Sunbolt (The Sunbolt Chronicles) (3 page)

Kenta smirks. “Regardless of what I think, I’ve been asked to make sure only invited guests enter through the front door.”
 

He looks at me, the sunlight gleaming in his eyes. His lips twitch.

I feel a grin start to spread across my face. “But not the back door?”

“Side door,” Kenta corrects me.
 

“Who’s watching that?”

“The kitchen staff.”

“Right.” I patter down the stairs. “See you on the way out!”
 

Kenta’s chuckle follows me down the alley to the corner.
 

The side entrance, a nondescript brown door set in the wall, has been left propped open with a brick. I glance up and down the alley, but other than a kid headed in the other direction with a chicken tucked under his arm, there’s no one in sight. I tilt my head sideways, peering inside.
 

The door opens into a dimly lit hallway—but just a pace or two on another door stands open, light falling through it. From the flicker of shadows and the occasional clatter or thump, I would guess it’s the kitchen. I slip inside, keeping in shadow as long as possible. A quick peek into the kitchen tells me lunch is being cooked, the kitchen workers preoccupied with their preparations.

All I have to do is ease past the doorway, and I’ll be on my way. Except. Except the door behind me is still open, and that’s no small risk. At least not for the people meeting upstairs. With a mental curse, I kneel beside the door, ease it open just a fraction more, and lift the brick out. The door swings shut with a slight
click
. I set the brick down and rise, turning back to the hallway.
 

“Can I help you?”
 

A young man stands at the kitchen door, a meat cleaver in hand. He looks slightly perplexed, but the cleaver is clearly a tool of his trade rather than a threat.
 

“They just sent me down to make sure the door was closed,” I say lightly. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
 

“No trouble,” he assures me, smiling. “I didn’t realize Master Rafiki wanted it shut.”

“He forgot to say,” I explain. “I’d better go back up, though.”

“Do they need anything else? More coffee? Papaya?”

“I don’t think so. At least not yet.”
 

He nods and returns to the kitchen as I escape into the house. I’ve known Rafiki almost as long as I’ve known the Ghost, and despite our differences, I’ve been inside his house more than a few times. Once I find the main hall, I know precisely where I’m going. I make my way from shadow to shadow, up the stairs and into the small but exquisitely appointed library. I can hear the faint sounds of voices coming from the next room, the words unintelligible. I’ll have to get closer.

Like most wealthy houses in Karolene, not only does Rafiki’s sport massive wooden entry doors, but also a long, elaborately carved balcony facing the street on each floor. The library doesn’t have a door that opens to the balcony, but it does have a window. I slide over the sill, easing my weight onto the balcony to avoid a telltale creak. Hunkering down, I creep along until I reach the window to the next room. This time, I have no trouble making out the words. The meeting has certainly started.

“Are you sure about this?” a man asks, his voice troubled. “You have a … spy of some sort?”

“I have a number of informants,” the Ghost replies, his voice calm. “They all say the same thing: Blackflame will have the Degath family arrested tonight and …” A silence follows, but I can imagine the Ghost’s hand cutting through the air.
Execution
.
 

“The sultan has signed a warrant,” he adds. “For treason.”

That’s bad. Arch Mage Blackflame already plays the sultan like a puppet. Only a handful of nobles have maintained positions that even remotely stand against him; Lord Degath is by far the most powerful and outspoken of them. And Blackflame intends to kill him. He must feel strong enough in his power to make his move now. With Degath out of the way, the other nobles will most likely surrender to his wishes. After all, if
Degath
isn’t safe, no one is.

I stare down at the wooden floor, the dust and bits of sand that have collected in the cracks, listening as the men and women within argue the merits of attempting to sneak the Degaths away before the impending arrest. These last four years, I have watched the life of the city slowly bleed into the sea. Oh, Mama Ali still laughs and sells her self-fulfilling prophecies in the fish market, children still play, and the motions of life continue because they must, but there is a silence where there were once words. It lurks at the edge of my hearing. Now people dart glances to the side when they speak, checking for soldiers or Blackflame’s mercenaries, where before no one thought twice about the presence of armed men. People have disappeared: men and women who spoke out against Blackflame when the laws began to change, then people who spoke out against the disappearances of their brothers and sisters. Until, finally, people stopped speaking. Such silence at the heart of Karolene has cost them a part of their spirit. Their laughter hides their loss, their smiles hide their grief, their eyes hide a pain that will not be eased.
 

