part one
CHAPTER ONE
Ey!” The wiry peddler’s cuff landed solidly on Ninian’s ear, and the boy dropped the roll of black bread he’d been trying to steal, which landed back on the peddler’s tray. “Not today!”
Scowling, Ninian rubbed his smarting ear. The peddler’s hand had been rough, her touch hardened by labor, though Ninian wasn’t sure how a baker could have so many calluses.
The peddler wagged a finger at him. “Don’t give me that look, child. You pay, or you get out o’ my sight.” Her face, full enough that Ninian could tell she wasn’t starving, folded into a stern frown. “I’ve had enough o’ you little street rats taking my hard work. Move on!”
Ninian growled, glancing around the bustling thoroughfare. Heads had turned toward the mild commotion. “Pig,” he snarled, wishing he’d had a better insult ready. It didn’t help that his voice hadn’t changed yet. He still had a couple of years before he’d stand a chance of being intimidating. With the bread so close to him—he’d held it in his hand—his stomach felt like it was chewing a hole in itself.
Every vendor on this street had a wary eye on Ninian now, and he hadn’t even gotten the roll for his effort. “Get on, now!” the woman urged, flapping her hands at him. “Shoo!”
He spat, and, dodging another blow from the baker, shoved through the throng of people and broke into a run down the street.
Ninian paused for a moment in a soot-painted alley, catching his breath in the midwinter air. He could never run as far when he was hungry enough to feel faint. He blinked hard a few times, shaking his head. This was the longest time in a while that he’d gone without food. Three days, he’d guess.
It hadn’t been the best week.
He had been living—squatting, really—in the unused back room of a weaver’s shop for the last month. The room had been warm, smelling pleasantly of wool, and Ninian hadn’t minded the constant creak of the rickety spinning wheel. Once the shop owner had thrown him out, though, Ninian hadn’t even been able to steal a bite to eat; he’d apparently used up all his luck.
Gathering himself, he slipped around a few men drinking in the shadows and emerged into sunlight on another street. He needed to try again, but he’d have to be more careful this time.
Slipping his hands into the warmth of his pockets, he swept his eyes up and down the road. It wasn’t as busy as the first one, so he had less cover, but he spotted a ratty awning over a stand that looked promising and hurried in that direction. As he neared the stand, he peeked through the people and let out a little breath of satisfaction. The stand was draped in shriveled sausages, and the table was covered in packets of jerky and cured meats. Narrowing his eyes in concentration and ignoring the pang in his stomach, Ninian targeted a link of sausage at the very edge of the table, farthest from the woman behind the stand. He wasn’t the only one; a very tall young boy and a girl with tangled dreadlocks were closing in as well.
Ninian approached the stand as casually as he could while hastening to arrive before his competition, afraid to blink for fear his sausage would vanish. His mouth began to water. When he was close enough to smell the salty smoke of the meat, he ran for it.
His fingers closed around the link, and when he pulled it free of the chain, another sausage came with it. Triumphant, he turned to make his escape.
“Not so fast!”
There was a tearing sound, and, stopped by a foot on the hem of his taupe cloak, Ninian tripped. The sausages flew out of his hand as he hit the ground hard. “No!”
He scrambled forward, ripping the edge of his cloak under the stall-owner’s boot, and grasped frantically for the meat, but another hand had already snatched it up.
It was gone.
Ninian rolled over, propped on his elbows, and glared at the meat-monger while his breath shuddered in his chest. The vendor returned the look and released Ninian’s cloak. “What’s the big idea, boy?”
Ninian couldn’t seem to form words. He’d had it! He’d practically tasted the salt and fat on his tongue.
He wanted to cry.
Instead, Ninian forced himself shakily to his feet and stumbled through the crowd before the meat-monger could kick him.
Where else could he go? The Fisher’s Shore might be worth a try—it was always busy with fishermen, their tables heavy with glassy-eyed fare—but not only were the fishers always on the lookout for thieves, the thought of walking all the way to the Fisher’s Shore made Ninian want to fall where he stood.
When he broke free of the crowd, he stopped and caught his breath. The Fisher’s Shore was far, but if Ninian headed to the coast, he might find something to fill his mouth. So, he wrapped his tattered cloak more tightly around himself and set off purposefully toward the water.
He stayed on populated streets because that’s where the food was. He passed a woman whose face was covered in a thousand freckles and two twin boys with hair whiter than the sun against glass. A girl with a wooden leg argued with an older man whose beard reached his broad leather belt, and someone wearing a grinning wooden mask sold withered mushrooms off a tray.
Ninian hurried past everyone not selling food. The vendors seemed wise to him—maybe he’d stolen from them in the past. He hadn’t exactly kept track. Longing rose in his throat even at the sight of the masked man’s wrinkled, grayish mushrooms.
“My dear!”
Ninian stopped short, somehow feeling like the call was addressed to him.
“Yes, you! With the pretty red hair!”
Turning with a frown, Ninian saw a woman standing at a table of little amulets, the sort made by knotting bits of string deliberately over and over. His eyes, searching for food, had skipped right over it.
“You need a charm, don’t you, my dear? Keep away magic? Keep away fae?” She grinned a brown-toothed smile when she saw him looking. “Faeries like to steal the hearts of pretty little children, my dear.”
“I’m not your dear,” Ninian snapped reactively. Despite only having eleven years, Ninian hadn’t considered himself a child for a long time. “And anyhow,” he said, “those are a waste of perfectly good string.” He pulled up his hood.
He felt lightheaded as he hurried through the splitting, tangled streets—and thirsty too. He always got thirsty when he was hungry, and it occurred to him that heading to the sea might not have been his brightest idea. Still, the nearest freshwater well was nestled deep in the heart of the city, in the courtyard of a crumbling old citadel, and Ninian was much too close to the northeastern fringes of the Maze to consider going back now. The worn-out city was true to its name, and winding through its labyrinth of streets would take longer than Ninian thought he could bear. He’d have to find something to eat on the shore, and that would make everything better.
The smell of the shore hit Ninian before he saw the ocean. He peeked eagerly between the buildings, hoping at least to spot a fisher’s boat dragged up onto the coast. There was certainly no point in stealing a boat—he had no idea how to use one, and he couldn’t swim—but if a fisher had been careless, Ninian might find something inside. Once, he’d found an entire fish, and bony though it was, he’d been tempted to eat it raw.