
glad he was being so nice. "Smile, child," he called, and she drew 
back. 
"I'm not a child anymore, no matter how young I am," she 
said. He caught the things he was juggling and watched her walk 
away. 
The Zingas Brezhani chased the summer, warmer and 
warmer the further south they went. Rand was a city of islands, 
with bridges and cliffs. The fringes of dragons carved on every

roof had bulging eyes and coiled red-painted tongues that spat 
rain; so different from the DragonLord’s symbol. The people 
watched with their blank-faced, polite superiority in stiff, 
embroidered silks. That was where Megan clambered out of the 
worst of the dark and started fighting back. He wanted her 
docile, ignorant, helpless. 
"Zaftra?" Megan came over to where the quartermaster and 
the cabin-kid were peeling tubers. The old man looked up, 
nodded at her. "I'd help," she said, "but he's ordered anything 
sharp out of my—" 
"I know. Thank you for offering." He was a withered wisp of a 
man, bald with age, liver spots showing on his head, but his eyes 
were bright and lively. "Can I help you with something?" 
Megan sat down on an upturned bucket. "You can. The more 
important question, I think, is 'May you help me.'" He tilted his 
head at her. 
"Come help me sift through the meal, then," he said. "Sonduk, 
keep on till these are done." 
"Yessir." The youth bent his head over the job. 
Megan followed the quartermaster to the bow where he 
measured out the meal from one of the barrels, and then to the 
tiny galley. "Look at this mess," Zaftra exclaimed disgustedly as 
he shoveled meal into the sieve. "Beetles, moths…" He snorted. 
"Rats and mice, despite the cat." 
"Katrana said that you might be able to help me." Megan 
concentrated on sifting for a minute. "I know how to do some of 
the stuff Piatr does… like the tumbling. I learned that playing 
cniffta—that and juggling knives— and a friend of mine in the 
guard was teaching me things." 
"In the City Guard?" 
"Only a squire." Megan had thought about that, trying to get 
a letter to Serkai, but wasn’t allowed even that. She inserted a 
finger under the slave collar to ease its chaffing, links clicking.

"Ah, was all he said, as he poured the sifted meal into the 
measure. 
"Anyway, I didn't try too hard at that because I didn't think 
I'd need it much. I've changed my mind." 
"And want help." 
"I don't have anything else to do that I like—I haven't 
manifested yet—and it’ll keep me from brooding over him." 
"A sensible course." He added water to the bowl. "Of course, 
you realize that I haven't taught anyone in years, much less on 
his ship, and if he catches me teaching you I'll be worse off than 
poor Zhena?" 
Megan lifted her chin a little. "Yes. That's why you can say no, 
as long as you say it to my face." She put her hands flat on the 
table. "I know more about ships and shipping than he does. I 
was River Guild—still am because my Gospozhyn never released 
me. He's going to choke on—" she hesitated "—a crew… some 
time when he gets too greedy and I want to know enough to fight 
him, to be there at least when he dies." 
She felt as cold as when she cut up Svaslasfyav. If you don't 
help me, I'll help myself, somehow. Zaftra narrowed his eyes 
thoughtfully at the batter he was mixing, then reached one hand 
and touched her between the eyes with his fingertips; she jerked 
back startled, then held still. He got the distracted look on his 
face and Megan thought she saw a flicker of color in his eyes. 
When he dropped his hand he had pensive sort of look on his 
face and concentrated on adding the soured dough to the mix, 
then looked at her from under thin grey eyebrows. 
"Yes, I'll teach you." 
Out on the sea, in sight of the Pirate Islands. The sea was like 
the rolling grass of the steppe, but deep as thought and 
blue-indigo, waves rubbing against each other like crowds in a 
city, going this way and that, all at the same time. She spent 
hours staring at the sea, getting to know her; could float like a 
chip, forever timeless.

It was so timeless she almost missed her birthday. "Megan," 
Piatr said as he paused swabbing the deck. "Before he calls you 
down to his cabin, come up to the galley tonight." 
"Why?" 
"New Year." 
"Already?" She shook herself. Of course I haven't been 
counting days. I was waiting for it to get cold. "Okay." 
When she came, the other Zak were in the bow where they 
were partly shielded from the rest of the crew by the bales of 
cotton stowed midships. When the moon rose and Shamballah 
shone bright in the sky they stood together, looking north to 
where the bright star hung low on the horizon. 
Though it was in summer heat and the damp in the air was 
thick, when the highest power witch spoke it was like a breath of 
cold and silence; every Zak alive was sharing this night in 
enclaves all up and down the river, around the shores of the 
Mitvald Sea, wherever they'd been scattered from the river 
basin. 
"One such night was when the world died. We were out in the 
snow, and on the horizon, the Great Phoenix reached its beak 
out of the world and then even the snow burned." 
The other Zak answered in a whisper, "We live." 
"Once the Dark Lord decreed that all should starve, saying we 
were an evil empire and a million deaths were nothing to him." 
"We still live." 
"Though the world died…" 
"We live." The Zak raised their hands and light bloomed on 
their palms, mostly shades of red, but with one yellow glow. 
Megan felt the shiver before the light appeared and the cool blue 
undertones were like the taste of ice. She reached for the hands 
of the people beside her and they shared their light with her,

accepting her. They were her family. She wasn't the captain's 
toy, but a Zak, Megan, herself. 
I'm alive. I will live. I will. She smiled in the glow of light. 
Rilla, I'm going to come home. 
They were docked at the third of the Aavrit cities, under the 
soaring limestone blocks of Nuogameshgir, the smells of dust 
and desert rolling offshore, camels and people in the heat that 
sucked at the damp of the sea; dry as Marte's heart. Megan had 
felt strange all day, bloated, and had cramps as if she'd eaten too 
much fruit. 
When she felt a trickle between her legs, she went straight to 
Katrana. 
"I'm bleeding," she said. 
"Has he been hard on you again?" Katrana asked resignedly. 
Megan shook her head. 
"He hasn't touched me in a couple of weeks," she explained. 
The healer raised an eyebrow. 
"How old are you?" 
"A bit over thirteen." Then Megan understood. "It's my cycle 
bleeding, isn't it?" 
Katrana nodded and gave her a couple of sponges to use. "I'm 
glad I don't have to explain." She reached and touched Megan 
formally on the top of the head, then the chin, then hugged her. 
"You're a woman now. Welcome. I wish it could be better." 
"It will get better, once he's d—" Megan closed her mouth. 
Katrana nodded. 
"I won't say anything. I'm not that particular about him 
anyway." For you that means you can't stand his guts. 
Sometimes Kat, you're too easy on people. 
That night she was crouched, watching a dice game, when

Sarngeld called her, waving from where he stood by the mast. 
The dicers paused, watching. Mateus, able crew apprenticed to 
Kat, had just picked up the leather cup. 
"It's my bleeding time," she said quietly, in properly 
submissive lower-to-upper caste Arkan. She watched the spasm 
of disgust cross his face. 
"I didn't think you were that old." He headed for the 
gangplank. "Don't come near me till you're done." 
"No, I won't." And when his back was turned, she smiled. 
Tachka, one of the deck crew, reached over and pushed gently at 
her shoulder, a supporting touch. He was a young sailor, just out 
of Guildschool. 
"Roll! Up!" Zaftra's voice was a snap. Megan finished the 
move, came up to one knee with her hand holding the practice 
knife over her head, extended. "Hold it there. Don't move." Both 
of them were stripped to the waist in the dry heat, partly shaded 
by the city wall. 
She held the pose, sweat trickling down her face and neck, 
tickling itches rolling down her chest and back and into her eyes, 
straining to hear his steps on the deck behind her. "We only have 
a little time when all the deck officers are off this ship. Use it. 
Treasure it. If we're caught, I'm landed and you're flogged. If you 
don't listen, you are wasting precious time. Up!" She sprang up 
into the first position, eyes calm, breathing already controlled. 
"Sparring, with me. Face!" 
She spun, aware of the barrels and boxes to her right, just 
behind, the rail to her left. Zaftra held a long, thin rod in his 
hand and stood with one foot slightly advanced. "You'll usually 
be facing someone else with longer weapons. It's time you 
learned to deal with them." He let her stand a moment longer. 
"Stevan, call it." 
The crewmember, sitting cross-legged on a hogshead, 
watching, grinned. "Ready!" he called, but instead of "Iya!" the 
second call, he said, "Begin!"

Zaftra lunged forward, Megan spun aside, the strike missing. 
She couldn't get close to him; he chased her all around the small 
open patch of deck, touching her here, there, but only light 
touches as she was moving away. He's playing with me. In a 
real fight, I'd be dead. The thought slowed her a fraction; he 
caught her a solid tap on her knife arm. "Wound!" Stevan called. 
"Drop it!" 
She did, caught the practice knife with the other hand and 
instead of running, turned sideways, stepped in, and slashed at 
the wrist of his sword hand. "Wound!" cried Stevan, startled. 
Zaftra dropped the sword and Megan pinned the "sword" to the 
deck with her foot. 
"Hold." Zaftra nodded. "Good." His head and chest gleamed 
with sweat. "You did well, but you didn't finish me when you had 
the advantage." 
Megan stepped back. "Yes, master." Why am I so slow? 
"They're coming back!" The call was relayed from forward 
and Zaftra jerked his head at Megan. 
"Go sluice down." 
She put the practice knife down by his shirt and trotted 
forward to drop a bucket over the side, feeling the heat glowing 
on her face and chest. Why can't I learn faster? All I had to do 
was one more move and I could have finished it. 
The cool water made her feel better and she rubbed a scrap of 
toweling over her arms and chest. Well, last time he chased me 
through the stowed cargo and I beat him there. That had been 
in the dark of the hold, with no lights, only sounds to guide 
them, and her small size against his knowledge of how the hold 
was laid out. That was fun. She trotted back toward the ropewell 
to be out of Sarngeld's sight as much as possible, clambered 
down, resting her feet on the breast-fast that held them 
broadside to the wharf, luxuriating in all the space available 
with the rope payed out. She leaned her head back against the 
wood, listening to the conversations of the off-duty officers in 
their quarters just through the thin wall.

"… a student in years, Zaftra." Katrana said. "Why are you 
now? You could set up a zahl and teach Prafetatk for far more 
than a sailor ever earns." 
"Ah, Kat, I have m' reasons. I've still got an itchy foot. And I'd 
miss students like her." 
"She's that good? I thought you agreed to teach her because 
you were sorry for Tier." 
"No. No, I teach no one out of pity, Kat, and I'm sorry you 
would think that." His voice was stiff. 
"Zaftra, I'm sorry, I meant nothing by it." 
"Accepted. But to answer your question, yes, she is that good. 
One of my better students. Did you see the chase she just led 
me? She already has the important thing—spirit. Now all she 
needs to work on is her feeling of self and her own zight." 
They're talking about me. She pulled her head away, leaned 
forward with her elbows on her knees and looked down into the 
dust and a dead leaf or two swirl in an eddy between ships. My 
feeling of self? Why doesn't he tell me these things? She spat 
wind-blown grit out into the water. I suppose he will, in good 
time. But I can work on them myself. She leaned her head back 
to listen more, but they were talking about Zaftra's health and 
the rest of the crew. 
Niah-lur-ana, the trade isles, where the dark-skinned people 
came out in long canoes painted like sharks and single-person 
boards with sails mounted on them, the men and women both 
clad only in knee-lengths of bright printed cotton. Megan looked 
out over the islands, playing with the chain that marked her a 
slave, and smiled a little at the irony that paradise and halya 
could be close enough that a person could look from one to the 
other, only a few feet away. 
Sarngeld would often just hold her in the night, having 
dreams of old battle-fields and the one that ruined him as a 
solas, a soldier.

