Paedyn
Thick, hot liquid runs down my arm.
Blood.
Funny, I don't remember the guard nicking me with his sword before my fist connected with his face. Despite being a Flash, he apparently couldn't manage to move faster than my right hook to his jaw.
The smell of soot stings my nose, forcing me to clamp a grimy hand over it to stop a sneeze from slipping out.
That would be a very pathetic way to get caught.
When I'm sure that my nose won't alert the Imperials lurking beneath where I'm hiding, I return my hand to the filthy wall my back is currently pressed against with my feet planted opposite me. After taking a deep breath that nearly has me choking on soot, I slowly begin my climb upwards once again. With thighs burning almost as much as my nose, I force my body to continue shimmying while stifling the sneeze.
Climbing up a chimney isn't exactly how I thought I would be spending my evening. The small space has me sweating, swallowing my fear before scrambling to the top of the cramped corridor, eager to replace grime-caked walls with a starry night. When my head finally peeks over the top, I greedily gulp down the sticky air, then climb up and over, immediately bombarded with a new concoction of smells far more unpleasant than the stench of soot clinging to my body, my clothes, my hair. Sweat, fish, spices, and I'm quite certain some sort of bodily fluid, blends to create the aroma that surrounds Loot Alley.
Balancing atop the chimney, I strain my eyes on the shadowed roof to inspect my sticky arm. I'd nearly forgotten to examine it without the usual biting pain that accompanies a sword slash to remind me.
I rip off a strip of cloth from the sweaty tank that clings to my body, dabbing at the gash with it.
Adena's going to kill me for ruining her stitching. Again.
I'm surprised when I don't feel the familiar twinge of pain as I rub at my arm with the rough fabric, impatiently sopping up the stickiness.
And that's when I smell it.
Honey.
worse off than them to get it.
Several guards cross my path as I zigzag down streets, forcing me to slow down to steer clear of them. Every shop, corner, and street has been bestowed the gift of leering, white-uniformed law enforcers. These brutal Imperials have been stationed everywhere along Loot Alley by decree of the king due to an increase in crime.
Clearly has nothing to do with me.
I slip down a smaller alley, making my way towards the dead end. There, tucked in the corner, is a mangled barricade of broken merchant carts, cardboard, old sheets, and Plague knows what else. Before I'm even halfway to the pile of garbage we call home, a face obscured by wild shoulder-length curls pops up over the Fort.
"Did you get it!?"
Untangling her long legs from where she sits, she effortlessly stands and phases right through the three-foot wall of our trash barricade without a second thought, and then she's bounding toward me with so much hope in her eyes that you'd think I've offered her a real roof over her head and a warm meal. And though I can give her neither of those things, I do have something far better in her opinion.
I sigh. "I'm offended you doubted me, Adena. I thought you'd have a little more faith in my abilities after all these years." I sling my pack from my back and pull out the crumpled red silk from within, unable to suppress my smile as a look of awe settles on her face.
She greedily claws the silk from my hands, running her fingers through the soft folds of the fabric. Peeking up through the curly bangs hanging in her hazel eyes, she looks at me as though I've just singlehandedly irradiated the Plague rather than steal fabric from a woman not much better off than we are.
Like I'm the hero and not the villain.
Adena's smile could rival the sun over the Scorches desert. "Pae, you and your sticky fingers work magic, you know that?"
She throws her arms around my neck, pulling me into a crushing embrace that causes more honey to ooze down my vest and pool in my pockets.
"Speaking of sticky fingers …" I peel myself from her hug to fish around in my pockets. I retrieve six smashed sticky buns, only slightly unappetizing with the hay now decorating them.
Adena's eyes go wide at the sight before snatching one from my hand just as greedily as she did the fabric. She turns mid-bite and strides right back through our fort without a second thought, plopping herself down on the colorless, rough rugs that lay on the inside of the barricade. She pats the spot beside her expectantly, and unlike her, I ungracefully leap over the wall before I can take a seat.
"I bet Maria wasn't too happy about her shop being looted. Again. Poor thing should really up her security," Adena says between bites, a crooked smile joining the crumbs on her face.
Despite my robbing the woman at least once a month for the past several years, she's still only managed to conclude that I am a he. At least she's trying.
"Actually," I say with a shrug, "she had two more Imperials stationed around her shop than normal. She must be getting tired of all the stollen sticky buns over the years."
Adena narrows her hazel eyes at the sight of my smile. "Thank the Plague you didn't get caught, Pae." As soon as the familiar phrase slips past her lips, my jaw sets instinctively while hers falls open mid-bite. She visibly cringes, her brow crinkling and throat clearing. "Sorry. Bad habit."
My fingers drift to the thick ring on my thumb, spinning it mindlessly while I muster a weak smile. This topic is one we typically try to avoid, though it's my fault the subject became suddenly awkward to speak of in the first place.
All due to a moment of weakness that I wish I wasn't so relieved about.
"You know it's not the words that bother me, it's—"
were no longer fit to live in his kingdom.
It was over three decades ago when sickness swept through the land. Due to the outbreak of what was likely a common illness, the king's Healers used the opportunity to claim that Ordinaries were carrying an undetectable disease, saying it was likely the reason they hadn't developed abilities. Extended exposure to them became harmful to both Elites and their powers, and over time, the Ordinaries were dwindling the abilities Elites are so protective of.
gliding between her fingers. With hazel eyes scanning over sewing supplies, Adena abandons our previous conversation to ramble about what pieces she'll be making with the new silk. Her warm brown hands dig through scraps of fabric in the flickering lamplight, beginning to fold edges, pin corners, prick fingers, curse relentlessly.
We fall into the type of easy conversation that only comes after spending years surviving on the streets together, making it easy to interpret Adena's garbled words around the pins pressed between her lips. I roll over, finally falling quiet as I watch her steady fingers and furrowed brow, too engrossed with her work to sleep.
A stabbing pain in my side has my drooping eyes flying open, drowsiness forgotten. The jagged stone jutting up from the alley floor has me groggily grumbling, "Mark my words, I'm going to steal a cot one day."
Adena rolls her eyes at me, just as she does every night I make the same empty promise. "I'll believe it when I feel it, Pae," she singsongs.
I've rolled over about a dozen times before a scratchy, balled-up blanket collides with my head. "If you don't quit your squirming, I swear I'll sew you to the bloody ground," Adena says with all the sweetness of a sticky bun.
"I'll believe it when I feel it, A."