Page 11 of Fateless

A hush fell over the crowd below, the air of anticipation and held breaths growing stronger. The show was about to start. I lowered myself to my heels, then sat down on the edge of the rooftop, swinging my feet over empty space. “Guess it’s just us, then.”

Jeran hesitated, then joined me on the edge, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees. Closer than I expected him to be. I felt the heat of his body, the shift of his sleeve against mine, and my stomach gave a weird little lurch.

Down in the square, a drumbeat started, thumping out a hollow rhythm. Four women in red and yellow danced in a circle, waving scarves the color of fire. As the dance continued and the drumbeat grew faster, the ends of the scarves burst into real flames, lighting up the square, and a roar went up from the crowd. The performance continued, with the dancers expertly whirling the scarves so that they traced a ring of fire around them. The audience cheered and clapped, gazes riveted to the swirling flames.

Warmth blossomed against the back of my palm, the lightest brush over my skin. I looked down to see that Jeran’s handhad drifted next to mine, one finger hesitantly probing. A tingle raced up my arm to my shoulder. Swallowing, I glanced at his face and saw him watching me from the corner of his eye. Within his hood, the dancing firelight cast flickering shadows over his features, accenting his cheek and the strong curve of his jaw.

My stomach danced. The touch on the back of my hand was a question; I could pull back if I wanted, letting us both pretend it had been an accident. We could leave this place, and nothing would change between us.

I hesitated, weighing the consequences of this choice, then slowly turned my hand over. His fingers gently curled with mine, sending a ripple of heat through my stomach like molten gold.

Below us in the square, someone screamed.

Jeran and I jerked up, hands breaking apart, that faint warmth vanishing. Part of the crowd was surging back from a central spot on the ground. I shielded a hand over my eyes and peered into the square, trying to see the cause of the sudden commotion.

A man lay face down on the stones, legs and arms twitching in a death spasm, a bag of candied nuts spilled on the ground by his head. There was no blood, no wound that I could see, no obvious sign of what had killed him. But as I watched, he convulsed once more and went still, and I knew he would not be getting up.

The screams were spreading as everyone in the square started to realize what had happened. Citizens fled or froze in place, gaping stupidly at the body. Guards raced toward the commotion. Everyone’s attention was riveted to what was happening in the square.

Without really knowing why, I looked at the rooftop directly across from me.

For a split second, I saw a figure. A hooded silhouette, pale against the surrounding stones. Just as it drew back and vanished into the shadows.

My stomach churned, a chill sliding up my spine. Instinctively, I knew who it was.

“Sparrow!”

I jumped. Jeran was on his feet, eyes narrowed as he gazed at the chaos below. “Come on,” he snapped, holding out a hand. “Let’s get out of here before the guards show up and start asking questions.”

Standard thief procedure: Flee from any crime or disturbance, even if you had no part in it. No guild member wanted to deal with guards on a normal day; whenever there was trouble, our kind tended to mysteriously vanish into the cracks, crowds, or shadows. But I hesitated, heart pounding, searching the rooftops for a glimpse of that elusive figure. Even though I knew I would never find him.

“Sparrow!” Jeran’s voice held a thread of desperation. I scrambled to my feet, as screams and cries of alarm continued to ring from the square below. Most everyone was fleeing now, except for the guards and a few brave, curious, or foolish citizens. The body lay motionless where it had fallen; a man of average height and considerable girth, his features hidden, planted into the stones. There was still no blood, no wound, nothing to show how he had died. Two guards stood over him with their swordsdrawn, glaring around the square as if they could somehow catch the one responsible.

Drawing back from the solemn sight, I turned and fled, following Jeran across the roof. We scrambled down the wall, sprinted across the road, and vanished into the darkness of the alleyways beyond.

We headed straight back to the Docks District like mice fleeing to their hole to escape the household cat, not stopping to think or talk. We nearly crashed into Dahveen in an alley, and the three of us continued to the warehouse without speaking until we were safely within its dingy walls.

Staggering into the tavern, we headed toward the corner barrel. My heart still pounded as I plunked into the seat, relieved to be back in familiar territory. Rala took one look at our panting, sweaty faces, set down a trio of mugs, and said she’d get the story out of me later.

Jeran downed the contents of his mug and set it on the barrel with a thump. “Well, that was interesting,” he said. His tone was flippant; death was no stranger to any of us, but the sudden, unexpected way it had happened back in Highmarket had taken us by surprise. “They’ll be talking about this for a while. Any idea who died back there?”

Dahveen snorted. “Some fat, rich noble,” he muttered. “Probably choked on one of his candied palm nuts.”

I sensed Jeran’s gaze on my face, worried and appraising, and my cheeks warmed. “What about you, Sparrow?” he asked. “You’ve been awfully quiet. What do you think happened?”

The iylvahn’s face flashed through my mind, pale eyes cold and blank as he stood before the high priestess.AkahjaiinKovassonly invites death.

But I couldn’t talk about the iylvahn without revealing where I had seen him, which was strictly forbidden. “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “There wasn’t any blood, though. No wound I could see. Maybe hedidchoke on a palm nut.”

Vahn abruptly strode into the tavern, startling everyone. The Guildmaster rarely came here, preferring to spend most of his free time alone in his office. Glaring around the room, he spotted us in the corner and immediately headed in our direction. Jeran and Dahveen stiffened as he stalked toward us, his expression frighteningly intense.

“You three.” His voice was sharp, making the other two flinch. Neither Jeran nor Dahveen looked him in the face, their gazes darting everywhere but to Vahn. I glanced up and saw anger in his eyes. Anger, but also a hint of fear, which made my heartbeat quicken. I had never seen Vahn react fearfully to anything. Something had shaken him to the core.

“You were at the firedancer circus tonight, correct?” Vahn asked, glaring around the table. “Did you see the murder?”

Dahveen shook his head, but Jeran and I both nodded. “We were on a rooftop when it happened,” Jeran told Vahn, whose gaze sharpened. “We didn’t seehowit happened—one second, everything was normal, and then there was a body on the ground and everyone was running away.”

“Did you see who did it?” Vahn asked, and though the question was for the group, his gaze was on me. From the corner ofmy eye, I saw Jeran’s lips tighten, a dark expression crossing his face. But I couldn’t focus on Jeran under the weight of Vahn’s glare.

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