In the dark he'd sweat and toss, mumbling, clinging to 
Megan, and she'd lie still listening to his nightmares, hating 
him, hating herself. 
Esaria, in Sria, south of Tebrias which the Srians held, for 
now; square mud brick buildings thatched with grass, the 
central fortress a pyramid. All the Srians were black-rock black, 
and Megan found out that the giant given to Ranion for his 
wedding was real; they were all, even the shortest of them, 
almost twice as tall as most Zak. 
The mainsail tore right in half, in a stiff following breeze, the 
upper half flapping from the lateen-yard with fluttering, 
whip-like cracks, and they'd limped in on one sail. Sarngeld 
never paid out metal until he had to, and when the sail-makers 
told him it would never hold a patch, he paid for a new one and 
was in a vicious mood for a day after. Megan stayed out of his 
way and out of the first mate's as well. 
Hanald despised Zak and had taken to calling her Captain's 
Slut, as if she wanted it, as if she were at fault for what Sarngeld 
did. 
Kreyen; open buildings with red painted pillars. The people 
there were not as dark as the a-Niah, their skin shining with the 
oil of the olives they grew. 
She d gotten used to bleeding every month, to being free for 
at least a Hand and two days. She wished that he wouldn't look 
at her, or be attracted to what he saw; she threw wishing stones 
into the water, daydreamed that he found her ugly. When she 
slept she dreamed that he never wanted to touch her again, the 
icy blue feeling of manrauq tingeing these dreams unnoticed, 
but Sarngeld looked at her less often. The chain came off, though 
he left the collar and the wrist manacle on and she was still 
forbidden to leave the ship. 
"You're growing up," Katrana said. "Hell leave you alone more 
and more that you look like a grown woman." That was true, 
though he still wanted her in his bed, whether he used her or 
not. I'll have a bed of my own again, someday, and I'll sleep in 
it alone. It will smell of me and not him. He liked to sleep

holding her spooned against him, her head on his shoulder, his 
arm across her body, his other hand holding onto her wrist. Like 
a stuffed toy. 
"He's leaving you alone more often, isn't he?" Zaftra said one 
day. Megan looked up from where she was trying to do the front 
split stretch. It irked her that she was still a good hand-breadth 
off the deck. 
"Yes, he is." 
"I think you're manifesting." Zaftra sat in a cross-legged pose, 
face turned to the sun as they bobbed on the ocean, becalmed. 
Megan slid her legs around to the front and sat down with a 
bump. "I am?" 
"Yes, and as far as I can see you're gaining unconscious 
control. Well begin on your conscious control tomorrow." 
"How do you know? How can you tell? How powerful am 
I—will I be?" 
"It's my gift. I can see it. You're holding yourself back so 
you're barely a red witch…" He paused for a moment thinking, 
the gulls wheeling and crying around the ship. From the stern 
came the sound of Tachka's pipes winding around the mewing 
cries. "As for how powerful you'll be… that depends on you and 
circumstance." 
Megan calmed herself, wiping sweat off her face with her 
hands. That's what he's saying in case I don't get powerful; it'll 
be my fault if I don't. I know how to do other things than be a 
witch. 
"Make your mind still. Calm yourself. Make yourself as still as 
water in a bowl." Zaftra's voice was distant. They sat in the 
shade of the water barrels the next day, still becalmed. "Don't 
think! Feel." Megan tried to ignore the sweat on her skin, 
tickling, itching, running down her face, tried to stare, 
unfocused at the horizon. "Good," the old man said softly. "Now 
close your eyes and see it without looking."

She tried, but the sight went away into black again and again 
until her hands were clenched in frustration and spots danced in 
front of her eyes, she was squeezing them shut so hard. Varik 
said I'd probably never be powerful. 
"Enough. Haul up a bucket and douse your head, get a drink 
of water, then come back." She shook her head and got up, 
frowning at him; he frowned back. "You said you wanted my 
teaching. Learn the manrauq as fast as you've been with the 
knives and you will be good. Don't fight yourself so hard." She 
stared at him, wondering why he was so adamant about it when 
it was obvious that she couldn't do better no matter how hard 
she tried. She shrugged and did what he said. 
"Cooler head now?" he asked when she settled down again. 
"Not really. I'd rather learn something more practical." 
He sighed. "This is one of the most practical things you can 
learn, for a Zak. Try again, but not so hard." 
Not as hard? She shrugged and looked at the horizon, 
watched a gull drift, float on the wind up out of the blue; blue, 
blue as sky, as deep ice, as water… she realized that her eyes 
were closed, his hand covering them gently, and she could still 
see blue. It didn't seem important. 
His voice came, distant, cool. "See your name." 
Megan, she thought and watched a red spark dance in the 
midst of the blue. 
"That's you, what every other Zak will see in this place in their 
minds. We are all here. Think my name." 
Zaftra was a yellowish spark that twinkled like an eight-point 
star, very close. 
"Come out." 
With a start she realized that she'd done it, jolted her eyes 
open, and squinted them shut against the sunlight that was

painfully bright. 
"Good. You're holding back, but these things change. For now 
you'll learn red-witch things and borderline orange, just in case." 
He leaned back further into the shade, a contented smile on his 
face. "You'll have a bit of a headache if you do anything too 
much, it strains you. And if you overstrain yourself, your lungs 
and heart might give out, so we'll be careful." 
"Zaftra, does it really matter? I mean, you say I'm getting 
good enough with a knife." She massaged her temples. "It seems 
like a lot of work for little gain." 
"It matters." His thoughtful old eyes twinkled. "I can tell. It 
matters. Enough lazing about!" he snapped suddenly. "Show me 
the second position, from sitting, half-speed! Move!" 
Then she missed a cycle bleeding. And another. Again she 
went to Katrana. 
"You're pregnant." 
Kat's words slipped through Megan's mind like an oiled 
snake. I thought she said I was pregnant. That's impossible. I… 
She felt sick, sudden nausea clutching at the bottom of her 
throat and she lunged for the covered bucket in the corner, bile 
spilling into her mouth as she wrenched the lid off. "I don't want 
it. It's part his, it's like he's growing in me. Kat, cut it out like a 
tumor, get rid of it. Dark Lord, it'll eat me alive…" 
"Shush, hush, Meg. It's a baby not a tumor. It will be what 
you want it to be. It can be yours or his. I'll try to get rid of it for 
you, with herbs, though Zhena could nave laid hands on you, 
that was her gift…" She sighed. "No use wishing for Shamballah. 
Hush, Meg." Katrana took her in her arms where she clung, 
shivering. 
Tor Ench, where the women were kept in femkas or swathed 
in lace veils when they went out, the men in fur collars and 
straight, blunt cut hair. 
Nothing Katrana gave Megan helped. The last thing she tried

was a decoction of juniper and tansy, and Megan was sick for a 
Hand after but didn't abort. 
"No more, Meg. The baby wants to cling to life. I won't 
endanger you like that again." 
"But, Kat—" 
"No 'but Kats.' I won't kill you trying to get rid of it. It will be 
your baby if you decide it is. Your baby, not his." 
"I'm not ready, I'm not old enough." 
"Meg, you'll have to be." 
My baby. My kin. My baby. That was what she kept 
repeating to herself, in the dark, with the weight of his arms and 
leg on her. That weight while he slept was so much less man 
when he held her pinned to make her panic, make her struggle 
so she wiggled against him; exciting him. My baby. 
Yeola-e where everyone had curly hair, waving arms with 
every word and smiles that seemed very free, as if they'd never 
tasted slavery, distant mountains floating like clouds. Another 
year end and she turned fourteen, just starting to show her 
pregnancy. 
She could still climb in the rigging, learning, and knew that 
she was keeping better accounts than he was. She pretended it 
was an exercise given her by Gospozhyn, the way he had so long 
ago in school. The money was always short because he spent it 
on himself. Hrüs Trade Town—no name but that—more sand. 
"You know," Megan said to Mateus once, leaning on the rail, 
"if he trained and paid his own pilot, he wouldn't have to pay the 
harbor fees." 
"He'd still have to pay." 
"But less. Look…" She started to explain and he listened for a 
minute.

"You lost me there. That harbor fee is less than the retaining 
fee of a pilot. 
"It seems so, but there are hidden taxes, don't you see?" 
Mateus shrugged, spreading his hands. "If you say so. I know 
navigating and some healing from Kat. This is beyond me." 
"Oh. All right." But it's so simple. 
Sinapland, full of orange robed priests who bought Nellas 
cheese and Kreyen olive oil. He could have sold them flawed 
topaz from the City states as "Toad's Eyes." 
She noticed that if Zaftra could convince Sarngeld to 
rearrange the hold, the Brezhani could ship perhaps another 
quarter-tonne. He shrugged and tried it. Sarngeld didn't even 
notice. 
Berjus. Selov. Baku. Mahachkala. They were starting to blur 
together in her mind, so she started writing them down. The 
names, what they looked like, what they sold. 
She watched the dolphins skip in the bow wave when they 
had a stiff following breeze, trying to see them both with her eyes 
and hear them. She thought she was starting to hear whispers, 
inside her ears, of their thoughts. goodlifefish 
fenudemalesexfeelwaterflow funbreathsun. "Yes, child," Zaftra 
said. "You aren't imagining it." 
She amused herself trying to out-guess Hanald, or the other 
deck-officer's calls to the crew; trying to find for herself the best 
way into and out of the harbors, watching the hired pilots or the 
row-tugs. 
Brahvniki again, the onion domes like a welcoming hand 
drawing them in through the jostling small-boats, cascades of 
flowers spilling everywhere over balconies and windows. 
"Kat," Megan asked one day as she helped fold blankets. 
"Dah, Meg?"

"What happens to his babies? Or his bed partners when they 
bear children?" 
Katrana pursed her lips. "I don't know, Meg. It's never 
happened before that I know of—he's had mostly boys. You 
should sit down for a while." 
"Yes, healer," Megan said with mock submission. 
"Oh, go on with you!" 
Later that night Megan stood just inside the door of his 
cabin, her hands clasped protectively around herself. "Get out, 
slut, you've gotten ugly. You disgust me." Sarn-geld threw a 
blanket at her and she caught it close around her, wanting to 
smile. I get to sleep by myself-— and my baby. Koru, I haven't 
prayed to you fir a while. I haven't believed in you. But You're 
a Mother, so you might have time for me again. Thank You for 
the baby. Thank You for the shape of a grown woman, that 
disgusts him so. 
That night she slept in the galley under the table, content 
enough to fall asleep almost the moment she lay down, cradling 
her bulging stomach. Kat's worried about the size of the baby. 
What happens, happens. 
North again to Bjornholm, just up the Vechaslaf River, west 
of where it met the Brezhan; chasing winter up the river this 
time, bringing spring with them. 
"Koruuuu! Help me. Kat, it hurts. It hurts. Its clawing its way 
out of me… it's a monster…" 
"It's all right Megan, here, it's just a baby being born. Hold 
onto Mateus's wrists." 
"The whole world's splitting me apart. Mother Bear help me, 
helpmehelpme…" 
' Meg, drink this. No, don't argue, drink it even if it tastes 
bad, come on." The world went strange and distant, wavering in 
and out like waves on the sea, but the sea was far away, too… I

must be dreaming. Kat's arguing with someone—Him—about 
me, about the baby. Arguing with Him and threatening to 
leave… He doesn't want that. Why? Oh, more thunder coming, I 
can feel it… She clung to Mateus's wrists, feeling his gift wash 
over her, helping Katrana's drug, vaguely irritated at whoever 
was shrieking like a night-siren. 
A Haian voice. Why? Papa's arm's already gone. She tried to 
twist away from the rubber and cold smelling mask someone 
pressed over her face. "Breathe in, Meg, don't fight…" She 
followed the voice down into the dark. 
When she woke up, she was still floating in the dark it 
seemed, her body wrapped tightly in bandages. To keep my guts 
in. She giggled, or tried to, but all that came out was a whimper. 
She couldn't make her eyes work and complained. 
"Shh, Meg. You'll be all right…" The healer hesitated, then 
went on. "Are you thirsty?" Katrana held a straw to her lips and 
she drank thirstily, clearing the dry scummy feeling out of her 
mouth. The room stank of Haian medication. 
"The baby?" she whispered. Kat's face swam out of the 
dimness again. 
"A healthy boy, born with a head of dark hair." She held a 
blanket wrapped bundle that Megan tried to reach for. "He has 
all the necessary bits like fingers, toes, nose, penis…" Kat smiled 
and laid the baby in the cradle of Megan's arm. 
"My son. Whitlock's son. Lixand," she whispered, touching 
the fuzz on the baby's head, feeling a rush of joy that was almost 
as sharp as pain. Did Mama feel like this when I was born? 
"Just like your grandfather." 
His eyes were pressed shut and his face was wrinkled in on 
itself as if he could squeeze the world away from him. 
"They're blue," Kat said. "But then all babies have blue eyes." 
"I don't care. He's healthy. He's my son." Sleepily, sorely, she 
tried to lift him toward Kat as if the healer hadn't seen him

