Free The Kingdoms of Dust by Amanda Downum Page B

swollen from kissing, and the fevered sparkle in her eyes couldn’t be entirely the work of the half-empty bottle of raki on the table. Trouble of the adventurous sort—her companion looked like the type. A thief or a hustler, cocky with youth and careless with success. Not that Melantha would know anything about that.
    She might not have time for this; she might have too much time. She’d searched for Iskaldur in time to watch Adam and the necromancer taken into custody by Kehribar’s secret police. Either they would talk their way out, or Melantha would have to devise a cunning rescue. She hoped Iskaldur was a fast talker.
    Distracted by quarry and quandary, she nearly missed the mutter that rippled through the room. The afternoon crowd thinned like smoke in a draft; one of the bartenders vanished as well. Melantha had seen enough raids to recognize this one. Sure enough, a shift of shadows showed city guards in the street outside.
    Light and heat spilled in as the door swung open, and conversation died. Five men stepped inside, swords and pistols at their belts, the sigil of the watch on their breasts. Moth’s companion sobered at the sight of them, his interest in the laces of her shirt abandoned. As the guard captain stepped to the bar, the boy slumped against his bench, melting out of his seat and under the table, motioning Moth to follow as he slunk toward the rear door.
    They almost made it, but the guards turned as the door swung open. A shout rose up as they gave chase. Melantha grinned; she was always better at acting than planning, anyway.
    The shadows of the booth turned cold and liquid, swallowing her. It had taken her this long to shake the chill from her bones, too. At least this time all she needed was shallow darkness.
    She writhed quicksilver from shadow to shadow, through walls and over obstacles, keeping pace with the fleeing children. The Friends would have sent their own agents, not city guards—this was a separate trouble. Heavy footsteps drew near as Moth and the boy reached the back door—the alley beyond was clear, for the moment.
    In the heartbeat’s pause while the thief wrestled with the barred door, she struck. Reaching through the shadow that lay like a skin over the walls, she seized Moth’s arm. The girl yelped once before the dark stole her voice. Back and up Melantha swam, dragging Moth behind. Only a few yards separated them from a shuttered room on the second story, but they were both chilled and breathless when they emerged.
    “Easy,” she whispered, one gloved hand over Moth’s mouth. “Stay quiet and the guards will be gone soon. And sorry. It’s always vertiginous, the first time.”
    Sure enough, the girl’s shoulders convulsed. When Melantha let go, she fell to one knee and fought not to retch. She didn’t scream, though.
    “Who are you?” she asked at last, voice rough with suppressed coughing.
    “The patron saint of clumsy thieves. Can you make a light?” The single stripe of daylight burning between the curtains was enough for her, and she could feel the contents of the room through the dark besides, but there was no point in telling Moth that. She wrapped her scarf across her face.
    Sparks blossomed, rose-pink and shimmering. By their glow Moth found a candle, and witchlight kindled to real flame as it touched the wick. The light reflected in her eyes, and along the blade of the little knife in her hand.
    “No need for that,” Melantha said, hiding a grin. “Who did you rob?”
    “A lapidary in Yashkis.”
    The upscale market district, and in daylight, no less. Melantha whistled. “Your friend must have wanted badly to impress you.”
    Moth swallowed and glanced at the floor. “Jemal—”
    “He’ll be fine. I’m sure he’s done this before.”
    The girl’s face was flat and still, but the ripple of light along her knife betrayed her nerves. “What do you want?”
    “To give you a warning: Your mistress is in danger. This isn’t the time to be