Date: The 17th Day of the Month of Frost, Year 1098 of the Imperial Calendar.
Location: The Iron Gate Market, Lower District of Aethelgard.
If Aanya lived in a world of mirrors and silence, Veer lived in a world of mud and noise.
To be ten years old in the Lower District of Aethelgard was to be a man grown. There were no tutors here. There were no bronze mirrors or pearl masks. There was only the First Rule of the Slums: If you aren't holding it tight, you don't own it.
Veer was very good at that rule.
He sat perched on the edge of a slanted slate roof, his legs dangling over the bustling chaos of the Iron Gate Market. He was small for his age, a direct result of skipping more meals than he ate. His ribs showed through his ragged tunic, which was three sizes too big and held together by a piece of fraying rope. His hair was a bird's nest of black tangles that hadn't seen a comb since the last rainy season.
But his eyes—amber, sharp, and constantly moving—missed nothing.
Below him, the market was a beast that never slept. The air reeked of unwashed bodies, roasting goat meat, and the acrid tang of sewage from the open gutters. Merchants screamed prices, beggars wailed for copper, and guards in rusted chainmail marched with bored expressions, looking for easy targets to bully.
Veer's stomach gave a violent growl. It was a deep, hollow sound that hurt.
"Quiet," Veer whispered to his own belly, patting it. "I'm working."
His target was not the bakery (the baker had a heavy wooden paddle and a good aim). It was not the butcher (Veer had nearly lost a finger there last week).
His target was the fruit cart from the Southern Provinces.
It was a rare sight. The cart was guarded by a large man with a thick beard, but the prize lay in a crate lined with straw. Apples. Not the bruised, green, sour things that grew near the city walls. These were Red Suns. They were imported from the fertile valleys of the south. They were the size of a man's fist, their skin a deep, lustrous crimson that looked almost painted.
They cost five silver coins each. Veer had never even held five silver coins in his life.
He watched the patterns. The merchant turned left to haggle with a noble's servant. The guard looked right to spit on the ground.
Left. Right. Gap.
Veer didn't think. Thinking was for people with full stomachs. He moved.
He slid down the drainpipe, his bare feet gripping the metal like a monkey. He hit the cobblestones and blended into the crowd instantly. He made himself small. He became a shadow in the daylight.
He weaved between the legs of a tall soldier, ducked under a donkey's nose, and approached the cart.
The merchant was screaming, "Five silver! I said five! These were kissed by the sun itself!"
Veer saw the gap.
He lunged. His hand, caked in dirt but steady as a surgeon's, darted into the straw crate. His fingers closed around the cold, smooth skin of the apple. It felt heavy. It felt like a treasure.
He yanked it out and tucked it into the hidden pocket of his oversized tunic in one fluid motion.
"Hey!"
The shout came from behind him. Not the merchant, but a rival street kid who had spotted him. "He took one! The rat took one!"
The merchant spun around. "What? Thieves! Guards!"
Veer didn't wait. He exploded into a sprint.
"Stop him!"
Veer ducked under a clothesline, sending white sheets fluttering into the mud. He scrambled over a stack of crates, his breath tearing at his throat. He could hear the heavy boots of the guards behind him, the clinking of their chainmail.
Run, run, run.
He knew these streets better than the mapmakers. He took a sharp left into "Dead Man's Alley," a narrow passage filled with garbage. He squeezed through a hole in a wooden fence that was too small for a grown man.
He burst out onto the other side, near the riverbank, chest heaving, lungs burning.
He was safe.
Veer collapsed against a mossy stone wall, sliding down until he hit the dirt. He reached into his tunic and pulled out the prize.
The apple was perfect. It had no bruises. It smelled sweet, floral, and impossibly clean compared to the stench of the alley.
He raised it to his lips. One bite. Just one bite would make the headache go away.
But then, he stopped.
He looked up at the skyline. Above the smog of the Lower District, the rooftops of the Merchant District rose up, cleaner and taller. And there, near the edge, was the house with the timber frame. The house with the second-floor window.
