A Court of Greed and Excess

Zara Dusk A Court of Greed and Excess Copyright © 2023 by Zara Dusk All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. Zara Dusk asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. First edition This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Contents Neela Ronan Neela Ronan Neela Neela Ronan Neela Ronan Neela Ronan Neela Neela Ronan Neela Ronan Neela Ronan Leif Ronan Neela Neela Ronan Neela Neela Neela Gabrelle Ronan Neela Neela Neela Neela Neela Ronan Neela Ronan Neela Ronan Neela Ronan Epilogue Free Novella About the Author Also by Zara Dusk Neela I craned my neck to glimpse the ocean. Early morning sunlight glinted off the barrier to the fae realm, catching my attention. It was mesmerizing, shimmering like a gauze curtain hanging from the clouds to the sea. It called to me. No human had ever passed through that barrier. Ever. At least none had returned to speak of it. I might be a trashbag orphan from the streets, but I would make it to the fae realm one day, even if it killed me. A low warning bark snapped me back to the streets around me. My hiding place was an alleyway between overflowing trash cans and a brick wall. The stench was bearable, and the spot was safe for now, but it was time to keep moving. I peered around the corner to the Docklands’ main drag—I owed enough money to enough lowlifes to always check around corners. The coast was clear, so I sauntered out, putting some height into my walk to give it that jolting gait of every other hardened Docklands native. The sweet smell of cinnamon and brown sugar slammed into me, and my mouth watered. My belly was full of rice and beans, so I wasn’t exactly hungry, but it was always full of rice and beans. Sometimes I mixed it up and had beans and rice, but mostly rice and beans. My taste buds were so bored they were suicidal, so the prospect of that brown sugar and cinnamon muffin put me on high alert. I slowed to a stroll. The muffins were twenty yards ahead on a collapsible table that a sharp-eyed woman was using as a stall. My timing had to be perfect. I gasped sharply, and as the woman glanced to follow my stare, I swiped a muffin and pocketed it. My pants were baggy and loose, so they could hide whatever shit I stole. I rounded the next corner and pulled out my delicious prize, sniffing the cinnamon goodness. A pair of skinny legs barred my way, almost tripping me over. A small girl, as thin as an anchor, sat on the concrete with her legs splayed across the sidewalk. I cursed, and she pulled her knees into her chest, blinking up at me with wide green eyes. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in a week. But this muffin was mine. I’d been on the streets since I was her age, and nobody had ever helped me or handed me a single damn thing, and I didn’t have to help her either. I was like a ghost. That was how I liked it, watching from the shadows, analyzing, and keeping my distance, with no ties to anyone or anything that could compromise my safety. Solitude made an excellent shield. The girl hugged her knees tighter and blinked at me again, not asking for anything, just watching the world like I’d done for endless hours. “Fuck it,” I muttered and handed her the muffin. Life sparked in her face as she took it, and a warm glow nestled in my chest…but my taste buds were pissed. Wandering down the sidewalk, I entered the heart of the Docklands, where piers jutted into the wide bay like broken teeth. From here, the magical barrier to the fae realm stretched over the distant water left and right, as far as I could see. I sighed. One day. A rough voice filled with menace shouted, “Oi!” One of Joey the Bull’s boys had spotted me. My spiky blond hair was too damn recognizable. I broke into a sprint, diving back into the winding streets, and heard the man take chase, his feet louder and closer than I would have liked. I was small and wiry, good over long distances, but this man had better acceleration, and if he caught me, I’d have to answer to the Bull. That man wouldn’t like my answers. My heart pounded, and my breathing came fast. For a panicky moment, I felt like my lungs would burst, but I soon settled into a rhythm I could keep up for hours. The man pursuing me was loud and shouty, yelling that he’d hooked a fish and bringing more pounding feet to join the chase. But I was in my rhythm now, darting between cars, shooting up alleyways, and diving through the back doors of shops. Nobody knew their way around the Docklands like I did. I’d also explored every other part of the city, which gave me the advantage. I wound through the streets toward Capitol Hill, where rich people had vast properties and tiny dogs and where the Docklands crews wouldn’t follow me. I’d lost them, but I’d have to lay low for a few days until they forgot about me and moved on to their next target. No matter. There were hidey holes all over the city, all stashed with tins of beans—fucking beans—so I’d be