Page 47 of Where Darkness Dwells

The old woman pulls back slightly. “No, child, I’m afraid I haven’t.”

I swallow the urge to cry, rubbing my fingers over my mouth as I take a deep breath. When my eyes wander past her, she inches the door in so it is barely open. The subtle motion inflicts a sting of rejection. She’s never denied me entry before.

There will be a good reason,I tell myself, but I’m sure something must be wrong. Her house is quiet and dark. The oven must not be lit—something that only occurs when she’s ill. My brows descend. “Are you feeling alright?”

She tries to diffuse my concern with a breathy laugh. “Of course, I am. Why would yeh ask such a thing?” Knobby hands tug the shawl closer around her shoulders.

Her evasive behavior elicits an exasperated sigh from me, and a dull ache grips my forehead. “Can I at least come in for a bit? I could use a place to think.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, dear, but I can’t righ’ now. It wouldn’t be safe for yeh jus’ yet.”

My palm flattens against the door as she goes to shut it. I flex my fingers so my nails claw the rough wood.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I am unable to withhold a note of desperation from my voice.

Orlagh’s brows arch. Her lips purse, but she shakes her head. “If I could say, I would. But yeh need to trust me righ’ now. It’s not the time for this.”

All it takes is one glance into her solemn brown eyes for me to relent. This is a woman who loves me, who knows me better than anyone in the Vale. Reluctantly, I nod, and she cups my cheek in one of her weathered palms.

“Watch out for yerself today, dear girl,” she says, and latches the door in my face.

Resting my back against it, I let my eyes lose focus in the gloom. Defeat builds within me, exacerbated by my lack of sleep.

What good is this ability to repel darkness if I can’t do anything useful with it?

With a nagging feeling I should avoid the marketplace, I thread through the alleys, careful not to get too close to anyone I see. Not many people have begun stirring yet, but I’m beginning to doubt my lantern’s ability to disguise the way the darkness disagrees with me. I’d rather avoid curious eyes.

A dry laugh crumples out.Imagine being afraid of the light.

I come out at Utsanek’s west side and try to get my bearings. The road is wider, caked with mud, and crisscrossed with ruts. I stand to the side as a mule-drawn wagon bounces by, weighed down with timbers. Glancing up, I find the buildings aren’t stacked on top of each other like mismatched stumps, as they are in the inner city. This is the trade district where my father works. It makes me exhale in relief. I know this place.

The smells of burning coal and fresh-cut wood circle around me. I pass a lamplighter as he ascends a wobbly ladder to replace the candle in a lantern clinging to the side of the carpentry guild. I’m sure he’s grateful his efforts have a bigger impact.

The stonemasonry that employs my father lies at the end of the strip. I slow my approach. If by some miracle Father is here, what will he say to the way I left him a day ago? I can’t bear for him to repeat my spite-filled words. And if he’s not here, I risk agitating the foreman.

But when I peek inside the window and scan the handful of forms completely engrossed in their labors, I do not find him among them.

Anger and dread battle for dominance in my heaving chest. He never let me out of his sight for seventeen years. And now this?

As I step away from the building, a voice booms. “Amyrah.”

I close my eyes and summon an unaffected smile.? A short man with a bald pate and arms thicker than his thighs emerges from the workshop, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into the waist of his trousers. Even though he’s easily twice my weight, his eyes are level with mine.

“Good morning, Harvel,” I say. It takes all my resolve not to wither under his critical stare.

“What do you think you’re doing here? Did you come expecting a welcome?” His fleshy forehead is a mass of thick ridges squeezed between wild brows. He plants his palms on his hips.

I swing the lantern by my side to disguise how it shakes. “I came to see my father. It’s been ages since I visited him at the shop.”

Harvel scoffs, a puff of sour breath hitting me in the face. “And it’s been a long time since he visited the shop.”

I feign ignorance. “What are you talking about?”

He laughs as he shakes his head and looks down at his huge leather boots. “Don’t you go denying you knew anything about it. I’m sure you noticed him holed up in that rat’s nest he calls a home for the past three weeks.”

I wither a little. Harvel is a tough man, but he has been my father’s employer for ten years. It wasn’t easy for Pada to find work after my mother died, and Harvel was the only person willing to give him a chance. I’ve always respected him for his pragmatic approach to life. To hear him belittle my father like this is especially hurtful. “He hasn’t been well for a while.” A sickening heaviness expands in my gut.

Harvel assesses me with narrowed eyes. His tone drops. “So I’ve heard.” The abrasive sounds of metal striking stone ring in my ears. He takes a step closer, and I fight the urge to move back. “I’ve also heard talk he’s been making things difficult for the Vale—again.”

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