The Swindler and the False God - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I wasn’t rotten to the core.

That was more trouble than being rotten to the core.

People rotten to the core could sleep at night.

I couldn’t.

At midnight, I sat at my desk writing down tricks.

How to hide phosphor powder.

How to wind silver thread.

How to borrow light with a lens.

How to mount a wooden whistle that sounded like a child’s voice behind a holy statue.

When I reached the page about Masha, the tip of my pen stopped.

A faint noise came from outside the window.

I looked up.

A dark figure climbed into the room.

One of the black-market boss’s men.

He lowered his voice.

“Where’s the key?”

I covered the papers.

“I didn’t get it.”

His face darkened.

“It’s been three days.”

“If you’re so good, you do it.”

He grabbed my jaw in one hand.

“Miya, don’t forget whose hands your brother is still in.”

My gaze went cold.

I had a younger brother. His name was Noan.

Twelve years old, with bad legs.

The black-market boss was keeping him alive-and using him to keep me on a leash.

I wasn’t stealing the sacred relic for money.

At least, not entirely.

I needed the key to buy his freedom.

The man let go and tossed me a small bottle of medicine.

“Make the Saint drink this tonight.”

I looked at the bottle.

“What kind of medicine?”

He smiled.

“The kind that turns a holy man into a man.”

I raised my hand and smashed the bottle against his face.

Glass shattered, and the liquid splashed all over him.

He cursed under his breath and seized me by the throat.

“Why are you pretending to be clean?”

The door suddenly opened.

Xize stood outside.

He wasn’t wearing his white robe.

Only a black shirt, the cuffs rolled up to his wrist bones.

It was the first time I’d seen him without his gloves.

His hands were very pale.

And marked with old scars.

The man reacted fast, drawing a knife and stabbing at him.

Xize sidestepped, caught his wrist.

Crack.

The sound of bone shifting out of place was very clear.

The man screamed as Xize pinned him to the desk.

I clutched my throat and coughed.

Xize glanced at me.

“Can you stand?”

“Yes.”

“Stay away from the window.”

I did as he said.

He tied the man up with clean, efficient movements.

Not like a monk.

Like an interrogator.

The man was still cursing.

“The Saint hits people too?”

Xize looked down at him.

“We don’t hit people in the White Tower.”

He paused.

“But you don’t count.”

I suddenly laughed.

Xize looked at me.

“What are you laughing at?”

“You breaking your vows.”

He walked up to me.

Very close.

Close enough that I could smell cold snow and medicinal herbs on him.

“This doesn’t count.”

“Then what does?”

He raised his hand, his fingertip stopping beside the bruise on my neck.

Not touching.

“You know.”