Thief With No Shadow (6 page)

“Bastian!”

He put his arms around his sister and lifted her off her feet, hugging her. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice rough. He kissed her hair and inhaled its rosemary scent.

“Yes.”

“I was worried—”

“I’m fine, Bastian.”

He closed his eyes and held her tightly. She was childlike in his arms.

“Did you get it?” Anxiety trembled in her voice.

Bastian opened his eyes.

“Bastian?”

He set Liana gently back on her feet and released her. He ignored the wraith. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

“Yes.”

She was as pretty as their mother had been. As fragile. As easily broken. Bastian looked at her, at the white-blonde hair and the delicate beauty of her face, and thought that he would forgive the wraith everything if only Liana could be saved.

“Bastian, who’s that?” Liana asked in a low voice.

He turned to the cart and was struck by the contrast between the wraith and his sister. It was more than black hair and blonde, more than the difference in height, more than travel stains and cleanness. It was the contrast between soft and hard, between open and closed, sunlight and darkness. Liana had a mouth that laughed and a heart that cared. She had a sweetness and an innocence that the wraith utterly lacked.

“That’s the wraith,” he said flatly.

“Oh.” Liana darted a glance at the wraith sitting haughtily in her dirt.

“Liana.” He waited until she looked at him, a silent, anxious question in her eyes. He smoothed the shining hair back from her brow. “The wraith gave the necklace to the salamanders.”

He said the words gently, but even so Liana flinched as if he’d struck her. The color drained from her face. “No,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

She shook her head, and he saw in her eyes all the horror that he felt. His rage and hatred flared anew. He should kill the wraith for making Liana look so frightened. He
would
kill her if Liana was harmed.

“Liana...” He stroked her hair with fingers that wanted to clench into fists. “It may be possible to get the necklace back. The wraith will try, if we can save her brother.”

“Her brother?” Liana sent another wary, darting glance at the wraith.

“He’s in the cart. He’s...badly injured.”

Liana swallowed. He saw the muscles move in her throat, saw her hesitation and uncertainty, saw her fear, and in the tightening of her mouth, her determination. “I can do it.”

Bastian looked at her. Too young. Too fragile. And yet this was their only hope.

He lowered his hand from her hair and turned to the cart. “Get down,” he ordered the wraith.

The wraith looked down her dirty, scratched nose at him. Then she stood. There was nothing cowed about her.

Bastian gritted his teeth. Anger heated his cheeks. His hands clenched.

With no haste the wraith stepped from the cart. She didn’t flinch as her bandaged feet touched the ground. Her mouth tightened slightly, but she made no sound of pain.

Irrationally, Bastian’s anger became greater. If she’d winced or gasped, if there’d been tears in her eyes, he might have hated her less.

“Endal,” he said. His voice was hard.

Yes?
The dog sat down beside Liana. He yawned widely.

“You will guard the wraith always. She will never be out of your sight. Do you understand?”

Yes.

“If she tries to leave, bite her. If she becomes unseen, bite her.”

The wraith made no sign that she heard his words. There was no expression on her face.

“And if she attempts to harm Liana, you have my permission to kill her.”

The wraith met his eyes. She did not appear to be intimidated. She looked almost amused.

Rage flushed hot beneath Bastian’s skin. Did she think he mouthed idle threats? He stepped close to her, too close, forcing her to take a step backwards. “I speak with dogs,” he told her. “Endal understands
exactly
what I say.”

The wraith said nothing. Her gaze was steady on his face.

“And if you harm my sister and Endal fails to kill you, believe that I will kill you.”

Still the wraith said nothing. Her face was expressionless.

“Do you understand me?”

The wraith made him wait two heartbeats for her answer. “Yes.” There was no emotion in her voice.

Bastian turned away before he surrendered to the desire to hit her. “We’ll put him downstairs,” he said to Liana, as if the house was full of furnished rooms. “If you make up the bed, I’ll carry him in.”

“Let me see him first,” Liana said softly. She walked to the tailboard of the cart, giving the wraith a wide berth. “I’ll need to—” For a moment she stood motionless, silent, her lips still shaped for words. Then one hand rose to cover her mouth. Her eyes, when she turned to Bastian, were wide and distressed.

“He’s a wraith too,” he told her flatly. “He tried to steal from the salamanders and this was his punishment. He deserves his injuries.”

Liana shook her head, her hand still pressed to her mouth. Tears shimmered in her eyes.

“He’s just a wraith,” Bastian said harshly. “He’s not worth sympathy.”

He had the impression that the female wraith moved. He glanced at her, but she stood motionless. Her face was as blank as if it was carved out of marble. Dislike glittered in her eyes. “Where is the healer?” Her voice was hard.

He made her wait, as she’d made him wait. Two heartbeats, three. “My sister is the healer.”

The wraith’s gaze flicked to Liana, then back to him.

Yes
, he wanted to say
. The sister you’d let die.
Thewords would only upset Liana further, so he didn’t utter them, but neither did he hide his hatred. He let the wraith see it in his face.

“What is his name?” Liana asked.

Bastian jerked his head around sharply. “There’s no need—”

But Liana looked at him with tears shining in her eyes, and Bastian closed his teeth on the words.