before. "See my beautiful baby?" 
When Megan was stronger, Katrana helped her walk the 
companionway, one hand under her elbow. She'd made the deck 
for the first time since Lixand had been born, and Katrana sat 
with her. 
"Meg…" Kat hesitated again. 
Megan shifted the baby from one breast to the other, felt his 
lips tug and the soreness fade. She looked up at the Aenir 
woman. 
"You've been hiding something from me, Kat, about me." Her 
hand moved steadily, patting Lixand's back as he nursed. "I'm 
not going to break." 
The healer took a breath. "To save your life… and his… well…" 
"He was too big for me," Megan said calmly. "Do I still have a 
womb?" 
Katrana stopped, startled. "Oh, Meg. Not one that will bear 
another child—but I didn't want to be so harsh telling you. You 
are scarred too badly." 
Megan smoothed the baby's curls, wiped the trickle of milk 
from her breast where Lixand's lips had relaxed as he slept 
again. "I have a son. So be it." 
It was only later that the tears came, as she healed and could 
bear them. 
Chapter Seventeen 
"Ljxande-mi! Ba-ba-baby!" Megan dangled a rattle in front of 
Lixand who grabbed at it and tried to stuff it in his mouth. She 
stroked his fine blond hair and smiled. "You're a strange 
changeling baby, my child." His dark birth hair had fallen out 
and come in again bright, bright blond and his eyes had 
darkened to the color of hers. They were tucked into a niche 
between two of Zaftra's barrels on deck, enjoying the clear

weather. We should head south soon if we want to escape the 
winter. 
Sarngeld hadn't touched her since before Lixand was born, 
and Megan thanked the Goddess every day for that. The baby 
crawled over to her and she picked him up, cuddling, a solid 
weight with strong hands that tangled in her hair and tried to 
stuff it in his mouth. He nuzzled against her. 
"Hai, my little piggy child. Wait, wait…" She pulled up her 
blouse and wiped herself before she let him nurse; not as often 
now that she was weaning him. She rocked him and hummed a 
lullaby that her mother had sung to her. "Ow, don't bite your 
mother even if teeth are new to you, all three of them!" 
He burped and fell asleep in her arms, one fist still clutching 
her blouse. She braced her knees under him so her arms 
wouldn't fall asleep and leaned her head back against the barrel 
behind her. Since he's left me alone, life has been calm, at least. 
She watched the gulls wheeling over the ship, heart-holdingly 
white against a deep blue. 
"Megan!" Sashe, a middle-aged, cat-nimble man who mostly 
worked the foredeck, called. "Captain wants you…" He went on 
reluctantly, "In his cabin, now." The afternoon's peace froze in 
her and Lixand whimpered in his sleep as her hands tightened 
on him. Every step back toward his cabin was like wading 
through air filled with the glittering splinters that she was 
breathing. Maybe if I take the baby he'll forget about wanting 
me.
His door was open, swinging a little in the gentle motion of 
the river. "Why'd you bring the brat?" he growled at her. "Get 
rid of it, slut, or I'll drown it." 
She backed out and carefully left Lixand swaddled and still 
asleep on Kat's empty bed, telling Piatr where the baby was. 
"I'll keep an eye on him, then." 
"Thank you." Then she went back to him.

Stretch. She could do the full front splits again, turned her 
head sideways on her knee to keep an eye on the baby, asleep on 
an old bit of toweling, sucking his toes. 
"Megan! Oh, sorry, I don't want to wake the baby." Sashe 
settled down nearby. Megan changed from left stretch to center 
stretch. 
"That's all right, Sash, he was fussy all morning and it would 
take one of his bellows to wake him." 
"Good. Look, Meg, do you think I could make 
quarterdeck-crew rating in the River Guild? If I studied?" 
"You mean officer? Ocean or river?" Megan shifted to full 
splits the other way, smooth as water flowing. 
"Ocean." Sashe looked down at his hands. "I thought I'd ask, 
since you're Guild-trained." 
"Yes," Megan said promptly, not seeing anything strange 
about a middle-aged man asking a sixteen year old for advice. 
"In my opinion you'd be not much good on a river, no feel for 
snags or bars." His face fell a little. "But," she continued, "you 
don't deal well with the confinement and like lots of room and 
have a feel for deep water. Storm-sense, too, that isn't just 
manrauq." 
She straightened up, wiping sweat off her face with the other 
bit of towel. "No reason why you shouldn't try for bosun papers 
at the very least." 
He grinned. "I will! Next time I'm home, I will! Thank you!" 
He got up and sauntered forward, whistling. 
"It'll get you away from him," Megan muttered to herself. 
Sarngeld didn't need more officers and hated anyone with any 
ambition. Sashe would find a place on another ship. The 
shortage of berths was for able crew, not anything higher. 
"There's not an officer we can trust," Megan said thoughtfully. 
Katrana, Piatr and Mateus nodded. They were sitting in fo'c'sle,

the storm rolling the ship, even at anchor, water leaking in 
around the foremast collar. Most of the rest of the crew and all 
officers but the first mate were in the town, in dry inns. There 
was a knock and Megan repressed a start. "Zaftra?" 
"Aye.' The four of them relaxed, letting out the breaths they'd 
been holding. None of them had said the word mutiny, though 
they had been talking for a few weeks. Mutiny was punishable by 
impalement. To falsify Guild seals meant having one's entrails 
pulled out and burned, as well. Megan joggled the baby on her 
knee, sniffed, and pulled out the back of his diaper. He fussed as 
she laid him down to change him. 
"Hush, baby mine." 
Zaftra ducked his head under the lintel, nodded at the other 
conspirators. 
"I just checked to see no one was listening." He shook out his 
blanket cloak and ran a hand over his wet hair and scalp. "It's 
raining pitchforks out there." 
"Yah." 
"You know," Megan said thoughtfully. "All of what we've been 
discussing is just in case.' " 
Zaftra laughed. "We can say so in front of any truth-teller in 
the land. Just be glad that Arkan truth-drug is so expensive." 
"Uhm. Well. Tachka, Sashe… he might not be here if he's 
going into the Guild." 
"A good thing, to be able to use Guild seals." Kat shuddered. 
"I saw a mutiny trial about ten years ago in Brahvniki." 
"We just have to make sure we aren't caught, if it should 
come to that," Megan said firmly. "Besides, no one but me would 
risk it. I'm Guilded, if not properly accredited." 
She put the baby down on the floor. "Piatr, Thoman is usually 
with the foredeck crew, so if anything should happen…"

"I can deal with him. He's better as a K'gebar wielding a whip 
than a knife." 
She looked at him in the tossing light of the lamp hung from 
the ceiling. He shrugged. 
"I've killed before. Reghina's in." 
"Then if you come aft, I'll know you're heading for the 
weapons locker with Thoman's keys." She nodded decisively. "I 
want Sarngeld… At-za-tt-ratzas, Solas…" She pronounced his 
real name carefully, as if pronouncing a curse. "He is mine to 
kill." I maimed a man when I was ten. I should be able to kill 
one. She smiled at Lixand who was chewing on his fist. "Well 
keep recruiting people, carefully, or well all be sprouting another 
leg." Their faces, in the shifting light, were grim. 
She watched the baby walk, holding onto the galley table, 
babbling to himself. Zaftra smiled and moved his measuring 
spoons away from the edge. Lixand smiled back at him, showing 
six teeth now, squealed, and toddled over to Megan, half 
running, flinging himself on his mother. She caught him, buried 
her face in his tummy, flapping her lips to make him giggle. 
They were docked at Naryshkiv village, stout wooden walls 
blocking the view of the fields and manors beyond. It was market 
day. The barking of sheep dogs, the bleating of Thanish flocks 
drifted in the distance; music, the reedy sound of an ahkordi 
squeezing out a waltz, the mutter of Sarngeld's Arkan friend on 
deck. 
Lixand ran to Zaftra, grabbing onto his trouser leg then back 
to Megan, sitting down abruptly on his bottom, considering 
whether he ought to cry or not. He decided against it and 
crawled over to grab at the rattle Megan still held. "Ma-ma! No! 
Ma-ma. No!" 
"His favorite words," Megan said to Zaftra. 
Lixand recognized Sarngeld's step already and knew enough 
to hide from it. He dropped the rattle and hid behind Megan as 
the Arkan came in.

"Come, girl." He gestured with his head. He always gets very 
careful about waving his hands around when other Arkans 
visit. I wonder what he wants me for, now. Lixand wouldn't let 
go of her, so she hoisted him on her arm where he threw his 
arms around her neck. 
Sarngeld led them past the other Arkan, a lean man in pale 
gloves, into his cabin. There he took her by the other shoulder 
and dragged her over to the metal staple in the floor where the 
slave-links were bolted. 
"Sarngeld, what are you doing?" She started to struggle, 
Lixand clinging, howling. He locked her wrists in and tried to 
pull Lixand away from her. Koru, Goddess, he's threatened to 
drown him before… She clung to the baby with all her strength. 
Sarngeld, irritated, backhanded her across the face to make her 
let go. 
"No! Nonono! Baaaa-aad!" Lixand squealed, and then just 
shrieked as Sarngeld untangled him. 
"Sarngeld, master, leave me my baby, please don't drown him. 
Please, he's your son, don't kill him. Please, he's only a baby. 
Don't, please, master." Megan crawled to the end of the chains, 
on her knees, on her face. "Master! Master! Don't take him…" 
"Drown it?" Sarngeld laughed, stepping back out of reach of 
her pleading hand. "It's too valuable for that. I'm short of 
money." 
"No, please! Lixand! Lixand!" She lunged against the chain as 
if she could tear free. "Lixannnnnd!" The door closed on 
Sarngeld, muffling the baby's wailing as he was carried away. 
She screamed, clawing at the oak links, at the metal holding her 
to the floor, tearing the skin of her hands. "Lixand!" She 
screamed his name as if the sound of her voice could hold him 
somehow, until she was hoarse and exhausted, lying flat on the 
floor, stretched toward the door, whispering her son's name. 
The splinter of light through the portholes faded, leaving her 
in the dark with nothing but the chains to fight, her nose full of 
the smell of the dry-rot in the boards. "Lixand…"

