No One's Chosen (43 page)

Scaa spoke casually from across the room. "And a loin
at that. A celebration ought to be special."

Lamb was more than rare in the Low District, it was
nigh unheard of. A loin even more so. You could get off parts
sometimes, eyes and feet and the like. The rest of it went right to
the High District. Óraithe could not think of anyone she had ever
met who had tasted lamb. They were simply not raised in the area
except in small numbers in the north. The river elves had plenty of
them, but they were stingy with their trade to the east. Goat was
the meat of the desert. And horse if things became desperate
enough. Where could Scaa have gotten it? There was nowhere but a
trading caravan. The convoys meant for the High District did not
leave the main road.

Teas stepped aside as Óraithe walked into the room.
"It won't be a half hour now. Then we can eat," the cook said,
smiling. She trotted gaily back over to her cookpot and stirred it
gleefully.

Óraithe approached Scaa who was quietly watching Bonn
as he spun an egg on the table.

"I trust your talk went well," Scaa said with no
particular motive to her voice.

"Not as such," Óraithe replied. "The city guard has
already—"

"The reward," Scaa interrupted, turning to face
Óraithe. There was pride in her voice. "I saw them." She chuckled.
"Sisters, it felt good to see those signs posted."

Óraithe wanted to agree, but she had read the words
on them. "They have branded us thieves."

"Good."

The younger girl's reply had taken her almost off
guard. What did she mean, good? This was not good. They were
rebels, should they not be taken seriously? "How is it good?" The
question was genuine, but came out a bit more sharply than Óraithe
had intended.

Scaa seemed unperturbed by the tone, however, as she
continued as before. "Thieves are common. Thieves are not sought
and rooted out so fiercely as upstarts. The longer we are thieves,
the longer we might be a grain of sand in the desert."

The thought made sense enough for Óraithe. Cosain
loved her, she knew, but advice from one who objects to the very
way of life you seek to pursue is of little use. He loved her, but
Scaa understood her. The dark voiced girl had been reliable in more
ways than Óraithe felt she deserved. She was distant and cautious
but kind in her way. Óraithe wanted to praise herself for noticing
where others may have not.

The den was warm and welcoming that night and Óraithe
felt she was among family. Cosain had been her father in effect for
as long as she had been alive but he was inflexible. Unwilling to
accept what she wanted for herself over what he wished for her.

"He has lost much," Teas told her once when they
spoke of her concerns. "He fears he will lose more."

Óraithe thought on that again as she sat herself
before the table where they would have dinner. She could not bring
herself to understand the way Cosain saw things. If you had lost
much, what was a bit more? And it was her life, besides. His fear
of loss should not take from her.

Teas sat herself at the table to mix Bonn's egg and
some other things with flour to make the flatbread. Bonn was sad to
lose his egg even though Teas explained that he would have bread,
which he liked very much, so she sang him a song. Bonn joined in
the song halfway. It was a ridiculous song about a pair of horses
who turned into elves so that they might steal all the greens from
the other horses without getting caught. The songs continued, Bonn
and Teas singing at one another in turn even through the meal.

The loin of lamb was so tender and delicious that
Óraithe nearly wept to eat it. The broth had been thickened
beautifully and Teas had even brought some saffron and spices. Even
the bread seemed better for sake of the lamb. The meal quieted the
singing for a few moments, but then Bonn decided that the meal had
needed a good song. Óraithe could not argue. She could scarce
remember a night she had smiled so often or so genuinely. If there
had been one, it had been long ago in her youth. The day she met
Teas, perhaps. The food was perfect, or as close as they would ever
get. Scaa suggested that the lamb stew might do for a bit of cream
and they agreed and dreamed of even more amazing meals. Scaa had
even mockingly admitted that she was beginning to understand why
the highborn were so reluctant to share. Óraithe laughed at that,
but she felt a bit guilty for having done so. Or perhaps she felt
guilty for agreeing in some part of her mind.