“Hantje,” said the wraith.

Liana nodded. “Bring him inside.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
HE BEDCHAMBER WAS
large and sparsely furnished and smelled as if it had been unoccupied for a long time. It had the same air of decaying grandeur as the house. The walls and high ceiling were paneled with dark, fine-grained wood and the fireplace was deep and wide, but the carpet was threadbare and faded and marked by items of furniture that no longer stood in the room. A tall, arched window let dusky light in, but many of the small, diamond-shaped panes were cracked and the curtains had faded to an ugly shade of pink, streaked and pallid.

The hound lay down on the floor, its pale eyes fixed on her. Melke looked away from that unnerving gaze. She made herself pick up candles and place them in branching holders, the task she had taken as her own. Tallow, not beeswax. Peasants’ candles.

She struck a spark from a tinderbox that was as tarnished as the candleholders and watched out of the corner of her eye as the man laid Hantje on the bed. He stepped back and wiped his hands on his trousers, a grimace of distaste on his face.

The girl bent over the bed, a pair of scissors in her hand, and began to cut away the charred remains of Hantje’s shirt.

“Let me do that,” the man said in a tone that brooked no argument. He held out his hand. “You shouldn’t be—”

The girl didn’t relinquish the scissors. “Go away, Bastian.”

Melke struck another spark from the tinderbox. The thin wood shavings began to burn.

“I don’t want you to—”

“Go away, Bastian.”

She held a twist of paper to the flame. It flared alight.

“I don’t want you to see him. It’s not decent.”

Melke held the twist of paper to the first candle. Her fingers shook with fatigue.

“If I am to heal him, I must see him.” The girl continued cutting Hantje’s shirt, baring his chest.

Melke lit the second and third candles. The wicks flamed slowly, grudgingly.

The man closed his eyes. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “Liana—”

“I’ll do it,” Melke said. She’d swum often enough with Hantje to be undisturbed by his nudity.

“Thank you, but I need to do it.” The girl spoke softly, but there was a note of finality in her voice. “We need hot water. Bastian, can you fetch it, please?”

He scowled at her.

Melke looked away. She lit the remaining candles. The man strode out of the bedchamber, taking his black rage with him, and the girl cut the burned shreds of Hantje’s left sleeve from wrist to shoulder.

Melke carried the candleholders over to the wide bed, trying not to limp. She placed them on the small table. The brightness illuminated Hantje’s face, showing the blistered, black-edged burn clearly. His eyelids were swollen shut, purple with bruising.

She swallowed. Her throat was almost too tight to speak. “How else may I assist?”

The girl glanced up. She was too young, surely, to be a healer. “Can you pull the cloth away as I cut?” She spoke as the man did, in the accent of Bresse. The guttural consonants suited him and his anger, but were incongruous coming from the mouth of so delicate and pretty a girl.

Melke nodded. She moved with clumsy, painful steps to stand alongside her. The hound lifted its head and watched. She thought the black hackles rose slightly along its spine.

She knew her skin was gray with dirt, that her clothes were ripped and filthy and smelled of sweat, yet the girl made no sign that she noticed. “My name is Liana,” she said, not looking up from her task. “What is yours?”

The courtesy, so unexpected, brought foolish tears to Melke’s eyes. She blinked them back. “Melke,” she said roughly.

“And he is your brother?”

“Yes.” It was a brusque answer, but her voice was close to breaking. She didn’t want to show her grief to this girl.
Never let them see a weakness
, Mam had said.
Never let them see that you are vulnerable.

The tears came, though, as Hantje’s clothing was cut from his body, despite the battle she fought to hold them back. They leaked from her eyes and slid down her cheeks, silent and warm.

If Liana noticed, she said nothing.

Bruises marked Hantje’s skin, huge and livid mottling. Overlying them were burns. The worst were on his arms and hands, where the skin peeled away, black, as if he’d tried to protect his face from the salamanders’ fire. Beneath the burns and bruises were other injuries. Both of his legs were broken. Melke was no healer, yet she knew their shape was wrong. Hantje uttered whimpering, animal-like sounds of pain as Liana felt the bones carefully. Melke’s silent tears came faster. Each inhaled breath had a sob in it, exposing her weakness to the girl.

“I can heal this,” Liana said softly. She didn’t look up from her task.

Grief choked in Melke’s throat. “Thank you,” she whispered.

There were broken ribs too, Liana said, and broken bones in his wrist. They were less serious.

The girl laid down the scissors and covered Hantje with a much-darned linen sheet. She touched the burn on his cheek lightly and then bent to look at his bruised eyelids. “Do you know when he received the injuries?” she asked, feeling for the pulse at his throat.

“I think today is the fourth day, but I...I don’t know.”

Liana straightened. She looked at Melke. If she saw the tears on her face, she made no sign.

“There is infection, which is more dangerous than the broken bones. Do you understand?” The clear firmness of her voice, the direct gaze, were at odds with her youth. She was a girl, pretty and soft, but she spoke as a woman, as a healer confident in her craft.

“I understand,” Melke said.

Liana bent to the floor and fingered the filthy cloak. She lifted a shred of Hantje’s shirt and held it to her nose. “I think...” She glanced up.