Of course
,
they still fight, but the battles are hidden now. After all, complete strangers saved me hardly an hour ago. But these are quiet battles, small shows of resistance; no one dares attract too much attention. For a proud people, one that has prized its independence for four hundred years, such fear is a terrible thing.
 

“Why have we formed the Shadow League, if not for this?” The Ghost’s voice cuts across a droning argument over the risks of taking action.

“The Degaths are not our allies,” a man says.

“Of course they aren’t,” a woman snaps in response. “They are nobility and we are
secret
. It would have been political suicide for Lord Degath to support us. But that doesn’t mean he should not have our support when he needs it.”

The Ghost takes up the thread of her argument. “Lord Degath presents the natural complement for our work. Without his voice urging change and speaking out against Blackflame, our own work would be much more difficult. The people need a voice, and as careful as he has been in what he says, he is still the closest thing we have to it.”

The room surges with the sound of disagreement. I lean my head against the wall, listening to the echoes of fear within. But I needn’t worry unnecessarily. This is the Shadow League, and the Ghost, young as he is, has a natural charisma. He also has a brilliant mind for appealing to both types of men and women in the room with him: speaking at times of logic and strategy, and at other times of duty and purpose. I feel a faint smile touch my face as I follow the ebb and flow of the conversation. By the time the group agrees to vote, there is no question that the Ghost has carried the argument.
 

I watch as, one by one, the men and women depart from the door below me. If I lean out over the balcony, I know I’ll be able to see Kenta on the steps, but I stay where I am as the tops of heads come into view and bob away along the alley. Only one voice remains in the room with the Ghost: Rafiki. They speak too quietly for me to make out their words, but I’ve heard what I need. Now it’s time to join the conversation.

I climb back through the library window and have just reached the hall door when Kenta comes up the steps.
 

He grins mischievously. “Have your conversation?”

I shake my head, spreading my hands before me in a gesture of innocent helplessness. “They’d already started.”

“I suppose it was interesting,” Kenta says as the meeting room door swings open. Rafiki stumbles to a stop when he sees me. Where Kenta is slim, Rafiki is solid, built thick with a bit of a belly. His hair is shaved short, a whisper of fuzz on his scalp. He stands only two fingers taller than me, but he makes up for it with a booming voice and arrogant demeanor.

“You,” he says, deep brown eyes narrowing into a glare.
 

I ignore him, continuing my conversation with Kenta. “Very interesting,” I agree. “You missed out. You remember old goat-face of the ‘what did they ever do for us’ arguments? The Ghost even convinced him to vote for a rescue attempt.”

“You were
listening?
” Rafiki’s face is a study in fury.
 

I smile pleasantly at him. “I wasn’t invited, so of course I didn’t come in. But if you were going to talk as loud as all that, I couldn’t very well ignore you.”

A voice I know almost as well as my own speaks from behind Rafiki’s shoulder. “And where exactly were you, Hitomi?”

Rafiki steps to the side, his anger settling into a smirk, certain that I’ll get what I deserve. The Ghost leans against the doorway, arms crossed beneath his cloak, his expression lost beneath the midnight hood. When we first met, he never hid his face, but that was before the Shadow League, before people began to disappear. Swathed in a cloak that has no place in Karolene, he looks like the pale-faced northerners: exotic and foreign—except that the Ghost’s skin is the same as Rafiki’s, as Mama Ali’s. He, unlike Kenta and I, belongs here.

I clear my throat, realizing the Ghost is still waiting for my answer. “I was admiring the view from the balcony. You really need to sweep out there, Rafiki. Lots of dust. Quite shocking.”

“Why, you thieving little—” Rafiki starts towards me, but the Ghost catches his arm, bringing him to a halt. Rafiki turns to him. “How else did she get in here? She’s no more than a common thief.
Why
you keep her around I can’t imagine.”

