Ari and the shadow knight

The Dirt Under My Nails

The boot slammed into my shoulder blades and drove the air from my lungs.

Mud flooded my mouth. It tasted of rust and rot.

I spat the gray slush onto the cobbles as my cheek scraped across the edge of a stone drain. My fingers clawed at the cracks between the wet paving stones, searching for anything I could use to push myself up. I almost found my footing before a heavy heel came down on my right hand.

Pain tore through my fingers as the bones ground together beneath the guard's boot. I bit down hard enough to stop myself from screaming, but a sharp hiss escaped anyway.

"Keep her down," one of the guards growled. "The little rat nearly took my eye out with that knife."

My knife lay a few feet away in a muddy puddle. It wasn't much to look at, just a dull piece of salvaged iron I had spent hours sharpening on a river stone, but it was mine. I had almost reached the docks. Another minute and I would have slipped between the coal barges and disappeared into the river mist.

Instead, three royal guards had trapped me behind the salt-fish stalls after kicking over crates of rotten herring to block the alley.

No one moved.

Old Man Corin quietly lowered the canvas awning over his stall without looking at me. Around him, the other merchants found something else to watch. Nobody in the Lower Ward was foolish enough to interfere with royal guards unless they wanted a place on the next prison cart.

"Is it her?" another guard asked.

Someone grabbed a fistful of my wet hair and jerked my head back.

Rain stung my eyes as I looked up.

The man standing over me wasn't dressed like the others. Polished silver armor gleamed beneath a dark cloak that somehow stayed dry despite the downpour. A crumpled parchment rested in one hand. He studied the charcoal sketch before lifting his eyes to my face.

I refused to look away.

Blood dripped from my nose and mixed with the rain running down my chin.

"Dark hair," he read quietly. "Gray eyes."

He pulled my collar aside.

Cold air touched the old scar near my throat before his fingers did. His gaze settled on the jagged, star-shaped mark.

"The mark is there," he said. "It's her."

"I didn't steal the salt-fish," I said through clenched teeth. "They were already rotten. Corin was throwing them away."

The captain didn't even acknowledge the words.

He rolled up the parchment, slipped it inside his cloak, and looked at the guards.

"Tie her. If she slips the rope, I'll collect the cost of her transport from your wages."

"Yes, Captain."

They hauled me onto my feet.

Instead of iron cuffs, they wrapped thick hemp rope around my wrists until the rough fibers bit into my skin. Every pull tightened the knots and sent another stab of pain through my shoulders.

I searched the market for a way out.

There wasn't one.

My knife was gone.

The streets were blocked.

Everyone who might have helped had already decided not to see me.

The captain turned and walked away.

"Move."

The shove came before I could react.

I stumbled after them through the rain.

The Lower Ward stretched around us exactly as it always had. Crumbling tenements leaned over narrow streets. Hungry children watched from broken windows. Coal smoke hung so thick in the air that every breath tasted bitter.

Ahead, the iron gates separating the Lower Ward from the Middle Tier stood open.

Most people never crossed those gates. The guards posted along the walls didn't ask a single question. One nod from the captain was enough.

The city changed the moment I stepped through.

The mud disappeared beneath polished granite. The stink of coal gave way to the smell of fresh bread and woodsmoke. Shop windows gleamed behind spotless glass, and well-dressed people hurried beneath fine umbrellas.

They looked at me.

Their eyes lingered on my torn clothes, the mud caked to my boots, and the ropes around my wrists before they looked away.

We passed the magistrates' courthouse without slowing.

A knot tightened in my stomach.

If they weren't taking me to court, where were they taking me?

The streets climbed toward the white cliffs of the Upper Ward, where a black carriage stood beside the Great Lift.

Even in the rain it gleamed.

A golden crest decorated the door. A three-headed raptor clutched a broken sword in its talons.

I knew that crest.

The Royal House of Lowen.

My feet stopped before I could think better of it.

"I'm not getting in there."

The guard behind me laughed.

"You don't get a choice."

His shove nearly sent me face-first into the carriage.

The captain opened the door without a word and stepped aside.

Blue velvet covered the seats. A thick carpet lined the floor without a speck of dirt.

"I'll ruin it," I muttered. "Mud doesn't wash out of velvet."

"Then sit on the floor."

Before I could answer, rough hands grabbed my shoulder and threw me inside. I hit the wooden floor hard.

The carriage door slammed shut behind me with a heavy metallic click.

The only window was covered by a thick iron grate.

I pushed myself upright and looked through the narrow bars as the Great Lift shuddered beneath us. Massive gears groaned below the platform before the carriage began to rise.

I watched the rooftops of the Lower Ward disappear beneath the rain. The streets where I had spent my whole life grew smaller until they became a patchwork of gray stone and drifting smoke.

I had never been this high.

The wood smelled of cedar and beeswax, but another smell lingered beneath both.

Old blood.

It wasn't fresh. The smell had soaked into the wood years ago and never left.

I replayed the morning, searching for something I had missed.

I hadn't stolen anything worth dying for. I hadn't attacked a noble.

Then the royal guards had appeared.

Not the city watch.

Royal guards.

They hadn't accused me of any crime.

They had come for one thing.

The scar.

My hand drifted toward the jagged mark near my throat before the ropes stopped me.

I'd had it for as long as I could remember. Now strangers were hunting me because of it.

This had nothing to do with stolen fish.

They had come for me.

Outside, the Great Lift groaned one last time before stopping with a heavy jolt.

A moment later the carriage lurched forward again.

The wheels no longer rattled over timber. They rolled smoothly across stone.

We had reached the Upper Ward.

The carriage turned through a pair of towering iron gates.

Beyond them stood the palace.

White towers disappeared into the mist. Every wall looked untouched by smoke, soot, or dirt, as if the city below had never existed.

The carriage slowed.

Then it stopped.

Footsteps echoed outside.

The latch clicked.

Light spilled into the carriage as the door swung open.

The captain stood there, watching me.

"Out."

I stayed where I was.

Something was wrong.

I knew how this kingdom worked. If someone from the Lower Ward stole a loaf of bread, they were beaten, fined, or hanged in the marketplace for everyone to see.

Royal guards didn't waste their time on thieves.

They didn't send a black carriage bearing the crest of House Lowen.

They didn't bring people like me to the palace.

They only brought you here when they wanted you to disappear somewhere no one would hear you scream.

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