The Fading Dusk Page 2

  I wasn’t his. We weren’t related. I never knew my father; Mother had never told me about him before she died. I figured he was just another resident of the slums and had bailed the moment his object of affection had become pregnant with me. It was hard to hate someone I never knew, but I did resent him for leaving Mother like that. Maybe if he’d stayed, she would have lived. And maybe, just maybe, we would have made it to Way without Bantheir’s help.

  “Irina?”

  I blinked out of my reverie to see Parnaby, alone, leaning against a storefront. My feet slowed, but I was reluctant to join him; the sting of embarrassment from earlier was still too fresh. I wasn’t in any mood to be forgiving, especially after being threatened by the burly man, but then Parnaby held up a cookie and my resolve to stay angry melted away. I felt a pang of nostalgia. It had been years since our last cookie talk.

  “When was the last time we did this?” I asked as we sat side-by-side in front of the bakery, the delicious smell of desserts wafting in the air.

  He contemplated my question, smiling. “It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it? Why’d we ever stop?”

  “Oh well, you know…” I brushed some crumbs from my skirt. “I suppose I grew up.” And Bantheir would be furious, I thought, if he saw me speaking with the “enemy.”

  “Still, we should always make time for cookies.”

  His good humor was so infectious that I found myself smiling in return. I didn’t realize until then how much I’d missed chatting with my “uncle” who’d always seemed to know when I was feeling sad or lonely and was in desperate need of a cookie.

  Who still knew, apparently.

  I absently rubbed my wrist, where the man had grabbed me. Parnaby’s eyes followed the movement and his brows rose. “Irina, did someone hurt you?”

  “Just someone Bantheir probably cheated,” I said flippantly, brushing his concern away with a wave of my hand. I wished I could believe my own words; my heart was still racing after our encounter.

  With an exasperated sigh, Parnaby ran a hand through his hair, making his short brown curls spring up in every direction. “And where is Bantheir now?”

  “A young couple invited him out to drink.” This time, I couldn’t disguise the hurt in my voice. “And now I get to go home to an empty house. Lucky me, right?” I squeezed the cookie I was still holding tightly and it crumbled to multicolored bits, coating my lap like snow.

  Parnaby placed a hand on my shoulder. “Irina, you know you’re always welcome at—” Whatever he was about to say was cut off as his eyes widened. He yanked his hand away, as if burnt.

  I felt a tremor of fear. “Parnaby?”

  There was an odd expression on his face, panic mixed with anger, and for one wild moment, I thought I’d done something wrong. But then Parnaby’s face smoothed into calm indifference and he said, “You should go home, Irina.”

  Tears stung my eyes. What had I done?

  It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. I knew I shouldn’t have stopped to talk with him. It had only served as another reminder of how alone I was in the world. Standing abruptly, I marched away from Parnaby without another word.

  I could feel his eyes boring into my back until I turned the corner and slipped out of sight.

  When my familiar home came into view, one of eight on a quiet block, I let out a breath of relief I hadn’t known I’d been holding. I rubbed my wrist again, reflecting on everything that had happened. What a strange day. I couldn’t wait for it to end.

  I paused outside my beloved two-floored building of bricks that leaned—slightly—to the right, wondering if the house would be empty. Maybe the burly man had followed me, watched me speak with Parnaby, and now waited to—

  I sighed, chastising myself for being foolish, and let myself in. Stepping into the foyer, I closed it quietly behind me, resting my back against the frame for a moment. The house was quiet, save for the quiet ticking of the clock in the sitting room. Dropping Bantheir’s heavy pack onto the floor, I stretched my arms over my head, my silver bracelets clanging together lightly. My bracelets reminded me of my necklace, and I ran into the kitchen, scooping it up from where I’d left it on the table.

  My necklace was the only thing I’d inherited from my mother. She’d worn the charm—a small brown and white lark—on a filthy piece of string until she became sick, and then passed it along to me. The string had long since deteriorated, and I’d replaced it with a thick cord I’d splurged on one day at the market. Whenever I was nervous or scared, my fingers went to the bird; rubbing its familiar worn crevasses brought me peace.

