Three hundred (Part 1)

Three hundred THIEVES

VOW OF

For Dennis and the vows you made and kept

The youngest ones ask me questions. They want to know about the world Before. I am the oldest. I should know.

Did you fly, Greyson? In the sky like a bird? Yes. With my grandfather. How?

I wasn't sure. I was only five, but I remember looking down, watching the ground disappear, my grandfather weeping as he held me in his arms.

I never saw him weep again.

After the first star fell, six more followed.

There was no time for weeping after that, or explaining things like flying.

There was only time for running. Tai and Uella crawl into my lap. Will you teach us to fly? No. I will teach you other things.

Things that will keep you alive.

-Greyson Ballenger, fifteen

CHAPTER ONE

KAZIMYRAH OF BRIGHTMIST

A dusty beam of light wormed its way through the stone, and I leaned in, hoping to steal some warmth. I was a thief. It should have been easy, but the warmth eluded me. How long had I been here? Five days? A month? Eleven years? I called out to my mother and then I remembered. That was a lifetime ago. She is gone.

The narrow beam came only after long spells of darkness, maybe once a day? I wasn't sure, and even then it didn't stay for long, sneaking in like a curious onlooker. What have we here? It pointed at my belly now, my shirt stiff with dried blood. My, that doesn't look good. Shouldn't you do something? Was it a laugh I heard as the beam faded away? Or was it a quarterlord taunting me?

I wasn't dead yet, so I knew that the knife plunged into my belly had at least missed anything vital. But the wound wept yellow, and my brow was feverish, the filth of the cell seeping in.

My dreams seeping out.

Rats rustled in a dark unseen corner. Synové hadn't mentioned them. I remembered her telling me about her dream. I saw you chained in a prison cell ... You were soaked in blood. I remembered her worried eyes. I remembered dismissing her fears. Sometimes dreams are only dreams.

And sometimes dreams were so much more.

Where is Jase?

I heard a rattle and looked up. I had a visitor. He stood in the corner studying me.

"You," I said, my voice foreign to my ears, weak and brittle. "You're here for me. I've been expecting you."

He shook his head. Not yet. Not today. I'm sorry.

And then he was gone.

I lay down on the floor, the chains jangling against the cobbles, and I curled tight, trying to ease the ache in my gut.

I'm sorry. An apology from Death?

Now I knew. Worse things than dying still lay ahead for me.