CHAPTER TWO

PART TWO

Alinea

The Gilded Exchange did not resemble a building meant for humans; rather, it looked more like a temple of Helios – only grander. Light filtered from the glass ceiling onto every surface until the entire hall shimmered under its rays. The floor itself reflected in brilliant tones greater than any I possessed.

Helios was worshiped by all Solians since their childhood. Harvests were offered to Him. Courts took their oath by His name. Warriors bore His emblem into battle. They claimed that He bestowed light upon the honest and left liars stumbling in the dark. Pops had accepted every word as truth. He had bowed each time he passed a shrine and prayed to Helios before we robbed ourselves of food.

Seeing all this gold and gleaming glass made me wonder whether Helios favored wealthy individuals.

Danny had pointed out to me a sewage tunnel that exited beneath the Exchange. The fans popped open above. Echoes of voices reverberated in the hall. Harsh laughter bounced from the glass as cane tips clicked loudly on the stone.

It was then that I moved.

Danny weighed the envelope in his hand smugly. “Good girl,” he said.

I hated how hungry I was when he tossed me the apple.

Months passed in stolen things. One job became two. Two became ten. Soon I knew every bright street in the upper district and every shadow behind it. Sometimes it was a sealed letter from the inner sleeve of a High Assembly member’s robe. Sometimes it was a crystal pin from a lady too busy giggling behind her fan to notice my practiced hands. Once, it was an entire bag of glass coins, all the types: shards of frosted white valued at one, azures of royal blue valued at fifty and even a sun valued at five hundred. 

He grew softer around the middle and shinier at the wrists. His boots changed from fake leather to polished black. Mine stayed split at the toes. I learned which nobles drank too much before bidding and which kept their purses open on the left. I learned that servants were invisible if they kept their eyes down. 

The first winter, I mistook leftovers for mercy. Danny never gave me enough to feel full, only enough to remember what food tasted like. Half a roll. A bruised orange. A strip of beef jerky so tough it made my jaw throb. He would toss it to me like I was a dog and watch to see if I caught it. I always did.

Danny taught me how to make people underestimate me. So they’d let their guard down around the teenager with dirty clothes. A servant with clouded eyes was furniture. A thin girl carrying folded fleece was not a threat. I learned to walk like I belonged, bow like I belonged and vanish the moment someone wondered if I really did belong.

When he lied, his thumb rubbed the edge of his belt. When nervous, he’d check the inside of his coat. And when he felt authoritative, he stood too close. 

The only reason I remained “still starving” was that I couldn’t just give up Pops’ morals. He told me never to steal for myself, or else then, I really would be a rat. And I certainly didn’t want that. 

Besides, I did try to leave. Once. I made it all the way to the old south road with nothing more than a stolen pear, pocket knife and three ambers (each honey-gold glass valued at five). The city looked smaller from there. Escapable, even. Then I thought of the fire. And Pops. And Danny’s voice slid into my head as well: I know who did it. By dinner time, I was back in the Market District. He didn’t ask where I had gone. He only said, “Tomorrow’s job starts early.”

Every few weeks, I asked about the fire. At first, I asked cautiously, worried it may earn me chains instead. Danny would lean back, picking his teeth and say, “Soon.” Later, when I stopped being careful, he switched to “Not yet.” Then came “After the next job.” There was always a next job. By the time I was no longer twelve, no longer naive, I was finally brave enough to demand what he had guaranteed.

“No more jobs,” I said. “No more promises. You give me that name now.”

And all he had for me was: “I told you what I needed to tell you.” He even had the decency to sound apologetic. But that wouldn’t suffice for all the time I had wasted.

For a moment, I did not feel angry. That came later. First, I felt empty. Hollowed out. Like the small ember flickering in me finally decided to go out. The walls felt like they were closing in on me; anguish, betrayal, fear all coursed through my body.

“Don’t forget who kept you alive.”

He reached for my arm, the same way he had the first day in the Market District. Like I still belonged to him. But it was he who taught me where men kept their coin, their keys, their secrets. He had forgotten that knives were kept in pockets too. 

Then I stole it from his belt, my hands trembling, numb as I did. When he noticed, it was too late.

He lay there, blood seeping through his uniform; a single tear slipped from his eye.

Grim realization made my legs give out, shoulders shaking with barely contained sobs.

“Danny, I didn’t mean to. Come back, please,” I whispered. 

He didn’t come back.

So I stood, and I ran. I always ran.

***

I waited to feel better, expecting relief, justice.

I did not.

He was gone, the room was another forgotten memory and Pops was still dead.