Secret Seller: Prequel to The Famine Cycle, an epic fantasy thief saga

6: House-break

It wasn't the first cliff Xaron had climbed, but it was certainly the tallest. Strolling towards the dock so that he was nearly at the base of the cliff, he craned his neck back. The cliff was exposed for the most part, but if he continued further into the inlet, the opposite stone face leaned closer and cast part of the ascent in shadow. He smiled, thinking that Feiyan must enjoy this private view often during the day. At night, it was Xaron's to claim.

Having circled the Servant's compound, he'd determined that his best bet for infiltrating the estate would be to ascend the cliff. At seventy spans high, that was no mean feat. But Xaron just smiled to look at it. If he knew himself at all, he was up to the task.

And he was itching to channel.

Glancing around to make sure no one watched or followed, he made his way over the boulders towards the cove. He could have launched himself over the rough terrain with a burst of kinesis, but even he wasn't so foolish as to waste his strength on convenience. Still, as he hopped from stone to stone, his hands and feet itched, the energy of the Pyrthae pressing at his fingertips and toes. It had been too long since he'd had a chance to properly channel beyond the little that Airene and Nomusa allowed him within Canopy.

And the things he could do if he were allowed. He'd scaled walls in a single jump. He'd performed acrobatics every bit as complicated as the men at the gymnasiums. Once, when a Shepherd had tailed him, he'd vaulted over rooftops to escape. And the tricks with radiance he could perform — juggling fire, casting simple illusions, bursts of light as distractions. He was gifted with this power, yet was told by everyone around him that he couldn't use it.

Once, he'd lived in a place where he wasn't restricted. After he'd left his home at seventeen for refusing to stop channeling, he'd found a commune of other feral wardens, and Graz, their leader, took him under his wing. Like Xaron himself, Graz and the others had believed that those with an attunement to the Pyrthae shouldn't be treated as the detritus of the polis, either shooed into the Acadium to live out their days in repression and among dusty books, or made into the brutal Shepherds who forced other wardens into the same choice. No, they believed they had a right to be exactly who they were, and lived following that shared belief. For two glorious years, Xaron had seen a different future than had been promised for his whole life up until that point.

And then the Shepherds had come.

He had been out purchasing food for the coming span when they came. When he returned, two satchels of bread and fruit slung over his shoulders, he found their home blackened and smoldering. He wanted to run inside, to see if they'd died in the flames or had been taken away, but he hadn't had the courage. Everyone in the vicinity would know that house had been blighted with the daemonic presence of feral wardens. If he was associated with it, he, too, could meet their same fate.

So instead, he ran, never to know for sure what had happened to his friends.

But even two years later, he still carried on their belief as best he could. Sure, he was cautious, or as cautious as he could compel himself to be. But he still channeled everyday, even if it was just a little. He wouldn't let the world around press him into forgetting who he truly was. He would carry on their small rebellion for them. And hopefully, their deaths would someday not be in vain.

Xaron slipped down a large, slick stone and found where he would begin his climb: a recess in the rock that crawled up most of the cliff and was spiderwebbed with cracks perfect for toe and finger grips. Wiping his sweaty palms, he forced himself to breathe through the sudden gurgling in his stomach. He was just excited, he told himself.

He reached the lowest cracks and gingerly put his fingers in them, testing how they held his weight. He'd always known he had long fingers and toes, but suddenly they seemed far too fragile for this task. He breathed in, then out. Only one way to fix that.