The Rouges

e i g h t

THE TATTERED PAPER of my father's notebook crinkled beneath my fingers. I traced his writing with a heavy heart. I hated that I was giving away my father's last words, the words that had kept me safe for so many years. I had already shared too much, given the last part of my parents I had, to a stranger. A stranger I didn't even trust.

Arstid's pen tapped on the table, her impatience obvious. I ground my teeth thinking of Mouse again. I was doing this to protect the child, I reminded myself, to keep her from growing up alone and angry like I had. I took a deep breath before continuing.

"He wrote about what objects were good to trade. The basic necessities everyone needs to survive like food, water, shelter and clothing. This page is about seeking out other rogues in the city, possible locations they might hide." I stopped, closing my father's notebook. "That's it essentially. I don't know what else you thought you would find in his notes."

Arstid sat back pressing the pen to her mouth. "I have to admit it's not exactly what we had hoped for. The majority is just about survival skills. I had hoped there would be more about The Sanctuary or... I don't know... something more."

Disappointment etched her pointed face.

"Well I held up my end of the deal." I said, reminding her I had played by the rules.

She waved me off. "I can't believe you survived as long as you did on your own. I assumed your father's book held something we didn't know, but apparently you were just lucky." She spit the word at me, knowing my distaste for it.

My jaw tightened. "Yeah, lucky."

Because watching your parents get murdered was lucky. Growing up filled with hatred and distrust was lucky. I survived because I chose to, because I learned to take care of myself, because of my parents' words. To her they were nothing, but to me they were the difference between life and death. And it was my choice, not luck, to withhold things that I knew, things that I didn't write in the book. Fortunately, the book's tattered state had hidden the page I ripped out. It was the only page I had ever removed from the book. It was also the best advice my father gave me."Don't write everything down. Your thoughts and your knowledge are your own. If it is written down it can be stolen. The safest place in the world is in your own mind, no one can ever steal that from you."

He was right. If being callous had taught me anything, it was how to keep a straight face while lying. Whenever Arstid's keen eyes scrutinized me, I gave nothing away.

She knew how I moved from safe house to safe house at random. That I stole most of my reserves from the Ravagers—my own private attempt to weaken them one worthless bag of dried food at a time. She even knew about the Healer, but there were things I kept from her. Like the locations of more than half of my safe houses, every other outcast I traded with and what my real name was. Arstid knew my mother, but only by her first name. Apparently, The Sanctuary's rebellion didn't deal so well in trust either. She had told me very little about my parents except the fact that they were all from The Sanctuary, and that was about to change. It had been a week since we started our little meetings, and she owed me answers.

Crossing my arms, I fixed the white-haired woman in my gaze. "Your turn."

Her snowy eyebrows rose, "Already bored of our little arrangement?"

"I have upheld my end of the deal and you have yet to uphold yours. I don't believe you're a deceitful person. Are you Arstid?" I smiled sweetly.

Her eyes narrowed.

"No, I am not. But the information I choose to share with you is privileged and if you divulge it to anyone outside of our walls, your death will not be gentle."