Above, she could hear his boots on the deck, feel the shift and 
scrape change as they undocked and caught the current south, 
leaving Naryshkiv behind. Lixand. 
It was just rising dawn when the door opened quietly and 
Katrana slipped in. 
"Meg?" There was no answer. "Megan?" 
"Go away." 
"I've got his keys." 
Megan sat up, aching, stiff in all her joints. "His keys?" 
She caught the shine of the white of one of Kat's eyes in the 
dimness, the rising sun throwing a splinter of light through the 
porthole. "And my knives if you want to borrow them." 
"It's now, Kat. Get everyone together. It's now." 
Megan crept up the companionway ladder, hugging the 
shadow. I'm going to kill him. There was a subdued rustle in the 
bow; Piatr sauntered by her as if she weren't there, going below. 
To the weapons locker. He got the bosun. A muffled splash up 
forward. She'd told Mat to set an anchor or they'd all end up 
aground before everything was over. A shout from the poop as 
the ship started to swing around. 
Sarngeld was over by the port side, shouting for Thoman. 
Megan swung up over the edge of the poop. The helm yelled as 
she gained her feet and Sarngeld turned toward her. 
Knife flip back over my shoulder—just like in cniffta— throw 
HARD. The dagger spun once and buried itself just over his 
groin. He folded forward, a stunned look on his face, gloves 
stained dark as he clutched his abdomen. She jumped high, 
landed on his bowed shoulders, driving him down to the deck. 
One of his hands came up, caught her by the ankle, dragged her 
down. I can't see, my hair… She landed hard on the deck, air 
pressed out of her lungs, but she slashed backhand, something 
snicked and parted under the blade—hamstrung—scrambled up

as he fell sideways and drove the knife into his back. 
Die, damn you die. Stop squealing and die. Sticky-hot blood 
fountained across her face as she wrenched the knife loose and 
drove it in again, and again, the hilt slipping greasily; blood and 
more blood, feeling the blade twist and catch on ribs. Die. She 
stabbed until he stopped moving, looked up to find herself in the 
middle of a blood-splashed circle with the rest of the crew, 
armed, standing watching her. She crawled to her feet, suddenly 
aware of every ache, every pain, favoring the ankle he'd grabbed, 
realizing she was coated head to foot in his blood. She spat to 
clear her mouth, panting. 
"We're going back to Naryshkiv, to get my son." 
"Who are you to say?" Hanald stood behind the wheel, 
boot-knives raised, holding off Mateus who held belaying pins. 
"I'm first mate. I have more right to this ship than you do, 
murderer." 
"Mat, get back. We can always fish him out of there with a 
boathook." 
Hanald laughed. "Listening to women and children, Mateus? 
Zak have no balls anyway." The ship creaked as she swung, 
dragging the single anchor, bow-on to the stream. The rest of the 
crew shifted their grips on what weapons they had, looking for a 
decision from someone. 
"You fight for it, Thane?" Megan asked quietly. 
"Meg, no! He'll kill you," Katrana called from the main deck. 
"He'll feed the river gar." 
Hanald laughed and stepped out. "Fight you, little toy? 
Captain's slut? A disease-riddled child whore—what fifteen, 
sixteen—captaining a ship? I'll spank you and set you off at the 
next town south!" He walked forward as if to grab her, jumping 
back as she slashed. 
"Don't talk, fight." She held herself low, the lessons by Zaftra

coming without thinking. He circled right, trying to push her 
back against Sarngeld's corpse, lunged. She stepped inside his 
thrust, grabbed his wrist—flash of pain, shoulder and back, 
other knife—and slashed twice across his belly, let go. He 
stumbled forward with a surprised look as his hands went numb, 
his knives clattering as he fell to his knees, trying to hold his guts 
in. She pulled his head back by the hair, cut his throat, watching 
the spray of crimson splatter the nearer crew. 
Cold. I'm cold. She wanted to vomit at the stink of blood and 
shit on the deck, crushing it down into a knot in the pit of her 
stomach. Killed two men in less than an hour. Lixand. 
"We're going north, back to Naryshkiv." Her voice was cool 
and dry. She wiped the knife on a clear spot on her sleeve. 
"Anyone else have a problem with that?" 
Silence. "I have the most official training to be an 
owner/captain from the Guild, and they'll back me once I get a 
message to my Gospozhyn." They waited, listening as if they 
judged her. "I'll pay out the back-pay he was holding and release 
anyone who won't obey me." A swift mutter around the deck as 
she stood, feeling the drying blood pull at her skin and hair, 
wanting to push the crew who hadn't been approached by the 
conspirators, knowing that she couldn't. 
Mateus slotted the pins back in the rack. "Aye, Teik. We… 
none of us would try to use a Master's token, not with the Guild 
watching… Captain." 
Megan nodded, putting the knife away. Captain. "Mat, you're 
second mate. You see that this mess gets cleaned up." She 
scanned the rest of the crew standing, waiting for orders and her 
eye fell on one of the half-Zak—a tall, square man. with brown 
hair and violet eyes, Tze Riverson, whose Zak heritage only 
showed in his uncanny ability to read the river. He was 
competent. She decided. "Tze, you're first mate. I want this ship 
in Naryshkiv by tomorrow." 
"Aye, Captain," he answered, not hesitating over the title, and 
she thought that her troubles would be over if everyone adjusted 
so quickly. She called Garhert, ship's carpenter, to bring a pry

bar below to the cabin—my cabin, for now. 
No one is ever going to own me again. No one is ever going 
to rule me like that again. She watched him pry the metal staple 
out of the wood with a dry skreek, carried it and the oak chain 
on deck herself, and flung it in the river, watching it sink, 
uncaring that she could sell the metal. That's my slavery 
sinking. Lixand, my son. I'm coming to get you. I'll get you 
back, baby mine. I'm strong enough to now. I'm of age and 
anyone who tries to hurt me can go fik. I'm free. In the 
lamplight, he sawed the wooden collar off her neck and wrist, 
careful of her skin. For a moment she felt almost dizzy and too 
light; her balance shifted, as they came off. She went down to 
her cabin to wash the blood off her skin and out of her hair. 
With a careful hand she copied Sarngeld's signature on the 
document, the bill of sale that proclaimed her the Zingas 
Brezhani's new owner/captain, assuming all unfulfilled 
contracts. Sarngeld's seals were in the trunk under the bunk, and 
she used the ring taken from his hand before they threw the 
corpse in the river weighted with rocks. 
From below a steady hammering sounded. The old Brezhani 
had sprung a board and the bilges had started filling faster than 
they could be pumped out. They were cobbling a patch but 
couldn't fix the ship while she was under way. 
Megan cursed steadily under her breath but forced her hands 
steady as she signed her own name… called Whitlock. No 
personal seal. I'll have to get one. A steady scrape from above, 
where the holystone was being pulled across the bloodstain. They 
couldn't erase it but could make it seem old. While they were 
laid up to stop the leak, there was more cleaning being done 
than for the last few weeks all together, people finding work to 
hide their tension, coiling ropes, polishing brass long tarnished 
green, scraping and painting as if they couldn't worry while their 
hands did the work. They were glad enough to have her take the 
risk of docking and customs at Naryshkiv. 
There. She waited for the wax to cool. The money in the box, 
Lixand's price—she bit her lip at the thought— was just enough 
to cover the back wages owed the crew and another docking fee.

She didn't want to pay them with the money she might need to 
get Lixand back, but she had to. She needed their goodwill as 
much as they needed her. 
It will have to do. 
The customs clerk barely glanced at the bill of sale, affixed his 
stamp and took the fee. "Good day to you, Teik Captain." 
"And to you. Teik Clerk, is the town's record hall open this 
late?" She kept her tone light, not letting the urgency show. 
He considered a moment, checked the height of the sun over 
the port rail, considered longer while she seethed, pretending 
calm. The patch had taken a full three days to do properly, 
dry-rot crumbling the hole bigger. They'd had to ground the 
Brezhani and replace whole boards. 
"Nyata, it's too late today." He nodded over at the cluster of 
stolid red-brick showing over the wooden warehouses. " 'ts Next 
to the Guildsquare." 
"Thank you." 
Megan ran a hand through the white lock in her hair, forcing 
calm. The Naryshkiv market clerk was hardly at fault, even if he 
was the giver of bad news. 
"The Arkan trader… ah… hmm… his name… Anetenkas Grias, 
Okas, as far as I know. Dealing with a Thane for exotic goods to 
go into the Empire, I believe." 
"When did he leave?" The clerk looked up at her, a little taken 
aback at her vehemence. 
"Why… four, five days ago I believe, in the afternoon, by barge 
up the Oestschpaz, I think." 
Four, five days ago. Four or five days. 
"Thank you, Teik Clerk, you've been most helpful." Megan 
stepped outside trying to feel like an owner/captain.

She stopped in the shadow of the porch, looking out at the 
muddy, half-cobbled square where the market was just packing 
up for the night. 
I either give up the ship and what friends—-family— I have 
and try to catch Lixand. On foot by myself, or hope I can track 
him by proxy. Five days… There was no money to buy a horse or 
passage on a barge, no extra at all. Tze and Mat were waiting for 
her. They were good at following orders, but at commanding? 
There was a cargo of leather on the Brezhani, promised to a 
merchant in Rand. If she left them, it would be as bad as Marte 
getting rid of her because she was too much trouble. 
She put her face in her hands. Lixand. The roiling in her guts 
settled. I'm already too late, but I'll find you, wherever you are. 
I'll get the gold I need to find you. I have a gold candlestick 
waiting at home to start. 
She threw back her shoulders and strode out into the square. 
Chapter Eighteen 
The Randish merchant accepted the leather with only the 
barest flicker of surprise that the Arkan had sold out to a 
woman. Megan bowed over her cup of Randish tea and waited 
for him to begin negotiations for the next cargo. This Rand, a 
coral button Fifth rank, preferred to deal with freelance rather 
than Guild captains; willing to trade off risk for immediate gain. 
They sat in a dark, stone room. At least it was lit with 
sweet-scent candles. He's trying to impress the ignorant 
foreigner, Megan thought, settling herself to wait as long as 
necessary. Nal-Gospozhyn Eyvan always had me play the 
Randish games of zight until I was ready to scream. She 
thought she saw a flicker of emotion across that smooth, 
creamy-skinned face. Impressed with my patience? Or 
intrigued with my youth? She dismissed the idea. 
"Honorable Servant of the Sky Dragon, these mean eyes 
delight in the lush and elegant surroundings this humble one 
finds herself, and is grateful that the noble and magnificent host 
has chosen to honor her with such loveliness." She turned her tea

cup the requisite three times, signifying delight and admiration, 
thinking, a shoddy copy of Second Dynasty porcelain. 
"Ahh." He put the tips of his fingers together as he bowed at 
her compliment. "This poor and unworthy host is grateful that 
the enlightened guest praises him with her regard and elegant 
taste." Finally, she thought. He's warming up. Enlightened, 
hmmm? I guess Sarngeld dealt with him his own way. 
"Oh, the lightning intelligence of my gracious host 
overwhelms this ignorant jannin." Lay it on thick as a 
new-rich's buttered roll. Fifth rank need all the buttering they 
can get. He’ll appreciate me calling myself a foreign devil. "It 
truly enlightens and enlarges one in the august presence." 
He ran a smoothing hand over his red skull-cap, preening, 
though no expression showed on his face. 
"Permit this crude and unlearned host to approach my 
distinguished guest with a small proposal." 
"This lowly one hangs on every precious word." Bull-crap. You 
have another load of half-split leather that you want to go 
north to Aenir's-ford because the fall market there will be good. 
"If the magnificent mind of my guest will deign to dwell on 
the possibility that her elegantly appointed vessel would bear my 
dirty, ill-cured wares north to the bluff, crude market. For an 
exchange of, please forgive the haste and crudity of my language, 
cash." 
"This lowly one is astonished at the largess of her host, whose 
words are both elegant and stately." And overblown as ail 
Halya, but he does seem to be in a hurry. 
"The brilliance of my guest overwhelms me." It went on like 
that for a good hour or so, compliments smeared thick as honey 
on burnt bread, but they arrived at a deal. 
She paused at the tunnel into the open air of the third west 
island to let her eyes adjust to the brightness. It was quieter than 
the more important islands of Rand, but during their harvest

