Chapter 28

The world around me regains its natural beat—scuffing steps, bursts of laughter, whistling. I open my eyes, seeing a small, silver disk notched in a nook between two cobblestones.

My pulse pitches.

Coin.

I pick it up, flip it, feel the heavy weight of it in the palm of my hand. It must be worth a bit. Perhaps enough to buy Zane’s cloak? Though the thought of facing that shopkeeper again fills me with face-blazing dread.

Perhaps I can find one somewhere else?

My gaze drifts to the line of permanent storefronts bordering the courtyard. All well-kept, squished against each other, draped in the golden glow of a vibrant streetlamp. The largest shop takes up the same amount of space as three smaller ones, over three stories of massive, glazed windows staring down on the square. Its large sign squeaks in the wind.

I move through the swirl of people, drawn to the window on the ground floor where a mishmash of things are haphazardly displayed—including a cabinet that seems to boast things of a much higher caliber than everything else.

A silver blade with an opaline hilt steals my breath and, bagging my snips, I press my nose against the glass to study its finer details.

It’s a similar size to the wooden daggers Baze sometimes had us practice with—longer than my hand but small enough to tuck down the back of my pants or strap against my thigh without getting in the way. It even has a delicate vine and tiny buds engraved in the hilt, akin to the hidden illustration I found on my sword.

It’s a real weapon. One I could wear at all times, train with in my suite without drawing attention.

Protect myself with.

I’ve never chosen a weapon for myself. They’ve always been given to me. And I think … I think Baze would approve. I think if he were here with me right now, he’d give me one of those lopsided grins that break across his face whenever he’s proud of me, then he’d tell me to go in there and get it.

The thought makes my throat feel tight and achy.

Unraveling my fingers, I look at the coin, back again, then step toward the door and shove it open, tolling an overhead bell. Hot, musty air and the smell of old things smacks me in the face.

I cast my gaze around the cluttered room, past roof-high shelves stacked with an array of wares—old teapots, candelabras in need of a good polish, pretty glass tumblers in haphazard towers.

“Hello?”

No answer.

I move deeper into the room, weaving between the shelves, the floor creaking beneath my feet.

The bell jingles again, a chill crawling up my spine that I adamantly ignore, refusing to give my imagination the stage it’s screaming for as I step into an open area that displays large bits of furniture. A big, stone counter dominates the far wall, doused in light from a collection of mismatched lanterns hanging from the ceiling.

I tap my fingers on the smooth stone top, looking around. “Excuse me?”

A man hobbles through a doorway in the back corner, belly so round he could probably set a plate on it and use it as a table. His gray hair is slicked with something shiny, his gold-buttoned garb so finely tailored he looks out of place standing amongst the drift of dust particles.

He squints at me through half-moon specs while wiping crumbs from the corner of his mouth with a dark blue napkin. “Yes?”

“I was hoping to take a closer look at the dagger in the cabinet in the front window display. The one with the opaline hilt.”

“Of course.” He wanders past, disappearing between the shelves while I drum my fingers against my thigh. He returns a moment later, moves behind the counter, and sets the blade in my open palm.

My eyes widen, chest tight and tingly.

It’s even more beautiful up close—the little embossed buds catching on the spill of light. I wrap my fingers around the hilt, surprised to find it perfectly balanced in my hand.

Drawing a deep breath, I let it out slow and steady before I smile up at the man. “I’ll have it.”

“Superb.” He takes it from me and spins, practiced hands folding it amongst some creamy tissue paper. “That’ll be one drab.”

Warm relief rushes up my throat with a shuddered sigh. Thankfully, I have one of those.

Just one.

There’s a creak in the floorboards somewhere behind me as I slide my single coin across the counter with the tip of my finger.

Turning, his beady gaze drops to the bench. “That’s a chip.” He looks at me over the rim of his glasses, reaching out his hand. “The other nine hundred and ninety-nine?”

My blood chills, heart drops, sweaty palms wrap around my knapsack.

No.

His eyes narrow. “Is that all you have, boy?”

Please no.

He sighs, setting my precious parcel on the bench before he stalks around the counter. “On your way, you little street rat. This is not a charity house!”

“Wait!” I squeal, scrambling back a step when he’s so close the reek of his body odor overpowers the smell of dust. “I ... I have something else.”

I hate how my voice breaks at the end. How my hands tighten around my knapsack now flattened to my chest, as if every cell in my body knows what I’m about to do.

Is fighting against it.

He stops, eyes cutting over me, like he’s considering the many ways he could slice me up and profit from my flesh. “Something else?”

A milky breath blows out of me.

“Yes. Something”—precious; irreplaceable; something not one single piece of me wants to part with—”of worth. At least ... I think.”

He sets his hand between us, palm up.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I give him my back and dig into my knapsack, pulling open the side pocket to reveal my diamond pickaxe—pristine, despite the thousands of times I’ve used it to chip blank whispers from the wall.

This tool ... this beautiful, mighty, delicate tool ... it’s felt the wear of my sorrow. My shame. My anger and my heartache.

It’s seen my greatest fears come to life.

I grip its small, smooth handle and pull it free from the darkness. Light catches on its many facets, reminding me of my brother’s eyes. I hesitate, glancing over my shoulder to the blade … back again.

It feels like my heart’s being ripped in two.

One half is more than happy to drown in the murky waters of my past so long as it’s curled around that one luminous seed—the sparse remnants of the boy who saved my life, only for me to turn around and do terrible, horrific things I’ll never be able to take back.

The other half is swimming frantically toward the airy surface, lungs burning for a gulp of air.

I can’t keep living in the past.

With him.

I have to find a way to move forward, one fallen whisper at a time, until the wall is deconstructed in my mind. Until it’s no longer weighing me down like stones stacked in my belly.

Feeling a little piece of me crumble away, I turn and place the pickaxe in the man’s awaiting palm, glancing up to see his eyes ignite.

“Hmm.” Weighing it in his hand, he wanders behind the counter, stamping my sudden urge to snatch it back and dash out the door. He drags it against the glass countertop, and I feel the shrill scratch on my heart, making my bones hurt just as much as my aching soul. A long gouge is left behind, and he clears his throat, looking at me over the rim of his spectacles. “Is there any way you can authenticate it?”

Another creak in the floor.

“It’s diamond, I assure you.”

He shrugs. “With no paperwork to confirm its validity, it’s as good as garbage.”

I open my mouth, about to plead with him when he stabs a finger at the ceiling. “But! I’m in a philanthropic mood.” He spins, grabs the freshly wrapped parcel, and sets it on the bench between us. “Just don’t speak of my generosity to anyone. I can’t afford to give charity to every barefooted urchin boy that wanders through my door.”

I reach for both my parcel and my coin, but he pinches the latter before jerking his chin toward the door.

“Off you go. Try not to murder anybody with that thing. The outer rim is no place for a boy like you.” He chuckles, snatching a looking glass off the table and giving me his back. “They’d eat you alive.”

I want to cry. Scream.

Take it all back.

I force myself to edge back a step, another, feeling my little brother slip from my stretched fingertips …

I jerk the door open and run from the store so fast I swear I leave my bleeding heart on the floor beside the counter.