ItCP17

## Chapter 17

**Chapter 17** of **Into the Crooked Place** follows **Tavia**.

## **Full Version**

*HER MUMA’S EYES WERE black and her smile was wide, and these were the days Tavia hated more than anything.*

*The days she held on tightly to her muma’s hand as she was pulled across the room, tugged one way and then the next, while her muma gazed into odd, vacant spaces like someone very important was standing in them.*

*“There,” she said, pointing at her shadow. “Can you see them now? My ghosts.”*

*Tavia shook her head.*

*She wanted to see. Very desperately she wanted to see the thing that haunted her muma’s eyes, but when Tavia looked all she could find was her shadow, still and waiting patiently for her to move.*

*She thought maybe it was because she wasn’t old enough. There were some things only grown-ups knew, and Tavia often found herself struggling to decipher the many things that came easy to the people older than her. She wondered if she tried just a bit harder, putting all of her might into it, whether she might be able to see what was hidden in the shadows. The things her muma saw that scared her so much.*

*But it never worked, even if she tried her very hardest.*

*Tavia nuzzled into her muma’s embrace, cheek pressed against her stomach, and considered lying, if for nothing else than to stop her tears.*

*“Right there,” her muma always said. “Can’t you hear them whispering?”*

TAVIA WOKE to an empty carriage and little light, save for a flickering lantern overhead.

Outside the windows, darkness still echoed. They had left the tunnels and would arrive in Wrenyal in a matter of days, or even hours—Tavia had lost track—but for now the world was still a stranger, blanketed in night, with barely a trace of stars for company.

Tavia stifled a yawn.

She hadn’t slept properly in days and the one thing she could not wait for was a real, honest to the gods, bed. Thick blankets and pillows and a space of her own that wasn’t invaded by a horde of snoring buskers. As it was, though there were beds in the far carriage, Tavia couldn’t relax enough to take up residence in one of them. Her nights were too filled with the awful echoes of the past.

Before the elixir, Tavia kept the memories of her childhood sacred, printed in various pictures inside her mind. She shuffled through them sometimes, conjuring whichever ones she needed when she felt herself sinking too deep into the grips of the criminal underrealm. There was one Tavia used more often than the rest and it had become worn and ragged inside her memory, fading over time so that Tavia had to squeeze her eyes shut in order to see the finer details.

The way her muma’s face curved and her eyes wrinkled when she smiled. How her arms wrapped around Tavia’s waist so tightly, they almost became one person. How her voice sounded so gentle when she said Tavia’s name, like it was a secret between them.

It was a beautiful thing to be loved that much, but now Tavia was ruining those memories by conjuring the ones that lurked behind.

Ones of her muma very, very cold.

Of her eyes black and a mark printed on her neck like a child’s drawing.

She tried to push away those thoughts and let her memories be overtaken with incomprehensible niceties about a woman who called her *ciolo* like it was a term of endearment, and being young and small in Creije was closer to good fortune than a calamity.

But it was getting so much harder.

Tavia was too on edge and every night when she closed her eyes all she saw was her muma’s face staring back. And that man, Deniel Emilsson, trapped in a Creijen cell, perhaps dead because of her.

It was not exactly a motivation for a peaceful night’s sleep.

Besides, there were only a few dozen beds on offer, so Tavia thought it best to let the other buskers fight it out among themselves. Wesley, of course, had his own private carriage with his own private bunk, for no other reason than because he was Wesley.

Tavia bet that he slept like a baby, even if he always had one eye open.

She pulled the silken black hood over her eyes as the cold from the window, broken by the attack on the station, settled in. Her bones ached with the bite of it, but they all needed the fresh air. It was getting a little cramped and Tavia was pleasantly surprised they hadn’t all killed each other yet.

She headed to the next carriage, where she could hear Saxony’s voice carrying through.

When Tavia slid open the door, Saxony was lying across two chairs, her head dangling over the edge, wild curls sprawling to the floor, a piece of bread in her hand. Karam sat opposite, sharpening her blade with quirked lips.

Tavia liked seeing the two of them together like that. It reminded her of the old days, when she and Wesley were still friends, laughing over nothing and everything.

If in the old days she and Wesley had a history of kissing.

Which they most certainly did not.

“I’m starving,” Saxony said.

She threw the bread down onto the platter between them, as though it didn’t count as food.

“I can barely sleep with this train making so much noise and every time I want to pee there’s a queue the size of a small city. I think *this* might be the Kingpin’s first test. I can’t imagine him coming up with anything worse.”

Karam smirked.

“You mean you’re not enjoying all the team bonding?” Tavia asked, stepping into view.

Saxony sat up with a grin. “Nice of you to join the living,” she said. “Good nap?”

“Oh, the best.” Tavia slumped into the seat beside her. “I had a full twenty minutes.”

“Utter luxury,” Saxony said.

