Page 22 of Reckless
I almost laugh at that.
Yourkind.
To think that anywhere other than Ilya, I’m the enigma. The unnatural thing to dispose of. I stare at him, this man who is essentially an Ordinary himself, though he lacks the Elite-weakening disease running through his veins. It’s no wonder the surrounding cities despise us for banishing the Ordinaries who are just like them.
“So you know what I am,” I say quietly, “and yet, you still choose to charge me double?”
“You don’t scare me. Not here.” His bearded face does little to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. “I know yer used to Elite privilege, but you won’t get none of that here. This’ll prolly be the most respect you’ll get from anyone around here.”
“Noted,” I say, far too stiffly for my liking. I don’t exactly relish the idea of people being aware of their ability to ruffle me. With a slight roll of my neck, I exhale the frustration from my lungs—a familiar, well-practiced action. “Well, if this is the most respect I’ll receive in Dor, then I suppose you’re cutting me a good deal.”
The man blinks, slightly taken aback by my swift shift in tone. I almost smile at that, enjoying the reactions of those who are not yetaccustomed to the many masks I slip on and off at will. My smile is sharp as I dump more coins onto the wood, joining the several I’d already placed there.
It’s not long before my Imperials are passing around dried strips of what I was told is wild boar, though I’m hardly convinced. “Make yourself scarce,” I order. “We’ll meet back here at sundown.”
The men exchange confused looks, an expression that never seems to leave the planes of their dirty faces. “But, sir—” Matthew starts, stepping forward from the cluster of crumpled uniforms. He’s one of the few Imperials I bother to remember by name—one of the few I don’t have a constant itch to leave behind in the desert.
The glance I cut in his direction has the words dying in his throat. “We’re drawing far too much attention to ourselves. We’ll never get the information we need, or food and board for that matter, if people know who I am and where we are from.” Matthew nods alongside the other men, understanding dawning on them. “Split up. Learn what you can.”
I nod curtly to the group before turning on my heel and slipping into the crowd, suddenly no one of importance.
Ordinary, if you will.
CHAPTER 9Paedyn
“Oh, come on. You and I both know this is not worth two shillings, let alone three.”
I knock the stale loaf of bread against the merchant’s cart for emphasis.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
“In fact,” I add with more than a little amusement coating my tongue, “you should be payingmeto eat this, Francis.”
The older gentleman hides his grimace behind the folds of fabric encircling his nose and mouth. The west winds are harsh today, blowing bits of grainy sand and debris from the desert to thoroughly coat the city and its inhabitants. It only took two days in Dor to learn how very essential scarves are to my wardrobe if there is any hope of keeping the constant film of sand from my mouth.
“Three,” he grunts for the fourth time, his thick accent muffled by the filthy fabric. “Wheat shortage.”
I groan. I’ve spent days trying to get this man to warm up to me, so I don’t have to keep robbing him blind. Curse that damn conscience I still have.
“Francis,” I begin slowly, watching how the scowl I can’t see narrows his eyes. After seeing his name carved crookedly onto the top of the wooden cart, I’ve been using it in an attempt to build some sort of rapport with the merchant. So far, I’ve failed miserably. “Let’s be reasonable. You know I don’t have that kind of money to throw around on bread that will likely break a tooth.”
He doesn’t bother responding with more than a gravelly growl.
I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath that has sand slipping between my lips.
I’d come to pride myself on the fact that I understand these people. People like me. People who struggle to survive, rely on scrappiness to feed their growling stomachs. In another life, I could have considered the slums of Ilya my home, if it weren’t for the lack of power flowing through my veins.
Maybe that’s why I’m so desperate to start over here. Here, in Dor, where I’m Ordinary in a whole new sense of the word. One cannot be considered powerless if everyone else is as well. No, here, I’m considered equal. And nothing has ever sounded so unique.
“Fine,” I sigh, feigning defeat. “But only because I like you, Francis.”
Only because I want you to like me.
His golden eyes seem to be fighting the urge to roll at me. I smile sweetly, hoping my own gaze portrays how badly I crave companionship while simultaneously hating how willingly the wanting shows.
I clumsily toss another coin atop his cart, willing it to roll off the worn wood. Silver glints in the lazily setting sun before the coin hits the ground with a satisfying clink. “Oh, I’m sorry, Francis! I’m not yet used to the heat and my hands are disgustingly sweaty at all times.”
He blinks, his tanned face blank beneath his scarf, aside from theobvious disdain for me. When he bends to pick up the silver that is my current partner in crime, I snatch two more loaves from his stand with deft hands, one from each tower of dough so as not to draw suspicion. “I mean, I am nevernotdrenched in sweat,” I continue casually while Francis straightens, brushing off the dirty coin with his thumb. “Seriously, how do you stay cool under all those layers? I feel so sticky that I—”
