Lori Lee - Gates of Thread and Stone

Sounded silly to me, but considering what I was capable of, I couldn’t completely scoff at the idea.

Not that I wanted to compare myself to gargoyles.

Reev had reassured me that the stories were all nonsense and the gargoyles had never breached the outer wall. But just in case, I had made him promise. Unlike me, Reev kept his promises.

THE NEXT MORNING,a sandwich waited for me on the counter. Reev had written “Eat only with a smile” on the paper wrapper. I unwrapped it and then poured myself the last bit of water from the pitcher. I’d get some more from the pump later. Reev didn’t trust the pump water, but it tasted good enough. A little metallic, but I didn’t see the harm in that.

I sat on a wobbly stool and ate at the counter. On his cot against the wall, Reev turned in his sleep. He came in from work around dawn, and he always made sure to leave me breakfast before getting into bed.

He lay on his side, arm thrown over his face so I could see only his rumpled head above his bicep. The only time he looked fully relaxed was when he was sleeping.

At the back of his neck, beneath the mess of his hair, was an elaborate red tattoo in the general shape of a rectangle, tapered at each end. It wasn’t visible right now, but I knew the design by heart. The lines were raised like a scar. Around the edge, the skin was shiny and pulled tight, several shades paler than the rest of him.

I’d asked about the tattoo more than once, but Reev refused to talk about it. All I knew was that he hid it with high-collared shirts and his hair.

His large body fit awkwardly on the tiny cot. Everything past his calves hung off the end, and his broad shoulders didn’t fit across the width. I had no idea how he could sleep like that. As amusing as the sight was, there was also something fascinating in the way he slept—the slight part of his mouth, the slack muscles, the inelegant sprawl of long limbs.

Some mornings, I lay in my cot against the opposite wall and watched his chest rise and fall.

Our entire living space was one room—one freight container, to be exact. Trains, like most industrial technology, had been out of service since Rebirth, but there were still remnants in the junkyard from which the East Quarter had sprung. Rows and rows of towering freight containers formed a giant cube of metal decay. The Labyrinth had been built around and inside it; walls and roofs erected, and hallways and staircases shoved into the spaces to connect everything. The only people who knew how to navigate the Labyrinth were the residents, and we liked to keep our secrets.

It made the East Quarter the ideal place for anyone wanting to disappear.

The cucumber and lettuce sandwich was bland, but the corners of my mouth turned up anyway because of Reev’s silly note. He used to leave me random messages all the time when I was younger. He did it less often now, but I privately wished he’d kept it up.

Reev rolled onto his back, rubbing his face. “Eating with a smile,” he mumbled sleepily. “That’s my girl.”

I beamed, cherishing the warmth that infused my chest. “Go back to sleep. It’s still early.”

“Wanted to make sure I caught you before you left,” he said, pillowing his head against his arm. The position made his bicep bulge. “I don’t need you to bring me dinner tonight.”

“Why’s that?”

“Angee’s packing me something.”

I ducked my head. “Oh.”

I took a long gulp of water to wash down a final bite of sandwich. Then I wrapped the other half inside the paper with Reev’s message and put it in the cupboard beneath the counter.

Reev watched me through half-closed lids. His eyes were the shining gray of the sky during the Week of Sun. The rest of the year, an endless wall of tumultuous yellow and orange clouds dominated the sky. Sometimes, at dawn or dusk, the colors flared, and the sky looked like it had been set on fire.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly. He did that on purpose, adjusting his voice to that low, sedate tone that soothed me.

“Nothing,” I said. “I better get to work. Sleep in. That’s an order.”

I ruffled his hair as I passed. I made a quick stop at the communal washroom down the hall and then headed for the exit. Our corner of the Labyrinth had two sets of stairs, rusted metal sheets hastily nailed together with equally rusty nails. I usually took them slowly, which earned me a few curses from the people behind me. I didn’t care. Better slow than dead.

The narrow halls had enough room for one person to pass through comfortably. I tried not to touch the walls—they were perpetually damp from the dips and cracks overhead where rainwater caught and remained. Nothing dried inside the Labyrinth, and the pockets of trapped water overflowed whenever it rained.

On the ground level, the paths grew wide enough for two people. A couple of lanterns burned here and there to ward off the darkness. The Labyrinth’s construction didn’t allow for much daylight to get through. People outside the East Quarter likened it to being buried alive. The comparison wasn’t so far off, but the leaders here—a bunch of grumpy old people who made decisions on behalf of everyone who lived in the Labyrinth—refused to invest in energy stones because they claimed it meant reliance on the Kahl. That, and they couldn’t afford them.

The mail keeper was just outside, each mailbox stacked behind her in a similar style to the Labyrinth. The carrier who covered the East Quarter didn’t like me, which meant I’d never be able to convince him to give me the tax directly.

“Nothing for you today,” the mail keeper announced cheerfully. She slapped her dirty gray cap against her matching tunic. One good thing about being a carrier was that I didn’t have to wear the hideous mail keeper uniforms.

I frowned. “Are you sure?” Tax charges never took more than a day or two to arrive. I chewed the corner of my lip. Maybe the carrier had lost it.

A shout came from behind me. “Get out of here!”

I looked up. Residents had gathered at the entrance to the Labyrinth. I waved my thanks at the mail keeper and wandered over, craning my neck to see what was going on. Couldn’t be anything good. The people here weren’t exactly neighborly.

A young man about Reev’s age stood off the path, facing down the growing crowd that circled him, closing in. He looked worried. A little desperate. It wasn’t an uncommon expression, but I could tell by the quality of his clothes and his clean face that he wasn’t like the people who hid in the creases of the city. He wore a fitted black leather tunic, matching pants, and high boots—the boots alone cost six months of Reev’s salary.

“Go on!” someone shouted. “Your kind isn’t welcome here.”

The young man drew a deep breath. “Can you tell her I want to see her? Please . Just tell—”

Something flew toward the back of his head. I opened my mouth to shout a warning but stopped myself.

The man’s arm snapped up, easily snatching the rock from the air. He hadn’t even looked.

The crowd went silent, its hostility heavy in the sudden quiet. And I realized exactly what he was.

THE MAN WASa sentinel, one of the Kahl’s elite private guard. Everyone outside the White Court called them his dogs. This was my first time seeing a sentinel, and I’d wager the same for everyone else now gawking at him. As far as I knew, sentinels remained solely within the White Court. I’d never heard of one entering the East Quarter before.

Every cadet who joined the Watchmen Academy hoped to gain the rank of sentinel someday, but Kahl Ninu awarded the status only to those who won the Tournament—the final challenge for graduating cadets.