festival that was not peaceful. Fireworks exploded all around the 
caldera, streamers floated from the heights to be swept away by 
the river or caught by the docks clustered around the steep 
islands. Dragons with hundreds of Rand underneath danced 
through the upper streets, a few even daring spider-slender 
bridges swaying in the breeze. The crowd swirling around her 
was almost as uniformly short as a Zak crowd, but 
yellow-skinned, dressed in heavily embroidered robes of nobles 
or would-be nobles, or plain blue tunic and pants of the 
common, and all as haughty of any non-Rand as the Zak could 
be of naZak. 
Megan was conscious of the weight at her belt. The letters of 
payment drawn up, cash drafts payable only on delivery— She 
caught the wrist of a child too poor to own a razor, who was 
trying to pick the purse, blocking the thumb-jab. "Nyata," she 
said softly into frightened brown eyes then switched to Rand. 
"First trick, no cash. Learn more." That about exhausted her 
fund of Rand. "Go." The child disappeared into the crowd like a 
freed bird. 
Was I ever that young? Megan thought. I want to get back to 
my ship and out of this noise. 
The weather on their trip north was rain, freezing rain, sleet 
and finally snow, the wind blowing fitfully and with little force so 
they had to row most of the way. After the third day of pulling, 
Megan called a halt at Beigen, a tiny cluster of buildings with 
two docks and a half-silted harbor. 
"Tze, well lay up here for tomorrow. If the snow stops and we 
get a wind, we'll gain by the wait. Everyone won't be too tired to 
handle sail." 
"Aye, Captain." 
"Mateus, set the wards on the ship." 
"Aye, Captain." He winked at her before his face took on the 
unfocused look. She smiled at him, though he couldn't see, his 
eyes looking into the manrauq rather than into the world. She 
chewed a flake of skin off her bottom lip, leaned over the poop

rail. 
"Zaftra!" 
"Yes, Captain?" 
"Break out the barrel of red wine and mull it for the crew 
tonight. They've been breaking their backs against the current." 
"Certainly, Captain." They were all so careful, so formal. Were 
they so used to showing their bellies to Sarn-geld that they did to 
her, out of habit? 
The deck crew were just changing shift in the white and grey 
twilight, and Megan turned to head down to the cabin. "Oh, and 
Tze, crew leave is lots of six." 
"Aye, there's not much that'll draw them but the one tavern 
and an unlicensed whorehouse." 
"Well, I'll tell Kat to keep an eye out for cases of the drip." 
He grinned at her, and turned to pass on the orders. 
At the knock, Megan looked up from the books. "Ave," she 
said somewhat irritably. 
"Lessons, still, Captain." Zaftra nudged the door shut behind 
him, cutting off the cold draft, and set the dinner tray on her 
desk, effectively stopping her from working. 
"Zaftra! The ink!" She reached for the tray, stopped and 
sighed. "You're right, I'll just peel it loose when it's dry." 
"You should eat first. Then you should make time to practice 
your skills before you go back to ship books." 
Megan looked at him and down at the dinner tray, resenting 
anything that might slow her down, realizing that taking some 
time to eat and look after herself wasn't really slowing her, it 
just felt like it. 
He smiled when he saw her lift the cover off the soup.

"Borshch. With sour cream. When you've eaten, I'll be back to 
help you with the lesson." He nodded at her and limped to the 
door, cold making his joints stiffen terribly. He reached for the 
latch, turned back. "The mulled wine was appreciated by the 
crew. I thought I should mention it." 
"Thank you, Zaftra." She tore the small loaf of bread in half, 
spread it with soft cheese and sopped one corner in the soup, 
suddenly ravenous now that she'd let herself think of food. 
Next evening the last of the leave-crews wobbled their way 
back to the Zingas Brezhani, leaning on each other, dangerously 
close to overbalancing into the freezing, muddy water. 
Megan watched impatiently as they made their precarious 
way onboard and the plank drawn in. The wind had come up as 
the weather cleared and she had decided to take advantage. At 
least they'll sleep it off and be out of the way… Her head 
snapped around as she realized that one of the men, Yneltzin, 
rather than making his way down to his hammock was trying to 
take a place among the deck-watch, as the Brezhani oar-walked 
out of the harbor. 
"Bosun!" Her voice was high enough to cut through noise of 
an un-oiled oarlock. 
"Aye, Captain!" 
"What is Yneltzin doing on deck while drunk?" 
"Captain, he's on watch!" Oblaka answered civilly enough, but 
with a carelessness that set her teeth on edge. 
"Bring him away, before he gets into the rigging. To me, 
move!" 
"Aye." The woman called forward and Yneltzin came back, as 
the oars were brought inboard, clattering. He stumbled over one, 
jostled the oar-crew on the other, and when they complained, 
buffeted one companionably on the shoulder as if he'd made a 
joke, getting in their way. Megan set her teeth.

"Aye… Captain." He paused long enough to make it an insult 
as he stood, thumbs hooked in his belt, rocking gently back and 
forth on his heels; the arrogant pose ruined every once in a while 
as he lost his balance. A nervous habit of his, she thought. It's 
the drink bringing out the idiot in him. She leaned on the poop 
rail, frowning down at him. 
"Who authorized your leave, just before your watch?" 
"It'ss a fa-favor ta me… Cap-t-ain." She ground her teeth. 
Behind her, Tze bellowed and the boom swung. The ship was 
underway. Slowly, sails bellied out in the steady wind that gave 
her enough headway against the current. 
"You're docked a week's pay. Get below and wake your next 
shift. You're trading off-duty times." 
He wobbled back, caught himself by stepping back, blinked 
and said, clearly and loudly, "I don' have ta take orders from a 
SLUT!" 
The quiet was sudden and pronounced, except for the ship's 
sound—creaking timbers, the squeak of rope. Megan could see 
Oblaka's throat move as she swallowed. 
"Mateus. Oblaka." Megan nodded at the bosun and the 
second mate, suddenly cold. They took hold of the man who 
twitched, as if he'd pull away, realizing there was nowhere to go 
but over the side. "Yneltzin, you're under punishment. Ten 
lashes." 
The off-duty crew was called on deck. 
"I call thee forth." Megan pitched her voice to carry. Before, 
no one had cared to challenge her zight and now she knew she 
had to assert it. "I call thee forth." 
The setting sun cast a glow over everything, painting it the 
color of thinned blood. Megan put one hand on the brace of 
throwing daggers she carried on her belt, raised the other 
formally. "I call thee forth."

The crew quieted and she stepped forward. Mateus cuffed 
Yneltzin as he tied him to the main-mast to make him stop 
trying to pull away. "For refusing to obey a direct order, and 
failing respect, Yneltzin called Fisher, is under punishment. Ten 
lashes." 
There was a mutter, but no tightening in the air. Oblaka 
swung the whip. CRACK. Yneltzin stiffened, yelping. CRACK. 
"Shit, I only—" CRACK. 
"Shut up, Fish," Oblaka hissed through her teeth. CRACK. 
"Don't make it worse." CRACK. 
"Shhhnü—" CRACK. He held his silence then. CRACK. 
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. 
"Ten, Captain." 
"Good." Oblaka turned to cut Yneltzin down. "Bosun. You 
made up the leave-schedule." 
The woman turned to Megan, who waited. "Yes, Captain." 
"Were you also aware that Yneltzin was immediately on 
watch after that leave?" She was refusing to look at Megan, 
coiling the single-strand whip in her hands very carefully and 
methodically. 
"Yes, Captain." 
"You saw his condition when he came on board?" 
"It's been all right before, Captain, he's managed—" 
"Be silent," Megan snapped, putting all her will into that. 
Oblaka opened her mouth, then closed it. 
"For negligence. Bosun Oblaka, sentence of five lashes. I'll not 
have a drunkard killing himself or anyone else on board this 
ship." 
"But—"

"One more word," Megan said icily, "and I'll double it." She 
let the silence stand long enough for it to make her point, then 
said, "Mateus, take the whip. Kat, look after Yneltzin. I'll speak 
to him when he's sober." 
Megan stood and watched as Mateus administered five quick 
stripes to Oblaka and cut her loose. Then she went into the cabin 
and sat in the dark for a while until her shaking stopped. 
If I turn him off the ship, he'd have reason to call an 
investigation on me and the rest of the crew over Sarngeld's 
"sale," she thought, running her hands over her arms, as if she 
were cold. I'd be a fool if I didn't think he'd think of that, but he 
isn't mean unless he's drunk and he's not vindictive enough to 
risk hanging himself to hang me. 
She called him into her office next day. 
"Yneltzin, if you were in my place, what would you say to 
me?" 
He looked startled, then nervous, rocking. "I, ah, Captain… 
I…"
"Here," she said and got up. "Sit down in my chair and be 
me." A Yeoli's idea. He coughed nervously, then sat down when 
she motioned him to. 
"I… ah, I'd give you a warning?" 
"That's a good start." He looked down at the desk, at the 
papers he couldn't read. 
"Id… ah, insist on an apology." She waited. "I'm sorry, I called 
you that. Truly, Captain." 
"Accepted." She waited. "Is there more?" As a Guild captain, 
holding the papers, she had the right to land him and name him 
blacklisted in every Hall up and down the river. When they'd 
sworn to obey her, they'd sworn to that. 
"I'd tell you that you weren't blacklisted, that your papers

were still valid, that you weren't going to get busted to lander." 
He said all of that in a rush. She nodded thoughtfully. 
"I'd like my chair back, Yneltzin." He scrambled out of it as if 
it were hot. "Your attempt to stop me from finding out about 
Oblaka's disobedience is noted. If you ever disobey me or show 
disrespect again, I won't stop at a flogging, clear?" He nodded, 
hands behind his back. "You have to prove yourself to me, 
though. Dismissed." 
Snow swirled thick and heavy now almost every day, but it 
was warm enough that the river hadn't frozen more than at the 
edges, small chunks of ice floating from further north. If I'm 
lucky we can make it home before freeze-up. Perhaps even sail 
out again before hard freeze. She couldn't go after Lixand, and 
crushed the nagging thought that she was relieved that he was 
gone. No, she told herself. He was her son and none of 
Sarngeld's. She couldn't go after him. He was too far out of her 
reach. She couldn't. But the nagging guilt stayed. Perhaps she 
could have gone after him, but then she would have abandoned 
the ship and her crew, her family. No, stop this, she thought. I 
decided. I can't change it, right or wrong. 
She whirled, pacing. If she couldn't free Lixand immediately, 
then she'd go after Rilla. Do you need me still, 
coz? Or have you grown like your mother in these last 
years? 
She heard a soft step on the gangway and turned to see 
Katrana beckon. 
"Captain, may I have a word with you?" 
"Certainly. I'D be down in a moment." 
When the door of the cabin closed behind them, Katrana sat 
down on the bunk and looked concernedly at Megan who sat 
down at her desk. The girl was thin to the point of gauntness, 
eyes shadowed. 
"Your homecoming isn't going to be easy, is it, Meg?" Katrana

said softly. Megan's face closed as she unlaced her cloak, 
throwing it off her shoulders over the back of her chair. 
"You might say so. Why do you ask?" she said, voice cool, 
hands drumming nervously on her knees. 
"I'm concerned, both as ship's healer and as a friend." 
"Thank you, but I don't need help." Megan crossed her arms 
as if to block out Katrana's interference more than to stop the 
restless motion of her fingers. 
"You should at least look after yourself a bit more," the healer 
said. "Megan, of all people I should know how much you want 
your son but…' She waved a hand at Megan's threadbare cloak 
and dark tunic that was patched at both elbows and shoulders. 
"You have to spend some money on yourself occasionally." She 
raised the hand sharply as Megan tried to cut her off. "I know 
you're saving it for finding him, but the ship will suffer as you 
do. I'm saying this as healer. You Haven't been sleeping well 
enough and you've been eating next to nothing, exercising too 
hard. You'll kill yourself if you keep up, and then no one will 
rescue your son." 
"Well, I will deal with it, Kat." Megan's hand slapped the desk 
as if closing a book, but Katrana ignored the hint. 
"I know you'll deal with it, Meg." The healer sighed and got up 
to leave. "But killing yourself isn't going to free Lixand. 
Megan stared at the closed door, no answer on her tongue 
except, You're right. 
Chapter Nineteen 
"Zaftra, I can't do anything more than that!" Megan let the 
light spell snap, the dull reddish glow vanishing, leaving her with 
a headache that pushed at the back of her eyeballs. 
"Sh, Meg, it's all right. You'll do the best you can. You can set 
wards, you can make a light and small illusions."

