Page 3 of A Court Bright and Broken

An interesting face and one I'd sketched several times before. The gang stopped quite close to me, giving me a close-up view.

My charcoal moved rapidly over the page as I took advantage of the opportunity, sneaking glances and recording the small details of the ringleader’s profile as well as those of his followers.

Suddenly, he turned toward me, and the rest of his crew followed. My heart sank.

Shaded stars.I was going to have a fight on my hands.

I mean, I was pretty sure I could take them—I’d trained in hand-to-hand combat since I’d been able to walk. But the ruckus would be certain to draw attention and probably ruin my anonymity.

Then I realized they weren’t looking at me but at someone walking up the aisle from behind me.

The woman passed my position and strolled right past the men, apparently not noticing their staring, though I wasn’t sure how she could have missed it.

The men craned their necks at her like a pack of wolves scenting an oblivious rabbit, and I didn’t think it was because of her looks.

Yes, she was appealing, in a fragile way—like a flutter-by whose delicate wings were so lovely you felt compelled to touch them, but if you did, they died.

Beauty that was captivating but impermanent, just like the humans spread throughout our lands.

No, it wasn’t the girl’s attractiveness that had drawn the attention of the ruffians. It was her… differentness. I could see it, too.

She wasn’t the usual Rough Market patron. Cleaner, fresher, attired in a country dress that was a bit faded and hopelessly out of style by Fae Court standards but neatly pressed.

Perhaps she was a regular here at the market, but I didn’t think so. In fact, I’d have bet anything she was a first-time visitor.

Proving my suspicion, she stopped walking at the fork in the main thoroughfare and glanced one way then another as if unsure which direction to choose.

From this angle, the hood of her cloak obscured most of her face—and her peripheral vision.

In other words, she looked like an excellent victim.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who thought so. The leader of the street gang motioned to his companions to follow him as he set off after the young woman.

“Ripe pigeon, boys,” he said, and several of them snickered. “Anyone hungry?”

She didn’t look wealthy by any means, and she didn’t appear to have brought any goods to trade. But she was here forsomereason, which led me—and obviously the thieves—to believe she hadsomethingof value on her, perhaps hidden in her bodice or the pockets of her skirts.

Hopefully that wasallthey had in mind and they weren’t interested in what was beneath those skirts.

From out of nowhere a surge of anger rose in my chest, and the vein in my neck began to pulse.

The men picked up their pace, not allowing their prey to get too far ahead.

Blissfully unaware of the danger at her back, the woman took the right fork and wandered around the side of a ramshackle corner booth selling potatoes, carrots, and turnips.

The moment she slipped out of sight, I was on my feet, nearly overcome by the urge to get up and go after her.

And what wasthatabout?

Not your business, Stellon. Stay out of it.

I sat down again and attempted to go back to drawing, advising myself to forget about the whole thing and willing my heart rate to settle.

On many occasions, I’d sat placidly by and watched as these same thugs had pickpocketed inattentive shoppers—male and female—and snatched goods from the stalls of distracted sellers.

I didn’t know this girl at all. Why should she be any different?

What the humans did to each other was none of my concern. All my life I’d been taught to look down on them, pity them if I must, but care as little as possible.

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