There was a servant named Mayga who took care of Rora, not letting her get out of bed and—when keeping her in bed failed, which it did—not letting her leave the room. She was pretty closemouthed, Mayga, especially when it came to Nadaro.
“Cappo Nadaro,” she said, putting on the emphasis like she expected Rora to give him the same respect, “is a good man. He does well by us all, and he’ll do the same for you. Now get back in bed.” She would yell at Rora for not calling him cappo, but sometimes, when Mayga didn’t know she was there, Rora heard her call him “Seeker Nadaro,” and she said it more scared than respectful.
More troubling than Nadaro was her brother, who was gone most days. “Cappo Nadaro is showing me the whole city!” he told her excitedly, burrowing into the bed next to her. “He lets me come with him wherever he goes, and it’s so . . . so wonderful, Rora! It’s a hundred times better than the West Market . . . there’s so many things to see!”
She didn’t like Aro hanging around the man so much, didn’t like it at all. “I don’t trust him, Aro.”
He looked like she’d given him a whole pile of sweets and then snatched it away. “He’s nice, Rora. He saved you.” Unusually solemn, he looked her in the eyes and said, “I couldn’t’ve saved you on my own, and if you’d . . . if you’d died, I would’ve been nothing. We owe him, Rora. And it’s not so bad, not at all. Once your arm’s better, you’ll see.”
She felt guilty doing it, couldn’t look him in the eyes as she said it, but she had to. “I just . . . I wish you’d stay with me more. I get lonely here.”
Aro hugged her tight. “I’m sorry, Rora. I’ll stay tomorrow, promise. And I’ll talk to Mayga, too, she likes me. I’ll get her to let me show you the rest of the house. There’s so much stuff we never even knew about, Rora . . .”
Mayga did let them go exploring, and the house was just as fancy as Aro’d said. She let him show her everything, but also kept her own eyes sharp, looking for a way out, just in case. And stuffing her pockets whenever Aro and Mayga weren’t looking.
Her arm got better pretty fast, and Mayga said it was because kids healed quick, and because Nadaro had taken her to the best chirurgeon in the city. Rora didn’t know what that was, but Aro said it was like the cutters that took care of sick and dead people in the Canals, only much better. It didn’t matter to Rora, so long as her arm got better; soon as that happened, she was going to get her and Aro out of the house. There were a few doors to the outside, but they were locked all the time. If she could figure out where the keys were . . .
Nadaro didn’t talk to Rora much, but it sure seemed like him and Aro were fast friends. It made her angry, but at the same time she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her brother so happy. Even when they’d been with Kala, he hadn’t smiled so much. Every time she started to feel guilty about wanting to take him away, though, she’d see Nadaro’s dead gray eyes, and know it was for the best. She still didn’t know what he really wanted, but she knew she didn’t want to give it to him. Especially not if it had anything to do with her brother.
Mayga took the splint off and put her arm in a sling. It still hurt a little, but not so bad as long as she held it still against her chest. Not too long after, Aro came whirling into the room carrying a pile of cloth near as big as he was. Clothes, she saw when he dumped them on the floor in front of her. Fancy clothes.
Aro was beaming, his cheeks red with excitement. “Look what Cappo Nadaro gave us!” he crowed.
Awkward with her left hand, Rora plucked up one of the pieces of clothing. It was yellow, the pale color at the edges of a candle flame, and the funniest-looking tunic she’d ever seen. It took a few moments for her to realize it was a dress. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at it. Not even Kala had worn dresses.
Aro was already stripping out of his clothes and tugging on the new fancy stuff, but Rora kicked the dress under the bed. Trapped halfway into his tunic, Aro gave her a sad look.
“I’m not wearing that.”
“But that’s what girls wear.”
“So?”
“Cappo Nadaro’s throwing us a fancy dinner. We have to dress fancy, too.”
Rora sat resolutely on the bed and folded her good arm over the bad one. “I didn’t ask for a fancy dinner. Sure as hells didn’t ask for a dress.”
