Thief With No Shadow (30 page)

“I don’t know.” She saw self-hatred in his eyes, in the twist of his mouth.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “You do know. Think. Gradually or—”

“I
don’t
know. They...” His voice faltered. “Not all at once. First one, then the others.”

Melke’s heart beat slightly faster. She leaned closer. “And did they turn their heads immediately or were they listening? Did they seem to shiver, or—”

Hantje’s eyes stared at her, but his gaze was focused inward. “They lifted their heads.” He raised his own chin slightly, tilted his head to one side. “Not listening, not listening, but...”

Melke held her breath.

“Smelling!” Hantje’s fingers tightened triumphantly on her hand. He straightened from the pillow, his face eager. “Smelling! They
smelled
me.”

There was a sudden, swift lifting in her chest. “Are you certain?”

“Yes! Yes! Look. Listening is like this.” He showed her. “Smelling is this. It’s different. See?”

She did see. It was in the angle of head and chin, ears, nose. A difference. Endal, as he sat cocking his head at the sound of their voices, he listened.

“You’re certain? You’re absolutely certain?”

“Yes!” Elation shone in Hantje’s eyes.

Melke laughed. “Remember what Da said?”

“Yes!” Hantje laughed too.

“It can be done.”

“Yes!” But as she watched, his face changed. The excitement dimmed, as candlelight dimmed at dawn. The exultation faded.

Her heartbeat faltered slightly. “What?”

“It should be me.”

She looked at him and saw in his eyes, his face, the words that he couldn’t utter. Some part of her agreed. It should be him. He needed to undo what he’d done. He needed the absolution of it so that he could hold his head high, so he could laugh again, from his heart, and meet his own eyes in the mirror.

It was an absolution she needed too.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish you could come with me, but Liana’s right. You can’t.”

Hantje released her hand. “I can walk.”

Melke shook her head. “Your legs were broken. Even with her gift, it’s too soon.”

He averted his face. “I want to come.”

She heard in his voice, so quiet, how much he needed to come. She saw it in his profile, in the closed eyes and tightly shut mouth, in the bowed angle of his head.

Melke touched her hand to his cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

W
HEN
H
ANTJE SLEPT
again, Melke went to find Bastian. There was no need to ask for Endal’s help; he was at the well.

She stood on the step and watched as he hauled the rope, hand over hand, as easily as if the bucket was empty. His shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, the sleeves rolled high up his arms. Sweat stuck the rough cotton to his skin. Dark skin, brown from the sun, with the strong flex of muscles underneath. His hair was honey-brown, honey-gold.

He cared about this land, the parched gray soil and the dry grass and the dead trees. And far more than he cared about Vere, he cared about Liana. She saw it in his eyes, in the way his face softened when he looked at his sister, heard it in his voice when he spoke to her. Liana was the most important thing in his life.

Melke stepped into the yard. Endal trotted ahead of her, his tail waving. She understood why the hound adored Bastian, and why Liana did. He had a strength that had nothing to do with muscle. Integrity. Honesty. He’d never lie, never steal. And he wasn’t always so bleak-faced and stern; there were laughter lines at his mouth and eyes. He was smiling now as he greeted Endal, rubbing the hound’s flank with rough affection.

He was a good man. One who protected those he loved.

“Yes?” The face he turned to her was unsmiling. He stood with his hand on Endal’s head. Something in the stillness of his body spoke of tension.

“My brother has remembered. I know how to avoid being caught.”

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but she thought the stiffness of shoulder and arm and hand, the stiffness of the fingers resting on Endal’s head, eased slightly. He inhaled a long, slow breath that expanded his chest.

“I’ll leave tomorrow, at dawn.”

Bastian nodded, not speaking. His eyes seemed darker, the green more intense. They glistened strangely. She saw the muscles in his throat move, saw him swallow.

She couldn’t wait forever for him to speak. The shadows were long on the ground and she’d made no start with dinner. Melke lifted her chin slightly, to show that his silence didn’t daunt her, and turned away.

“Thank you,” he said, and she heard roughness in his voice, faint, as if something grated in his throat.

Melke halted. She looked down at the ground, at the hard, cracked dirt and the dusty hem of her skirt.
No
. She turned and met his eyes and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Don’t thank me.”

Endal’s ears pricked forward at the sharpness of her tone. Bastian made no movement. His face was utterly expressionless, as blank as an outcrop of rock. She saw no flicker of surprise, no tiny flaring of anger.

The moment stretched, full of silence and hot sunlight, and then Bastian dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement and turned back to the well.

Melke couldn’t hold her head high as she walked across the yard. Shame burned in her cheeks. She didn’t deserve gratitude. She deserved what he’d given her at the salamanders’ den, to be sworn at, spat at, hated.

But he didn’t seem to hate her any more. Dislike, yes, but not hate. He hadn’t worn his mercenary’s face for several days, ugly and brutal, hadn’t bared his teeth at her. Not since she’d told him about Mam and Da.

There was tightness high in her chest, beneath her breastbone. Did he pity her?

Coolness settled on her skin as she entered the kitchen. Endal was at her heels, pressing against her skirt. She reached down and touched him. His warmth was comforting, the roughness and softness of his coat, the way he pushed his head against her hand, the wag of his tail.

Not pity. Never pity.