  But tonight, no matter how hard I rubbed, I couldn’t erase my fear, couldn’t forget the look of panic on Parnaby’s face.

  “You’re being silly, Irina,” I muttered, going to the counter and getting a knife so I could cut myself a slice of bread. We still had some cheese, only slightly moldy, and I ate my dinner with relish as the kitchen slowly darkened, matching my mood. It was times like these when I thought of Mother, and how different life would have been were she still alive.

  The clock in the sitting room chimed midnight, rousing me from my thoughts. It was later than I thought. Bantheir should have been back by now, but he must have been having too much fun with his new friends. I pushed aside a jealous twinge, resolving to feel more grateful. I was seventeen now, clearly capable of caring for myself. Bantheir could have easily tossed me out, telling me to make it on my own, but he hadn’t. In fact, he had not once brought the subject up, for which I was grateful. I would be his assistant forever if it meant living a life where I had food, clothes, and a roof over my head.

  I was just about to leave the kitchen and head upstairs when I heard a muffled thump at the back door. The bread in my stomach hardened into a rock as I slowly turned around, my eyes glued to the door that led to the narrow communal yard.

  An inky shadow passed across the curtained window and I sucked in a breath.

  Someone was out there.

  My heart hammered like a drum in my chest. It was the burly man, it had to be. He’d followed me home to retrieve whatever it was Bantheir had stolen. Shaking, I took a few stumbling steps toward the foyer, my candle held in front of me like a shield as I watched the doorknob start turning. Luckily, we always kept that door locked, and when the knob refused to turn any farther, I slumped in relief. Maybe the intruder would give up.

  Instead, he began kicking at the door.

  I jolted in place, nearly dropping the candle. As I fumbled with it, I muttered under my breath, “Go away, go away, go away.” The intruder didn’t listen, increasing his efforts to open the door.

  Once I realized that just standing there, waiting for the person to come in, was rather foolish, I darted out of the kitchen and into the foyer. Holding the candle high above my head, I focused on my goal: the front door.

  My hand found the brass knob and I turned it, throwing open the door with a triumphant, “Ha!”

  The words died on my lips as I stared up at the burly man from this afternoon, his bulky form taking up the entire doorframe.

  “Hello, pretty,” he said with a leer as he came toward me, his heavy boots echoing menacingly with every step.

  I brandished the candle like a knife. “Stay back!”

  “Oh no, I think not, my dear.” Quick as a snake, he grabbed my wrist, same as before, squeezing hard enough that I was forced to drop the candle. It bounced against the floor, the flame extinguishing. From the kitchen came the repeated muffled thumps of the other intruder’s foot against the door.

  Standing there in the dark, my chest heaving with every panicked breath I took, I said, “I’ll scream.”

  “Do that, and I’ll snap your neck.” The gleam in his eye told me he was serious.

  “What do you want?” My mind raced as I tried to form a plan. Earlier he had said he didn’t want money, but maybe if I gave him our meager savings, put aside for rent, he and his friend would leave.

  The burly man looked past my shoulder. �
��Is your master home?”

  I pressed my lips tightly together, refusing to answer. If he knew I was alone, what unspeakable horrors would he commit? But what would happen to me once he found out I was lying?

  He shook me like a ragdoll. “Well, is he?”

  “No,” I whimpered, hating myself for my weakness.

  A flash of anger darted over his features like lightning across a stormy sky. But then he smiled, a gruesome smile that promised nothing but pain for me. “We’ll just wait for him, won’t we?” The man began dragging me toward the kitchen, and I fought him every step of the way.

  “No! Leave me alone! I know you think Bantheir has taken something, but you’re wrong!”

  “Wrong?” The burly man threw me against the wall, jarring me. “You stupid girl!” His fist came down on the wall next to my head, and I jumped. “You stand there gazing adoringly at your master after all he’s done?”

  “All he’s done?” I repeated stupidly.

