Page 5 of Cage of Starlight
He knows without trying that he can’t, but that’s not important. “Hasra, I need . . .”
It’s harder to say now that his heart is slowing, Hasra’s wide hand warm against his back, but that’s why he needs to say it now. Once he sleeps, the situation will feel even less urgent, and he’ll promise himself he’ll do itnext week, thennext month,and thenafter the winter, perhaps.Plenty of time for these foolish roots to grow so deep he’ll never be able to leave.
For years, he’s told himself he stayed here for practicality, because his mother told him to lay low and his deal with the people of Hulven was no worse than any other he’d struck in exchange for food orshelter. He told himself—and Hasra, when she bothered him about it—that Arlune might not be better. It could just be a different sort of bad.
What a good liar he’s become.
“What do you need?” Hasra coaxes when the silence stretches long.
“Need . . . some help getting up,” he finishes, pathetically.
He’ll say it. He will. He just needs a second.
Hasra hefts him to his feet. “And?”
The soldier bought Hasra’s story. Healing Kelly didn’t kill Tory. With the sunset and the vines, there’s no way that soldier saw any of them clearly, or Hasra’s little bit wouldn’t have worked. Hulven is the closest active mine to Arlune’s border, but none of the infiltrators have made it far enough inside the country to bother anyone here yet. The strange blood tests Vantaras supposedly uses to single out people like Tory and draft them into government service are only set up at the gates to much larger cities. He could keep his secret here a while longer. Hulven is a good place, maybe the best he’ll ever find.
Tory’s eyes burn. He forces a laugh. “Got any openings at the House?”
It’s a bald delaying tactic. He and Hasra sometimes joke about Tory signing a contract here. Sex, while he has no particular interest in it, is no more burdensome to him than selling his body as a Healer, and he’d certainly make better money—and have a better chance of being able to stand up afterward, too. But they’ve long since established that he abhors the idea of serving Vantaras again, even indirectly, and a portion of every licensed House’s profit goes into the Grand General’s war fund.
“Tory,” Hasra says, more patient than he deserves.
He could stay. He couldstayhere. He’s so damn tired of running. His work here hurts, but it could be so much worse. Hulven has familiar people, familiar pain. He knows what to expect here. But those are the sorts of thoughts that will get him killed, so he makes himself say, “I need to leave.”
“I’ve heardthatone before. Watched you fall flat on your face trying to make it home on your own too many times to believe you.”
“Not that kind of leave. Is your offer still open?”
His chest aches as the silence spreads. At last, Hasra draws a deep breath. The white blur that spreads in front of his eyes is probably a smile, but Hasra sounds sad. “Oh? Will you really take me up on it? I can contact Belmin’s man tonight, have you halfway to Arlune by dawn.”
Belmin earned his fame as a merchant of artisanal blown glass and an enterprising trader of Arlunian wares, but in Hasra’s circles, he’s better known as a merchant of men and trader of information. She’s one of his trusted informants. He takes people like Tory and, for a fee, will shuttle them across the border to Arlune where they can’t be conscripted into Vantaras’ war. That’s the story, anyway.
“Not tonight,” he whispers, heavy eyelids closing. “Need a few days to recover.”
“Okay. Three days, Tory. I’ll arrange it.” She loops an arm behind him. “I’m gonna carry you. If you’ve got any complaints, start walking.” She gives him a few seconds to move, but he doesn’t because he can’t, and he knows better by now than to try.
She lifts him with a cluckedfar too light, need to eat more,and booms a warning: “I’m out for the evening!”
“Yes, Hasra!” a soft voice calls back.
Clarity filters in: most of Hasra’s regulars are working men. They’ll come after dark. Unlike the illegal House his mother was arrested forworking in, this one’s government certified, but payment still works the same. If she leaves, she’s losing the night’s earnings.
“Wait, you can’t—”
“Hush. Unlike you, I have the sense to look after myself.”
He hushes, but not everyone is so considerate. A pale, crinkled raisin of a woman stomps out the front door. Stellite earrings glint at her ears, worth more than Hasra and all her employees make in a month.
“Leaving, Hasra?What of your appointments?”
“They’ll understand.”
“You can’t do this,” the woman snaps.
“I think you’ll find I can, Madam, if you examine my contract.”
Hasra walks away while the Madam of the House gapes.
