Ginn Hale - Lord of the White Hell book Two

The roiling anger in the pit of Kiram's belly made him want to shout the truth but he stifled his desire. It was a petty, childish urge, one that would do more harm than good if he acted upon it.

So Kiram kept quiet when people smiled at him in that dazed, joyous manner that assured him that they'd spent the morning imagining a new magical life instead of fighting with their mothers and being banished from their homes.

When Kiram arrived at Rafie's house, he found it empty and the door locked. A neighbor informed him that neither Alizadeh nor Rafie had come home last night.

"They left so suddenly that I thought there might have been some trouble with the Cadeleonian law again." The gray-haired neighbor lowered her voice. "You know your uncle was a wanted man once."

"I've heard." Kiram wondered if everyone of that age knew about Rafie's exile. He guessed that it must have been a huge scandal at the time, especially since Rafie would have invariably been promised to someone else…just like Kiram had been.

Kiram felt a prickling dread at the thought.

How long would it be before word spread about his broken engagement and his departure from his mother's house? His mother would hate that. Nevertheless gossip wouldn't really do any harm so long as Javier wasn't brought into it.

But how many people had seen them together last night? Or on earlier afternoons, in alleys and back doorways? How many would put it together with his broken engagement?

Kiram shuddered but Rafie's neighbor didn't seem to notice. She gazed up at the blue sky.

"As soon as those beautiful lights appeared I knew your uncle and Alizadeh had gone to the Circle of Red. Oaks. It must have been wonderful being right there." She leaned against the simple mosaic wall that surrounded her house and she tilted her face into the sunlight. "I just know things are going to be different. It's going to be better."

Kiram shared none of her optimism, but he nodded anyway. He wondered what excuse Javier had offered the Grunitos for his absence last night and then he wondered when, if ever, Alizadeh and Rafie would come home.

While Kiram waited, crouched on Rafie's doorstep, Rafie's neighbor and a passing candlemaker chatted about the amazing lights in the grove. The candlemaker sold Rafie's neighbor a round of raw beeswax before they both departed to the public market.

The sun passed its zenith and Kiram paced the grounds of Rafie's house and then the block. At last boredom and hunger got the better of him and he followed the smell of frying lamb and cinnamon cakes past the Ammej Bridge to a busy street vendor.

Only after purchasing and devouring his meal did Kiram pause to consider just how few coins remained in his pocket. If he was careful he might be able to make them last until next week. If Rafie and Alizadeh would take him in then.

Kiram stopped himself mid-thought, suddenly struck by the realization of what he would be asking of Rafie: not just that his uncle should take him in and support him, but that in doing so Rafie should publicly disregard his own sister's wishes.

Kiram didn't know how much of Rafie's money came from his mother but he did know that no one in the district would give Rafie so much as a smile if Mother Kir-Zaki forbade it. And that wasn't even considering Mother Kir-Naham. The last thing Rafie would need was a powerful pharmacist and all of her friends refusing to supply him or his patients with medicine.

Kiram scowled at the gristle clinging to his blackened skewer as doubt crept over him. Still, even as he began to regret storming out of his mother's house, he remembered that she had called Javier an animal and his resolve hardened. He couldn't return and apologize; it would be the lowest cowardice. At the same time he didn't know if he could thrust himself upon his uncle in good conscience.

He followed the river road for a while, walking aimlessly. Bookstores, tearooms and tailor shops gave way to smoke rooms, cramped wine houses and gambling parlors. He wondered how much renting a room would cost him and then how much he could win playing cards or throwing dice in one of the gambling parlors. At the Sagrada Academy he'd won most games he played and he'd been very good at counting the Hellions' cards. But the weathered, sinister faces of the men he saw entering and departing the gambling parlors gave him pause. A number of them seemed to be considering murdering him just for meeting their hard stares; he didn't want to find out what they'd do after he took their money from them.

No, he'd think of something else. In the meantime he wanted to get back to familiar ground. Already the sinking sun turned the sky orange and shadows invaded the surrounding alcoves and alleys. The last thing he needed was to go stumbling around this part of town in the dark and get himself mugged.

He strode quickly through the lanes as shadows lengthened and street vendors closed up their stalls. Someone called his name in a low, drunken slur. Kiram knew the voice and knew that he shouldn't turn around but he couldn't stop himself.

Musni and another rough-looking man leaned against the wall of a wine house. Long shafts of red sunlight colored Musni's hair and glinted off his rings and off the hilt of his fighting knife.

"Lostyour way already, Kiram?" Musni stepped forward. His companion watched Kiram but not with any real interest.

"I'm not lost. I just went for a walk." He wondered how it could be that he'd once thought he loved Musni. Now he felt only disgust at the sight of him. And Musni, who'd once professed to adore him, seemed set upon lowering Kiram's opinion of him with their every encounter.

"Didn't your mommy warn you that this was a bad part of town?" Musni sneered.

"Fuck off," Kiram snapped. "You're the one who got married because you didn't have the balls to stand up to your mother. In fact, aren't you late getting home for your evening suckle?"

The man behind Musni laughed and Musni's taunting expression turned to rage.

"You spoiled shit, I ought to kill you." Musni drew his knife and lunged for Kiram.

Kiram jerked aside, feeling Musni's blade slice across his vest. Suddenly Kiram's heart hammered in his throat. This couldn't be happening. He leaped back as Musni thrust again. Behind them Musni's companion whooped with excitement but someone else who Kiram had not seen in the shadows hissed, "Idiot! Are you trying to bring down the Civic Guards?"

Kiram didn't dare to glance back at them. He watched Musni slowly circle him. The blade of Musni's knife looked wet and Kiram was aware of something warm trickling down his stomach. He felt a sting more than any pain. He'd fought through injury worse than this in the tournament. He'd fought for hours. But that hadn't been against a drunk and angry ex-lover. He had to get that knife out of Musni's hand before he actually got hurt.

Musni charged. This time Kiram stepped into him and was grimly satisfied to see the shock in Musni's expression.

Kiram pounced, catching Musni's wrists. Musni fought to break free, slashing his knife awkwardly between their bodies and jerking at Kiram's grip.

Kiram held him. His hands felt slick with sweat and his heart pounded wildly. The flat of Musni's blade slapped across his forearm and Kiram dug his fingers into Musni's tendons, drawing blood as he loosened Musni's grip on the knife hilt.

"Fucker," Musni growled as he tried to wrench his hands free. He was strong and Kiram's muscles trembled from restraining him.

They grappled so close they could have kissed. Instead, Kiram kicked hard against Musni's knee and heard a terrible ripping sound. Musni howled and fell and Kiram let him go.

As Musni sprawled on the ground Kiram crushed his boot heel into Musni's wrist and kicked the knife away. Then Kiram bounded back from Musni's reach. But he needn't have. Musni lay where he'd fallen, tears coursing down his face as he curled into a ball clutching his knee.