Page 1 of Veil of Web and Ruin

Chapter 1

When you need help – really desperately need help – you’ll go to whatever lengths it takes to find it. And for me, that means going to Rula.

We thought we’d already hit rock bottom when we moved into the slums, but things got worse when Father died six months ago, and I understood quickly that the only way Kay and I were going to survive was by making friends.

Not the curl-up-together-and-talk-about-men-you-like-as-you-braid-one-another’s-hair kind. Not ones who try to pick you up on a low day or convince you that things aren’t as bad as they seem.

No, I’m talking about powerful friends. The type of friends who can stop you from coming home to find your place ransacked. The type who can make sure you make it home alive in the first place. The type who will get you a dagger when you need it and, if need be, be the one who stabs it in someone’s back for you, too.

That’s the type of friend Rula is. Though maybe ‘friend’ is the wrong word.

You can’t be friends with Rula, the same way you can’t make friends with a snake or an unbonded dire wolf; they all have that same unpredictable ruthlessness simmering just beneath the surface. But it’s not like I had a choice.

For Kay, I’d become best friends with a damned Issen and their forbidden ice magic. Whatever it takes to survive.

As I prepare to leave the house, my pockets are lined with half a dozen vials – tonics I’ve brewed using recipes from my mother’s precious notebook, tonics Rula will sell for the highest price she can. Maybe, if she gets enough, I’ll even get a coin or two. But what I actually get from Rula is something more valuable: protection. For me and, more importantly, for Kay.

‘Don’t go outside until I get back,’ I tell my little sister as I head out through our meagre scrap of a door. ‘I’ll try to pick up some food for us if I can.’

Kay looks longingly after me. ‘Why don’t I come to the market with you?’ she suggests lightly, like she hasn’t asked it every day of late. ‘See if I can get some work? I saw Talia and Ellen the other day. Maybe I could ask them to help me find something.’

‘No,’ I snap the word before softening my tone. ‘No, you don’t need to do that. I can make enough for both of us.’

‘But you’re not, Rose,’ she sighs. ‘You didn’t eat anything last night. I saw. You fed me, but you went to bed hungry. Again.’

Fuck. I’ve been trying to hide from her how tough it’s been these last few months, despite brewing every moment I get with the ingredients I can find, trying to create enough that Rulawillgive me coin or build up a surplus I can sell, quietly, myself.

The last thing I need is my sister feeling guilty. None of this is her fault. It’s neither of our faults. We’re here living in squalor, stripped of magic, wealth, and title, all because of one lying piece of shit: the prince. King Korvane’s only heir. Prince Kyor.

He’s the one who lied about what happened the night the queen died, blaming her death on the healer attending her in childbirth: our mother. He’s the reason our magic was ripped from us and that my younger brother’s life was taken as forfeit. A son for a son, the king demanded.

I know the princeliedbecause I was there. My mother tried everything to help the queen. Tried to use all the healing powers at her disposal to save her. But sometimes even magic isn’t enough.

‘We’re a little short on coin, and I wasn’t hungry anyway,’ I say casually to Kay, patting my coat pocket where the vials rest. ‘I’m taking the tonics to Rula now. We’ll get some money and we’ll be fine.’

‘But for how long, Rose? I’m old enough now to work. I can help.’

I move back into the room and kiss her lightly on the top of her head.

‘Youarehelping, Kay. Just by being you, you’re helping. You lift my spirits, and you help with the potions. Now, make sure those don’t boil over for me.’ I gesture to the pan that’s bubbling away on the single gas ring. Another tonic that would work a hundred times better if I still had magic. The properties of the plants and herbs mean that it’ll dosomethingthough, and for those of us living in the squalid desperation of the slums, where every day is a struggle to survive, anything is better than nothing.

‘You don’t need to ask the girls about work,’ I insist. ‘I’ve told you I’ll find something for you, and I will. Leave it to me.’ I smile reassuringly as I leave, but Kay still looks dubious.

Rightly so. I’m lying through my teeth.

If Rula doesn’t come up with some coin today, I’m going to have to think of some alternatives – fast.

Outside, the stench of the slums is muted by the cold and less pungent than it is inside the little ramshackle space we call home. The summer months are the worst for it, when the heat turns every narrow street sour, but warmer weather never lingers long in Wrohelm. We’re lucky if we get a couple of weeks.

It’s a double-edged sword; the reduced stench is a blessing, but the cold crushes your bones and freezes the water solid. And while the homes inside the inner rings of the city are blessed with heating, even some of those in the fifth and sixth rings aren’t so fortunate.

The source of today’s particularly malodorous scent becomes apparent a few feet later, when I pass a carriage filled with kitchen waste. From the aroma emanating from it and the scraps of half-masticated food, bones bitten bare, it probably came all the way from the High Hold.

A crowd has gathered around it, looking for anything edible.

There was a time I wouldn’t have believed people would go to such lengths to find something to eat, especially when what’s on offer is half-rotten and putrid already. Now, I’m annoyed I didn’t get here first. Anything decent will be long gone by now, so I’ll have to rely on Rula’s ‘generosity.’

Clutching my threadbare coat close, I elbow my way past the starving crowd. I long for my fur, sold long ago for coin. It was so soft, so warm … and so far back in my memory now that I’m not even sure I can accurately remember what it felt like.