“And not to make you jealous, but an hour ago the bathroom was free and I managed to pee without a single person knocking on the door. There was even toilet paper on the roll.”

“You’re killing me,” Saxony said. “How did people live before the floating railways? I can’t believe I took those trains for granted and talked about them being too big. Too luxurious. Who complains about something being *too luxurious*? I was such a fool.”

She looked out the window wistfully, hand on her heart, and the moment she turned, Tavia’s eyes drew to the mark on her neck.

She couldn’t help it.

It was pinked like a new burn, or at least it had been, though now it was blending back into Saxony’s dark skin like an old wound. Every time Tavia caught sight of it, her mind filled with dread.

All the bad nights of her childhood she’d tried so hard to forget bubbled to the surface.

*Don’t cry,*ciolo.

The mark of the magic sickness was so clear when Tavia had seen it on her muma, even long after her body had gone stiff and her hand grew cold in Tavia’s tiny fingers. And yet it was disappearing from Saxony like it didn’t want to be seen. Maybe it only left its stain on the dead, like a brand.

She wondered if Deniel Emilsson was dead yet.

Tavia cleared her throat.

She was going to drive herself crazy thinking about it.

Saxony leaned her head against the window. “I bet your underboss is loving being so cooped up like this.”

Her underboss. As though Wesley belonged only to Tavia.

“Now, now,” Tavia said. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to speak ill of the great Wesley Thornton Walcott?”

“He needs three names for all of his personalities,” Saxony said.

Tavia smirked and picked up a piece of bread from the platter. “Who was in charge of bringing the food supplies?”

“I think it’s best we don’t ask,” Saxony said. “I won’t be able to control my rage when I find out.”

“Good point.” Tavia took a bite of the dry bread. “Don’t disturb the peace. I haven’t been attacked by anyone in days. I’m getting used to the lack of bruises.”

“Easy for you to say,” Karam said. “You did not get shot.”

Tavia gave her a consolatory smile, though in fairness she had been shot *at*, and it was very nearly the same thing. It wasn’t Tavia’s fault that Karam needed to be a little quicker on her feet. Besides, Saxony had healed the wound in a pinch and Karam seemed like she was back to normal. Glares and all.

“If it still hurts, I can give you something for the pain,” Tavia said. “I have a relief charm that could knock you into next week.”

“I have no pain,” Karam said.

“Oh.” Tavia smiled. “So you just wanted an excuse to moan, then?”

Karam’s eyes narrowed in a look that told Tavia she didn’t appreciate her humor as much as she should have.

Saxony’s laugh was like a loud boom in the night. “I really love how you two get along so well.” She slung an arm over Tavia’s shoulder. “My two best girls, being the best of friends.”

Tavia raised an eyebrow, but the grin on Saxony’s face was infectious and she couldn’t stop herself from laughing alongside her.

It was a nice respite from the war that loomed ahead.

Tavia nudged away Saxony’s arm, and through the open buttons of her shirt a small silver mark, right near the cusp of her heart, peeked through.

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” Tavia said.

Saxony rolled her eyes and stroked Tavia’s hair. “Poor, little busker,” she said, pretending not to see her glare. “It’s one of my staves. Every Crafter has them to signal our specialty and magical triumphs. This one’s my Energycrafter sign.”

Of course it was.

Of course Saxony had one.

Because Saxony was a Crafter.

Tavia didn’t know if she’d ever get used to that.

She didn’t want to be angry about it, because that seemed really selfish and it made complete sense that Saxony hadn’t revealed she was hiding from the very people they both worked for. It was a secret that could cost her life.

But the fact that Saxony didn’t trust her, however justified, wasn’t easy to swallow.

“They’re like those runes the tourists draw on themselves,” Tavia said.

Saxony visibly tensed, wrinkling her nose like she’d smelled something awful. “*Suvi*.”

*Scumbags.*

Apparently, she didn’t appreciate her traditions reduced to a costume for Creije’s sightseers.

“Are you nervous about meeting with the Crafters?” Tavia asked Karam. “Will they trust you after all this time?”

“I am more nervous about meeting with my father,” Karam said, continuing to sharpen her blade. “It has been years since we last spoke and we did not part on good terms. He never approved of who I wanted to be.”

Tavia kept quiet, because that seemed like the thing to do when someone looked this vulnerable.

“My entire family, my friends, and all the promises I made them were abandoned,” Karam said. “I chose my life in Creije over everything and now I am going back, not to make amends, but to ask them to put their lives on the line for me. Put a trust in me that I broke.”

Karam sucked in a breath and Saxony squeezed her knee, like she knew Karam needed comfort but wasn’t quite sure how to give it.

Tavia stayed still. She’d never disappointed her father, because he wasn’t around to disappoint. Tavia knew nothing about him, not the look he got when he was mad or if they shared the same colored eyes or even his name. And her memories were so full of her muma, each one precious and overused, that dreams of her father had become a rarity.