Rora had been taking care of both of them for most of their lives, and she’d gotten used to Aro doing what she told him to, even if he complained sometimes. So she was a little surprised when he straightened up and crossed his arms, too, a mirror of her. “There’s two things I know,” he said, his voice an exact match for hers whenever she had to talk him into something. “One thing is, if it wasn’t for him, you’d be dead. The other thing is, I know he wants something from us. I’m not dumb. I know how biggers work, and adults are just bigger biggers. But he saved you, and that means we owe him. It’s simple, Rora. Whatever he wants, we have t’ give it to him.”
There was a part of her that knew he was right, but there was a bigger part of her that knew that honor and fairness didn’t really matter outside of kids’ stories. “You don’t know what you’re saying, little bird.”
“Yes I do.”
“What if he wants to turn you into his slave, huh?”
The tears welled up in his eyes, but he didn’t blink or look away. “Then it’s worth it, ’s long as you’re alive.”
Rora shook her head. “I won’t let that happen. Ever.”
“Then let’s find out what he does want. If he really just wants us to stay awhile, keep him company . . . that wouldn’t be so bad, Rora, would it?”
It’s not that simple, she thought, but she kept the words behind her teeth. She couldn’t really think of anything else to say, so she fished the dress out from under the bed. Aro’s smile was all the answer she needed.
Aro had shown her the eating room a few days ago, and she’d thought the long table was a dumb idea then; seeing it again didn’t much improve her opinion of it. It was long enough that she and Aro could have laid down on it with their arms stretched up, hands to feet, and neither of ’em would’ve been able to touch the ends. Judging by the chairs, it could’ve sat a score of people. If Nadaro was so lonely, what’d he need such a big table for? And Rora would be the first to admit she didn’t know a thing about fancy stuff, but it just looked dumb with only three places set at one end. Nadaro was already sitting at the head, his hands folded and that smile on his face that didn’t go to his eyes.
“My, don’t you two look lovely,” he said as they sat to either side of him. “Rora, you clean up very nicely. In just a few years, I imagine you’ll be setting young men’s hearts to racing.”
She grunted, glaring at all the stuff laid out on the table. The plate she knew, and the knife, even if it was dull and pretty useless looking. Then there was a two-spiked poker and a little bowl on a stick, and she was damned if she knew what those were for. They were made of silver, though, that she was sure of. There was enough room down the front of the dress that she could probably sneak at least one of them away and keep her and Aro fed for a few weeks once they got back out on the streets.
“I’m so glad you’ve decided to stay,” Nadaro went on. He said the words, but there was nothing behind them. Rora’d seen a few acting troupes—the crowds were the best places to filch a few coins, with everyone paying so much attention to the actors—and you could tell when an actor was good, and when he was just saying his lines. Nadaro would’ve made an awful actor. “I hope you’ll forgive an old man his prattling, but it’s so refreshing to have company, especially such charming children.” Aro was grinning like he couldn’t hear the blankness in the man’s words. He probably couldn’t. Rora loved him, but she worried he was a little simple when it came to some things. He just trusted everyone and everything they said. Lies were as impossible for him to understand as flying. “I look forward to getting to know both of you better. I daresay Aro and I have already made a good start on that.” And he and her brother smiled at each other in a way that made Rora’s fingers itch for that knife. It was dull, but it was something. “But I’m afraid I don’t know much about you yet, Rora, save for what your dear brother has told me. It simply won’t do. Please, tell me about yourself.” Everything about him said he was actually interested in her . . . except for the eyes. Gods, did his eyes ever move or change?
“Not much to tell,” she mumbled.
“I hardly believe that. You managed to keep yourself alive for, what, ten years? In the quaint little hellhole everyone likes to ignore? And kept your young brother alive as well, no less. You’re a remarkable girl, Rora.”
There was a loose thread on the skirt of the dress, and to keep her fingers away from the knife, she let them tug at the thread, tug and tug, until there was a wad of thread and a ragged line running parallel to her leg. “We do what we have to.”
“Of course,” Nadaro said as servants marched into the room with tasty-smelling platters of food.