"And move grains of salt!" she snapped. "What use is all this 
work?!' She paced back and forth in the cabin, pushing the heels 
of her hands into her eyesockets as if to relieve the pressure. 
"It helps you with your knife throwing," he said mildly. 
"You're good, but with the talent helping you, however 
uncontrolled, you are excellent." 
She sighed. "Fine. All right. I know the most I'm going to, and 
I think I'd like to stop with these lessons for now." 
"All right, Meg." He patted the cushion next to him. "Want to 
talk about your worries?" 
"My worries are none—" She closed her mouth, putting the 
tip of her tongue between her teeth. "Sorry. 
Zaftra, I'm just trying so damn hard to get enough to get 
Lixand back. The ship is costing me too much. At this rate I'll 
never make any money. He'll be in the Empire, a slave for the 
rest of his life, and if anyone with more money than me decides 
to kick me or mine in the teeth, I won't be able to kick back." 
She stopped pacing, looking at the dull grey light shining 
through the porthole. The ship complained as she broke through 
the thin crust of ice on the river. "Other than that, nothing's 
bothering me in the slightest." He shook his head at the 
bitterness in her voice. 
"You'll make more money once you speak to your Gospozhyn 
and work through the Guild rather than continuing Sarngeld's 
freelance business." 
She nodded, head down. "People pay more for consistent 
quality," she said quietly. "I know all that. But I don't know if my 
Gospozhyn will accredit me. I'm not Master rank, yet, and if he 
jumped me to Master then there would be jealousy and bad 
feeling. And the idea of an Apprentice, even a Journeyman, 
owning a ship—that's impossible by current Guild rules." 
"You'll convince him when you talk to him face-to-face. That's 
why you haven't written, isn't it?"

"Yes." 
"You're afraid to." 
"No, I'm not! That's—" He held up a hand. 
"Now, your old teacher isn't accusing you of anything and 
your zight is safe with me. I respect the person you are, and will 
be." She finally sat down, looking at him, for once like the child 
she still was. 
"I'm sorry. Yes, you're right. I'm afraid to." 
"Be honest with yourself, at least, Meg, it’ll be easier to be 
honest with other people that way." She looked away, twisting 
the comers of the cushion in her fingers. "If you don't mind a bit 
of nosy, unasked for advice…" He smiled at her look. "You don't 
have to threaten to swat me, Megan, I'll go on." He shook his 
bony finger at her. "If you do well, that's the important thing. No 
matter what you do, if you do it well, it will help your standing; 
tangible or intangible." 
There was a moment of quiet, when the only sound was a call 
from the deck-crew, the boom of the sails, then she smiled again, 
and flung her arms around him in a quick, startling hug. "Thank 
you Zaftra!" Then realizing, she blushed to the roots of her hair 
and grabbed her cloak. "I need… need to check the watch, close 
the door after you." 
"Child…" His word fell on a closed door and he looked after 
the tap of her retreating footsteps. "Child, still. Koru keep you." 
The Zingas Brezhani worked her way upstream, ice on her 
heels and Megan paced in the cabin, from the desk to the bunk 
and back, reining in her frustration. Never enough. It'll take me 
years to save enough this way. She clenched her fists behind 
her back as she paced. The shadow of the Great Rock loomed in 
the porthole and was gone, slowly falling behind as they tacked 
upriver. 
That meant they were a long day from F’talezon, unless she 
ordered the oars broken out. The River Lady's a tub. She's a

good old ship but she's still a tub and a royal bitch to row. I 
can't break everyone's back rowing if it's not necessary. 
The ice floes whirling south were big enough to stove them in 
if one hit them squarely, but Mateus had a feel for this sort of 
thing, and he and Tze kept them both safe and on course. 
Megan paced, shaking her head against the thought of it 
being too late for Rilla. A long time to be away. This close to 
F'talezon she felt unsettled, fearful in a way she'd refused to let 
herself be since Sarngeld died. 
She strode out of the cabin to stand by the helm, watching as 
they came closer and closer to home, wrapped in her thoughts as 
tightly as the wool of her cloak. 
The deck of the Brezhani looked much better than when she'd 
first come onboard; ropes neatly coiled and ready to hand, the 
brasses polished, the oak deck holystoned almost white except 
the old stains near the rail and down where the water barrels 
stood. Even the old sails had been patched neatly and the new 
one shone white in the pale spring sun. 
The wind swung around by late afternoon, a solid souther 
that took them against the current briskly enough that the ship 
plunged in a jerky up and down motion like a horse pulling at 
the bit. 
"Run with the wind, Tze," Megan called when the wind 
steadied. "We might as well take advantage." She felt split in 
two, standing on the deck. Part of her knew that she was good at 
commanding, doing what she'd been taught, doing what she'd 
dreamed of, but still she despised herself for enjoying it while 
Lixand was gone. 
"Aye, Captain." He relayed the order and the motion of the 
ship changed as the lateen sails bellied out. Megan raised an 
eyebrow appreciatively at the smooth maneuver. It's amazing 
what crew will do for a captain they like… but that's to their 
credit, not mine. I want to re-rig so we can butterfly, get a bit 
more speed, but that'll take time and training.

Megan paced back and forth in the cold wind, shivering but 
ignoring the feeling, looking ahead to Yneltzin on bow-watch. 
Ever since the one incident, he'd been solid. One hand on the 
wheel, she looked ahead to the distant mountain that was home. 
The jolly boat ride into the docking cavern was almost a 
mirror of the way she'd left. The Brezhani was moored in a 
similar spot in the outer harbor, the crowds along the piers, the 
noise… The differences were enough to keep her throat from 
closing; her hands stayed steady. 
She stood for a moment at the top of the ladder, her feet in 
the worn hollows of the stone, tried to feel as if she were home, 
shrugged, and moved out of the way of her crew. It's just 
another docking, and a late one at that. 
The kraumak had been unhooded, but there were only two or 
three of those. They had been made at public expense during the 
years of the Republic and the Other Guild held it gauche to think 
of stealing them, but they'd been fading one by one, replaced 
with the cheaper torches that filled the docking cavern ceiling 
with a hanging layer of smoke. 
She walked through the throng heading for the Gate before it 
closed for the night; sailors on leave ready to spend their pay on 
the licensed Bedwarmers, or on wadiki and a bed big enough to 
stretch out on, fishmongers carrying heavy buckets full of the 
final catch, silvery and squirming, or bakers with sold-empty 
baskets dumping crumbs into the water before joining the 
throng on the Gate road. 
Megan went up past Vikhad Gate to the Main Gate before 
entering the City, feeling the dampness on her face as it started 
to rain lightly, the torches hissing. Gospozhyn is likely still 
working late at his office, unless something's changed. She felt 
cold, and it wasn't merely because her cloak was worn thin. 
At the Main Gate steps where they joined the Stairs she 
paused, looking out over the City that was already dark; a 
pattern of lights shining out of windows, the red of firelight or 
the green or blue of kraumak, peculiarly Zak in a way that none 
of the enclaves along the river were. The rain was heavier, full of

the drowned-worm smell of spring. On the Stairs a door 
slammed, someone laughed and wished someone else a "Good 
Blossoming." The odor of maranth bread and spiced barley soup 
drifted over her, and Megan clenched her teeth against sudden, 
surprising tears, shook herself mentally and strode toward the 
Guildhall on the other side of the City, wrapping her cloak 
around her against the wet. 
His habits had changed and he'd moved his office to his 
manor off Greyvra Park. There, she gave her name to the 
door-ward and waited, watching the trickles of water find their 
way into the dry cracks of the flagstones. 
It was pouring now, wind driving the rain against the porch 
wall behind her with a crackle like frying bacon. 
"If you will come in, Teik, the Master is in the dining room, 
entertaining." The door-ward bowed her in with a sweep of her 
hand. "He said you were to await him in the study." 
"Thank you." 
The servant showed her into the room that at one point had 
been immaculate because Yarishk's wife had the keeping of it. 
Now that it was his office it was crammed with bookshelves and 
piles of pillows and stacks of paper over layers of mismatching 
rugs, very much like the old office. Megan stopped in the door, 
looking at an odd sock lying in the middle of the floor. 
She felt the impulse to tidy for him while she was waiting, 
restrained it and sat down on the guest cushion holding her 
nervousness inside. Things have changed. 
When Yarishk opened the door, Sashi pattered in, sniffed and 
lay down under the window with a grunt. Then again, some 
things, like Sashi, never change. Megan rose to greet her 
Gospozhyn, who looked her up and down, then smiled. 
"Megan! It is you," he said, offering her his hands. She 
nodded a trifle jerkily, nervous. His face didn't change but she 
knew he'd noticed.

"I'm very, very glad to see you. Sit down, please." 
"Thank you, Gospozhyn." The word felt strange on her tongue, 
as if it were a language she once knew but had forgotten. 
"I… we worried about you. I had reports of you from one or 
two places up and down the river, nothing reliable, and your kin 
refused to say. What happened?" He settled down without 
pulling his lapdesk between them. 
"Have we… shared salt then?" she asked. His chin came up 
and the worry lines in his face grew deeper. She could almost 
hear him thinking so distant, so formal, but he said nothing. 
"Of course, if you want it that way…" 
"Marte sold me off to an owner/captain by the use-name of 
Sarngeld," she said bluntly. Yarishk raised steepled fingers to his 
mouth, nodding. 
"I've heard of him. Nothing good, I'm afraid." 
"Yes. I found out about him, too. Nothing good." 
"Ahh." The sudden tension in the way he held himself, the 
very calm way in which he said it showed her his feelings. He's 
furious, Megan thought, wonderingly. A few years ago I 
wouldn't have known how to read that. I can do that now. "My 
sympathy," he said solemnly. She shrugged, looking away. 
"It happened." He didn't say anything. 
She waited, and when he still didn't say anything to that, 
went on. "I have a bit of a problem, though. Sarngeld, ah, sold 
me the ship… because of a health problem." 
"Oh?" This time she couldn't read his face or tone. 
Suddenly, she felt like a young apprentice again, during an 
examination, at a loss for words. She flattened her hands on her 
knees and bridled her rising resentment. He… doesn't deserve 
my anger. He's done me only good. He's a friend as well as a

teacher. She raised one eyebrow at him, face cold. 
"It is difficult to be healthy at the bottom of the river 
weighted with rocks." 
He nodded, sagely. "With numerous… disconnections in 
various bodily tissues rendered by small, sharp, street-trained 
blades." 
At one time that would have made her smile, but now she just 
looked at him and nodded back. "Yes." She held out her ship 
papers. 
"Did you kill anyone else?" His face was suddenly as cold as 
hers, as he took the parchments from her. 
"The crew killed the bosun, a naZak, name of Thoman, out of 
Brahvniki—he's not a Guild member—and I fought and killed the 
first mate, a Thane by the name of Hanald, after Sarngeld." She 
paused a moment then continued, "I don't think he was a Guild 
member either." 
"I see." He was frowning now. "Who have you learned from, 
girl, who taught you to speak of killing so lightly? 
I never had a hot-spur for a student and never want one." She 
looked at him, shocked at the ice in his tone. "I…" Her chin came 
up. "I didn't take it lightly, Gospozhyn. You…" Her voice faltered 
a bit then she went on determinedly. "You judge me too harshly. 
I'm no hotspur." 
He stared at her, then nodded once, sharply, got up and 
pulled out a copy of the Guild roll. "A Thane? Unlikely but I 
should still… ah, no. Good, that makes things a bit easier. What 
about the rest of the crew, why have you had no trouble with 
them?" 
Still like an exam… "The deck officers are my friends and, 
well, to be blunt, there wasn't anyone else on board who had any 
training in trade or the inclination to initiative. Sarngeld didn't 
hire any like that."