Melke cooked with fierce attention. It was easier to concentrate on the frying potatoes and worry about the proportion of the spices than to think about tomorrow. The salamanders. Their swiftness and agility, their cleverness. Her mind flinched from what she must do: not the stealing, but the stepping inside, the daring to enter. And it was easier to cook than to remember what had happened in the yard. Bastian thanking her, pitying her.

Liana came as darkness fell. She stood in the doorway and smiled. Shadows spilled around her, almost hiding the pinch of anxiety at her eyes and mouth. “Has Hantje remembered how they caught him? Has he remembered why?”

“Yes.” Melke nodded. “The remedy is simple.”

The shadows fell away from Liana as she stepped into the kitchen. Hope was tremulous in her voice: “Simple?”

“Yes. I’ll go tomorrow, at dawn.”

The girl seemed to stand straighter, as if a weight she’d carried on her shoulders was gone. “Will you tell me how?”

“Of course.”

Liana pulled out a chair at the table and sat. Her face was eager, her eyes bright. In the candlelight her hair shone like spun silver.

Melke set the pan of fat aside to cool. “The salamanders caught Hantje because they smelled him.”

“What?” The word was loud. It snapped in the air.

Melke jerked her head around. Bastian stood in the doorway to the yard. His hair and face were wet.

He’d startled her and her heart beat fast, but her voice was calm: “They smelled him. Just as Endal smelled me.”

Bastian’s brow lowered. “Then how do you propose—”

“It’s quite simple. I’ll distract them with scented oil. Aniseed, or something strong. Peppermint.”

“But—”

“They won’t be able to smell me, or anything else.”

Bastian’s frown became fiercer. “They’ll know you’re there.”

“Yes,” Melke said, and her throat tightened as she uttered the word. “But they won’t know where I am. They won’t be able to see or smell me. And I’ll take care to make no noise.”

Bastian closed his eyes briefly. “Simple,” he said, and then his eyes opened and she almost stepped back from the anger in them. “Are you insane? They’re salamanders, not sheep! They won’t run around aimlessly. They’ll
hunt
you.”

“I only need a few minutes,” she said calmly.

“You won’t have a few minutes! They’re
clever
.”

Melke lifted her chin. “I’m aware of that.”

Bastian’s mouth tightened. “You can find it, just like that.” He made a sharp gesture with his hand. “So quickly they won’t be able to catch you.” The words themselves were mocking, but she heard no mockery in his voice, just anger.

Melke crossed her arms. “It won’t take me long to find the necklace.”

“You know where it is?” There was mockery now, in his voice.

Pride stopped her cheeks from flushing. “I know approximately.”

“Approximately!” Water trickled from his hair, down his cheek. He brushed it away impatiently with his hand. “Are you such a fool!”

Yes. I am such a fool.
But she didn’t utter the words aloud. She kept her mouth shut and met his eyes. Hard eyes. Angry eyes. In the candlelight and shadows they looked almost black.

“Bastian...” There was soft rebuke in Liana’s voice.

Bastian made no sign that he’d heard his sister. “You’re going to do this?”

“Yes.” She had to. For Liana and for Bastian. For Hantje. For herself.

His eyes narrowed. “And you’re not afraid?”

Afraid? The word was too mild for the cramping in her belly. Not fear; terror. If she thought about it she’d—

Best to ignore it. Best to push it aside and meet his glare.

Bastian laughed when she didn’t answer, a short, harsh sound. His mouth twisted, and the anger was abruptly gone from his face. He stepped into the kitchen and bolted the door behind him. “I forbid you to go.” His voice was flat. “Liana? Pack your belongings. We’re leaving.”

“No!” Melke overrode his command. “You can’t forbid me.”

Bastian turned his head and met her eyes. “Can’t I?”

“No.”

There was a moment of silence, while he looked narrowly at her. “Then I shall lock you in your room.”

Melke’s heart beat in alarm, once, loudly, and then a second time in treacherous relief—
to not go
—before she realized his error. “That’s something you cannot do.”

His eyes were mere slits. “Why? Because wraiths can walk through doors?”

“Of course not. That’s just a fish—”

“A fishwives’ tale.” He made a sharp, dismissive gesture with his hand. “I know. So enlighten me. Why can’t I lock you in your room?” His voice was low, the threat in his question unmistakable.

“Because there is no lock.”

Bastian’s breath hissed. Melke thought she felt his anger brush over her skin, a scorching heat, thought she heard it roar in her ears, thought she inhaled it, sharp and acrid. He wanted to yell. She saw the muscles move in his throat, in his jaw. His fingers flexed. He wanted to grab her by the scruff of her neck and shake her.

He raised a hand.

“Bastian.” Liana stood hastily. Her face was pale.

Melke doubted he heard the girl. “If I have to nail shut your door, I will,” he said. Rage vibrated in his voice. His hand clenched, the knuckles whitening, and then he jabbed a stiff finger at her. “You are
not
going to the den. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” she said, as calm as he was furious. “I understand you.”

“Liana!” His words were for the girl, but his eyes were still on Melke, fierce. “Start packing. Now.”

He took his rage with him when he left, but some part of it lingered in the kitchen. Endal pressed against her skirt. He whined.

“Don’t worry.” Melke crouched and put her arms around the hound’s neck. “Everything’s fine.” There was pain in her chest, a sharp ache. She closed her eyes.