She’d eaten pretty well so far, thanks to the meals Mayga’d brought her, but never like this. The servants piled her plate high with things she couldn’t even recognize, and even though she didn’t want to accept any kindness from Nadaro, didn’t want to dig her debt to him any deeper, her stomach growled like a wild dog and she grabbed a handful of some kind of meat. It didn’t taste like anything she’d ever had before, and it was delicious.
Nadaro cleared his throat softly, and she looked up. He had the dull knife in one hand and the strange poker in the other, using the two to hack at the food on his plate. Aro was trying to copy him, but not doing too good at it. A servant stepped forward to help him. Rora met Nadaro’s eyes and lifted the handful of meat to her mouth. They stared, and Rora promised herself she wouldn’t be the first to look away. Bluffing, playing tough, just the same as she did every day in the Canals. She might not’ve known how to use a food-poker, but this she understood.
“Rora’s real good at everything,” Aro burbled around a mouthful of food, as if the conversation’d never stopped, as if there wasn’t a little war going on. He didn’t know fighting, didn’t know toughness. If someone spoke to him too rough, he was as like to cry as anything.
“So I’ve heard,” Nadaro said. “You seem a most resourceful girl, Rora. A useful friend to have. I do hope you consider me a friend?”
“Friends are people you can trust.”
“Caution can be a virtue. But I would dearly love to earn your trust and friendship.”
With all the innocence in the world, Aro chirped, “You’re my friend,” and Nadaro finally turned his eyes from Rora, gave her brother that dead smile.
“I’m very happy to hear that, little Aro.”
Rora stayed as quiet as she could for the rest of the meal, eating with her good hand and pulling at the thread on her dress, glaring at everything as Aro and Nadaro chatted as easily as if they’d known each other for years. And still Aro couldn’t see what a bad actor the man was, couldn’t hear the strangeness in his voice. As soon as Rora could, she announced that she was tired and pushed herself away from the table.
“Healing is a tiring process,” Nadaro said, nodding. “I have enjoyed our time together. Sleep well. I hope you’ll allow me to keep your dear brother for a while longer?”
“No,” she blurted, fear and anger stabbing together at her heart. Aro frowned at her, and Nadaro smirked, the first thing that came close to touching his eyes, and it sent prickles up her back.
“No?” he repeated, faking shock just like a bad actor would.
“I . . . I need him.”
“Need him?” Nadaro repeated again, and it almost felt like he was mocking her. “Whatever would you need him for? He’ll be right here, with me. I had Cook prepare a special dessert, and it mustn’t go to waste. It would break the poor woman’s heart.”
Aro’s eyes lit up at that. “I’ll be up later, Rora, I’m not tired at all.”
Rora wanted to tear at her hair, to stamp her feet, to scream in Nadaro’s face. Stupid Aro, why couldn’t he see how things worked? “I . . .” There was still that smirk on Nadaro’s face, and Rora knew with a simple certainty that she couldn’t leave her brother with the man. Couldn’t. “I . . .”
“You . . . ?” Nadaro prodded, and she knew this time he was making fun of her.
Her cheeks were burning, but she looked to Aro, trying to talk to him with her eyes, to get him to understand. “I can’t sleep without you.” She saw his face soften, could almost see his heart reaching out to her, and she pounced on it. “It’s just . . . we’ve always been together. It feels wrong going to sleep without you there. I can’t sleep if I don’t know you’re safe.”
“I’m safe here, Rora, we’re both safe. I’ll just be right here.”
She shook her head, and glanced at Nadaro. I’m a better actor than you are. “It’s not the same, though. My mind’s always gonna be worried about you.” The best actors were the ones who knew exactly what to do and say to get the best reactions from the audience, and Rora knew her audience better than anyone else ever could. “I’ll just have to get up every few minutes to check on you. I won’t get any sleep at all.”
Aro’s face was softening more and more, and as he gave Nadaro an apologetic look, she felt triumph well up inside her. She gave Nadaro the sweetest smile she could pull up.
“Can you tell Cook that we’ll have her dessert tomorrow?” Aro said. “And tell her I’m real sorry. Everything else was real good.”
Nadaro nodded, and his eyes were flat and hard again. “Of course. I wouldn’t dare come between the bonds of sibling attachment.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Sleep well, dear children.”
