The Orphan Read Online Free

years ago, someone had found us on the edge of Sippar, the black, roiling, moving wall of death that had come to surround the city. Foundlings , they called us. There was no place for us. Half the citizens of the city wouldn’t even touch us, because we’d been so close to the deadly borders, as if that closeness were some kind of disease. And they were scared by the strange, white, angled mark on the back of my head.
    So we got by on our own. And we would stick by one another always.
    â€œHere, Frada,” I said, eagerly pulling the pomegranate from my pouch. “Your troubles will be over.”
    Nico’s eyes went wide at the sight of the fruit. “It’s true! Frada, wake up! Look! The pomegranate!”
    â€œShsshhh, you want the entire neighborhood to know what I’ve got?” I said. “I’ve been chased by idiot guards through half the city. Find us a bowl and a knife so I can get this fruit open.”
    As Nico scurried off, Frada’s head turned. She let out a stream of coughs. I held the pomegranate up to the light so she could see it. Her hazel eyes grew wide, glistening in the lamplight.
    â€œ What’s going on back here ?” shouted a voice like a scraping of a knife against stone. “I swear, if you’ve knocked over another cask I’ll throw you into the street this time!”
    Zakiti could have been anywhere from thirty to a hundred. Her head was patched with matted clumps of brownish-gray hair, like a sun-scorched field. One of her eyes was dead, a milky sheen that stared into space. Years ago Zakiti had had a home, a good business, and fine looks. But on a visit to the Royal Garden she had been attacked by an escaped vizzeet, one of the monkey-like creatures whose foul spit can burn through skin. Banished into the street by a king who does not tolerate unsightliness, she came to be among those forced to keep their faces hidden in darkness.
    Selling wine that was not really wine, Zakiti had grown used to a life of half-truths and outright lies. She could be kind or cruel. As long as we were quiet and did our work, we knew we had a roof over our heads.
    I hid the pomegranate behind me. If Zakiti got mad, we’d be back on the streets.
    â€œWhat do you have there, Daria?” The old lady hobbled into the storeroom, staring at us suspiciously with her one good eye. As she walked, tiny metal baubles jingled in her hair. Her clothes were threadbare and colorless.
    I eyed Nico, who was skulking in the shadows, still looking for the bowl and knife. “Food,” I said, head down. “For Frada.”
    Zakiti whipped her arm toward me, pulling at my elbow. “A pomegranate?” she whispered, her eye widening in astonishment. “Not from the King’s Grove?”
    â€œI—I can explain,” I stammered.
    She snatched the fruit away from me. As I looked on in horror, she pressed her fingers into the peel ever so slightly. “Why did you steal it?” Zakiti demanded. “Do you think this will bring you riches and status? Make you nobles? Take you away from me and make my life even more miserable?”
    Frada let out a round of wracking coughs. A small trail of blood trickled down her cheek. She was dying before our eyes!
    â€œIt’s not for us, Zakiti!” Nico said.
    â€œ Lady Zakiti!” the old crone spat.
    â€œLady Zakiti,” I repeated. “Please. I took this for Frada. To bring her back to life. The pomegranate is said to cure ills.”
    â€œOh . . . ?” Zakiti eyed me suspiciously.
    â€œSo you see—if she is well, you will again have three healthy workers,” Nico added quickly, “not two!”
    Zakiti scowled at Nico and me, then looked at Frada. “Do you think that is all I care about—workers? I can always get workers. Do you think me cold and inhuman? Pah!”
    The old lady turned her back and walked away. Nico got ready to follow her, but I held