38

Sonya and Maria walked to the market accompanied by two of the Elhuyars’ private guard. Sonya had to admit that the fresh air and sunshine were helping her shake off some of her hangover, but she wasn’t particularly looking forward to the shopping. She’d never had an interest in clothes or jewelry, much to her mother’s frustration. But it seemed that once Maria accepted her fate as Sonya’s shopping guide, she had decided to embrace the role fully, and it was clear she took great pleasure in such things. So Sonya did her best to participate.

“How about a dress?” Maria asked as they made their way through the bustling, musical marketplace with the two guards trailing respectfully behind. “I don’t mind wearing trousers now and then, but in this weather, dresses are much more comfortable.”

“I haven’t worn a dress since I was six,” Sonya told her.

“Are you joking?” Maria looked shocked. “Why not?”

“Because you can’t hunt in a dress.”

“Well, you’re not hunting now, are you?”

Sonya sighed. “I guess not.”

Maria seemed to perceive that it was a delicate subject and quickly changed tacks. “But trousers are wonderful, too! I know a place that makes them very light and airy. Perfect for Raízian spring weather. You’ll love them.”

“Okay.” Was this what Sonya’s new life in Colmo would be? Leisurely breakfasts, fretting about clothes, attending concerts? She didn’t want to disparage other people’s lifestyles, but she really didn’t know how much longer she could take it.

Maria led them through the market, dodging a group of dancers modeling the latest imperial half capes, a singer praising the fine seasoning of his cured hams, and a painter who had created a canvas that expressed the experience of drinking his wines so evocatively, Sonya felt a moment of intoxication when she looked at it. All of it seemed to pull at her, worming its way into her anxious heart.

“Is there magic in all of it?” she asked Maria.

“In what?” Maria’s eyes scanned the market, looking for a particular merchant.

“The dancing, the singing, the painting? All of it?”

“A little,” said Maria indifferently. “They aren’t Viajero, so it’s not going to compel you to buy what they’re selling. But we are a passionate people, and magic dwells within even the simplest artistic expression.”

“I didn’t know that.” Sonya hadn’t had a great deal of exposure to the arts beyond the simple folk songs of the Izmorozian peasantry and the wild dances of the Uaine. Her brother had been more interested in such things. Especially poetry. “Is there magic in poems as well?”

“Of course there is.” Maria looked incredulous, as if it was a bizarre question. “Can you not feel it?”

Sonya shook her head.

Maria frowned sympathetically. “Maybe you just haven’t been exposed to good poetry. I’ll have Mama invite Pedro Molina to present one of his plays for us. Every line he writes is a poem that will press upon your very soul. You’ll see.”

Sonya nodded politely, though she doubted it would feel that way to her. Perhaps some people were predisposed toward that sort of thing, but she was not one of them.

“Now,” Maria said, “let’s find some clothes that will please both you and Mama.”

Sonya allowed Maria to lead her over to a stall where a number of silky, semitransparent articles of clothing hung. It all looked so delicate that even a bramble bush would tear it to shreds, and the colors were so bright that one might as well be jumping up and down, shouting to be seen by everyone around them.

Still, she bore Maria’s fussing ministrations, dutifully lifting her arms out so that Maria could see how a particular blouse looked, or holding a pair of silken trousers at her waist so that Maria could stand back and examine the effect.

“Well?” asked Maria. “What do you think?”

“Pick whatever you like,” said Sonya. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

This seemed to displease Maria a great deal. “Come now, Sonya. You need to take more care with your appearance.”

“Why?” asked Sonya.

“Why? Well…” Maria considered this a moment. “Your clothes should be an expression of you. Of who you are!”

“Who I am?” If only she knew. A Ranger out of Izmoroz who doubted even her own goddess. A hunter who could not hunt. A sister and daughter who didn’t even know where her family was.

“Don’t overthink it, Sonya. Just—”

“Shh!”

Maria looked stunned but before she could retort, Sonya closed her eyes and held up her hand.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” asked Maria.

It was the sound of a crying child.

“This way.”

Sonya moved with a swiftness and surety that she had not exhibited or felt in a while. It was such an abrupt change that Maria and the family guards stared in surprise for a few moments before hurrying after her.

As Sonya wove through the crowds, she continued to hear the keening, terrified sobs of a little girl in fear for her life. The sound cut through all the music and bustle of the market like a hot blade through butter. Sonya’s pulse quickened, and a terrible eagerness welled up within her. A hunger. Whoever had frightened that child so badly would regret it.

“Sonya, wait! It’s not safe to leave the market!” called Maria, falling farther behind because she was hampered by her dress and impractical shoes.

Sonya only increased her pace as she broke free from the crowds and followed the child’s sobs out of the market and into the twisting alleyways that lay beyond.

The alleys were so narrow that little sunlight reached them, but the dim lighting made no difference to Sonya’s keen golden eyes. She had not brought her knife, so she snatched up a sliver of jagged, broken pottery that lay on the ground as she continued down the alley.

She turned a corner and at last reached the source of the sound. A small Raízian girl of perhaps four or five was being held roughly by an imperial soldier. Three more soldiers stood nearby, grinning. An older Raízian man sat on the ground, his hands clasped in supplication as he begged them to release his granddaughter.

“Sure.” The soldier gripped the little girl’s arm so hard it made her cry even louder. “Just as soon as you pay up.”