Rora took Aro’s hand and pulled him up the stairs to the relative safety of their bedroom. Not that she really felt safe there, but it was better’n being around Nadaro. She yanked off the dress with its long tear and wadded thread, clumsy with her arm in the sling, and found the plainest clothes she could instead. Her old clothes, the ones she’d worn since Kala’s, were long gone, probably burned. All the clothes Mayga’d brought her were a little small, but at least they were simple wool, and not dresses.
“What’s wrong with you?” Aro demanded.
“I don’t like it here.”
Aro puffed out his cheeks, blew air at her. “You’re being dumb.”
“I’m not!” She rounded on him, trying to shake her finger in his face until the pain reminded her not to move her arm. It just fueled her anger anyway. “You don’t even know him. You shouldn’t trust him. You trust too much. We can’t trust anyone but each other.”
“We trusted Kala.”
“Yeah, and look what happened. She would’ve had us killed, and now she’s dead. That’s why you can’t trust anyone!” The tears sprang into his eyes, and guilt hit her like a punch. She went to him, wrapped her good arm around him, held him as he cried against her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Aro. That was mean of me.”
“I didn’t mean to . . .”
She hushed him gently, stroked his hair the way their father had always done in her dim memory of him. “I know, little bird, I know. But don’t you see? We’ve got each other. We don’t need anyone else. Other people just . . . they make things messy.”
He sniffled, wiping his nose across his sleeve. “I thought . . . thought we could be happy here. I just want us to be happy.”
Rora made herself smile. I’m a better actor, she silently taunted Nadaro. “We’ll be happy so long as we stick together, hey? I’ll always keep us safe.”
She waited until it was dark and the house was quiet. Aro had fallen asleep, but he woke up easy enough. “Do you trust me?” she asked him as he blinked away sleep, and he nodded with all the seriousness in his little body. She grabbed a few trinkets that looked valuable, and then she and Aro ghosted down the stairs in the darkness. There was a door off the kitchen that Rora figured was their best bet, even though it meant creeping past the servant boy who slept in front of the kitchen hearth; he slept like a lump, so she wasn’t too worried. He wasn’t even there when they snuck by, probably gone to sleep with the other servants since the night was warm enough, and Rora thought how lucky they were.
“Where are you going, little birds?”
Rora near jumped out of her skin with fright, and Aro let out a small yelp. The fire was low, but as her eyes darted around the room, she could make out a shape in front of the kitchen door, blocking the way to outside. Nadaro, she saw as she stared hard as she could, sitting in a chair that was leaned back against the door.
“Aro was hungry,” Rora quickly lied, and stomped on her brother’s foot before he could get a word in.
Nadaro chuckled, a low sound that felt like it echoed all around her. “You’re a poor liar, Rora.”
She bristled. Better liar than you are. “I’m not a liar.”
“And there you go, doing it again. We’ll have to train that out of you, my dear, if you’re going to be any use.”
The fire was low, but it gave off enough light that Rora could see his eyes, glowing in the darkness like they were the flames. Moving slow, she pushed Aro behind her, making sure she was between her brother and Nadaro. “What d’you mean?”
“You owe me, Rora. Or have you forgotten already? You owe me your arm, and you owe me your life. What’s more, you owe me your brother’s life. No debt goes unpaid. How many favors is your arm worth? What value do you put on your life?” There was a low scraping sound, and though the fire was low, she saw its light gleam off metal. A long dagger, held across his lap as he dragged a sharpening stone across it. “You’re young still, of course, too young. But you’ll grow, and you will repay your debt, both of you.”
Rora wanted to stand her ground, to show him she wasn’t afraid, but she was shaking inside, every part of her screaming. In the Canals, you listened to anyone with a knife or you got your throat cut out. Those were the rules. Even this far from the Canals, it seemed like a dumb rule to break, and that was the biggest dagger she’d ever seen, too.
“I think we understand each other,” Nadaro said, and there was a smile on his face. His eyes were still made of fire. “I told you when we met that nothing was free. But allow me to give you some advice, little Rora. You don’t want to defy me. Now go back to bed.”
