The Dark Ability Read Free

one of the pockets. In spite of himself, he smiled. For some reason, it felt good to have something else that was forbidden besides his ability.
    At this hour, the sky was dark, a hint of rolling clouds far overhead and waves crashing along the shore beneath Elaeavn. Somewhere nearby, there came the sound of hushed voices arguing, and he paused to listen, wondering at the source.
    “I’ll have your money—”
    “It’s no longer about the money. I have another way for you to repay me.”
    Rsiran backed into the shadows, suddenly not wanting to be out on the street.
    “I don’t like the sound of that—”
    “Have I ever led you astray? Besides, you wouldn’t want your secret discovered, would you?”
    A soft laugh drifted out. “Not much of a secret.” The voice paused. “What is it you want from me?”
    “Tomorrow. Near the docks. I’ll show you.”
    Another laugh. “Dramatic, aren’t you? Fine. Tomorrow then.”
    Rsiran scrambled back, trying to hide, when a shape burst out of the shadows of a nearby alley and crashed into him.
    Rsiran fell to the ground in a heap. One of his blades flew from the pocket in his cloak and clattered to the stones. Someone grunted nearby, shuffling on the stone.
    He pulled himself to his knees and reached for the blade. Another hand reached it first.
    “That’s mine.” Rsiran tried to keep the terror from his voice and failed. What would happen if this were one of the constables? He couldn’t be caught with a lorcith knife. His father wouldn’t have to kill him then; he’d be thrown in prison, or worse, sent to the mines to serve penance.
    The man standing across from him wore a dark cloak that was not quite black, greying hair slicked back over his head, his sun-weathered face wrinkled at the eyes as he frowned. He spun the knife in his hand. “Yours?” he asked, frowning. “Not a common knife, is it? Not common at all.” He spun it in his hand as he looked at the light softly reflecting off the metal. “A knife like this seems like it has a purpose.” His voice was as rough as his face. Even in the darkness, Rsiran could tell that his eyes were the palest of greens, a sign of limited ability.
    Rsiran nodded. “It’s mine,” he repeated carefully, praying the man wouldn’t recognize what the knife was made from. Violence in this part of Elaeavn was rare, not like in Lower Town. Rsiran had even overheard his father speaking to Seval, one of the other master smiths, about a rebellion, but he found that hard to believe. Still, he couldn’t help the nervous flutter he felt in his stomach. He held his hand out but took a step back.
    The man held the knife close up to his face. Not Sighted, at least, though as pale as his eyes were, whatever ability he had would be weak. “How would you acquire something of this quality?” the man asked.
    Rsiran felt a surge of pride at the compliment. If only his father would pay him such compliments. “I didn’t acquire it.”
    The man frowned again. “Did you steal it?”
    Rsiran shook his head. “I…” How to answer? What would this man do? “I made it.”
    The man turned it over again and looked over at Rsiran. “Made it?” One finger traced the etching near the base of the blade where Rsiran had carved his initials in a flourish, creating a specialized mark. “Are you not a bit young to be a smith?”
    Rsiran shrugged. He still had his hand out, and the man finally placed the knife into Rsiran’s palm. As he pocketed it, it clanged against the other. The man’s eyes widened slightly, and the hint of a smile turned the corner of his mouth.
    “Not a smith,” Rsiran answered. “Still an apprentice.” He still couldn’t tell which of the two men he’d heard arguing this was. Both had sounded angry, but one of them owed the other money. Would this man rob him of the knives? If he did, what could Rsiran even say?
    “Apprentice?” The man laughed, a deep-throated sound that hung in the misty air.
    Rsiran shook his