Either way the thought did not linger long. Neither
did her squabble with Cosain earlier in the day. The merriment of
the den seemed to push it all away and she wished as hard as she
could that the Sisters might let her live the night for the rest of
her life. The dinner came to an end and Teas immediately set to
braiding Bonn's hair. Scaa complained again, but Bonn pouted and
insisted he wanted to dress up. She could do nothing in the face of
such an innocent wish, so she scoffed and tromped out the door for
a bit of air.

Óraithe followed Scaa out and stood beside her in the
cool, arid night. The alley was dark and the stars seemed to burn
as bright as they could manage against the dim light of the
Eyes.

"We are more than thieves." Scaa's words pierced the
silence of the alley. As scratchy and deep as her voice tended to
be, the words seemed clear to Óraithe in that moment. "I know that
being branded a thief is safer. I know it. But I do not want it. I
want them to know what we are. I want them to hate us. To fear
us."

Óraithe said nothing. She took a step closer to Scaa
and put her arms around the girl. The short elf's arms slipped
around Scaa's mid-section just under her breasts.

"Ah!" Scaa let go a surprised sound. "What… what are
you?"

Óraithe could not have given her an answer. She did
not know herself. Why was she hugging Scaa? Scaa was… crass… and…
and rude. She scratched herself and acted more than her age. She
was a brute and a thief and indelicate. And yet, she was soft. She
felt so nice.

She should not be doing this. The thought flooded her
mind. She should pull away. Yes, pull away and just not speak of
it. Óraithe told her arms to let go, but as she did, she felt a
pair of arms wrap around her.

Óraithe looked up. Scaa was looking down at her.
She'd not felt so short in a long time, looking up at dusky eyes.
The far off hum of the slums was not enough to drown the sound of
Scaa's breath. The girl leaned down and Óraithe closed her eyes.
Scaa's lips were thin and rough and dry but Óraithe wanted to feel
them more. She pushed her own lips hard against Scaa's. Too hard,
most like, but she did not know about such things, nor did she
care.

What was this? What was it? The doubt returned and
Óraithe pulled away quickly, touching her lips. No, no. This was no
good. She must say something.

"We…" Sisters, where were her words? "There… we… must
attack them. The highborn." Yes! They were rebels. They had more
important things they must do. "Tomorrow. We should… we should go
to the High District."

Óraithe did not turn to look, but she could sense
that Scaa was looking away from her. "To attack a place they cannot
wave away as theft." Her voice was soft, but still raspy. She was
still Scaa.

"Yes," Óraithe said, as calmly as she could manage.
Her heart was thumping in her chest fast and loud. She was sure
Scaa could hear it. There was little else Óraithe could hear. "We
must make our intentions clear through action."

Óraithe hurried down the steps before the
conversation could continue and went back into the den. Bonn was
trying on some of the waistcoats that Teas had taken from the
Spéirbaile warehouse. They did not notice her come in and so she
sat at the table. Scaa followed her in not long after. They avoided
looking at one another as subtly as they could manage until it was
time to sleep. Teas was staying over, for which Óraithe was
thankful. Had she gone home, it would have proven hard to avoid all
conversation. And Óraithe did not want to avoid all conversation,
in truth. Just the topic that was most like to come up. She could
not have known what she would do if they spoke of it.

The light of the morning had not reached her side of
the room when Óraithe awoke. Bonn and Teas were awake and heating
the stew. Scaa had dressed herself before the meal was served. "She
feels awkward," Óraithe thought. Of course she did. Óraithe still
could not figure why they had kissed. She tried to push it from her
mind.

Breakfast went quickly with Bonn still tired from his
night singing and fooling about with Teas. Óraithe realized that
she had dressed in the shift from the day before when she stood to
make for the door. Did it smell of Scaa? BAH! No. This wouldn't do.
She pushed the thoughts from her mind.

