Chapter 4

            I wandered the streets futilely for the first few hours in an attempt to find the border between District and countryside before realizing that aimless roaming would get me nowhere.  I had rarely been in the district’s streets, and what I knew, I had learned by overhearing snatched bits of conversation between nobles.  What I had not known was that District Six was the fourth largest district in all of Lorien, and that the streets held danger after dark.

            I slipped into another side alley, feeling safer in its concealing darkness.  The minute my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I jerked back.  A group of men were gathered around a single form on the ground, and their heads spun around to look at me when I set foot on the narrow path.  Blood glinted in black pools on the floor.  A knife flashed.  Was it murder?  Treachery?  I never found out.  I turned and ran for my life, hearing shouts and footsteps behind me.

            Oh Guorn, I prayed.  Help me . . . Don’t let me die on my first night of freedom . . .  My mind wouldn’t focus.  Perhaps I could return to the Riordans’ and hide until the danger had—my heart sank as I realized: I was hopelessly lost.  There was no way I was going to return to anywhere, maybe I should hide—

            A hand grabbed my wrist and dragged me to the ground.  “Oh God, no!  Please don’t . . .”  My face slammed into the ground.  I screamed, trying to get up.  Spur-tipped boots went stomping around me, and a man laughed.  I screamed again.  Someone slapped a rag over my mouth and forcibly tied it in place; then I was moving—tripping—it was dark again.  It was another dark corner between buildings.  White eyes glinted around me, mad white eyes that burned with malice.  Something cold and prickly met with my collarbone, and I felt warm, sticky blood trickle down my chest.  The man holding me twisted, obviously trying to get a better grip.  God, I’m going to die—I’m going to die—No!  I can’t die now, not now!  Desperate, I made one last lunge for the openness of the main street—and my captor’s grip broke loose.  I ran, stumbling, gasping for breath, blind, not caring where I was going as long as it was away from Them . . .

             I looked up and skidded to a stop.  There were two men down the street, running towards me.  I was trapped.  There was nowhere else to run.  Sobbing through the rag in my mouth, I backed myself into a doorway, trying to shrink into the wood and disappear.

            “Stop.  The next man to move dies.”

            The voice was loud and clear, and the men surrounding me froze in their tracks.  There was a sudden silence.  The sounds of my crying seemed terribly loud now, but I didn’t care.

            “Leave,” came the new voice again.  “There are more of us than you.”

            One of the men circling me shifted challengingly.  “I see no dozen men.”

            A razor-edged pinwheel came whizzing through the air, clipping hairs off the top of the man’s head.

            The voice laughed menacingly.  “Next one goes through your neck.  Leave.”

            They were clearly reluctant to back away from an unseen enemy, but another flying blur struck sparks from someone’s sword hilt dangerously close to the hand, and they scattered, disappearing into the night.

            Seconds ticked by.  I ventured to stand cautiously and look around, wondering if I would live out the night.  The street seemed deserted.  I carefully put my fingers to the knot in the gag cloth and tried to untie it.

Then someone dropped lightly from the roof above my head.  Metal flashed.  I shrieked mutedly. 

            I backed into the doorway again, trying to shield myself with an upraised arm.

            The figure was fully cloaked in black, and none of its features were discernable.  It raised a sharp knife in one hand and brought it towards my face.  My throat went tight, and a strangled noise escaped me.  The unknown stepped back.

            “I won’t hurt you.”

            I looked at it.  It looked back at me.  I could hear my heart thundering and wondered if the other could hear it too.

            “Just let me cut the gag away.”

            The knife began traveling toward my head again.  I flinched unconsciously, but forced myself to hold still.  If the knife was meant to find my throat, I wouldn’t be able to stop it either way.  I felt the cloth part from around my head, and then I could speak again.  The cloak-wrapped silhouette sheathed its weapon.  It occurred to me that a dozen men were still lurking in the dark somewhere.  I glanced at the moonlit street briefly.

            “Go away,” I managed.  “Please.”

            “You’re bleeding.”  The words were so quiet I could barely hear them. 

            “What would it matter to you?  Just—just leave me alone.  I’m leaving the city—I’ll never speak a word about this to anyone,” I babbled.  “Just let me go!  What have I ever done to you?” 

            “More than you know.”  There was a trace of amusement in the voice.

            “I—I—don’t even know you!”

            “Maidservant to Petuna?  House of Riordan?”

            I felt the last vestiges of my courage melt.  This person knew.  If I didn’t die now, I would die before Mistress Riordan’s triumphant, sneering eyes, my back flayed to ribbons while a jeering crowd looked on.  I felt a hot tear spill down my cheek and brushed it away instinctively.  I took a deep breath, trying to maintain control of myself.  Perhaps this person knew me only in passing, or had no intention of notifying the Riordans.

            “What—what do you want from me?” I asked quaveringly, afraid to hear the answer.