Sonya smiled with an open mouth that revealed her sharp, predator teeth. A little saliva leaked down onto her chin.

“Such a present,” she said in a throaty growl. “Is it my Name Day already?”

The four soldiers looked over at her with a start, as if they hadn’t even noticed her arrival. Fat, lazy, complacent soldiers.

“Who the hell—” said the one holding the girl.

Sonya threw the sliver of pottery and it embedded in his eye. He released the girl and let out a shriek, his hands hovering near his face as if afraid to pull it out. Sonya dashed forward and kicked the protruding piece further into his eye, jamming it so far back that it reached his brain. His screech was cut short, and he dropped silently to the ground.

It took a moment for the other three to recover from the shock. They finally moved in when they saw their comrade die, but even then, Sonya could smell the fear mingled with their outrage. She scooped up the dead soldier’s sword and held it loosely in one hand, still grinning. A proper swordsman like her father might have gone for the torso or the head, but Sonya was not a swordsman. Instead she went for wrists and ankles, dodging and weaving around their slow, clumsy swings.

She could already feel the beast Lisitsa within rising like the tide. But rather than let it engulf her like she had on the streets of Gogoleth, she rode it as the Endless Summer rode the sea. She allowed her feral instincts to lift her up, to sharpen her movements and enhance her strength, without letting it take over completely. It was a balancing act, to be sure, but for the first time in a long time, Sonya felt as though she actually had some equilibrium.

One soldier quickly lost the fingers of his sword hand, cut off at the top knuckle. As he howled with pain, Sonya ducked and rolled under the second soldier’s overly wide stance, slicing his unarmored inner thighs as she went—not deeply, but enough to make it difficult to move. She dodged to the side, avoiding the third soldier’s thrust, then stepped in past his guard and stabbed her sword through the narrow opening between his chest plate and armpit to pierce his lung.

Sonya yanked the sword out of that soldier and brought the blade around in time to deflect a clumsy overhand strike from the fingerless soldier, who had switched to his off hand and was clearly not as good with it. Sonya pivoted on one foot, flipping the short sword into a reverse grip as she came around, then thrust it into the soldier’s neck.

She spun back the opposite way, switching the grip to a forward position again and slicing open the neck of the remaining soldier who had thought he’d been sneaking up on her.

Sonya watched him clutch at his gushing neck and topple over. Then she tossed the blood-drenched sword on top of his body and looked over at Maria.

Jorge’s sister had arrived with the family guards just in time to witness the carnage.

“You asked who I am?” Sonya said quietly. “This is who I am.”

She turned to the quaking little girl, who now clung to her grandfather, staring up at Sonya with wide, terrified eyes.

“You’re safe now.”

The girl did not look like she felt safe. Sonya realized that every child she had rescued over the years had probably also been terrified. That knowledge hurt, but what else could she do? Perhaps it was time to accept that a servant of the Goddess of Death could protect, but never truly give comfort.

“What is the meaning of this?” boomed a familiar male voice.

Sonya looked toward the other end of the alley and saw a group of Anxeles Escuros striding toward them. They were led by Miguel, the man who had first escorted her and Jorge to Cassa Estío. His hand was at his sword as though he were about to draw it, but then he saw Maria and came to a stop, his eyes wide.

“Señorita Elhuyar?”

“Hello, Miguel,” she said.

Then he looked more closely at Sonya. “You were with the young señor a few weeks ago.”

Sonya nodded.

He was silent for a moment as he stared at the dead soldiers and the girl with her grandfather.

In a much less challenging tone, he asked, “What happened here?”

“Miguel, I promise you she was only protecting the girl,” said Maria.

Miguel turned back to Sonya, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “You did this?”

Again, she nodded.

“By yourself?”

“Hardly an accomplishment,” Sonya said. “They were weak, even by imperial military standards.”

He gazed at her a moment longer, then turned to Maria. “Accounting for this will be… difficult, Señorita.”

Her look of worry deepened. “Is there anything you can do?”

His brow furrowed for a moment. “I think we can manage something.”

“Whatever it costs,” Maria said.

“Wait, what are you talking about?” asked Sonya.

“You just killed four imperial soldiers,” Miguel said. “We will have to cover this up somehow. It would be much easier if you were a guild member rather than a guest of one of the Great Families, but—”

“What if I become a guild member, then?”

That brought Miguel up short. “You? A member of Anxeles Escuros?”

She had said it offhandedly, but as the idea took hold she realized that joining the most respected mercenary guild in Colmo might be her best bet at getting stronger.

“You can see for yourself that I’m good in a fight.”

“But you’re not even Raízian.”

“Oh, is there a rule against that?”

He considered a moment. “I suppose not. But you would have to get permission from our guild master. And even then, some might challenge you.”

“That’s okay, I’m used to having to prove myself. It’s not easy being both tiny and deadly, you know.”

“Sonya, are you sure about this?” asked Maria. “You know you can stay with my family as long as you like.”

“I appreciate the sanctuary that you and your family have given me, Maria. Truly I do. But I don’t think I’m suited for life at Cassa Estío. Jorge was right, as usual. I need to be doing something. To be a part of something. Maybe this is it, maybe it’s not. But I won’t know until I try.”

Maria’s eyebrows knitted in concern. “I don’t think joining a mercenary guild is what my brother had in mind when he said you should do something.”

Sonya laughed. “Oh, I know. But he won’t be surprised I did.”