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Back The Midnight Lie
Chapters (60)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. EPILOGUE
  57. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  58. Also by Marie Rutkoski
  59. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  60. Newsletter Sign-up

Like abandoning the task I had been assigned.

Like sneaking through the tavern, hoping Raven wouldn’t see me.

Like knocking on Sid’s door and—when she didn’t answer—pushing my way in.

30

A TRUNK LAY OPEN ON THE FLOOR. Sid sat at the desk, writing. She didn’t turn when I came in. The water-stained dress lay on the floor in a skinny, translucent trail of fabric like a snake’s shed skin. She was wearing a Middling man’s clothes: fitted tunic, thin black trousers. Her body looked sharp, pointed at the knees and elbows.

“Not you.” She didn’t turn around, didn’t cease writing. “I asked for Annin.”

“Take me with you,” I said.

Her laugh was no more than a short breath. She set aside her pen then, and stood, and faced me. Her expression was closed and tight. Not quite cruel, but hard enough to make me remember that she must be armed with that dagger, though I could not see it. It occurred to me that the boredom I had seen earlier that day had been a mask for something more intense. “No,” she said. “Now you may leave.”

My heart kicked against my ribs. I wanted to demand again that she take me with her, but I was struggling to keep my breath even. I thought that if she said no again I would embarrass myself more than I already had, that I might cry. I made my hands into fists. “What were you writing?”

She gave me a slanted look. “A letter.”

“To whom?”

“No one important.”

“How will you send it? By ship?”

“I won’t send it.”

I frowned. “Why are you writing something you won’t send?”

“I was right,” she said, “when I first met you. You are persistent. Tenacious. But I suppose you would have to be, to be who you are in a place like this.” She gave me a cool, appraising look. “I am writing a letter I will not send because it helps me to write it and it would be unwise for its recipient to read it. Now I have answered your question. Go tell Annin to pack my things.”

“No.”

“No?” She lifted her brows. “You have an obligation to obey your employer.”

“You are being awful.”

“I am awful, sometimes. You just haven’t known me long enough to realize it.”

“You are my partner.”

“You mean that silly bargain we made to find magic?”

My eyes stung. “It is not silly.”

“I was born in the year of the god of games.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”