            I could feel invisible eyes resting on me for a moment.

            “Come with me.”  I considered bolting, and then decided that I didn’t want to have to deal with a dozen men hidden in the street shadows.  The figure took one of my arms in his hand, its touch surprisingly light, and hurriedly led me through the shadows to a narrow door set in what seemed to be a tall building of some sort.  A quick fumble in a pocket brought up a key, which opened the door neatly.  We slipped inside.

            It was a garden.  Fountains tinkled merrily, unaware that murder had been committed not two hours ago.  I was led into a large grouping of small, red-berried trees and instructed to stop.

            My guide turned to face me and spoke in a whisper.  “Any guesses who I am?”

            I stared. 

            “Go on.”  There was a smile behind the words.

            My brain seemed to have ceased functioning for the night.  “I . . . uh . . . um . . . I . . .”

            The hood was thrown back in one sweeping gesture.  I looked up and found myself face to face with Young Arean, also known as Kiev.  For a moment, I was afraid I would faint as Petuna did whenever she wanted to gain attention.

            “What on Aerien are you doing?” I breathed when I could speak again, shocked beyond description.

            “Shayna . . . I thought it might be you.”

            “What?”

            “I, um . . .” He ran a hand through his hair.  “Well, I was up reading and happened to hear someone screaming.  I thought it might be you, so I went up on the garden wall to check.”

            I was wordless.

            “And then, er . . .” he continued, looking distinctly uncomfortable.  “I couldn’t really tell, with the gag and all, you know, so I, uh . . . checked.”

            I rubbed my eyes tiredly with one hand.  “You wanted to know if it was me, so you decided to check.”  I paused, looking at him with renewed doubts as to the soundness of his sanity.  “And—while I’m very grateful that you’ve saved my life—may I ask why you wanted to check?  I mean, why does a noble whom I barely even know decide to swoop down at two o’clock in the morning—”

            “One,” he interrupted.

            “One,” I repeated.  “Why!”

            “I—”  He looked suddenly at my shoulder.  “I forget myself.  You’re hurt.”  His dark eyes met mine.  “I suppose you were running away when I heard you?”

I nodded, a tremor of fear jolting through me.  Did he mean to—

Kiev glanced again at the blood matted on my shirt.  “We should get the wound dressed—you can work as my servant for now.”

            “Your servant?  What . . . what if someone finds out where I’m from?”

            He waved my protests off.  “We rarely associate with the Riordans.  Hurry.”  He took my arm and directed me towards a door in the manor.

            I snuck a sidelong glance at him as I walked.  “You know, you can be seriously intimidating when you want to.”

            “Thanks,” he said shortly.  “It’s one of the few useful things you learn by being a noble.”

            “Nearly scared me to death,” I added rather truthfully.

            He smiled a bit sheepishly.  “I wouldn’t have played around as much if I’d thought you were seriously injured.  It’s bad for the family reputation, you know, me ‘swooping’ around in the dead of night like a common rogue.”

            There was a short silence.

            “What were those flying disks?” I asked suddenly, curious.

            A smile broke over his face.  “A little trick I’ve been playing around with lately,” he said. 

            “Oh.”

            “Yeah . . . I’ll show you sometime.  They’re interesting.”

            He led me to a long rectangular building to the right of the central courtyard and knocked lightly on the door.  After a few moments, there was shuffling, and then we heard a bolt being drawn and a large, frumpy-looking woman stood in the doorway.

            “Elisa, this is, um . . .” He looked at me.  “This is Anya.  She’ll work as my personal servant from now on.  She’s injured—she’ll need a bandage and food and lodgings.  Send her to my study tomorrow morning after breakfast, if you would.”

            “Young men . . . frowsing ‘bout at all times of the night,” the woman grumbled.  “Yer father will be sore angry if’n if he finds out ye’ve been dragging loose women in ‘ere. . . .”

            Kievan snapped, and the woman jumped.  “Ayna is my servant, nothing more, Elisa,” he said firmly.  “I bid you both a good night.”  He nodded to me and was gone.

            “That boy will be the ruin of us all,” Elisa muttered, ushering me into the building.  “Come on in, deary.  Ye look dead on yer poor feet, and sore wounded, too . . . such creatures as walk these streets at night . . . hold still so I can get ye washed and bandaged.”  I submitted meekly, wondering at this woman’s ability to bustle about energetically at one o’clock in the morning.  I wanted to lie down on the wood floor and snore.

“Ye’re none too bad—ye’ll live.  Are ye hungry?  No?  This is yer room, then.  Ye’d best sleep ‘til morning, get what rest ye can. I’ll have some clothes for ye then, and a bath.  I bid thee a good night.”

            She handed me the candle and bustled out of the room.  A bed!  With a pillow, and blankets!  That was all I needed to see.  I clambered under the covers and scarcely remembered to blow the candle out before falling asleep.