The Vengekeep Prophecies by Brian Farrey

lowest branch and Callie stepped into the moonlight. Her face shone as brightly as her eyes.
    â€œIt’s true. You came back.”
    I sat there quietly, letting her believe that a sense of honor had won out over our cowardice and that we’d returned to take our rightful place as defenders of Vengekeep. She wanted a hero and, for those few moments, I got to play that part. But I knew that wouldn’t last. Someone in this town finally liked me. I didn’t want her liking me for the wrong reasons.
    So I asked her to sit and I told her the whole story. The tapestry, the fateskein, how we weren’t able to leave Vengekeep. I even told her about how my clumsiness started the fire that burned the Castellan’s house down. I felt a mite sick to my stomach. My aunt Risella was right: “Honesty is a tonic for fools.”
    Callie was fascinated by the tapestry switch, frightened by the fateskein, and disappointed that our return wasn’t honor driven. But she made no judgments and just listened. It felt good to tell someone all this. Once I’d finished, she stood. “I owe you a tree-climbing lesson. Come on.” She scaled the trunk to the lowest branch and reached down for me.
    â€œCan’t I be the kind of hero who doesn’t climb trees?” I asked.
    â€œYou could. But where’s the fun in that?”
    I steadied myself and took her hand. Soon I was on the low branch. We didn’t stop there. Together, we worked to go higher and higher. She scampered up with ease. I almost fell only twice. Or three times.
    Okay, I lost count.
    Each time, she grabbed my wrist and wouldn’t let go. We disappeared into the thick, shadow-dappled leaves until we could go no farther and our heads popped out of the top of the tree.
    â€œBangers!” I whispered.
    From here, we could see the whole of Vengekeep. The only buildings taller than the tree were the town-state hall to our right, the clock tower straight ahead, and the turret marking the town mage’s house behind us. Twinkling candles in the streetlights dotted the empty roads. I could see the far watchtowers that guarded Vengekeep’s southern borders, the farthest point of the town-state. And all I could think about were the people who still believed in us, sleeping soundly in the knowledge that the Grimjixes were here to protect them.
    I wanted to vomit.
    We sat on the highest branch, pushing the leaves out of our way to get the whole view.
    â€œYou did it,” I said. “You got me to climb the tree.”
    â€œNo, you did it,” she said, poking me in the ribs. “If klutzes can climb trees, who says thieves can’t be heroes?”
    I blushed. “I suppose this means I need to start your thieving lessons. So tell me, Miss Strom, what will you do with your new skills?”
    Her eyes sparkled. “I’ll tear up all my lady dresses, say good-bye to the widow Bellatin, and become a night bandit. I’ll roam the countryside, pillaging wherever I go.”
    We laughed and I almost fell. Almost. She grabbed my arm to hold me in place. And she didn’t let go.
    My eyes rested on the tall turret in the distance. If Lotha was still around, he probably would know a spell to stop this mess. But he was dead and Talian, his replacement, wouldn’t be back for a while. So all we had to rely on was—
    A lump caught in my throat. I thought about what Nanni had told me the other night about being valuable to the family. Everyone—Ma, Da, Aubrin—had their specialties and I had mine: beating magic with nonmagical means. In all our talk about plans to stop the prophecies, I’d forgotten about that. I did still have something to contribute.
    â€œCallie,” I whispered to the darkness, my gaze never leaving the turret, “you ready to learn how to pick a lock?”

8
Quarantine
    â€œSlashing your own throat and sharing a secret produce the same results.”
    â€” Lorris