Scaa joined her at the door and they left, the
younger elf warning Bonn to behave as she often did. The walk was
perhaps one of the least comfortable Óraithe had ever been on. The
nearest was when Cosain insisted she return a jug of cheap wine she
had stolen from a shop in the slums. He had told her that she was
never to steal from those that could not afford it. That idea, she
realized, had become a core piece of her even now. It had formed
some part of her sense of justice. They were at the Palisade when
Scaa finally spoke.

"Where are we bound?" Her voice seemed harder than it
had the night before. It was how she had always sounded, Óraithe
realized. Last night she had sounded different. But it would not do
to focus on such a thing if they were headed into the High
District. She would need to focus.

They crossed through the wrought iron bars. "The
government buildings are to the north, across the main road."

Scaa nodded and they made their way toward the main
road. It would be best to cross south of the High District Square,
but still risky. The main drag was wide and they stood out sorely
in their disheveled clothes. There was even a bit of dried blood on
Scaa's breeches from the meat she had stolen the day before. It was
dried enough that it barely showed on the cloth, but no High
District elf would be caught in such a state.

They made sure to move north a few streets before
reaching the main road. Guards would be concentrated nearer the
gate and the square. The main drag itself was bustling with
activity. Enough that they might go unnoticed crossing between wide
alleyways in the bright of the day. Óraithe started out first. She
could not run. People never ran in the High District, it seemed.
They walked quickly, but never ran. Scaa was not far behind her.
The air did not stink as it did in the Low District. It was clear
and fresh. Óraithe nearly lost herself in it and looked ahead to
see the alleyway was not far off. She had crossed without drawing
attention and Scaa had done the same.

The path north was fairly long, the bulk of the High
District, in fact. They made it quickly. There were few elves out
in this part of the city, at least in the areas away from the
square. This kept the guards away as well. The buildings turned
from painted stucco to more elaborate materials as they went.
Houses of stone and wood and clay brick. It was the first time
Óraithe had been so deep into the High District and she felt a pit
form in her stomach. This was dangerous but it would be her life.
She had decided as much the minute the Spéirbaile highborn's blood
splashed across her face.

The roads were running low and the bastion was closer
than either of them had ever seen it. It towered above, red and
white stone spiraling from the base up into the sky higher than any
building had a right to. It must have been three times the height
of the tallest alehouse in the Low District. What could anyone do
with so much space?

"To the left," Scaa called from behind.

Óraithe made the turn without a word. Speaking
somehow felt as though it would bring the entire force of the
highborn elves down upon them. They made down an alley, the
buildings growing more and more extravagant. There was a street
ahead, some side street. The elves exited onto it and Óraithe
stopped dead in her tracks. Directly in front of her was a building
of the most exquisite black marble. It stood three storeys tall and
the sun seemed to, at once, reflect blindingly off the surface and
be subsumed by it. It was as long as an alehouse but sitting on a
much larger lot. A lot with grass and a bed of purple flowers. This
was it. This place would burn.

Scaa came to a stop beside her. "This is it." Her
words may as well have been spoken from Óraithe's mind.

"Yes," Óraithe replied, though Scaa had asked
nothing.

The words engraved into the
building were hard to read through the sun's glare but she shifted
her weight and they came into view.
Chancery of Lineages and Claims
it
read.

"What do they keep here?" Scaa knew the letters but
not the words.

"Papers," Óraithe said, failing to suppress a wide
grin. "Papers that prove that every highborn is a highborn."

Scaa looked at the building and Óraithe looked to
Scaa. She saw the briefest of smiles form on the taller girl's
lips. Before they could discuss it further, a voice called at them
from the street beside them.

"'Ey boy! Your sort ain't meant to be here!" A guard,
fat and stupid from the sound of him. "Best you an' yer girlfriend
stay right there."

Óraithe pulled Scaa's arm to turn her around and they
both darted for the alley. Óraithe began laughing as they ran,
leaving the screaming guard behind. They would not catch her. Not
now. She still had so much left to do.

The red-haired girl in front of her appeared to be a
child at first glance, but closer inspection showed there was age
to her. It was well hidden on her small frame and in her round
face.