She couldn’t see any way around it, so she started backing up slowly, pushing Aro back out toward the hallway, never taking her eyes off Nadaro. She was nearly back into the shadows when he called out softly, “Oh, and Rora? You might do well to remember that I hold your life—both your lives—in my hands still. Even if you did get out, how far do you think you would get once I started shouting that I’d spotted twins?”
Rora went cold all over, and behind her Aro made a strangled little whimper. “She knew, she knew, she knew,” Aro sobbed from the middle of a puddle of blood. “We’re not—”
Nadaro cut her off. “Yes, you are.” The smile almost reached his eyes as he said, “You could at least try to hide it better. Do you even know what your names mean?”
Girl and boy in the Old Tongue, their father’s favorite joke until his laughs turned to coughs and he didn’t wake up. She just stared at Nadaro, numb with fear.
“You will stay with me,” he went on, “and serve me, and in return I will keep your secret. I’ll keep the whole city from tearing you both limb from limb. But only if you pay off your debt to me. Do we understand each other, Rora?”
Her stomach was spinning in knots and it felt like her throat was closing up, like someone was squeezing a hand slowly around her neck. All she could do was nod and shove Aro away, pushing him ahead of her as they fled back up the stairs. It took a while, but she got the big desk pushed in front of the door before she went to sit on the bed where Aro was curled up in a miserable, crying ball. “I can’t do the bad thing,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry, Rora, I can’t, I can’t . . .” She hushed him, stroked his hair, soft and clean, and told him she would take care of things, to trust her. He fell asleep eventually, but she stayed up staring at the door until light peeked in through the windows. Aro woke up puffy-eyed from so much crying, but Rora’s cheeks were dry, and though it felt heavy as a chunk of metal, her heart was hard and full of purpose.
She left Aro sleeping in the room when she snuck out the next night and retraced her steps, tiptoeing down to the kitchen. The servant boy was in his usual place before the low-burning fire, but he slept hard, snoring, not so much as twitching as she moved through the kitchen like a ghost. She glanced at the outside door, just once, but she couldn’t leave Aro behind.
The cook was a very organized woman; everything had its own place, and the Parents help anyone who didn’t know her system. Rora’d only been in the kitchen once, outside of these two nightly trips, but she hadn’t needed more’n a moment to memorize the location of the most important things. She had to climb up onto the chopping block to reach, but her groping fingers found a bone handle and pulled. The sharp-pointed carving knife came free from its slot with a whisper, a sturdy blade twice as long as her hand, and Rora looked at it with awe, a slash of her face reflecting back at her, one brown eye, the side of her nose, the corner of her mouth. She’d never held a real knife before, never held any weapon more’n a sharp piece of metal she’d found half buried in the Canals. It was dangerous, and intoxicating. It was power, pure and simple, something else she’d never had before.
The fingers on her right hand were still a little stiff, not moving too well, and with the arm in a sling it wasn’t like she could do much with it anyway. So she kept the knife in her left hand, awkward as it felt, and curled her fingers tight around the handle, holding her new power with reverence and excitement as she crept back up the staircase.
Nadaro’s room was the one place in the big house she’d never been into, but she didn’t hesitate outside the door. It was unlocked; all the doors except the ones outside were always unlocked. She nudged it open real slow, just far enough so she could slip in all quiet, the knife held out in front of her. Her heart was pounding fast, so fast inside her chest, a mix of thrill and terror. The door closed just as quiet as it had opened.
The fire had burned down to coals, giving off a dull red glow. A bit of moonlight leaked in through the window, enough light that she could make out the furniture, not too different from her and Aro’s room. Big bed, taking up most of the space, and deep sleeping breaths coming from it. She moved forward on the balls of her feet, fingers twitching nervously on the knife’s hilt.
Sleeping, he didn’t look so bad. Just a getting-old man with a stern face, and even that wasn’t so mean when he was sleeping. But he was mean, she told herself, said it over and over in her head, called up all the things he’d said last night, all the threats. He’d kill them, maybe not soon, but one day, and treat them worse than slaves up until he put a knife in them. He’d kill her sweet Aro, unless she did something about it. She lifted up the knife, clumsy in her left hand, and stared at a spot on his chest, the spot right above where she could almost swear she could hear his heart beating steady. For Aro, she thought.
