Steal the Sky by Megan E. O'Keefe Read Free Book Online Page B

when the real article was near. Getting the amount just right so that the whole thing didn’t float away had given her quite the headache at the time.
    Pelkaia gathered herself, faked a smile, and kissed the locket which held her dead son’s face. When she opened the door, she found herself staring into the face of the watch captain, a shrewd young woman with serious eyes. Pelkaia noted that she had a freckle on the underside of her chin, and a tilt to the nose that she’d missed. She made a mental note to include those disparities in her next iteration of her.
    â€œGood afternoon, Miss…” Ripka glanced down at a list of names. “Miss Pelkaia Teria. I am Watch Captain Ripka Leshe, and this is Sergeant Banch Thent. May we come in?”
    â€œYes, of course.” She stepped to the side and opened the door wide for her new guests. “I’m afraid the place is not very big, but you are welcome to it. Can I make you tea?”
    The watchers spilled into her little sitting room, their brilliant blue uniforms gaudy against the drab simplicity of her few possessions. They stood, critical eyes sweeping the place from top to bottom, and Pelkaia was certain they saw nothing of interest. Just the small pieces of a lonely woman’s life. Ripka shook her head.
    â€œThank you, ma’am, but no. We are quite busy today. Have you heard of the death of Warden Faud?”
    â€œWho hasn’t? I don’t get out much anymore, you understand.” She eased herself into a chair and rubbed her knees with an embarrassed smile. “But I do get to the market one level down twice a week. Why, I was just there yesterday. It’s all anyone can talk about. Did you say your name was Ripka?”
    The watch captain blinked. “I did. Is that significant?”
    â€œAh, well, it’s just that it’s a Brown Wash name, like my own. I bet you have an Uncle Rel or Rip, eh? Silly unimaginative lot, our folk. Slap an ‘a’ or ‘aia’ on the end and, ta-da, you have a beautiful baby girl.”
    That got a genuine smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I do indeed, but I have been gone from that village a long time.”
    â€œMe too, me too.” She rubbed her knees some more, letting them see a bit of pain in her face. They didn’t hurt, but no one ever feared a viper with broken fangs. “What can I do for you?”
    â€œThere has been some speculation that the late warden was murdered by a doppel.”
    Pelkaia rankled at that, but kept her face as smooth as she could make it without sel. Being called a doppel was deeply disrespectful, but she doubted this girl knew any better. Illusionists could do so much more than hide beneath another’s face. Fires above, the girl didn’t even realize Pelkaia was a proper illusionist.
    â€œYou don’t say? Well, I’m just an old sel mover, not even a shaper. I can shuttle the stuff along all right, but I’m no illusionist. I don’t know any, either. Most of us don’t chat much once the contract with the mine is up, you understand.”
    Ripka’s brows went up at the term illusionist, but she let it hang. Many of Aransa’s older citizenry refused the new terms for the strongest of the sel-sensitives. The elderly carried more of the indigenous Catari blood, from the time when Valathea suspected interbreeding was the only way to raise sensitives. The words of their great-grandparents filtered down the generations to their lips. Ripka couldn’t rightly suspect her for such a small thing. Still, it felt like a little rebellion. A tiny triumph.
    â€œI’m sure that’s true, ma’am, but in the interest of protecting the city I’m afraid we’re going to have to search your residence. Do you consent?”
    â€œCertainly.”
    Pelkaia was proud at the breeziness of her voice, the unconcerned wave of her hand inviting them to have a look-see. Inside she was furious.