He looked at the forged papers and handed them back. "Good 
enough. I suppose that most customs clerks just assume that the 
first one checked, making them official by assumption." She 
nodded. 
He got up and paced. "You understand that you've presented 
me with a problem for which there is no precedent. You are still 
just an Apprentice and if I jump you to Master, then… well, 
there are those older and more senior to you who will be very 
displeased. And the Other Guild…" 
"I didn't try to make any connections with either Guild when I 
was further south because I thought I should speak to you first!" 
"Good. That's politic. But you still see my problem. If I don't 
accredit you, then you are going to keep your ship anyway, am I 
right?" 
"Yes. I need to make a great deal of money and it's either with 
the ship or other ways." 
He stopped pacing and looked down at her where she sat on 
the guest cushion. "A great deal of money? Why? Well…" He 
waved away his own question. "We all need to make a great deal 
of money, don't we? Your intention doesn't show the deepest 
loyalty." 
Stung, she answered anyway. "I came to you first. And I need 
to get enough gold to get into the Arkan Empire, to get my son 
back!" 
His back was to the kraumak, shadowing his face. "Son?" 
"Lixand. My son by Sarngeld." 
"You come arguing your case," Yarishk said, severely, "and 
you only tell me half the story. Perhaps there is something in it 
that will have some weight with me, hmm?" 
She clenched her hands. "I bore him two years ago, and when 
he was weaned Sarngeld took him and sold him off to an Arkan 
trader dealing in exotics going into the Empire. When I got

loose, I killed Sarngeld, and then had to kill Hanald and take the 
ship because if he'd taken over he would have put me off on 
shore right then. I would have been walking, days south of where 
Lixand had been sold. I was still too late. By then I'd taken the 
responsibility of running this ship, paying the crew… I couldn't 
just leave it lie. They are my family now. There wasn't anything 
else I could do but try coming home." 
She rose, staring up into his face. "He's my son. I could have 
seen him as Sarngeld's and made his birth and my life Halya, 
but the healer told me I could make him mine, see him as only 
mine. He was only a baby and it wasn't his fault who his father 
was. He's the only child I'll ever have and I won't be a 
slough-kin." Her chin came up. "And if that's not loyalty enough 
for you, or the Guild—" she hesitated half a heartbeat "—then 
that's just tough sailing." She clenched her teeth. If he was 
already considering not accrediting her status, she had nothing 
to lose, I’ll get Rilla out and we'll go south somewhere. 
Gospozhyn Yarishk turned away from her, clasping his hands 
behind his back. She stayed standing, watching him, listening to 
Sashi's tail thump every time he came near the dog. She 
swallowed once, then again, breathing hard as if she were in a 
fight, hands shaking enough that she crossed her arms to give 
herself something to hang on to. She had to make him give her 
what she needed. 
Finally, he spoke. "Megan, I will tell you exactly what I am 
thinking. You are hardly more than a child. And a child who has 
suffered terrible and unjust things. Such children, if they have 
gift and will such as you have, go either very good… or very bad. 
"I am concerned, not only for you, but for all those around 
you, over which way you turn. Should I cast you out, I suspect I 
would be thrusting you towards the dark. In that sense, I do not 
want to lose you. 
"You carry a great deal of anger that you turn into drive, 
which isn't necessarily a bad thing." He ran a hand through his 
thinning hair. "It can be good, or bad. You must know it and 
learn to deal with it, learn to turn it to good. It's the same with 
pride, which you have plenty of, too. But who will teach you

these things? Not your aunt, certainly. Not your crew, even if 
they are older, if they are not the sort to talk back. Perhaps 
you've grown hard and brash enough that you think no one can 
teach you, that you need no Gospozhyn." 
His honesty, when she tried to force help out of him, was like 
pushing with all her strength against someone who wasn't 
resisting. She blinked, tried to stop the warmth glowing from 
her neck and ears. "Umm." Painfully reminded of her mother's 
admonition not to grunt, she cleared her throat instead, as if 
that could budge the lump she had there. "I never said that. 
That's why I came back." She looked down at the brazier's 
fire-screen, as if it had words for her to use. "I… I'd rather be an 
apprentice and have… some… people tell me what to do, but I 
can't, Gospozhyn. I've already had to wait iron-cycles doing 
nothing while Lixand gets further and further away from me…" 
She drew a sobbing breath to control her tears. "I can't do it by 
myself, but I don't know how to ask for help anymore." 
He looked at her quietly and the coals in the brazier settled. 
Sashi waddled over and thrust a cold nose into her hand, 
whining. "You do know how to ask, Megan. You are now." He 
put out a hand, laid it on her shoulder. 
She turned away from him, from the hand she wanted so 
much, picked up her books and held them out to him. "Here are 
my records." 
He took them, put them on his desk. "What was the ship's 
name again?" 
"The Zingas Brezhani." Megan sat down and petted the dog 
as if that were the most important thing to do, burying her face 
in Sashi's ruff. "Anchored in the outer harbor," she said, voice 
muffled by the dog's fur. 
"I'll see what I can do. Stay overnight. You're welcome to and 
we'll work something out tomorrow or the day after. I never said 
it was impossible that you keep both your ship and your Guild 
status." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "I suspect you won't want 
to retrieve your cousin until your future is more assured."

Next day he sent his apologies for letting her break her fast 
alone. She stared around at the grey-green tapestries of the 
morning room with a fresh cup of chai in her hand and tried to 
keep from worrying. Then she stayed in the library, trying to 
read, pulling books down from the shelves, putting them back, 
reading lines over and over without understanding, till early 
evening when he called her into his study. 
He sat reading when she came in, his lapdesk set on the rug 
to one side; on it was a stack of steel and gold coins as high as a 
candlestick. He looked up and waved her to a cushion with a 
smile. 
"I'm sorry it's taken so long, but there were a few other things 
to do as well." 
She bit the inside of her lip, not wanting to raise hope, and 
sat down quietly. I've been dealing with Rand, why can't I see 
what I need in his face? 
"In looking over your books, I can see you've been doing well 
enough that I can justifiably count your experiences as your 
Journeyman's work. The ship herself is hardly going to make 
anyone jealous though she's still valuable—please don't take 
offence, child but I, if no one else, should be blunt about such 
things—and I can set you a masterwork on her, under my orders. 
On paper she must be my ship, at least for now, held in trust for 
you till you become a Master. That should placate the older 
deadheads." She smiled, thinking of other deadheads, 
half-sunken logs that had almost holed the Brezhani and sunk 
her and he smiled back as he continued. "As a Journeyman you 
must journey. Here, you might have to have it sized." He held 
out his hand and dropped the thin silver and copper ring of a 
Rivermerchant Journeyman into her hand. She closed her cold 
fingers on it, shivering. She swallowed. 
He nodded at the stack of coin. "Those are the proceeds from 
Vaizal's gold candlestick I was holding for you. I'll allow you that, 
to clip as you need, because your Brezhani needs a lot of work or 
she'll sink midstream one day. The rose—you might recall I had 
it in trust? Vaizal is refusing to pay to get the three back, and 
they are far too valuable to break up, so I will continue to hold

yours. You'll have to trade hard this next season or two—I won't 
make it too easy for you." 
"No, Gospozhyn. I understand." I did it. I did it, Lixand-mi. I 
did it. She wanted to dance, sing, do silly, goosey things. I did it. 
She's mine—when I make Nal-Gospozhyn, she's mine. She put 
the ring on, finding that it fit her second finger. "I'll make you 
proud of me, I will, I swear." 
He shook his head fondly. "I am already, but don't let that 
swell your sails too much, Megan. You have to bring the ship 
back next season, with a clear profit to make Yolculvik. If it's 
enough of a profit, you'll be Nal-Gospozhyn. Even lesser masters 
own ships in their own right." 
"I understand, Gospozhyn. Thank you." She shivered again, 
but more from excitement. 
"You are welcome. Now, it's never too soon to start developing 
contacts of your own, child. You'll have the opportunity at my 
dinner tonight. You have something better to wear?… I suspect 
you've waited long enough to rescue your cousin and see to 
your—" he smiled "— my ship." He lost his smile. "Can you deal 
with your aunt?" 
Megan looked up from the Journeyman's ring on her finger. 
"Yes, Gospozhyn. I don't need help there." He nodded. 
She stopped by the apothecary shop and looked in the 
rain-streaked window. The dust was still thick on the inside of 
the glass, but the jar of leeches was the same as ever, full of 
red-brown suckers moving as if the water were at a slow boil. 
Have I dreamt being away? She tugged her new black cloak 
over the dark velvet outfit she’d bought for the Guild dinner. 
She turned down the lane, her steps coming slower and 
slower. The rain was shifting the loose garbage so she had to 
pick her way into the building carefully, something else that 
brought back the feeling of never having left; the feeling of being 
helpless. The stale odor of cooked cabbage filled the hall inside 
and she found herself clasping one manacle-scarred wrist with 
the other hand, rubbing slowly at the blemished skin. Oh, yes,

I've been away. 
She walked down the corridor, hearing the bed creak in the 
room near the door as the neighbors made love. Further on she 
heard a mucus-filled snore. She padded farther down, pausing at 
the last door before Marte's. 
She hoped that Rilla would be there, that they could just 
bundle her things together and leave without ever having seen 
Marte. I don't care if I never see her again. 
The door opened with the same old squeak and she stopped, 
letting her eyes adjust to the dark, listening for Rilla's breathing. 
It was still, the air full of the odor of burnt pennyroyal, making 
Megan stifle a sneeze. 
"Rilla?" she whispered. "Rilla?" No answer. Megan reached 
for the hood of the kraumak by the door. Rilla's pallet was 
empty, rigidly well made. The herbs still hung from the ceiling, 
the dishes stacked to dry, the wooden table scarred and burned 
and stained. There was a faint, irregular ticking from the other 
room as the still cooled. 
Megan picked up the kraumak and walked to the inner door, 
her mouth dry, and pushed it open. Her nose wrinkled at the 
odor; sour wine, wormwood, sweat and unwashed clothing, 
scorched pennyroyal where the glass in the still had broken. I 
won't pick up fleas or lice with that stench around at any rate. 
The wallbed doors stood open and Marte lay half out of it, face 
down. The wineskin below her hand had leaked onto the floor 
where she'd dropped it. 
The light in Megan's hand wavered a moment and she 
clenched her fist around it; stepped forward around the puddle 
of wine. "Marte," she snapped. 
"Hmmm," was the only answer, that and the sound of 
swallowing. 
"Marte!" Almost a shout. 
"Whaaa—?" Marte blearily raised her head. "Go-way. See'n

thin's. No' guil-ty. Couldn' ge' you back…" Her voice faded 
towards a snore as her head went down. "… brat." 
"Marte, wake up!" Megan grabbed Marie's shoulder and 
shook her roughly. "Rouse your wine-sodden carcass up and 
listen to me." 
This time there was more understanding in the older 
woman's eyes, but not much. "Meg'n. Home… early… cleanup yer 
tnessn go't' bed…" 
Disgusted, Megan slammed the kraumak down on the 
bedside table, grabbed Marie's shoulders and dragged her out of 
the bed, wrestling with her sodden weight. She shook Marte so 
her head snapped back and forth a few times before letting her 
sprawl onto the floor. "You have to be sober enough to hear 
this," Megan snarled. "I'm taking Rilla away, hear me?" 
Marte pushed herself up on her arms, used the wall-bed to 
pull herself to her feet, staggering. "Oh, shit," she said quite 
clearly. Then she whipped up one hand, staggered a step toward 
Megan, finger held waveringly in front of her. "Yo-u!" she 
squalled. "You're GONE! Go—wan, ge' LOST!" She swiped at 
Megan as if to brush away a hallucination, stood gazing stupidly 
as Megan blocked, grabbing her wrist. 
The younger woman looked at her own hand wonderingly for 
an instant where it held Marte's wrist fast. It had been such a 
small motion that stopped Marte from hitting her. I don't have 
to take this shit anymore. 
Megan looked into Marte's bloodshot eyes before spinning her 
around and pushing her away, wiping her hand clean on her 
trousers. 
"Yes. Me. And Rilla is—" 
"Hey!" An angry voice from the door. "Who'r you? What'r…" 
Megan turned around defensively, not recognizing the young 
woman in the door at first. She's about my height. The light 
from the kraumak on the table lit her face clearly. Medium long

