Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

Her only other food that day was a discarded apple core. She gnawed it to the bitter seeds, then licked her fingers clean, begrudging every drop of juice that escaped. She found no more kind cooks, willing to part with a square of bread. She stank, said the scullions. They didn’t need vagrants under the roof, said the housemaids. One stable boy tried to embrace her. Ilse slapped him and fled, while he shouted curses after her.

Throughout the next week, she begged, she stole. She lived from hour to hour, taking shelter in alleys and doorways. More than once, she thought about leaving Tiralien and returning to the wildernes

s. But winter had arrived, and whatever provender she had lived on before would be gone. So she remained, drifting from quarter to quarter, searching out scraps of food by day and shelter for the night. She stopped asking for employment—planning beyond the next day had become too difficult.

The tenth day found her wandering through a new quarter, on the northern side of Tiralien. The watch had rousted her a few hours before, and she had only escaped by clambering through a broken fence. Her flight had taken her into this new district, filled with shops selling fine silks, jewels, and porcelain figures—things of beauty she had once loved, but which could not feed her.

Ilse stumbled and fell to her knees. Her head spun. Her vision blurred. She needed food or she would die soon. A day or two, no longer. All because she had panicked and fled her father’s house. Because she had trusted without reason. Because she was a foolish girl without any knowledge of the world.

I could have stayed in Melnek. I could have pretended with Theodr Galt. I could have—

She broke off those thoughts with a cry. Never. She could never have pretended with Theodr Galt. Even if she had tried, he would have guessed the truth. He would have punished her the way he must have punished Marina Bartos. Worse, because a wife could never escape, and if she were to try, Galt would hunt her down. Better to die now, free, than to have killed her soul outright. Ilse lurched to her feet and continued.

The street ended in a large plaza. Near the center of the square stood a fountain, its waters gleaming blue and white beneath the full moon. Beyond it, everything was dark. She would find no shelter here. Ilse turned, uncertain where to go next, when she heard a muttered curse. A second voice, louder, said something about who would get the larger share. Peering into the shadows, she saw half a dozen figures beneath the lee of a large building. The breeze shifted, carrying a whiff of smoked beef to her.

Her mouth watered. She took a step forward into the moonlit square. It was a gang of boys. She’d seen them around before, quarrelsome, laughing, rude. If they would just give her a mouthful. Just one. She would do anything, anything at all for a taste of that beef.

She must have spoken, or made a sound, because one boy jerked up his head in surprise. He hissed and tugged at another boy’s arm. The other boy laughed. “It’s the new whore. Whatcha want, girl?”

“Food,” Ilse whispered. “I’m so hungry.”

“Food, huh. How much?”

“Look at her. She’s got no coins.”

“Yeah, but maybe she’s got something else.”

Ilse watched as the gang spread out in a semicircle. If she could only be sure they would give her a few bites of meat afterward.

It’s a favor, wench. Say the word.

A trade.

Four a night. Six when she learns the trade.

No. I won’t. Not again.

She spun around, but the gang was upon her in moments. They dragged her into the nearest alley. She fought back, screaming and kicking and biting. One boy punched her in the face. She tasted blood, choked, and lashed out with another kick. Someone grabbed her ankle. She twisted around. A blow to her throat. A kick to her belly. Her vision went dark.

“’S the watch. Run!”

The boys scattered. Ilse rolled onto her knees, her stomach heaving. Through a red haze, she glimpsed several tall figures striding toward her.

“Damned trash. What have they got?”

“A girl.”

“We better take her in. Maybe she’s part of the gang.”

Ilse staggered to her feet and ran.

“Stop!” one of the guards called out.

Ilse dodged around the next corner, into a covered street. A hot pain stabbed at her belly. Her stomach lurched, and she pitched forward onto her hands and knees. Must get away. Must not let them catch me. The boys would beat her. The watch would lock her in prison, send her back to her father. She crawled onward, dimly aware that she had entered a maze of alleys and narrow lanes. The sharp scent of manure filled the air, mixed with the sweeter scent of fresh hay. Somewhere behind the fences, a horse nickered loudly. She came to an open gate and crawled through it into the lane beyond.

Trees and gardens stretched out before her. Beyond them, she saw tall brick walls, a courtyard with a fountain, and lighted windows. A woman’s husky voice floated from one open window, rising in counterpoint to a man’s deeper laugh. Soft strains of music sounded from another window. A rich family’s house, she thought. Not a place for her.

She hauled herself upright and stumbled onward. Step. Pause. Press hand over her stomach. Door looming to her right. Another spasm took her. She retched and fell over. Her head thumped against the door. “Please, oh please. Oh please.” She hardly knew what she was begging for. Another chance. A different future. The wisdom to make better choices.