The Theft of Sunlight Intisar Khanani (red seas under red skies .txt) 📖

is this delightful young lady?” the Scholar asks, turning to me. I feel my stomach drop to my knees.

“I—um . . .” I glance toward Bren.

“Her name’s Silaria, but she goes by Ria.”

The Scholar holds up one long-fingered hand to silence Bren, watching me with eyes as hard as gemstones. “And what were you doing in this part of town, dear Ria, in such auspicious company as our friend’s here, in the dark of the night?”

“I—I was trying to find someone,” I stutter, trying not to think of how very many armed men the Black Scholar must have, considering the orders he just gave. I gesture toward Bren, wary of sharing the name he gave me. “He offered to help me.”

“Did he?” the Scholar murmurs, his face inscrutable. “I see. And did you end up finding your someone?”

I risk another glance at Bren, but his expression offers me nothing. “Yes,” I say, my hands wrapped into fists around my skirts.

“Do tell.”

I take a slow breath. Bren is one of Red Hawk’s men, and he’s already told me how dangerous it is for him to be trespassing on the Scholar’s territory. I know how to lie—I’ve always lied as necessary to protect Niya—and I’ll do the same for Bren now. I make myself meet the Scholar’s gaze and say steadily, “I live in the country, kel, but I’ve been visiting family in the city the last week or two. For the royal wedding. Just after I arrived, a good friend wrote, saying her cousin was snatched here. I started looking for the child’s mother to offer my support. I was asking everyone I could, and someone introduced us”—I nod at Bren—“and he helped me find her. The mother, I mean.”

It’s not as gathered as I would have liked, but I haven’t spent a lifetime thinking up these lies. All I can do is hope I don’t trip myself up.

“All in the last week?” he asks mildly.

I nod, looking him in the eye as if I had nothing to hide.

“News certainly travels fast to and from the country.”

“The royal couriers,” Bren says easily, which is just as well, as my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. “Ria’s town is on one of their busier routes.”

“Of course. And you”—he inclines his head toward Bren—“were only being helpful.”

Bren grins. “You know me well enough to know I only get involved in things I have an interest in.” The way he says interest sounds more like a stake in a profitable venture than a question of personal curiosity. And how would the Scholar know him that well?

The Scholar returns Bren’s smile, his features suddenly wolfish as he bares his teeth. “Would this interest have anything to do with entering my neighborhoods?”

Bren spreads his hands. “I would not need such a paltry excuse as this to come here, if I wished—and if I meant to cause trouble, I would have brought a few friends along.”

Which he did, but apparently, they are still safely hidden.

“Something else, then.”

“It would seem so.”

Bren and the Scholar face each other, their expressions slightly bemused, and for the space of a few breaths, no one says anything, as if a silent discussion were taking place between them. I eye Bren narrowly, wondering what I am missing.

Then the Scholar smiles, a cold twist of his lips. “Well, my boy, I don’t much like finding you trespassing on my neighborhoods. I will have three things from you by sunrise tomorrow: what Red Hawk’s interest is in this young lady’s story; his word that his men will keep to his streets in future.” The Scholar pauses, tilting his head to assess me. “And one hundred gold coins.”

I gape at him. A hundred gold coins? That’s a prince’s ransom! Perhaps if we pooled all my jewelry with Melly’s, and Filadon dipped into his own purse—but how would Bren even know to go to them? He’ll go to the princess, or at least send a page to her. The thought brings intense relief. Alyrra will help.

“That may be more than his interest,” Bren says softly, and brings all my newfound hopes crashing down. “At least be reasonable.”

“I am,” the Scholar replies, clasping his hands in a strange parody of an earnest student. “I have taken this whole situation very seriously. I suggest you find out your answer. You have, as I said, until sunrise. If that isn’t reasonable, I don’t know what is.”

Bren nods and moves to the door, offering me a single apologetic glance. A feeling like lead in my veins fills me, deadening my nerves and slowing my thoughts. He is leaving. Without me. And he won’t come back. Not after that look. I take one step to follow him, and find my wrist in the cool, long-fingered grasp of the Scholar. “Now, my dear, we must wait till morning.”

“But—”

“Ah-ah,” he tuts as if I were a naughty child. “You are my guest tonight.”

“My family will worry, and . . .” I cut myself off only just in time. It would be strategically suicidal, at this point, to mention the princess.

“I’m sure your friend can get them a message,” the Scholar says, sounding bored. His grasp tightens a little, exerting the slightest of pressure, but his point is clear enough. He has no intention of letting me go.

I turn to Bren, who is now carefully avoiding my glance as he opens the door. “You will send them a message?” I beg. If he will only get in touch with Alyrra, she’ll pay the ransom. If nothing else, she’ll know I will find a way to repay her, even if I must spend the rest of my life doing it. Only it’s too late for a page to be allowed to disturb her, and she doesn’t usually rise until well past sunrise. . . .

“I’ll let them know,” Bren says, nodding at the guards, who look in at us with interest.

“Conduct him out,” the Scholar says, indicating Bren. “And one of you please tell Irayna to ready the guest room.”

I stand stock-still,