THE SON-IN-LAW WHO WOULDN'T BURN

CHAPTER 10: THE GIRL IN THE GRATE

Cole didn't scream.

He wanted to. A small sound slipped out of his throat, but he quickly shut his mouth and held it in.

The hand around his ankle was small, cold, and wet with salt water. Its fingers held him tight, as if they were trying to pull his foot right through the iron bars.

"Hollow," he whispered. "Please tell me that's a rat with very long fingers."

"It's a person." Hollow sounded almost amused. "She's alive. Her heart is beating fast. She's more scared than you are."

"She?"

"Listen."

A voice came from below the grate. It was low, rough, and shaking.

"Don't kick. Don't shout. I swear on my mother's bones, I'm not going to hurt you. Is that you? Say something. Anything."

Cole bent down and kept his voice calm. "Who's asking?"

"Oh, gods."

The hand let go of his ankle. He heard a sharp breath from below, followed by the sound of water dripping.

"It's you. It's really you! They said you were dead. They said you were nothing but ash. I've spent three nights lighting a candle for a dead man, and here you are, cleaning floors."

"I'm trying to. You're getting in the way."

"Don't joke. I almost fell off the ledge." She went quiet for a moment, then let out a shaky laugh. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. I've been practicing what I'd say in my head, but now that you're here, I've forgotten all of it."

"Start with your name."

"Mara. Mara Quill."

Something scraped against the stone below. Then Cole heard a boot tap against the wall. A moment later, a face appeared in the small amount of light coming through the grate.

She had a thin face, a sharp chin, and brown eyes that looked too big for it. She couldn't be more than nineteen. Dirt covered her cheeks, and there was a cut across one eyebrow that hadn't healed well. A scarf was tied around her hair.

"I run goods for the Market," she said. "Mostly through the tunnels. I know every drain in this cliff."

"I'm Cole."

"I know who you are. Everyone at the Dockside knows who you are." She tilted her head and looked him over. "You're thinner than I thought."

"I've been told."

"And you're alive."

"That's the rumor."

Mara's lips moved as if she wanted to smile. For a second, she looked like she might cry. Then she gave him a quick, crooked grin and wiped her nose with her wrist.

"Gods. Okay. Okay. Sit down. Not up there. They'll see your shadow. Get low."

Cole lowered himself against the wall until his face was level with the bars.

The strange beat he had been following still moved through the stone behind his back. Hollow had gone quiet, but Cole could feel it listening inside his head.

"How do you know me?" he asked.

"Burn Night." Mara shifted below him. He heard her injured leg scrape against the stone. "Whenever the Vances choose someone for the sacrifice, word reaches the docks. Usually a week before. The Unlit know the date better than the elders do. We can't stop it, but we can't act like it's nothing either. So we light a candle at the Market gate for every person they take. Seven since I was a child. Yours was the eighth."

Cole swallowed. "Why?"

"Because somebody should." She gave a small shrug. "Most of them had no roots, just like us. Someone's brother or cousin. People who were sold or tricked into joining a family that only wanted a body to burn. You were the youngest I'd ever heard of. You were twenty-one when they took you, right?"

"Twenty-one."

"Twenty-one." She shook her head. "I stood at the gate with my candle that night. Then I felt the whole cliff shake. I thought the world was ending. And then the chain screamed."

Cole's heart began to beat faster. "You heard it?"

"Everyone heard it. Every drain between here and the harbor. It sounded like a thousand knives scraping against a bell." She wrapped her arms around herself. "Half the Market ran for the boats. I went into the tunnels instead. Stupid, I know. There was nothing down there but rats and crates. But I wanted to see."

"See what?"

"If anything came out."

The words stayed between them.

Cole looked at her through the iron bars. He saw the cut above her eye and the dirt on her cheek. A strange feeling rose in his throat.

She was a stranger. A girl who moved goods through dark tunnels. Yet she had come all this way just to find out if he was still alive.

"I came out," he said quietly.

"I can see that." Mara pressed her forehead against the grate. Her breath made the iron wet. "I have about nine hundred questions, but I'll save them for later. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"I've been better."

"You've been burned."

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'll tell you later, and you'll forget I said anything."

She grinned again. "You're a terrible liar. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"My wife says I'm very good at it."

"Your wife is being kind." Mara tilted her head. "Is she the one who brings you food? The tall one with the black braid? I've seen her leave things in a basket by the kitchen door. Bread, most times. Once, she brought a whole roast chicken wrapped in a cloth."

Cole's chest tightened. "You've been watching my house?"

"I watch everyone's house. It's a bad habit." She said it lightly, but her eyes stayed on him. "She's the only Vance I've seen feed a rootless servant without being asked. People have noticed."

"Don't tell anyone."

"I won't."

"Don't even think about telling a Vance."

"I'm a smuggler, Cole. I know how to keep my mouth shut."

Mara moved again. This time, a small sound of pain escaped her. She pressed one hand against her knee.

Cole looked down and noticed how her leg was bent beneath her. It sat at an odd angle, and her foot turned inward like a bird's wing.

"What happened to your leg?"

"Roots test. I was ten. They said I had a spark and wanted to see how strong it was. Turns out I didn't have one. Something broke." Her voice stayed flat as she spoke. "The healers said it would never get better. The family left me at the Dockside with a coin and a pat on the head."

"Which family?"

"Doesn't matter. They're all the same." She waved a hand. "I carry goods now. I'm still fast enough, even with this leg. Nobody thinks the cripple is carrying anything worth stealing."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It makes a good cover." She gave him a small, tired smile. "Anyway, I didn't crawl all the way up here to cry on your boots. I came to tell you something."

"What?"

"You're in much more danger than you think."

Cole almost laughed. "I know that already."

"No. Listen."

Her voice changed. The smile disappeared as she pulled herself up onto her knees and held the bars with both hands. The weak light fell across her face, and Cole could see how pale she had become.

"I've been using these tunnels since I was twelve. I carry crates for the Market, and most times, I don't ask what's inside. But I've been doing a job for the Vances for two years now. They pay me in silver, and it's the strangest job I've ever had."

A door slammed somewhere upstairs.

Cole didn't turn around.

"What kind of job?"

"Every new moon, the elders send crates down to the sealed cave. Salt, I think. Black salt. They carry the crates through the tunnels themselves, then pour the salt into a crack in the wall. I only carry the empty crates back."

Her fingers tightened around the bars. Her knuckles turned white.

"But there's something strange about it. Every crate they take down, they never bring back."

Cole frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The crates go in full. They come out empty." She moved closer until her breath covered the iron between them.

"And nobody ever sends them back.”