The Silver Lake Read Free

be reported.” He frowned suddenly. “An’ I’ll report you myself if we don’t eat soon.”
    He moved to work on Cindar’s other cheek as the man answered his threat with a sideways scowl from beneath his heavy, black brows, but then jerked his head at a small, cloth-wrapped bundle by the side of the pallet, ignoring Brax’s curse as he almost took off an eyebrow. “So eat,” he snarled.
    Spar pounced on the bundle at once.
    “Havo’s Dance tonight,” Cindar continued grimly as the younger boy tossed Brax half of the day-old flat bread inside. “Don’t hog it all! That’s for the three of us!”
    “You sure your stomach’s up to it?” Brax asked pointedly and, as Cindar’s face paled in remembered nausea, he wolfed down his share of the bread with a smirk.
    “Like I said,” Cindar continued darkly. “Havo’s Dance starts tonight, and it looks to be a messy one this year, so we’d best finish our business up early and get under cover before those filthy little life-sucking shadows show up. You know what they do to the unsworn.”
    Spar stilled a sudden shudder and Cindar shot him a hard-eyed look.
    “What?” he demanded.
    He shook his head, but Cindar caught him by the arm, giving him a penetrating stare.
    “You sure? You look like you just tramped over your own grave. Or mine.” He shook him. “Well, did you?”
    “He’s just cold,” Brax interrupted, his voice suddenly low and dangerous. “He needs a new jacket.”
    “So do I,” Cindar retorted, shooting the older boy a withering glance, despite the knife perilously close to his throat. “Do your job today and we might both get one; otherwise you’ll just have to give him yours.”
    The two of them glared at each other for a long moment and then Brax gave a stiff nod before he returned to his task. “Fair enough,” he answered.
    Mollified, Cindar allowed a sour smile to cross his ravaged features as he released Spar’s arm. “Whatever happens, Usara’s powders oughta get us enough for one decent meal tonight if nothing else, eh, youngling?” He ruffled Spar’s hair in a gruff apology for his rough handling. “Then it’s three nights off to sleep warm and sleep late.” He turned, risking the other eyebrow. “Aren’t you done yet?” he demanded querulously.
    “Just.” Brax returned the knife to him and Cindar ran a hand along his cheeks with an appreciative expression, his mood lightening as quickly as it had darkened. “You get caught someday, Delin,” he said making use of the rarely spoken endearment, “and you can always beg off time by becoming the prison barber.” He stood, then grinned wickedly as he saw that his hands had stopped shaking “Like I said,” he repeated, aiming a fake punch at Brax’s head, “I can still outlift either one of you any buggerin’ day of any buggerin’ God’s month you can name. Now c‘mon, before the crowds thin out.”
    He headed for the door. Glancing at Spar, Brax made an obscene gesture behind Cindar’s back, then, as the younger boy snickered, followed him out with a mock swagger. Alone, Spar’s eyes paled slightly as he scanned the room, then fished a copper asper out from beneath the pallet, schooling his expression as Brax turned back with an inquisitive look.
    “You coming?”
    The younger boy nodded. “I am now.”

    The air was still cold and the cobblestones laced with uncharacteristic frost as they made their way along the wide dockside market streets already crowded with people despite the early hour. Cindar strode on ahead, seemingly oblivious to the two boys doing their best to keep up with him, but every now and then, he shot a glance back at Spar to make sure he hadn’t vanished. Spar smiled slyly. Brax had once accused him of taking the piss on their abayos, but even he kept an eye on him. If the younger boy went to ground, whatever the reason, Brax went with him. For the moment, however, Spar was content to trot along behind Cindar with an even