brown hair, buttery hazel eyes, a thin, unhappy face, high 
cheekbones— 
"Rilla?" 
She stepped toward the girl as Marte struggled to get out of 
the wallbed where Megan's push had sent her. 
"Megan?" Rilla's hand, still raised, reached out to touch 
Megan's face, her fingertip resting lightly on the skin as if she 
didn't believe what she was feeling, seeing. They caught each 
other in a hug. "MEGAN! I thought you were gone forever! I 
thought… she said she'd gotten rid of you… Goddess, I'm glad 
you're back…" 
Marte untangled herself from the last of the bedclothes, 
snarling, "Rillahhh… ahhh… mmmph… ! Ril-llahh… hhh…" The 
woman finally staggered upright and lunged, flailing, at Rilla, 
who dodged, letting Megan go. She's still taller than I am, 
Megan thought as she grabbed Marte again. The girl hovered 
near the door, her face showing both hope and fear. 
Marte bunched her fists, focused on her daughter, shouting 
ugly, drunken things, almost pulling Megan off her feet. Panting, 
Megan braced herself, yanked one of her aunt's arms up behind 
her back between the shoulder blades and looked at Rilla. 
"Go… get your things… Rilla," she said over Marte's shrieks, 
gritting her teeth and holding on as if to a sail flapping in the 
wind. "We're—we're leaving." Her hands burned as Marte 
twisted in her grip. "I'm your guardian, legally. Let's get out of 
here!" 
"SLUT!" Marte screamed at her daughter. Rilla cringed back, 
hesitated between listening to Megan or her mother, then 
stopped herself. She swallowed and her chin came up. "Malkin!" 
Marte yelled. "You… you're never going to be worth anything! 
NO GOOD, filthy drab!" 
Rilla's expression went slowly livid and her face hardened 
from fear and uncertainty to resolve. For a long moment she 
stood clenching her fists, then stepped forward and swung, a

whole-hearted slap that whipped Marte's head around. 
Everything stopped suddenly, Marte's scream cut off as if a razor 
had cut her throat, mouth working, eyes round and appalled. 
Rilla stared, both delighted and terrified at her daring. 
Marte slowly raised one hand to her cheek, gaping as Rilla 
turned on her heel and walked out to the front room. For a 
second there was only the odor of pennyroyal and the sound of 
Marte's hoarse breathing as she stared after Rilla, frozen. 
Megan let go and stepped away, pausing in the doorway. Rilla 
looked up from where she had her things tossed into a blanket. 
"I'm ready." 
"Let's go then," Megan said, and looked back at Marte who 
still stood frozen, hand on her cheek. "If my father had known, 
he'd have done the same. I disown all knowledge of you, 
slough-kin. You are no kin of mine. Live and die alone." 
She knocked the dust of the house off her boots against the 
doorframe, threw her arm comfortably around Rilla's shoulders, 
and they walked away from the silence behind them. 
Glossary 
A-niah—plural of Niah. 
Aavrit Cities—coalition of cities on the Mitvald. 
Aenir—country south of F'talezon, another enemy of the 
Thanes. 
Aeniri—a native of that country. 
Aenir'sford—a city on the Brezhan. 
Arkan—citizen of Arko. 
Arko—the Empire far to the south and west of Zakos. 
Armai—Zak, an ancient enemy of the Zak. 
Baba—Zak, Grandmother.

Baku—a Mitvald port city. 
balika—a Zak stringed instrument bayishka—Zak, a marriage 
broker. 
Benai—Brahvnikian, Abbey. 
Benaiat—Brahvnikian, Abbot. 
Beigen—a small town on the river Brezhan. 
Berjus—a Mitvald port city. 
Bjornholm—a city on the Brezhan. 
Blutrosh—Zak, Blood-roses, large with dark nectar. 
Borschch—Zak, beet soup. 
Brahvniki—free-port at the mouth of the Brezhan. 
Brezhan—the main river F'talezon is the navigation head for. 
Brunsc—Megan's stuffed bear. 
Byeliey—tributary flowing into Chas lake from theLadyshrine. 
Bylashka—Zak, meaning little one, or little princess. 
Chas Lake—Lake at the bottom of the City, feeding the 
Brezhan. 
Cheboks—a small town on the Brezhan. 
Clawprince—Zak and Brahvnikian, merchant prince 
cniffta—Zak, a knife throwing game 
colschizn—Zak, a herb. 
cormarenc—a giant version of cormorants. 
Dagde Vroi—month-long year-end (solstice) festival, Days of

Fools. 
Dark Lord—patron god of F'talezon, god of death and winter. 
Deib's Den Inn—a F'talezon inn. 
Dragon Bite—Zak coinage, round coin stamped with a 
triangle. 
Dragon Fang—Zak coinage, triangular coin stamped with a 
circle. 
Dragon Scale—Zak coinage, a half-circle stamped with a 
triangle. 
Dragonclaw—Zak, a six-sided coin, steel, gold, silver, or 
copper 
DragonLord—ruler of F'talezon, see Woyvode 
Dragon'sNest—the palace, seat of royal power in F'talezon 
DreamDust—a highly addictive drug, that re-routes pain to 
the pleasure centers of the brain, ultimately causing a 
breakdown of the immune system Drip, the—Zak slang for 
gonorrhea Duster—one hooked on DreamDust Dzhai—Zak slang, 
Cooper's Lane kidpack cry for help 
Eksoticum—an unlicensed, naZak whorehouse. 
Esaria—Srian port town. 
fatrahm—Zak, father's sister's beloved child. 
Fchera—a type of bird. 
femka—Enchian, women's quarters. 
F'talezon—the capital of Zakos. 
F'trovanemi—a Zak fortification. 
Gazhtinizia Gardens—a playhouse in the City.

Gospozhyn—Zak, Great Master. 
Graukalm—'grievous wind,' monster wind that can freeze a 
living thing in seconds. 
Great Bitch, The—inn in Aenir'sford. 
Ground, The—a bit of vacant land near the Flats. 
Haian—a citizen of the healers' archipelago, Haiu Menshir. 
Hall of Light, The—manrauq training hall. 
Hand—five work days, plus one. 
Hand'send—the day of rest. 
Halya—Zak, hell. 
Halyabore—a herb. 
Halyions—Zak, hellions. 
Honey-Giver—one of the City gods, The Great Bear. 
Hrlis—a religious sect, also their trade towns. 
Hyerne—a matriarchal sea-coast country. 
Iya—Zak, second call in sparring. 
jahnin—Rand, foreign devil. 
Kahfe—coffee grown in the Mitvald Islands. 
Kha'khaya—a wedding song. 
K'gebar—Zak, executioner, lit. "one who carries justice". 
K'mizar—Zak, supervisor. 
K'mizariza—Zak, lit. "those who rule or guide". 
Kievir—Zak, equivalent to baron.

Kievira—Zak, baronness. 
Koru—the City's patron Goddess, god of life and summer. 
Kraila—a Yeoli sword. 
kraumak—Zak, lit. "glow-stone." A heatless light source, 
Kreyen—large island in the Mitvald, also capital city. 
Kritn—a sea-coast country. 
Krminsk—a town on the Brezhan. 
Kuritz h'Rokatzk—Zak curse, handler of the dead with 
implications of disease and necrophilia (you were conceived by a 
death-handler on a leperous corpse). 
Laka—a country south-east of the Arkan empire. 
lingam—male genitalia. 
Luscious Peach, The—licensed whorehouse sharing theFlats. 
Mahachkala—a Mitvald country. 
malkin—Zak slang, dirty one, diseased one, useless. 
manrauq—Zak, power of mind, psionics. 
'maranth—genetically altered plant derived from amaranth. 
Mitvald—Zak name for the greater ocean, of which Svartsee is 
a part. 
mrik—Lakan, a board game. 
Nal-Gospozhyn—Zak, lesser master. 
Nar-Kievior—Zak title of noblity, viscount. 
Naryshldv—a town on the Brezhan.

naZak—Zak, lit. non Zak, foreigner. 
Nellas—a Mitvald island country. 
Niah—a native of Niah-lur-ana. 
Niah-lur-ana—an archipelago in the Mitvald, south east of 
Haiu Menshir. 
night-siren—a created plant, to concentrate iron on the 
surface. 
Nübuah—a colony city of Fehinna, an empire across the 
Lannic. 
Nuogamesh-gir—an Aavrit port city where sea and desert 
meet. 
Nuov-Kievir—a Zak title of nobility, equivalent to marquis. 
nyata—Zak, no. 
Oestschpaz—a river flowing into the Brezhan. 
okas—an Arkan caste, just above slaves. 
oscasa—Zak, bone museum. 
Piatyacha Tower—a folly built near the Great Market. 
Pirate Isles—in the Mitvald sea. 
Prafetatla—the Zak "beau ton," the ruling classes. 
Proletarion—Zak, field of bones, funeral place. 
pyash—Zak, a measurement of distance, a bit more than a 
metre. 
Raeschku—Ness's home village, destroyed by Thanes. 
Rand—a city-state on the Brezhan, also a native of that city.

Red Briar, The—an inn in Aenir'sford. 
Rhunay—Zak slang, the children's cry for "I give up!", "Uncle!" 
roheji—Perogy-like pastries. 
Saekrberk—main abbey of the Bear in Brahvniki, and the 
liquor distilled there. 
samovar—vessel for boiling tea. 
Selov—a Mitvald port city. 
Shamballah—a bright star visible in certain latitudes that 
moves contrary to regular star motion, said to be a machine 
built before the fire. 
-shkya—Zak, feminine suffix, "daughter of. 
Sinapland—a Mitvald country. 
Smiurgteik—Zak, lit. Citizen Dragon, see ZingasSmiurg. 
Sneyekh—tributary flowing into Chas Lake from the Dark 
Temple 
Sobota Gate—a lesser gate into the City. 
Solas—an Arkan caste, warrior, second highest after noble. 
Soltshiy—birds. 
Sria—desert country with some sea ports. 
Sto Solstne—the great window in the Dragon'sNest. 
Sysbaet—Zak, Grey Brotherhood, a healing teaching order 
affiliated with the orders of the Bear. 
Sysbat—a sibling of the Sysbaet order. 
Talitsa—the town north, around the salt mines.

Tebrias—capital of Sria. 
Teik—Zak, sir, mister or mistress, citizen. 
Thanes—natives of Thaneland, enemy to Zakos. 
Third Charm Inn—an inn in Aenir'sford. 
Tor Ench—a country bordering Laka and Yeola-e. 
troikamal—an arrangement where three horses draw a 
carriage or sleigh. 
Two-iang—A four foot staff with a blade at each end. 
Tukan Islands—in the Mitvald. 
Tuzgolu—a Mitvald island port. 
Va Zalstva—Zak, the old arena. 
Veysnyas—Zak, silverwings. Like fuzzy, coppery-rose 
butterflies. 
Vikhad Gate—a lesser gate of the City. 
-vych—Zak, masculine suffix, "son of. 
Wadiki—maranth vodka. 
Wooden Plate—a F'talezon restaurant. 
Wormwood—an anti-depressant, non-addictive, toxic. 
Woyvode—DragonLord, ruler of F'talezon and the remnants of 
Zakos, Smiurgteik. 
Woyvodaana—DragonLady, the ruler's marriage partners. 
Year Kievir—priest/advisor to the Woyvode, chosen between 
the priests of the Lady and the Dark Lord. 
Yeola-e—a country east of the empire of Arko.

Yeoli—a native of the country Yeola-e. 
Yoni—female genitalia. 
zahbeans—Zak, a protein substitute like tofu. 
zahl—Zak, sword training hall. 
Zar—Brahvnikian title for the Benaiat. 
Zarizan—Zak, Heir. 
zight—Zak, pride or face. 
Zingas—Zak, Lord or Lady. 
ZingasSmiurg—Zak, Lord/Lady Dragon. 
Zingas Brezhani—River Lady, Sarngeld's ship.