Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

M yrria kept her head down as she walked through the market. Her hood covered most of her face, but she took extra care not to make eye contact with anyone as she moved around the stalls and walked purposefully toward the vendors she knew. She avoided the old ladies who sold the pouches of spells and reeked of intense and dark magic. She had no use for the booths hawking oils and healing potions, and she did not need to stop at the stalls that boasted bolts of colorful fabrics. Not today. Even though she would have liked to visit the butcher again, she did not have enough coin for more meat. Not if she needed to feed three of them and the third was significantly larger and needed sustenance to heal.

Pausing at the greengrocer, she bent over a bin of potatoes that were bruised and misshapen. The owner sold them for less, and she could not afford to be particular. She selected three that would be large enough to bake and serve for dinner. She still had a few fresh herbs at home to give the flavor, so it would be palatable.

"Not every night can be meat stew," she muttered to herself as she paid for the gnarled potatoes and dropped them in her sack.

If she was being smart, she would admit to herself that she could not afford to keep Rixx. Even before he came, she'd struggled to make ends meet. Now, with his extra mouth to feed, she did not know how she was going to do it. But what was the alternative? She couldn't turn him out onto the streets. She would not have done that under normal circumstances, but now that he was being hunted by the Zevrians, it would be a death sentence.

It wasn't only guilt that kept her from turning out Rixx. It was Zala. For the first time in as long as she could remember, her daughter was smiling and laughing. She'd been so enraptured by the Dothvek's stories of his childhood that she had barely noticed that the two of them had done all the washing up after dinner. Usually washing dishes was good for a grumble or two, but last night she had gladly stood by Rixx's side and dried every bowl and pot that he washed.

Rixx had actually washed dishes. Even now, she couldn't stop herself from shaking her head in disbelief. Zala's father had never helped her with the household work when they'd been together. Even when he hadn't been working and bringing in money, he'd expected her to do all the women's work. But the massive Dothvek, who was easily a head taller than her husband, had not even waited to be asked. He had done the work as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Myrria had heard him mumble about goddesses when he'd been unconscious. Maybe on his world, females were more revered than on this one. Myrria's cheeks warmed, as she thought about the sight of Rixx standing at her sink. She would not mind being revered, but at the moment, she was grateful for the help.

Then she gave herself a mental shake. Rixx was a Dothvek who did not belong on Kurril. He would be leaving as soon as his ship returned. She, however, was stuck in the Den of Thieves waiting for a husband she didn't even know if she wanted to return anymore.

Pushing around a buzzing cluster of people, she headed for the stall that sold the flour she used to bake her black bread. As long as she could bake bread, she could keep them fed. There had been many days when she and Zala had survived on bread and tea alone, although she did not want to be forced to do that with Rixx.

A snatch of conversation made her slow her pace and she paused, pretending to eye a bin of fruit as she strained to hear what a group of women were saying.

"You saw those flyers?"

Myrria froze, realizing they were talking about the wanted posters about Rixx.

"Got one on my door. Don't know why they think any of us would know about it."

Another woman sucked on the end of a thin cigarette. "He's got to be somewhere. They never found the body."

"Mark my words, he burned up in that fire and they just can't tell, 'cause all the bodies look like kindling."

Myrria cringed at this thought, glad that she hadn't seen the wreckage of the fire.

"Don't matter. They're sure he escaped. Even his own kind couldn't find him and left." The smoking woman took a long drag and blew out the smoke. "Now they're going house to house looking for him, which means we all got to deal with it."

Myrria went rigid. The Zevrians were going house to house? Were they doing that now? She felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she thought about Rixx back in her house with no idea that the Zevrinas might burst in at any moment. Then she remembered that Zala had begged to stay with him. Her daughter was with Rixx, and they were both in danger.

She backed away from the fruit stall and the women gossiping and even forgot about buying bread flour. Her feet slapped the paving stones as she hurried from the market and toward her home, muscle memory guiding her as her brain whirled.

She attempted to take deep breaths, but it was no use. She was practically running and panting before she'd cleared the market with only a handful of thoughts zipping through her brain. She had to get home. She had to hide Rixx. She had to keep Zala safe.

Most of all, she had to get it through her head that this was not going to end the way she wished it would. This was no fairytale, and she was no princess, even if Rixx did do a good job of playing the hero.

"Stories in the Den of Thieves do not have happy endings," she reminded herself, as she turned down her alley and stopped short.