Borderlands by Skye Melki-Wegner Page B

debt ? You’re joking.’ When I don’t respond, her expression hardens. ‘Smugglers don’t do debts, my friend. We sure like good luck when it falls our way, but we ain’t about to repay it unless we have to.’ Silver lifts her chin. ‘Want to know our secret? How my people survived for centuries? Sense, not sentimentality.’
    I think of Hackel’s eagerness to sell us out. It was nothing personal, he’d assured us. Just common sense for a smuggler. In his eyes, we were just chattel to escort along the road. Another load of spice and silver.
    â€˜If you want my help,’ Silver says, ‘you’d best offer something in return.’
    â€˜All right,’ I say. ‘If you help me, I’ll be the one who owes you. I’ll repay my debt, I swear. I’m not a smuggler.’
    Silver snorts. ‘Well, that’s obvious.’ Her lip curls as she looks me up and down. ‘Still, if you’ve made it this far, you can’t be completely useless. I suppose Quirin might find a use for you.’
    I hesitate. What might a smuggler ask me to do? Throw my life away to carry his goods? Sneak through the enemy’s camp, or steal from King Morrigan himself? But whatever the consequences may be, I can’t let my friends die. I can’t.
    I hold out my hand. ‘Whatever job needs doing, I’ll do it. I’ll repay my debt. Just help me find them before . . .’ I take a deep breath, then force myself to finish the sentence. ‘Before it’s too late.’
    Silver raises an eyebrow. ‘Well, my friend, looks like we’ve got a deal.’
    The old woman’s handshake is firm and confident. The grip of a lifelong dealmaker. As we break apart, I wonder how many other poor suckers’ hands she’s shaken – and how many lived to tell the tale.

    We find the soldiers before we find my friends. Silver darts ahead, as nimble in the trees as Teddy would be on a rooftop. At first I expect her to move slowly, creaking and hobbling through the forest. But she leaps between branches, scoots up and down trunks, and thrusts her head above the canopy to check for clues. I don’t know if it’s fitness, good health or perhaps an alchemy charm, but she moves more like a squirrel than an old lady.
    â€˜This way, my friend.’ Silver skims down the side of a tree. ‘There’s a cluster of people over there, I’d judge.’
    â€˜How do you know?’
    â€˜Saw the canopy wobblin’. It weren’t from the breeze, neither – from bodies in the bushes ­underneath.’
    It seems a bit farfetched to me. Surely a wild animal could cause such wobbling, or even just the breeze? But Silver seems so sure of herself that I believe her.
    â€˜Quiet,’ she whispers.
    I frown, then glance at my feet. I thought I was moving quietly, myself, but I suppose I’m still not used to the noisy remonstrations of forest floors. I don’t see how you can avoid the occasional twig crunch or leaf crackle – not without the ability to levitate. But I nod, refocus, and make an extra effort to step in the least offensive patches of ­undergrowth.
    We hear them before we see them: voices muttering in low tones. I don’t recognise them. They don’t sound like any of Sharr’s hunters, and certainly not like my friends.
    â€˜Soldiers.’ Silver points between the trees. ‘Headin’ for the shore.’
    I follow her gaze. If I squint, I can just make out the silhouettes of adults between the trees – men and women cloaked in the khaki uniforms of the king’s army. They seem as unfamiliar with forests as I am: clunky and loud, cracking every twig they pass.
    Silver gives a disapproving sniff. ‘Buffoons,’ she says. ‘Least your king’s hunters know how to move in the wild. These ones . . . well, it don’t speak well of your king that he’s got