Her muma had never spoken of him and so Tavia’s imagination was all she had. She thought of him in two ways: a dreamer who loved her muma dearly and had died tragically, causing her muma to flee from Volo in a wave of despair and travel to Uskhanya. She settled in Creije, which was his home city, hoping to be close to his spirit. And in the winters, when Creije grew cold and her muma missed the balmy nights of Gila, she’d look out her window and spot the Everglow, and a feeling of calm would wash over her. She’d feel the magic and the presence of her lost love in those lights and be satiated.

The other thought Tavia had was that her father was just a huge bastard.

But she tried not to focus too much on that one.

“I feel the same about my amja,” Saxony said. “I don’t know what she’ll do when she finds out I’ve teamed up with Wesley to take down the Kingpin. She was alive for the War of Ages and saw firsthand what the dark magic trade did to our people. She hates everything they stand for.”

“You mean not everyone thinks Wesley Thornton Walcott is the greatest thing ever?” Tavia asked.

“Strangely, no,” Saxony said. “And Many Gods know how my father is going to react when he realizes I went to Creije to find Zekia and stayed to spy on the underboss. When he finds out all I’ve done, he—”

She cut herself off, growing quiet, her smile barely there and grim.

Tavia hated not knowing what that smile meant. She hated not being able to read the people closest to her.

Tavia would know if it was Wesley. With just one tug of his tie, or a touch of his cuff links at the wrong time, Tavia would know in half a second what Wesley was thinking.

Liars were the easiest to catch.

“So it’s angry families all round?” Tavia said. “That’ll be fun.”

“I think my father will be more scared than angry,” Saxony said. “He used to want to fight to take back our place in the world, but after losing my mother and Malik, and then Zekia, I think he’s just afraid of outliving everyone.”

“Malik?” Tavia repeated.

“My brother,” Saxony said. “He died in a fire with my mother when I was a child.”

Though she said it so easily, like it was just another fact about her life that she hadn’t mentioned, the air grew thick and Tavia felt like the worst friend in the realms.

She didn’t even know Saxony had a brother.

What kind of friend didn’t ask those questions?

“Malik was only five, but he was the biggest troublemaker you could imagine,” Saxony said. “He always needed things to go his way and because he didn’t look much like me, or Zekia, I used to tease him that we’d found him in the woods and he was a child of trickster spirits. For some reason, he thought that was a good thing.”

Saxony laughed and though it was sad, she also looked a little happy, like she was glad to be able to say her brother’s name and tell his stories.

“I’m sorry,” Tavia said, which was probably the worst thing to say, because it solved nothing and definitely did not bring Saxony’s family back.

Saxony poked her in the ribs. “Don’t look so glum,” she said. “It was a long time ago and all that matters now is finding Zekia.”

“We’ll find her,” Tavia said. “No matter what. We’ll get your sister back.”

Saxony linked her arm through Tavia’s. “Creije’s best busker, making me a promise,” she said. “Now that’s a sight for sore eyes.”

“You can count on me to get the job done,” Tavia said. “Self-doubt isn’t a good trait to have in our profession.”

“In your profession you are not supposed to have good traits,” Karam said.

She was joking, in that deadly serious way that only Karam did, but Tavia couldn’t bring herself to disagree.

All she ever dreamed of was leaving Creije and traveling to her mother’s home realm of Volo, because she thought it would give her some kind of clean slate and erase all the bad she had done. She’d built it up in her head so wonderfully, reading books upon books, until it almost seemed like a fantasy.

The Volens believed in the Lonely Goddess and the Betrayer, who she had created to live out her immortal life with, only he grew bitter at her power and sent sin down to the realms, so she was forced to kill him as punishment. Each year the Volens had a celebration in thanks for the Lonely Goddess’s sacrifice. In the capital of Gila, where Tavia’s muma was from, the city she was born in, they filled the streets with paper lanterns and cast magic to the sky so the stars beamed down in an array of colors. It was said to be one of the most beautiful festivals in the four realms.

If Tavia found her way there, she always thought she could live the life she was meant to. Be the type of person who wouldn’t curse or throw charms if someone pissed her off, but grimace and say *Betrayer set sin on you* in a haughty voice.

Instead, Tavia sold dangerous charms and elixirs to people, pretending it didn’t matter and convincing herself they might deserve it, even if she knew that was a lie. Tavia’s mother had died from the magic sickness and for all she knew, Tavia might have given that sickness to someone else.

She’d nearly given it to Saxony that day by the temple.

Tavia didn’t know how many lives she’d ruined under the guise of keeping her head down and doing what she was told. She wasn’t sure what was left in her after so many years on the streets—or what would be left after this was all over—but Tavia hoped desperately it was something close to goodness.

She owed her muma that much.