But the knife wouldn’t move. Her hand started to shake and she felt that awful pressure behind her nose, the one that meant she had to fight back the tears. Crying was for weak people. Aro was weak, she knew that, but she had to be strong for him. She clenched her fingers tighter around the bone hilt. For Aro!
Her hand dropped, bearing the knife down with it, and fell dangling at her side. Her head drooped forward, those damned tears pricking at her eyes. She couldn’t do it. She was weak, too.
“Do it!”
Nadaro’s eyes were open, shining black in the darkness, and his face was all twisted up. It was a smile, she realized, taking a scared step back. A smile that actually reached his eyes, and it was awful.
“Do it, you coward,” he hissed, baring his teeth at her like a wild animal.
Even though her mouth tasted like fear, she still held the knife tight in her hand, still had power. She tried to summon any courage. “I could,” she said, her voice like a frog’s croak. She forced her back straighter, glaring with a bravery she was nowhere close to feeling. “But I’m sparing your life instead. A life for a life, that’s how we do it in the Canals.”
“My life,” he said slowly, “for yours?” That horrible smile stretched back over his face, made her knees feel like jelly. “Then go, Rora. Leave. Your life is yours. But I only have one life, silly little bird. You need two.”
Aro. She could go, but Nadaro would keep her brother. That was no kind of choice at all. “No. Aro comes with me. I—I could still kill you.” She shook the knife at him, as if that was any kind of threat.
He moved fast as a snake, sitting up to face her, grabbing her hand that held the knife. She squawked in surprise, but he brought the tip of the knife to rest against his own chest. “Then do it!” His fingers were tight around hers, both his hands wrapped around her hand wrapped around the knife. She gaped up into the black pits of his eyes. “Kill me,” he hissed. She tried to pull her hand back, pull the knife away, but he was too strong. “Kill me, or I’ll go kill your brother.” One of his hands let go of hers and suddenly there was a second knife, the long dagger he’d been sharpening in the kitchen last night. He pointed it right between her eyes, then waved it in the direction of the hallway, the blade flashing a hairsbreadth from the tip of her nose. “Could you live with that for the rest of your life, Rora? Knowing that you’re the reason he died?”
His hand squeezed around hers, around the carving knife. She couldn’t breathe, panic pounding through her whole body; her hand would’ve shook if Nadaro hadn’t held it steady. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” Aro sobbed, except it was her voice.
Nadaro’s face twisted with hatred, and he started to stand.
The panic flowed through Rora, a burst of mindless alarm—Aro!—and her hand moved.
The dagger dropped from Nadaro’s fingers, clattered to the floor.
His fingers slipped from hers, hers slipped from the carving knife, and she scrambled back. The knife stayed where it was, in the middle of a spreading circle of red.
Nadaro looked at the knife in his chest, looked at Rora, and started to laugh. A high, crazy sound, the sound of every bad thing in the world, a sound that wasn’t really human.
“The shadows know you, girl,” he gasped in between spasms of laughter, blood dripping down the knife’s pale bone handle, plopping to the floor. “The darkness knows your name, and it never rests. My brothers and sisters will find you.” He slumped forward, falling onto the floor, falling into the pool of his own blood, and still he laughed. Still his black eyes stared into her. “They will follow you to the ends of the earth. The darkness never sleeps. You will never find peace. The shadows know your name.”
The dagger was in her hand. She couldn’t remember picking it up, but it was in her right hand, the hand he’d saved. It barely even hurt as she planted the tip into his neck. The mad laughter stopped, cut off, changed to gurgles. She pulled the dagger free and stared down at him, watched the light go out of his eyes, waited until the breath stopped wheezing out through the hole in his neck.
Her fingers flexed around the hilt of the dagger, and she held it up in front of her. A slash of her face, reflected for just a moment, until Nadaro’s blood leaked down the blade.
She went to wake Aro, and smashed a window open with the big blue gem set into the dagger’s pommel. They climbed out of the window into a moonless night, and ran.