  A crash from the back indicated the burly man’s accomplice had finally broken in. I squeezed my eyes shut at the thought of the two of them inside with me. Maybe I should risk it and scream, I thought.

  The accomplice came stomping up to us. He was another big man, though not as large as the one who held me captive. It was hard to see his features in the shadows, but he was dark-haired like his friend. “He here?”

  “No,” the burly man snapped. “Search upstairs while I work on our little friend here. We won’t leave until we find it.” His companion nodded, taking the stairs two at a time. The burly man gave me another frightening smile. “Come along dearie, we’re going to have ourselves a little chat.” He dragged me forcibly back to the kitchen, where he threw me down into the chair I’d vacated moments before. Spinning both the seat and me around, he loomed over me, hands planted on the table to prevent me from scurrying away. He smelled of sweat and something else. Incense, maybe?

  “What do you want?” My words came out in a breathy whisper, eyes widening when I saw the knife strapped to his belt. He followed my gaze and grinned, reaching for the weapon and twirling it between his fingers, inches from my face. I tried hard not to flinch, but it probably didn’t matter, not when I was shaking so hard the chair was rattling.

  “Your master, the great and wonderful Bantheir,” he said, words dripping with scorn, “stole something that didn’t belong to him, and now we want it back!”

  “You’re wrong!” I insisted. “Bantheir has never stolen anything!” It was true; even in our darkest hours, we never used his tricks to take what didn’t belong to us.

  It seemed extremely important to make this man understand that Bantheir wasn’t a thief. I didn’t want the brute to think so horribly of the magician; he was obviously mistaking him for someone else. I opened my mouth to tell him so when a loud crash from upstairs shook the house. I winced, wondering if his partner had managed to knock over one of the dressers.

  The burly man stepped into the doorway, hollering a question to his partner. Seeing my chance, I jumped to my feet, fully prepared to race out the back door.

  He reacted instantly, cursing as he made a wild grab for my arm. I ducked to the side and he followed, shadowing my movements. When he reached for me again, I snatched one of the lit candles from the countertop and angled the flame toward his hand. He screamed in pain as his flesh began searing. With the burly man now standing between me and the back door, I dropped the candle and ran into the foyer.

  The front door was still mercifully open. I pushed my body toward it, running for all I was worth. I could hear the burly man behind me, shouting for his companion to stop me. But by the time he came downstairs, it would be too late. I was within feet of the door; he wouldn’t catch me.

  I was free.

  But then the burly man made a diving rush toward me, knocking us both to the floor. As all of the air left my lungs in one quick swoosh, I reached for the open doorway, toward freedom, determined to crawl on my hands and knees if I must.

  But the man had other ideas. He picked me up easily, swinging us around as if we were partners in a dance, his back now to the door. I looked at the open door, at the night sky decorated with tiny silver pinpricks of stars, and screamed for all I was worth.

  He hit me across the face, startling me into silence. His hand was an explosion against my skin, and I momentarily saw stars. I had never, ever been hit before, and it was horrible and frightening and downright evil. I let out a sob, and he grinned cruelly, like he was enjoying himself. “I should have killed you from the beginning.” He pulled back his fist, preparing to hit me again.

  I closed my eyes, waiting for the next strike.

  THE MAN BEGAN LAUGHING, BUT the sound cut off abruptly with a startled gasp. I opened my eyes to see his body go limp, like a marionette cut from its strings. His grip on me loosened as he toppled forward. I jumped backward to avoid being flattened, my mouth agape as I watched the man hit the floor face first with a muffled groan.

  A silver knife protruded from his back, the handle gleaming in the moonlight that streaked through the open front door like a silvery curtain.

  My gaze darted to the man’s face. His eyes were opened and glazed over. I tripped over myself trying to get away, half-sobbing with fear. Even in death, he frightened me.

  A figure appeared in the doorway, blocking the moonlight and covering me in shadows. I couldn’t see his face, but I could feel his gaze on me. This was it. Someone else had come to finish the job. I waited for him to throw a knife at me as well, but instead he raised a hand, as if signaling to someone.

