Read Online Radiant: Towers Trilogy Book One by Karina Sumner-Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Karina Sumner-Smith
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thinking on it. Shai’s body was in one of the Towers, that much was clear. But getting there . . . ? Might as well seek to travel to the stars.
Xhea could not remember all the times she’d tried to reach the City, all the schemes and plans that had inevitably come to nothing. There had been enough that she’d begun to feel the weight of the accumulated failures; enough that she’d almost stopped dreaming of Towers. But if the dreams remained, she’d learned not to reach for them, lest she spend her whole life yearning for things forever beyond her grasp.
Except now she wasn’t trying to make a life in the City, or in whatever Tower she found—only get there in time to stop the resurrection. And for that, perhaps all she needed was enough renai. Again she touched the pocket where she’d stashed the payment Brend had given her so reluctantly the night before, and grinned.
“Right,” she said, and set off toward the market’s far end, where smoke from the generator hung in a haze. Walking a path that repetition had carved into memory, she made her way through the stalls that surrounded the old mall in great, uneven rings. In theory, these stalls were temporary, the vendors too transient to earn a place in the true market held in the shelter of those ancient walls. Yet the “temporary” tents had been there so long that Xhea could remember nothing else in their place. So long as bribes were paid, there was little reason for Senn—the skyscraper that owned the ancient mall and all the surrounding buildings—to force out such a lucrative source of income.
At last Xhea came to a stall with its front displays overflowing with trays of twisted wire, carved discs, and bits of stone and wood. The proprietor moved through the cluttered interior gracefully, a whipcord thin woman with long beaded locks who ducked beneath bells and hanging ward chimes with an unthinking ease.
“Iya,” Xhea called. Iya raised a distracted hand in acknowledgment and brought a carved charm to a customer, an older man dithering over his choices.
Iya was a charm twister, a common enough trade in the Lower City where few had the magical strength necessary to create an independent spell—but it was her artistry as much as skill that made Iya’s charms so popular. All twisters made shapes to hold magic in a spell’s pattern, asking wood or bone or wire to hold the spell shape that weak magic alone could not sustain; yet Iya’s pieces had a certain grace that assured her steady business despite the mess of her storefront. Xhea herself had bartered for a few of Iya’s charms; inert now, they were bound into her hair.
Even now, Iya was busy: the old man held most of her attention as he combed through a tray of medallions with single-minded intensity. The pieces in question glittered sluggishly, becoming lighter and darker without noticeable pattern; yet Shai made a sound of interest, floating down to peer at them around the man’s piled packages. Xhea could only assume that the effect was more striking in color.
“Iya, any news?” Iya sent customers Xhea’s way a few times a year, and was the closest thing she had to an ally in the market. They’d known each other for a long time—not, of course, that either mentioned their history. But today Iya shook her head, barely glancing away from her customer.
“Got time to do a transfer?” Xhea flashed the payment chip.
“Sorry,” Iya said with a wave that could have as easily been apology as dismissal. Xhea nodded her thanks and continued, dragging a reluctant Shai behind.
Shared history or no, Iya rarely had much time for her. But being ignored served well enough, Xhea thought as she took a bite of the old man’s sandwich roll. It was still fresh enough to be cold.
“Egg,” she said to the ghost, gesturing at the roll she’d slipped from the man’s shopping. “Not half bad.” At the ghost’s look she added, “Just be glad I don’t have to feed you too.” And be glad ,
Xhea could not remember all the times she’d tried to reach the City, all the schemes and plans that had inevitably come to nothing. There had been enough that she’d begun to feel the weight of the accumulated failures; enough that she’d almost stopped dreaming of Towers. But if the dreams remained, she’d learned not to reach for them, lest she spend her whole life yearning for things forever beyond her grasp.
Except now she wasn’t trying to make a life in the City, or in whatever Tower she found—only get there in time to stop the resurrection. And for that, perhaps all she needed was enough renai. Again she touched the pocket where she’d stashed the payment Brend had given her so reluctantly the night before, and grinned.
“Right,” she said, and set off toward the market’s far end, where smoke from the generator hung in a haze. Walking a path that repetition had carved into memory, she made her way through the stalls that surrounded the old mall in great, uneven rings. In theory, these stalls were temporary, the vendors too transient to earn a place in the true market held in the shelter of those ancient walls. Yet the “temporary” tents had been there so long that Xhea could remember nothing else in their place. So long as bribes were paid, there was little reason for Senn—the skyscraper that owned the ancient mall and all the surrounding buildings—to force out such a lucrative source of income.
At last Xhea came to a stall with its front displays overflowing with trays of twisted wire, carved discs, and bits of stone and wood. The proprietor moved through the cluttered interior gracefully, a whipcord thin woman with long beaded locks who ducked beneath bells and hanging ward chimes with an unthinking ease.
“Iya,” Xhea called. Iya raised a distracted hand in acknowledgment and brought a carved charm to a customer, an older man dithering over his choices.
Iya was a charm twister, a common enough trade in the Lower City where few had the magical strength necessary to create an independent spell—but it was her artistry as much as skill that made Iya’s charms so popular. All twisters made shapes to hold magic in a spell’s pattern, asking wood or bone or wire to hold the spell shape that weak magic alone could not sustain; yet Iya’s pieces had a certain grace that assured her steady business despite the mess of her storefront. Xhea herself had bartered for a few of Iya’s charms; inert now, they were bound into her hair.
Even now, Iya was busy: the old man held most of her attention as he combed through a tray of medallions with single-minded intensity. The pieces in question glittered sluggishly, becoming lighter and darker without noticeable pattern; yet Shai made a sound of interest, floating down to peer at them around the man’s piled packages. Xhea could only assume that the effect was more striking in color.
“Iya, any news?” Iya sent customers Xhea’s way a few times a year, and was the closest thing she had to an ally in the market. They’d known each other for a long time—not, of course, that either mentioned their history. But today Iya shook her head, barely glancing away from her customer.
“Got time to do a transfer?” Xhea flashed the payment chip.
“Sorry,” Iya said with a wave that could have as easily been apology as dismissal. Xhea nodded her thanks and continued, dragging a reluctant Shai behind.
Shared history or no, Iya rarely had much time for her. But being ignored served well enough, Xhea thought as she took a bite of the old man’s sandwich roll. It was still fresh enough to be cold.
“Egg,” she said to the ghost, gesturing at the roll she’d slipped from the man’s shopping. “Not half bad.” At the ghost’s look she added, “Just be glad I don’t have to feed you too.” And be glad ,
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