He had seen her yesterday. The girl behind the glass.
Veer lowered the apple.
He didn't know why he watched her. Maybe it was because she was the only person in the city who looked sadder than he felt. Or maybe it was because she was so beautiful that looking at her felt like staring at the sun—it hurt, but you couldn't look away.
"She looked like a ghost," Veer muttered to himself. "A hungry ghost."
He remembered seeing her staring at the street kids playing. He had seen the longing in her eyes before she was yanked away by that screeching woman.
Veer looked at the apple. Then he looked at his stomach.
"Shut up," he told his stomach again.
He stood up. He wasn't going to eat it. Not yet.
Getting to the Merchant District was harder than stealing the apple. The guards at the separation gate didn't like "gutter rats" crossing over. Veer had to swim.
He waded through the murky canal that ran under the city wall. The water was freezing and smelled of things better left unnamed. He emerged on the other side, shivering, dripping wet, but grinning.
The Merchant District was quiet. It smelled of lavender and roasting duck.
Veer stuck to the shadows, moving from rooftop to rooftop. He was a cat. He was a phantom.
He reached the house of Merchant Kael as the sun began to set. The sky was turning a bruised purple. He crept along the neighboring roof and eyed the distance to her window. It was a perilous jump to the ledge, followed by a shimmy up a drainpipe.
If he fell, he would break his legs.
Veer tightened the rope around his waist. "Easy."
He leaped.
His fingers caught the stone ledge. He grunted, pulling himself up. He hugged the wall, inching toward the wooden shutters.
They were closed.
Veer's heart sank. Had he come all this way for nothing? He pressed his ear against the wood. Sniffing?
He tapped on the shutter. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Silence.
He tapped again, harder. Tap. Tap.
The latch clicked. Slowly, hesitantly, the shutter creaked open just an inch.
A single violet eye peered out. It widened in shock.
"You..." the voice was a whisper, soft as a breeze.
"Hey," Veer whispered back, clinging to the drainpipe with one arm. He flashed a lopsided, dirt-streaked grin. "Can I come up? My arm is getting tired."
The shutter opened fully. Aanya stood there.
She was wearing a nightgown of white cotton. Her face was bare of the green slime he had seen yesterday, but her skin looked scrubbed raw. Her eyes were red-rimmed.
She looked at Veer—wet, smelling of river water, with leaves stuck in his messy hair—with absolute bewilderment.
"You are the boy from the street," she said. "The one who plays tag."
"I'm Veer," he said, pulling himself up so he was sitting on the wide window ledge, his legs dangling outside. "And I don't play tag. I was practicing escaping."
"Escaping?" Aanya blinked. "From whom?"
"Everyone," Veer shrugged. He looked at her. Up close, she was even more terrifyingly beautiful. It made him nervous. He wiped his dirty nose on his sleeve. "What's your name? Or do they just call you 'Princess'?"
"I'm Aanya," she said. She looked behind her at the locked bedroom door, then back at him. "You shouldn't be here. If Father sees you..."
"He won't. I'm invisible." Veer leaned forward. He saw the way she was holding her stomach. "You skipped dinner?"
Aanya looked down, ashamed. "Madame Rousseau said my stomach rumbled. So I was punished. No snack. No dinner."
Veer scowled. "That's stupid. Your stomach rumbles because it's empty. That's like punishing a dog for barking."
"It is discipline," Aanya recited automatically, though her voice lacked conviction.
"It's starvation," Veer corrected.
He reached into his tunic. "Here."
He pulled out the Red Sun apple.
In the dim light of the room, the apple seemed to glow. It was pristine, polished against his shirt, a perfect sphere of deep crimson.
Aanya gasped. She had seen apples before, of course, but only on the dining table when guests came. She was never allowed to eat the whole thing—only thin, translucent slices.
"For me?" she asked.
