Cinda Chima - The Exiled Queen

“Now,” the sharp said, his florid face inches from Han’s, his beery breath pouring over him, “give over the bag, boy, and I might not cut off your ears.”

Focused on the blade under his chin, Han didn’t quite follow what happened next. Boudreaux yelped and disappeared, hitting the floor hard enough to dent it. His knife spun across the room, nearly beheading a miner snoring softly at the next table.

Han threw himself back, out of danger. Boudreaux flailed about on the floor like he had the spasms. And behind him, deftly avoiding his flying limbs, was Cat, a garrotte twisted around Boudreaux’s throat.

Oh, right, Han thought. Cat was a deft flimper, as well as a demon with a blade.

The sharp’s face turned red, then blue, and his eyes bulged out alarmingly. Cat bent low over Boudreaux, crooning to him, some lesson she wanted him to learn.

Boudreaux’s flailing diminished, became less organized.

“Cat!” Han shook off his astonishment and put his hand on her shoulder. “Leave him go. You don’t want to swing for him.”

Cat looked up at him, blinking as if surfacing from a trance. She let go of Boudreaux and sat back on her heels, stuffing the garrote into her pocket.

A commotion at the front drew Han’s attention. A clot of brown uniforms filled the doorway, colors of the Delphian Guard. Han swore, knowing he’d stayed too long. He stood slowly and pulled Cat to her feet. Keeping hold of her hand, Han began backing toward the rear door, but a bristle- bearded miner the size of a small mountain stepped into their path.

“You’d best stay, boy, and take what’s coming to you for what you done,” he growled, grinning as though he personally were looking forward to the show.

“I didn’t do anything,” Han complained, the refrain of his entire life. It was just his luck to get mixed up in a barroom brawl in a strange country and get tossed in gaol. It would mean a quick end to his career as a wizard sell- sword for the clans. He’d let down Dancer, who’d have to travel on alone. What was the last thing Dancer had said to him before he went up to bed? Stay out of trouble.

Han closed his hand around the hilt of his knife, looking for the clearest path to the door. Then slowly he released his grip. He might get through the door, but he wouldn’t get away clean with Dancer upstairs and his horse in the stable.

Cat pulled her hand free and drew her own blades, keeping them hidden flat against her forearms.

“What’s going on?” one of the brownjackets demanded. He wore an officer’s scarf knotted around his neck, in unfamiliar flatland colors. He pointed at Boudreaux, still on the floor. The sharp rubbed his bruised throat and sucked air in great gasps. “What happened to him?” the officer asked.

Han opened his mouth, but the miner beat him to it. “That cheating thiever Mace Boudreaux got beat at cards for oncet. Turns out he’s a sore loser. He jumped the boy what beat him, and we had to settle him.”

To Han’s astonishment, heads nodded all around.

“Who settled him?” the officer persisted.

“We all did,” the miner said, glaring around the room as if daring someone to contradict him. “We all joined in.”

It seemed that Cat was not the only one who’d lost money to Mace Boudreaux. He wasn’t getting much sympathy from this crowd.

“Where’s the boy what beat him?” the guardsman demanded.

For a moment, nobody spoke, but then Han’s miner gave him a shove forward. “This is the one,” he said. “He done it.”

The brownjacket looked Han up and down as if he couldn’t believe it. “Good at cards, are you, boy?” He raised an eyebrow.

Han shrugged. “I get by.” He felt rather than saw Cat moving up beside him. Just like the old days, when Cat had his back.

The brownjacket grinned and stuck out his hand. “I’d like to buy you a drink, then,” he said, and the rest of the patrons whistled and clapped and stamped their feet.

It just goes to show you, Han thought. You never know who’s in the room when you get into a fight.

It was a struggle to get out of there after that. Boudreaux recovered and slunk away unnoticed. Han had to turn down a dozen offers of drinks or he’d have ended up under the table. Cat retreated to a corner, seeming to disappear into the shadows, but every time he turned to look, her eyes were fixed on him.

Probably wants her money, he thought.

It was near closing time when he finally extricated himself from the crowd of well- wishers and joined Cat at her table. Fishing into his carry bag, he withdrew a handful of girlies and counted them out.

She watched, saying nothing. Han didn’t expect effusive thanks, but still. Cat usually had plenty to say.

He pushed the stacks of coins across the table toward her. “There you are; you’ve made up your losses and more.”

She looked down at the money but made no move to touch it. “What is it about you?” she demanded. “Wherever you go, people make way for you. You walk in a stranger and end up the toast of the taproom.”

“What are you talking about?” Han growled. “I got nothing— no family, no place to live, no way to make a living.”

She reached out and fingered the sleeve of his jacket hesitantly, as if he still might turn to vapor and smoke. “You got fine new clothes and you got a full purse. You sell off a big taking or what?”

Han instantly felt even guiltier. He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“Why would you risk your stash for me?” she persisted.

“Wasn’t my stash,” Han said. “I took it off Boudreaux before we played.”

Like he was some robber out of the stories that took from the rich and gave to the poor. Ha. He was the poor, usually.

“If you already had his money, why’d you play him, then?” Cat asked.

Han shrugged. “He needed beating and I thought I could do it. Never thought he’d pull a knife.” He didn’t say aloud what else he was thinking. If you beat somebody at the thing they’re best at, they’re more likely to give way.

Cat eyed him like she didn’t much believe him. “You still never said. What are you doing here? Where are you going?”

Han shrugged. “I had to leave Fellsmarch, too. We thought we’d try our luck in Ardenscourt,” he lied. The fewer people who knew where they were going, the better.

She lifted an eyebrow. “We?”

“I’m traveling with a friend,” Han said, leaving Cat to make whatever assumption she chose. “How about you? I didn’t know you played nickum sharp.”

“I’m still learning, as any fool can see,” she said, scowling.

“Well, you can’t earn reliable money sharping unless you get more practice at card mucking. Better find another line of work meantime.”

“I’ve looked,” Cat said glumly. “I been here for a couple weeks. I tried to get on at the mines, but they won’t hire if you’re marked as a thief.” She held up her right hand, branded by the queen’s law. Least they hadn’t chopped it off.

“How’d you end up here, anyway?” Han asked.

“I was on my way to a place called Oden’s Ford.”

Han was taking a gulp of cider, and nearly inhaled it. Coughing, he set the mug down. “Oden’s Ford! Why are you going there?”

“It was Speaker Jemson’s idea,” Cat said, poking at the stacks of coins. “They got schools there, he says. He wanted me to go to the Temple School.”

“Why not go to Southbridge Temple School?” Han said, trying to sort out what this might mean to him. “Why would Jemson send you all the way to Oden’s Ford?”

“If I was still in Southbridge, I’d be dead. Just like Velvet.” Cat yanked off her hat and slapped it down on the table. “They was hunting me, the demons that killed the others. It was just a matter of time before they caught me. So Jemson, he says, go to Oden’s Ford. He’s always dogging me to go and study music, and he’s tight with the master of the Temple School there. He told her all these stories about how I can play the basilka like some kind of angel choir, and got me enrolled. He paid my fees— said the Princess Raisa gives money to Southbridge Temple students. He give me an old horse and some money, and put me on the road.” Cat scrubbed her hand through her curls.