  The silence, so loud it made my ears ring, was broken as soldiers suddenly poured into my home, shouting orders at one another. Some carried torches, lighting up the room and the macabre scene before me. They raced up the stairs, shouting when they crossed paths with the other intruder. Within seconds I heard him scream, his cries cut short as his body hit the floor with a thud. I glanced at the ceiling, hoping they’d killed him in Bantheir’s room instead of mine. I tasted bile in the back of my throat as I thought of a dead man in my room, his blood slowly staining the floor.

  It was too much. As the room started spinning, I fell to my knees, jarring them hard against the wood floor. My heart was racing, and no matter how fast I sucked in air, it wasn’t enough. I clenched my teeth together to keep from screaming, but a little pathetic moan slipped through anyway.

  I could still feel the eyes of the soldier who’d killed the burly man boring into me. I knew I should be thankful that he’d saved me, but all I could focus on was the knife in the burly man’s back, and the blood that was staining his clothes and dripping onto the floor.

  The soldier took one step toward me. “Are you—”

  I’m going to be sick! I jumped to my feet, ignoring the soldier’s startled exclamation, and turned on my heel, racing through the kitchen and out the back door.

  The chilly autumn air hit me like another punch to the face. The yard was covered in inky shadows and I blindly moved forward as I listened to the soldier’s heavy footsteps behind me. Why is he chasing me? I thought tearfully. I haven’t done anything!

  “Stop!” he ordered.

  I ignored him and kept going through the tall grass, away from the well we shared with our neighbors. I was concentrating so hard on not stubbing my foot on the bricks that I didn’t see the exposed tree root until it was too late. My foot got caught and I went sprawling, scraping my palms against the ground.

  “I did tell you to stop,” the soldier said, watching as I rolled over ungracefully. My skirt had risen up and I tugged it down to cover my legs, my face flaming. I hoped he hadn’t seen anything in the dark, but with the way my night was going, I was sure he’d seen plenty.

  At least the need to empty my stomach had passed. Now I felt a stab of irritation as the soldier simply stood there, watching me. A decent man would at least offer me his hand, help me to my feet, and ask if I was all right. So far, this man had done none of the above. “What d
o you want with me?” I asked harshly.

  His face was cloaked in shadows, so it was impossible to get a good look at him. I could see that he was tall, though, and lean. “You need to come with us, to the prison.”

  Prison?! My heart jumped. “Why? I haven’t committed any crimes!”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  I couldn’t believe this. I’d been threatened, assaulted, and almost murdered, and I was the one being arrested? “No,” I told him.

  The soldier paused. “Excuse me?”

  “No, I’m not going to prison. I’m going to sit and wait for Bantheir to come home, and we’re going to file a complaint for your absurd treatment of civilians!” I threw my hands up in the air. “Any normal person would realize the culprits are the two men you just killed! Is this your first day on the job, soldier?”

  Before he could answer, two more soldiers jogged up to us. “Captain!” one called out, and I realized with a growing sense of dread that he was referring to the man I’d just yelled at.

  He’s a captain?

  “It’s all clear, Captain,” the other soldier said. “It was just the two men.”

  “Very good,” the captain said. “Just the two men and… her.”

  All three turned to stare at me like I was an exhibit on display. I squirmed uncomfortably. “What should we do with her, sir?” one asked.

  The captain tugged on his gloves, one at a time, before answering, “We’re taking her back to the prison. Tie her up and gag her if you have to, just bring her in!”

  “Yes, sir!” they shouted in unison as the captain turned on his heel and stalked back into the house.

  “Hey!” I shouted, my cries echoing off the buildings. “Wait a second! I told you I wasn’t going! Hey—”

  One of the soldiers stuffed a rag into my mouth, silencing me. The other one produced a rope and I realized with alarm that they really were going to tie me up.

  Tears stung my eyes at the injustice of it all. After everything that had happened, this was how they were going to treat me?