Cinda Chima - The Demon King

Han’s mother stood in the doorway, her shoulders permanently hunched against a lifetime of bad luck. To Han’s surprise, she was wearing the new coat he’d picked up in Ragmarket a week or two before, thinking it would serve him well the next winter. On her it nearly swept the ground, and she had a long scarf wrapped around her neck. Mam wore layers of clothes even in fair weather, a kind of armor she put on.

She unwound the scarf from her neck, freeing her long plait of pale hair. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked more defeated than usual. She was young—when Han was born, she’d been no older than Han was now—but she looked older than her years.

“I couldn’t find him, Mari,” she said, her voice breaking. Han was stunned to see tears streaking down her cheeks. “I’ve been everywhere, asked everyone. I even went to the Guard, and they just laughed at me. Said he was likely in gaol, that was where he belonged. Or dead.” She sniffled and blotted her face with her sleeve.

“Um, Mam…” Mari stammered, looking over at Han.

“I’ve told him and told him to stay off the streets, not to run with the gangs, not to carry money for that old Lucius, but he don’t listen, he thinks nothing can touch him, he…”

I’m dog dirt, Han thought. I’m scum. The longer he waited, the worse it would get. He stepped out of the shadows. “I’m here, Mam.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry I’m late.”

Mam blinked at him, pale as parchment, her hand flying to her throat as if she’d seen a ghost. “W-where…?”

“I slept over at Marisa Pines,” Han explained. “And then I ran into some trouble on the way home. But I brought supper.” He mutely held out the napkin with the remaining pork pies. An offering.

Crossing the space between them, she struck the napkin out of his hand. “You brought supper? That’s it? You disappear for three days and I’m out of my head with worry, and you brought supper ?” Her voice was rising, and Han waved his hands, trying to shush her. They didn’t need to rouse the landlord, who lived next door, and remind him they hadn’t paid their rent.

She came forward, and he retreated until he was up against the hearth. She thrust an accusing finger into his face. “You’ve been fighting again. Haven’t you? What have I told you?”

“No,” he said unconvincingly, shaking his head. “I’m just…I stumbled over a curb and fell flat on my face in the street.”

“You should put a cold rag on it,” Mari said from the refuge of her bed. Her voice quavered, like it did when she was upset. “Mam, you always say that takes the swelling down.”

Han glanced over at Mari, wishing he and Mam could take their fight somewhere else. But when you live in one room over a stable, there’s nowhere to go.

“Who was it this time?” Mam demanded. “The gangs or the Guard? Or did you pick one too many pockets?”

“I an’t lifting purses anymore,” Han protested, stung. “Nor diving pockets, neither. I wouldn’t—”

“You said you were going after plants for the Flatlander Market,” Mam said. “Did you even go up on Hanalea? Or were you out running the streets the whole time?”

“I went up on Hanalea,” Han said, struggling to control his temper. “Me and Dancer spent all day gathering herbs on the mountain.”

Mam eyed him narrowly, then extended her hand. “You should have some money for me, then.”

Han thought of his purse, now in Shiv’s possession. He still had Lucius’s money, but—like he kept saying—he wasn’t a thief. He swallowed hard, looking down at the floor. “I don’t have any money,” he said. “It got taken from me in Southbridge.”

Mam’s breath hissed out, like he’d confirmed all her worst fears. “You’re cursed, Hanson Alister, and you’ll come to a bad end,” she said. “It’s no wonder you’re in trouble when you’re out on the streets all day long. When you run with street gangs, thieving and robbing…”

“I’m not with the Raggers anymore,” Han interrupted. “I promised you back in the fall.”

Mam plowed on as if he hadn’t spoken. “When you take up with ill-favored sorts like Lucius Frowsley. We may be poor, but at least we’ve always been honest.”

Something broke loose inside Han, and when he opened his mouth the words came spilling out. “We’re honest ? Well, honest won’t fill our bellies. Honest doesn’t pay the rent. It’s been me supporting us for the past year, and it’s a lot harder without slide-hand. Be my guest if you think you can keep us out of debtor’s prison taking in washing and picking rags. And if we do go to prison, what do you think will happen to Mari?”

Mam stood speechless, eyes very blue, her lips as white as the rest of her face. Then she snatched up a stick from the kindling pile and swung it at him. Reflexively, he gripped her wrist and held it. They glared at each other for a long moment, married by blood and anger. Slowly the anger drained away, leaving only the linkage of blood.

“I’m not going to let you hit me anymore,” Han said quietly. “I’ve already had one beating today. That’s enough.”

Later, Han lay on his straw mattress in the corner. He could hear the soft, regular breathing that said Mam and Mari were finally asleep. Every bone in his body ached, and his face felt like it might split open. Plus, he was hungry again. He and Mam had shared the last two meat buns, but these days everything he ate seemed to evaporate before it reached his stomach.

His mind bounced off corners like a mouse in a maze. He was no philosopher. He had few spaces of time in which to dream. He was not the sort to try and reconcile the warring souls that lived inside his body.

There was Han Alister, son and big brother, breadwinner, deal-maker, and small-time conniver. There was Hunts Alone, who’d been adopted by Marisa Pines and wished he could melt into the clans for good. And finally, Cuffs, petty criminal and street fighter, onetime streetlord of the Ragger gang and enemy of the Southies.

From day to day he slid out of one skin and pulled on another. No wonder it was hard to sort out who he was.

He shifted on the hard floor. He usually used his carry bag as a pillow, but he wasn’t sure if he ought to, with the amulet inside. The jinxpiece occupied his mind like a toothache. What if it exploded and killed them all? Or worse, left them alive with no roof over their heads.

Lucius’s words came back to him. Keep the amulet hid, and stay out of the way of the Bayars. If they find out you have it, they’ll kill you for it.

Finally he pulled the amulet in its wrapping out of his bag. Wearing only his breeches, he slipped down the stairs, past the horses in their stalls, and into the cold stable yard. Some distance from the building stood a stone forge built when there was a blacksmith in residence. It had been Han’s hiding place since he was old enough to have secrets. Han lifted a loose stone at its base and tucked the amulet underneath, replacing the stone. Feeling more at ease, he returned to the stable and climbed the stairs, his mind working furiously.

Tomorrow he’d go back to Lucius, deliver his purse, and hopefully get paid. That might be enough to hold off the landlord for a while, especially if he mucked out the barn again.

Sitting down on his mattress, he dug in his breeches pocket, pulling out the princess coin Matieu had given him a lifetime ago. He turned it toward the dying fire, and the reflected flames picked out the silhouette engraved on it.

It was Princess Raisa ana ’Marianna, heir to the Gray Wolf throne of the Fells.

“Hey, girlie,” he whispered, running his dirty forefinger over the image. “I’d like to see more like you.”