The Phoenix Thief

FIFTEEN

WHEN KILTER WOKE the next morning, the house was still quiet. He was slumped against the wall, the hardened white puddle of melted wax by his feet all that was left of the candle. Slowly, he got up and limped over to the door. It was bright enough that he should have been woken by the sound of Catrío feeding the animals downstairs should have awoken him earlier, but when he opened the door and peered out into the dimmer hallway, he didn't hear anything.

Leaving the wheeled chair behind, he made his way down the hall by bracing himself against the wall, and reached the stairs a few minutes later. His neck and shoulders were sore from his unusual sleeping position, and his leg clumsy in its thick bandaging, so it took him a while to get down to the ground level of the house. Once there, he looked down the armor-lined hallway and saw a single beam of sunlight – the door to the kitchen was open.

Catrío sat alone at the kitchen table, and Kilter studied her for a moment. She wasn't wearing one of her embroidery-laden dresses, for once, just a simple white shirt that went down past her knees, and her bare feet were perched on the edge of her chair. A teacup that no longer sent up steam was on the tablecloth right before her, and next to it was a small piece of creased paper.

A floorboard creaked under Kilter as he stepped into the room, but Catrío didn't look up. She just sniffed and ran her finger along the rim of her teacup.

"Shev's gone," she said at last.

Kilter eased himself into the chair opposite her. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, but she looked more fragile than the glass cup and saucer before her. So he cupped his hands together on the tabletop, instead. He cleared his throat.

"Where?"

Still not lifting her face, Catrío shook her head. "I don't know. He left a note, though."

She raised her eyes a little to look at the paper, and Kilter could see words written on it.

"What does it say?"

Catrío sniffed. "That he'll come back and explain everything. Nothing else. But where is he going? Why? Is it my fault? I yelled at him so much last night – he wouldn't tell me anything, he refused, and I was so angry! He's never just left me like this before. He always says in his notes when to look out for his return. Why did he leave? Why?"

She rested her head against her drawn-up knees. "I just wanted him to tell me the truth. Was that so wrong?"

Kilter stood up. Before he could stop himself, he limped around the table and then crouched down beside Catrío's chair.

She did it for you.

You can do this.

He took her hand. "No. You need to know."

"You think so?" Catrío glanced at him.

Kilter nodded firmly. "People didn't tell me the things in Istravol. That hurts. But..." he frowned, trying to figure out how to make his words sound as comforting as he wanted them to be. "But sometimes knowing hurts. And people don't tell you things because they don't want to... hurt you."

"Is that why the people in Istravol didn't tell you things you should have known?" Catrío lifted her head from her knees and sniffed.

"Yes. But it doesn't work. Not always. Sometimes bad things happen that wouldn't have if you'd been told the truth." He dropped his gaze from Catrío's watery eyes. "So maybe Shev wanted to keep you safe. Maybe it would be too dangerous for you to know. But I think you still should know what he knows, what he's keeping from you."