Page 6 of Sonnets and Serpents
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” she amended. “You can’t arrest me fornothing!”
The guards ignored both her protests and her struggles, steering her toward the city, its scattered rooftops visible above the battered Izili wall. That wall would have been a disgrace in Loegria. Gaping holes riddled the soft yellow sandstone that no one had bothered to repair. It couldn’t keep out a thieving child much less stop any kind of assault on the city. Her father would have burst a vein to see it; he kept the infrastructure and defenses of Loegria immaculate, even though their country hadn’t seen war in centuries.
“Help me!” Eliza shouted, turning her focus on the people of the market instead of the guards. In response, they only bartered more fiercely, customers and merchants alike avoiding her gaze in such a pointed way that sheknewthey saw her need.
They simply didn’t care.
She fought more fiercely, kicking at the guards’ shins, driving her weight to one side and then the other. They were clearly accustomed to struggling prisoners because they never broke stride.
Then awhoopechoed above the market noise, and a pair of papayas came sailing through the air, each one smacking her guards in the face.
Eliza blessed whatever kind stranger was throwing fruit.
Laughter bounded through the stalls, and her guards began their own furious shouting. Eliza seized the opening, twisting free of the guards, then took off running. She was short and slim, so she squirmed through cracks between stalls, ducking beneath low canopies.
Glancing back, she saw someone chasing her, but the man was both younger and taller than the guards, and he was alone.
Had he thrown the papayas?
If so, he might be chasing her to demand payment. Pravish people didn’t believe in generosity; she’d learned that while trying to get a chart of the course Henry’s ship had taken. It had cost her five silver dubs just togetthe chart, and then another three for the dockmaster to mark it with the route and the location of the shipwreck.
Safest not to get caught again. By anyone.
But just as Eliza made that determination, she tripped. Not over a merchant rug or crate.
Over asnake.
Eliza shrieked, scrambling away from the dusty yellow serpent, which watched her with a lifted head and hungry eyes. Thankfully, it darted off as the man approached.
She was so shaken, she allowed the stranger to grab her hand and haul her to her feet, and when he directed her toward a hole in the city wall, she followed. It was the opposite direction the snake had gone.
Eliza clambered through the broken barrier, her silk clothing snagging on thorns of stone. She banged her head on the rock, leaving a pounding ache in her skull and snarls in her carefully braided hair. Rubbing her head, she glared back at the wall.
And then she realized she was alone in a shadowed alleyway with a stranger.
Who are you?” Eliza demanded. “And why were you chasing me?”
Her foot still crawled with the memory ofsnake, and she absently rubbed her ankle against the back of her opposite calf.
“Who you?” she demanded again, this time in Pravish, since he hadn’t responded to her Loegrian. She spoke Pravish haltingly, so perhaps he still wouldn’t understand, but she’d been practicing for a week.
He heaved a long-suffering sigh. When he responded, it was in the smooth silk of Pravish. She caughtname, followed bySilas.
Up close, Silas was younger than her first impression of him, perhaps even her own age, but he was also more intimidating. For one, he was unreasonably tall with a broad chest to match. He could have thrown her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes without even noticing the weight. His cold, dark eyes said it wouldn’t bother him to heave people around like potatoes.
He was light-skinned for a Pravish person, more honey-brown than brown, but even Loegria had a variety of skin tones, with people from the southern half darker than those from the north.Eliza had the great misfortune of pale skin that turned splotchy red and freckled in the sun—courtesy of her mother, who hailed from Patriamere, a country of fair skin and fair hair. At least she wasn’t blonde; she’d not seenanyoneblonde in Pravusat, and though her brown hair was noticeably light, it wasn’t quite out of place.
Silas had hair the color of spilled ink, combed back on one side and dripping over his forehead on the other in long, straight strands that reached his eyebrow. Her attention must have made him self-conscious, because he raked his fingers through that section, forcing it back, though a few strands rebelled, falling loose once more.
He was probably a thug. He looked like a thug.
Eliza itched to reach for the dagger tucked through her belt, but she didn’t really know how to use it, and she would have only one chance for a surprise if things turned ugly.
“Go away,” she said. She’d certainly learned that Pravish phrase after hearing it directed at her so often in the last week.
“No,” Silas replied.
Rats. There had been little hope that would work, but still.
