“Thank you for your business,” the shop owner said in his ostentatious drawl as he handed over a brown hessian bag to his client.

The client snatched his purchase as if his life depended on it. He lumbered his heavy frame to the left, ready to depart. A waft of spiced perfume mixed with body odor hit me in the face, making my eyes water. Talk about marinating in the stuff.

Apparently, the rich, fat cat couldn’t see past his uppity nose and bumped into me, letting out a startled cry. His droopy, red-eyed gaze ran the length of me, and he shuffled backward. With a loud and displeased sniff, he flicked imaginary dirt off his silk kaftan stretched tight over his rotund belly.

I pulled my cotton shirt tighter over my chest. After all these years, I still wasn’t used to the way people normally reacted to my stained and torn clothing, my grubby face, and dirty fingernails. What else did they expect when my brother and I had nothing? Bathing water was a luxury for us.

Clutching his bag tight to his chest, the fat cat waddled past me, giving me a wide berth, as if I had the gray scale disease.

“Rah,” I said, lunging at him with my fingers curled like claws.

He whimpered and scrambled out the door, setting off the tinkling bell in his haste to depart the shop.

A chuckle rumbled in my throat. Served him right for making me feel like the scum of Haven because I didn’t come from wealth like he did.

All the while the shop owner continued preparing mixtures of herbs. Like most snobs in Utaara, he refused to acknowledge me, as if serving someone like me was below him.

I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, sir.”

Herbs brushed against the bag as they slid from the attendant’s metal scoop.

Fire shot through my veins. “Excuse me,” I said louder and with more insistence.

Still, he ignored me.

I slammed my palms on the glass counter. “I’d like to buy oil of the dragon thistle for my brother, please.”

The shop owner sighed and put his scoop aside. His gaze stained me with the same brush of disgust as the rich, fat cat’s. “That’s a very expensive medicine,” he said in a way that suggested I’d never be able to afford it.

Shish kebab. Sounded as if I’d need to steal something to pay for it.

Well, two could play at his game. I kept my cool, as if the cost didn’t bother me. “How much?” I asked, voice steady, refusing to show him he intimidated me.

He folded his fingers together and tilted his head. “One thousand markos. Payment upfront.”

My heart shuddered. Damn it. That was the same price my friend, a herbalist, had quoted me. Gods. That was a year’s wage for a middle-class workers in Utaara. I was a thief, not a worker. My regular haul usually included fruits, vegetables, and meat. I certainly didn’t have that kind of coinage lying around. Finding that amount of gold coins would require me to steal an item of significant value. Something I didn’t like to do, as there was considerable risk attached. The last time I’d stolen a golden candelabra from a rich, fat cat like the one who had left the shop, I was almost mauled by his guard dog. The time before that, I got tangled in wire on the top of the fence, and the cuts festered, and I needed medication to treat my wounds. If I got caught by the palace guards, I’d leave my brother ill, dying, and all alone.

A lump formed in my throat, making it hard to breathe. “What?” I croaked.

“One thousand markos,” he repeated, in his oh-so-high-and-mighty voice, talking to me like I was a child.

Sweat pumped from my body and dribbled down my back. I rubbed a hand on my neck to clear some. “That’s outrageous. Are you having me on? What’s so special about this medicine anyway?”

The shop owner continued with his duties. “The dragon thistle requires a specific form of preparation to extract the oil.” He waved a dismissive hand at me. “Come back when you have the markos.”

Two weeks earlier, Ali had fallen ill to a chest infection. The Avestan, the local physician, had said if my brother didn’t get herbal medicine, his condition would deteriorate and fast. Stuffy, old fool was right. Ali coughed like hell and some nights struggled to breathe. He grew weaker by the day. Rashes were sprouting up all over his skin. Each day, he ate less and less. Pounds were dripping from his already lean frame.

“But my brother has the dark lung.” My hands squeezed the edges of the glass cabinet. “I need this medicine.”

“Listen, my dear.” The owner’s tone lightened a little. “I’d love to help you. But I need the coins up front to purchase the oil. If your brother is ill with the dark lung, then he does not have long.”

Tendrils of doom weaved around my heart. My brother’s life depended on the dragon thistle oil. I had to do whatever it took to get my hands on the gold coins to buy it.

“Thank you,” I said as I exited the shop my mind raging with fear.