Page 11 of This Dark Descent
A knock came at her door. Exhaustion swept over her at the thought of dealing with another customer or, worse, Lady Belda returning to complain about an askew ear. She had clay shavings to clean, a workbench to wipe down, and she hadn’t eaten all night. Her back was sore, and she could feel one of her headaches coming, but the weight of coin in her hand, so much lighter than it should be, drove her to answer.
She’d barely turned the handle when the door burst open, knocking her to the ground. Pain radiated through her back, but she scrambled quickly to her feet as two pale-skinned Enderlish men forced their way inside. One grabbed her by the front of her apron, throwing her hard against a barrel. Her head struck the wood in a resounding blow.
“Stay there,” he snarled, the words coming fuzzy through her addled mind. Scraping and shifting noises preceded the sounds of ceramics shattering and hanging pots being ripped from the ceiling.
Ari rolled slowly onto her side, blinking away the darkness encroaching on her vision. Both men were searching her workshop, overturning everything in a frantic sweep. Her fingers closed around air, and her heart leapt.
The coin pouch—she’d dropped it!
She scrambled along the ground on her hands and knees until she spotted it just beside a crate. She’d nearly reached it when something closed around the collar of her dress and flung her onto her back. Screaming, she scratched and kicked as the man held her down with one hand and snatched up the pouch with the other.
“This is all she’s got,” the man by the workbench growled. He held up a thin chain, the end dangling with a gold lion’s fang—her Saba’s necklace.
Ari lurched against her attacker’s hold, her composure shattering. “You can’t!” she yelled. “Put it down. Put. It. DOWN!”
He slammed her back to the ground, knocking her head into the hard earth. “Where’s all your coin?”
She groaned, the haze in her vision growing. His callused fingers closed warningly about her throat, his face leaning close enough for her to smell the bitter spice of verillion smoke on his breath. “Where is it, girl?”
“That’s all I have!”
“An enchanter with one pouch of silver to her name? Don’t lie to me.” He squeezed tighter.
“I’m not lying,” she gasped, clawing at his fingers. He backhanded her hard enough to make her head ring.
Something prickled in her chest. A white-hot, vicious thing that rose slowly, like the embers of a fire whispering back to life. It longed for her to strike out, to hurt, to make this man suffer as he was making her suffer. But she had no golems, no weapons, no strength left in her weary body. And there was a part of her, far larger than she wanted to admit, that wished the man’s hand would close around her throat and never let go. For him to put an end to her mistakes.
Not all monsters look like monsters.
“Shut the door,” he called to his partner. “We’re going to have a little talk.”
CHAPTER 4
ARIELLE
THE THIEF HOVERINGover Ari kicked her in the ribs hard enough to bruise. “I know you’re hiding coin from us,” he growled. “Just like I know you work your corrupt magic in here. I wonder what the Anthir would have to say about that?”
“Penalty’s death by burning for Kinnish magic, last I heard,” said his partner. He leaned against Ari’s workbench, cleaning under his yellowed nails with a knife. “Don’t they arrest the family too? To make sure the corruption’s not spread.”
Ari curled tighter, her fingers laced over the back of her neck to protect her head. She couldn’t give them what she didn’t have, but if she didn’t give them something, they’d turn her in to the city guard for practicing Kinnish magic. It didn’t matter if they had no proof. The art of making golems was nearly lost among her own people; these fools wouldn’t even know what to look for to identify it. But she was an unlicensed Kinnish enchanter, and that was enough.
For one brief moment, she considered praying to the Harbingers for help, but the truth was she didn’t really know how. Her family had stopped attending temple not long after she was born, and what she knew of prayer came from watching her Saba. She’d always envied the way his body had formed the right posture like the flex of a muscle. She had tried to copythe movements alone in her cramped workroom, but she felt like a shallow imitation, eighteen years too late. Now prayer felt false, as though she weren’t worthy of its comfort.
Now Ari had no doubt that her gods had abandoned her.
“Last chance, girl,” said the thief above her, and she braced herself.
The front door burst open. The man by the workbench cursed and drew a blade on the boy who entered. He wore all black, from his silken waistcoat to the leather of his shoes. With cut-glass features framed by dark curls and a cool, piercing stare, he reminded her of the bright white flame of her Saba’s kiln fire—beautiful to look at, but too dangerous to touch. Then she saw the gun in his hand.
Recognition dawned on the nearest thief’s face. “My lord—”
“Let go of her,” the boy ordered.
The thief tore his hand away immediately and stood, backing toward his partner. The boy flicked the revolver toward the door. “Go.”
They obeyed, leaving Ari sprawled across the floor with a mysterious stranger in her doorway.
He holstered his gun as she stood. “Are you all right?”