"Well, I'm not gonna give it to the drainpipe," Veer said, his cheeks turning a slight shade of pink under the dirt. "Take it."
Aanya reached out. Her hand was pale and manicured; his was brown, calloused, and covered in scratches. As she took the apple, their fingers brushed.
Veer felt a jolt go up his arm, like static electricity before a storm. He pulled his hand back quickly.
Aanya held the apple with both hands. She brought it to her nose and inhaled. "It smells like summer."
"Eat it," Veer urged. "Before the old witch comes back."
Aanya took a bite. The crunch was loud in the silent room. Juice ran down her chin. Her eyes widened. It was sweet, crisp, and cold. It was the best thing she had ever tasted.
She ate with a hunger that betrayed her noble posture. She took another bite, and another.
Veer watched her, forgetting his own hunger. Seeing her eat made his own empty stomach feel full. A strange warmth spread through his chest.
"Is it good?" he asked.
Aanya nodded vigorously, her mouth full. "It's wonderful. Thank you, Veer."
She looked at him then, really looked at him. She didn't see a dirty slum rat. She saw a boy who had climbed a wall just to feed her.
"Where did you get it?" she asked.
Veer grinned, showing a chipped front tooth. "Let's just say... the merchant dropped it. And I caught it."
Aanya smiled. It wasn't the "three-millimeter smile" Madame Rousseau taught her. It was a real smile. It crinkled the corners of her eyes. It showed her teeth. It was radiant.
Veer felt like he had been punched in the gut, but in a good way.
"You should smile more," Veer blurted out. "You look less... like a doll."
Aanya's smile faded slightly. "I have to be a doll. I'm going to be the Empress."
"The Empress?" Veer wrinkled his nose. "Why? Is the Emperor nice?"
"I don't know," Aanya admitted. "But he is rich. And if I marry him, my family will be happy."
"What about you?" Veer asked. "Will you be happy?"
Aanya paused. She looked at the half-eaten apple in her hand. "I don't think my happiness is part of the deal."
The sadness was back. It hung over her like a heavy cloak.
Veer hated it. He wanted to steal that sadness and throw it in the river.
"Well," Veer said, shifting on the ledge. "If you're the Empress, you can order them to give you all the apples you want."
"I suppose so."
"But until then..." Veer looked her in the eye. "If you're hungry, you open this window. I'll bring you something."
Aanya's eyes widened. "You will come back?"
"Yeah," Veer said, trying to sound casual. "The climbing is good exercise."
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside her door.
"Aanya? Who are you talking to?" It was her father's voice.
Panic flashed in Aanya's eyes. "Go! You have to go!"
Veer didn't hesitate. He swung his legs over the side. "Hide the core!"
He dropped from the ledge, catching the drainpipe and sliding down into the darkness of the alley below just as the bedroom door slammed open.
"I heard a voice!" Kael barked, storming into the room. He looked around suspiciously.
Aanya stood by the window, her back straight, her face a mask of calm. She had shoved the apple core under her pillow.
"I was reciting my poetry, Father," she said, her voice steady. "Practicing my diction."
Kael narrowed his eyes, scanning the room. He walked to the window and looked out. He saw nothing but the dark alley and a stray cat scuttling away.
He grunted. "Good. Diligence is a virtue. Go to sleep."
He slammed the door shut.
Aanya let out a breath she had been holding. She reached under her pillow and pulled out the apple core. It was sticky.
She held it to her chest like a precious jewel.
Down in the alley, Veer leaned against the brick wall, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was soaked, cold, and still starving. His stomach growled again, louder this time.
But he was grinning.
He touched his palm, the spot where her fingers had brushed his.
"Aanya," he tested the name on his tongue.
He pushed off the wall and began the long walk back to the slums. He had no dinner tonight. He would have to fight for a dry spot to sleep under the bridge.
But he didn't care. He had a mission now.
The girl in the tower was hungry. And he was the best thief in Aethelgard.
The threads of fate had pulled tight. The knot was tied.