Page 615 of Shadowblood Souls
Charms imbued with godlen-blessed magic exist, but not for the prices at which the merchant is hawking his fakes. The residents of this neighborhood could never afford the real thing.
I’ve crossed paths with legitimate relics a few times, and they give off a thrum of power that quivers right through the center of me. From the trinkets hanging from the display over my head, I sense only a brief tingle.
It’s probably a dusting of conjured happiness that will satisfy the buyers for the first week or two.
A deeper prickle races into my skin whenever the merchant speaks. Most of the scam artists who prey on the city’s poor have gifts of their own: a knack for encouraging trust, a talent for persuasion.
They can always find new customers. Hope is in awfully short supply on these streets. Plenty of people can’t resist the gamble.
I blink, and an image of my father flits behind my eyelids. Years ago, setting a charm on the foot of the bed where Ma lay wasting away.
The sham didn’t so much as quiet her whimpers.
This fraud’s current targets can spare far fewer coins than Da was able to. But Zuzanna is already fishing in her purse.
She’ll be skipping dinner for weeks.
My fingernails dig into my palms. I picture myself leaping out and condemning the fraud directly, but the weight of experience holds me in place.
I learned long ago that the city’s elite care more about keeping tax-paying merchants happy than protecting the needy. I have no proof I can present even to the crowd that will conquer the hope the conman has stirred up.
And when I try to set things right head-on, there’s too much chance of it going horribly wrong instead. It’s safer for all of us if I stick to the shadows.
I can deal out justice my own way.
As the merchant accepts Zuzanna’s payment, I palm my favorite knife. He drops the smaller coins into the change purse at his hip—and a larger piece of silver into the broader pouch at his back, bulging with the earnings from past sales.
He thinks his money is safer back there, out of reach of the people he can see. A smile curls my lips.
He’s all but handed the loot to me. So kind of him.
The crooks who prey on the fringes of the capital have become warier as word of vanishing money has gotten around. But I never leave an obvious sign of exactly when or where I’ve done my work, and I’ve got a multitude of tricks up my sleeves.
I wait until the merchant turns to face the rest of the onlookers again. With his billowing trousers hiding me from view, I lean slightly out of the shadows and flick the blade of my knife across the pouch’s side.
As the merchant answers a man’s question about strength-enhancing charms, I give the leather bag a gentle palpitation. Several thick coins, each enough to feed a family for a day, roll from the small hole into my hand.
While I slide my first plunder into a hidden inner pocket by my waist, the merchant swivels to pluck a charm off his display. I hold still, crouched beneath the wagon.
A flash of sapphire blue at the edge of the crowd catches my gaze, and my body goes totally rigid.
Heart thudding, I track the soldier’s stroll toward the wagon. His glossy black boots and trim pants gleam in the late-afternoon sun.
The capital city’s official police force, the Crown’s Watch, doesn’t patrol the outskirts of Florian often. They’re moreconcerned with protecting the gentlefolk in the buffed stone houses closer to the royal palace.
But if this soldier notices me at work, he’ll feel the need to intervene. And if the Watch gets their hands on me, they might realize there’s a whole lot more than petty thievery they can charge me with.
One wrong movement will mean a trip straight to the gallows.
The shiny black boots come to a stop less than ten feet away. I grit my teeth, bracing myself to bolt.
Anyone else might pray to the godlen for luck or protection at a moment like this, but the last thing I’ll ever want is their attention. Our lesser gods would be the first to punish me for what I am.
I can’t even say I wouldn’t deserve it.
The hiss of my mother’s voice rises up in the back of my mind.You brought a curse down on us, Ivy. It was all you, wasn’t it?
The scars on my back itch. I swallow thickly and shove the memory away.