I bristle. “I didn’t need to know a thing about thieving to get in here,” I say before the Ghost can answer. “You leave Kenta on your doorstep and think you’re safe? Your side door was
open
. I walked right in, and no one even noticed.”

Rafiki quivers with fury. “That’s a lie! But what can anyone expect from—”

Kenta steps up beside me, his words cutting through Rafiki’s like a knife. “I’d watch my tongue if I were you.” He smiles, a slow sharp smile that promises all kinds of trouble.

“And that will be more than enough,” the Ghost says. “Kenta, you and Rafiki wait downstairs. Hitomi, come inside and we’ll discuss why—and how—you came to be here.” He pauses. “No mischief, Kenta.”

Kenta bumps his shoulder against mine. “As you say, Ghost,” he says, grinning. He heads down the stairs. Rafiki sneers at me, still certain that I’m about to receive a tongue-lashing. I repress the urge to kick him as he passes. That would hardly impress the Ghost.
 

The Ghost opens wide the door of the meeting room, gesturing for me to enter. I pace to the other side of the room. I don’t feel like sitting right now. The room is lit by three ornate metal lanterns hung above a large central table. They fill the space with a warm glow, softening the hard edges of the table and the lines of the chairs, and mingling with the shadows in the corners. The table is covered with platters of fresh fruit and tiny, ceramic cups of half-drunk coffee. Unlike the coffee-seller’s plain blue cups at the market, these cups depict delicate flowers and swirling patterns in a variety of hues.

The Ghost closes the door and walks towards the table. He leans against the back of a chair, watching me. “You just can’t let Rafiki be, can you?” he asks.

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know how you stand him. The man is an arrogant—”

“Tomi,” the Ghost says, half-pleading.
 

I try not to laugh. “I know, I know. You must get tired of playing mother to all our little tantrums.”

He clears his throat, but I still hear the amusement in his voice when he speaks. “That’s not quite how I think of it. But I wish you would try a little harder with Rafiki. He brings as much to the League as any one of the rest of us.”

I glance down at the meeting table. As if I had anything of the sort to offer up myself—a table to meet around, fruit and coffee to serve, an iron-clad reputation of loyalty to hide behind. “I don’t doubt he does,” I tell the Ghost. “I just don’t know how you stand him.”

The Ghost swings his chair around and sits, crossing his arm over its back. I still can’t see his face beneath the hood, but I’ve no doubt he isn’t frustrated with me anymore. That’s good at least. “How did you get in, Tomi?”

“I walked in, like a told you. Through the side door. Rafiki might have great coffee, but he doesn’t know the first thing about keeping a place safe.”

“It was closed. Someone else checked it on their way in.”

I shrug. “Well then, someone else opened it. Probably the kitchen staff, since they didn’t know Rafiki wanted it closed.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I mentioned it to them, and they were surprised.”

The Ghost considers this. “All right.”

“That’s all?” I ask, half-joking. “You’re not going to invite Rafiki in for a conversation about how and why I came to be here?”

“Clearly,” the Ghost says, leaning forward and pushing a platter of fruit towards me, “you came for the pineapple.”

I can’t help the laugh that bursts from my lips. Shaking my head, I drop into a chair and reach for the platter. Pineapple is the one food I never pass up. “Absolutely. Justice served with a side of pineapple. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Is it really justice you’re looking for?” the Ghost asks. “Is that what you want, Tomi?” His voice is velvet and darkness. I wish suddenly that he wasn’t the Ghost, that he was someone else with a name and a face, someone I could lean on and laugh with without having to measure my words.

I spear a piece of pineapple and pop it in my mouth. When I’m done chewing, I say, “What I really want is to know why you didn’t invite me to this meeting.”

“I already knew you’d come.”

“That’s no answer,” I snap, glaring at the darkness beneath his hood. “Do you not trust me? Is that what it is?”

He shakes his head. “I trust you, Hitomi. I knew I could trust you to come here uninvited. I know that when I need your help for the League, you won’t let me down.” He hesitates, then goes on, “I know you’ll fight Blackflame with your dying breath. But I don’t want that yet.”