The Theft of Sunlight, Intisar Khanani [best book club books for discussion txt] 📗

the hold at Diara’s men. They are nearly a third of the way through the crates. A pair of Matsin’s men cross the aisle to start on the crates to the right of me, but it seems less and less likely Kirrana will be found.

I’ve failed her, and now I will go back to the palace and the snatchers will continue, because all I’ve learned is that those behind them are too big, too dangerous for even the princess to take on. This corruption is so deep, so vast, that all I’ve managed is to ensure that nothing will be done. I’ve handled this all wrong and now Kirrana is paying the price, and nothing will change. The royals will apologize for inconveniencing Grefan, and Berenworth will go on, as will the Circle, and whoever is on the street doing the actual snatchings.

I shove away from the wall. If I can’t stand still, at least I can pace. But as I step forward, the boat dips again. I take a quick step sideways to regain my balance and my turned foot bangs painfully into a crate. Clenching my jaw to keep from cursing, I boost myself up onto the crate to take the weight of my foot—and promptly freeze as my arm protests. Because I’m still a clumsy cripple who can’t seem to go three days in service to the princess without gaining a new wound. I lay my throbbing arm across my lap and lean back, rest my cheek against the rough wood.

It takes me a moment to realize what’s wrong. I straighten with a jerk.

“Kelari?” Matsin says softly from where he squats atop a crate.

“Come here,” I whisper.

He does, crossing the crates to crouch beside me.

“Listen,” I say. “Tell me what you hear.”

He leans his ear against the wood, his brow furrowing.

“There’s no water,” I say for him. “The sound of it is too distant.”

He looks at me, his teeth bared in a sharp, pleased smile. “Well done, kelari. We’ve a secret room to find.”

Chapter

51

Together with his men, Matsin pulls away the crates, one by one, shoving them farther down the hold.

“Haven’t you searched all those crates already?” Diara asks, walking over to us.

“We heard something,” Matsin says. “Just checking.”

Diara grunts, and then goes back up the ladder.

“Do we need to worry?” I ask softly as Matsin watches her climb up.

“Perhaps,” he says. “But we’ve got our own quad and Garrin’s up above as well. It’s unlikely they’ll attack while we have backup and a lord watching over us.”

“What’s this?” one of his men says in surprise, pulling away a crate to reveal a low door, and over it, a thin piece of wood mounted to the wall. My heart jumps as I recognize the inked ward painted there.

“The door we’re looking for,” I say. “Can you open it?”

It’s barred from the outside, and takes only the work of a moment for the soldier to lift the bar and push the door open. Matsin warns me back with a raised hand, and together he and the first soldier duck into the darkened room.

I glance back through the hold to see that the remaining soldiers of the river guard are walking toward us. The sound of Matsin’s voice rumbles faintly in my hearing. The soldiers keep coming. They look grim, but no one has reached for a weapon yet.

I glance back toward the secret room. Please, let Kirrana be there. And let us all get out safely.

I hear a faint whisper and turn back to the soldiers just as one of Matsin’s men gives a shout. The soldiers race toward us, swords drawn. I scramble up on a crate and back away alongside the wall, the hem of my skirt catching under my feet. I don’t know how to fight, don’t have the first idea of how to defend myself against swords. I fumble my bone knife from its sheath, even if it will do little good against a weapon with longer reach.

The hatch bangs shut, plunging the hold into half-darkness, lit only by a single lantern hung from a peg. And then the soldiers meet in a flurry of blades. A scream lodges in my throat. I can’t quite make out what’s happening, only that the fight is swift and brutal, the clash of swords and the thunk of bodies against wood, the sickening sound of metal plunging into flesh. Matsin appears as if from nowhere, slamming into the fight, and within another breath, it is over, the floorboards slick and dark.

“Report,” Matsin barks. His men answer equally shortly, but for one man who reports a cut on his arm.

“Bind it,” Matsin tells him. Turning to the others, he points his sword toward the little door. “There are five children in there. Get them out while I check the hatch. We’ll have to fight our way out.”

I slide down from my perch, aware that I’m shaking. It’s an absurd reaction—the soldiers never got close enough to endanger me, but I can’t wipe the horror of the fight from my mind.

One of Matsin’s men moves to the door, entering silently. I wait, clenching my bone knife in my grasp as if that might still my trembling. He emerges again a moment later, herding a pair of young boys before him. They are both no more than nine years old, their eyes huge.

“Is . . . ,” I begin, and stop, knowing that Kirrana isn’t here. Matsin would have said so by now.

“Can you take them?” the soldier asks, nudging the boys toward me. “There’s three more.”

I nod shakily, gesture the boys forward. We’ve found five children—this, this is proof. And at least these children can be returned to their homes, or given shelter.

At the top of the ladder, Matsin swears softly.

“Come,” I say to the boys. “Hold hands and follow me.”

I reach the ladder as Matsin jumps down, skipping the last two rungs. “We’ll have to try to ram it open.”

I look up at the square of daylight showing