Shadowbound
Author: Carrie Summers
Date: 2017-01-16 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: Lilik is a survivor. After the disastrous expedition to the island volcano, Ioene, she is home with a warning. The malevolent tyrant, Mieshk Ulstat, is gathering devastating magical power. Unchecked, Mieshk will obliterate Kiriilti civilization. But when the ruling Trader Council refuses to heed her, Lilik turns to her own kind: the gutterborn. As Lilik rallies rebels from the slums, she delves into her abilities as a soul priestess through contact with a nightforged dagger. Tyrak, the soul imprisoned within the blade, mistakes Lilik for his love from centuries past. Through their complicated
Publisher: Lonely Crag Press

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Shadowbound

Book Two

Shattering of the Nocturnai

Carrie Summers

Chapter One

I DIPPED MY quill into the ink pot and pulled it out to watch drops of darkness fall from the tip. On the paper before me were one hundred boxes I’d drawn the morning after our return to Istanik. One hundred days, give or take, until Ioene’s storm season would begin. No ship could survive those waves; if I didn’t arrive with soldiers strong enough to defeat Mieshk before the storms lashed the island, everyone we’d left behind was doomed. Including Paono.

And then, once Paono could no longer shield the nightstrands from her summoning, Mieshk would use their power to unleash a cataclysm.

I put quill to paper, slashing through the fourth day. Ninety-six remained, and I’d accomplished nothing.

Disgusted, I slumped against the back of my chair, its rough-carved rails digging into my spine. While sailing into the harbor aboard Zyri’s Promise, her nightwoven sail pulling us as if we ran before a gale, I’d never imagined it would be so difficult to rally support.

The Trader Council hadn’t even agreed to see me. Captain Altak and Mistress Nyralit were busy explaining the failed Nocturnai to half the city. Raav had disappeared into his trader House to deal with his mother and brother.

And I sat at home, laying plans with fading hope my efforts could succeed.

Paono was counting on me. Though they didn’t know it, everyone in the Kiriilt Islands was counting on me.

Something had to change; I was done being polite.

But first, I had visits to make.

Taking a deep breath, I rapped lightly at Paono’s nan’s door. Even though I’d seen her briefly at the waterfront when we'd returned, she hadn’t answered my knock when I’d tried to visit her the next morning. And I’d been so busy in the following days. Still, I felt guilty that I hadn’t tried harder.

“Come in,” she called, her words followed by an eruption of coughing.

I flinched—that didn't sound healthy. “Hi, Nan. Are you okay?” I asked as I squeezed the latch and nudged the door open.

“Lilik!” The old woman’s face lit. Another hacking cough shook her, and she cleared her throat as she waved me in.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner. It’s been . . .” I trailed off. No excuse was good enough.

“Sit, child!” She smiled, patting the armchair beside her rocker. Her eyes were still watering from the coughing fit.

“The cough . . . is this new?” I asked.

“It’s nothing,” she said, waving away my question. “Just the damp spell we had last week.”

Despite her attempts to sound forceful, I heard the airy weakness in her voice. I curled my toes inside my shoes. It was just like Nan to pretend nothing was wrong.

Glancing around the room, I noticed that the lamps were unlit. Sunlight streamed through the single window, lighting a square of threadbare rug. For most people, that would be plenty of light, but not for Nan. As long as I’d known her, she’d burned lamps in dozens of colors, day and night. I used to go home with headaches from the smell of the lamp oils.

“Hasn't anyone been helping you, Nan? I thought Paono hired someone.”

I clasped the sea-opal pendant that Captain Altak had refused to accept as collateral for the coin he loaned Paono.

“A healer and her daughter came every day at first. Checked on me and brought groceries. But I asked them to stop visiting so much. It’s tiring for an old woman to make conversation with strangers.”

“What about Jaret?”

She smiled. “A sweet boy. He visits sometimes. But I remember what it was like to be twelve. I only let him in when the weather’s too foul for play.”

Or work, more like it. Jaret would never run off with friends when he could help Da with the business.

I grabbed Nan’s hand. Her skin was tissue-thin over the bones. “Would you like me to light your lamps?”

Nan’s lip quivered as she shook her head. “I’ve had them put out. It just doesn’t seem right for me to be surrounded with light while Paono is . . . while he’s up there in the long-night.”

“Oh, Nan. I’m so sorry.” On the waterfront, I’d told her about Paono’s sacrifice. She understood—or, at least, she claimed to understand. But the situation was still my responsibility.

She patted my hand. “It’s not your fault, Lilik.”

“I’m going back for him, I swear. I’ve sat outside Trader Council Hall every day since we returned.”

“I know. Katrikki told me.”

Cold flooded my chest. “She was here?”

Nan nodded, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Paono and a trader girl . . . I was surprised to learn he’d snared her. All these years, I thought the two of you would end up together someday. But, anyway . . . she seemed kind. Pretty.”

I couldn’t believe it. How horrible was I? I’d taken her grandson from her, abandoned him leagues and leagues from home, and then I’d let a trader be the first to visit her.

“It’s okay, Lilik. You’re busy. Katrikki said the Trader Council has been trapped in the hall well past their usual time to retire because the alternative is confronting you. They wait until you go home to cook for your da.”

“It’s no excuse,” I said. “I’ve been too wrapped up in my problems.”

Retaking Ioene was critical, but I still should have come here first. Nan deserved better.

“You asked Paono to bring back stories about the Nocturnai,” I said. “Would you like to hear any?”

“It will have to wait until tomorrow,” she said, stifling a cough. “I’ve already sat up longer than I should have—been napping in the mornings lately.”

My brows drew together. Nan had never complained about being tired before. In fact, Paono and I used to wonder how she managed. She never seemed to stop moving. Mending. Knitting. Reading. I’d often wondered whether Nan would ever slow down.

“I’ll come right after dinner,” I said. “I swear it.”

Abruptly, she fixed me with a gaze so intent that a shiver crawled across my skin.

“Lilik, if you don’t get results from the traders, have you ever considered . . .”

“Considered what?”

“You have more friends than you realize among the gutterborn. Your success at the nightcaller trial got people thinking. There are many who now believe we ought to stop asking for trader permission to get what we want.”

“But I need ships, Nan. Soldiers. Enough to deal with Mieshk’s followers while we go after her.”

The coughs finally escaped her chest, rattling like a lid on a boiling kettle. While Nan bent over her knees, I rushed across the room and ladled a tin cupful of water from her ewer. Once the coughing stopped, she nodded thanks and accepted the drink.

She cleared her throat. “Ships and soldiers. Yes, well, that’s true. And both those things belong to the traders. I certainly wouldn’t suggest that you consider the fairness of that arrangement . . .”

“What are you saying?”

She waved away my question. “I’ll see you tomorrow, child. After dinner. And good luck with the traders.”

Chapter Two

AFTER CHECKING THE position of the sun—I had time—I hurried through the streets to Captain Altak’s shore quarters. His rooms filled most of the second story of the building; I jogged up a narrow staircase to the hall outside his door.

“Enter!” The captain answered my knock without hesitation, his low voice vibrating the wood inside the walls. When I stepped through the door, I stopped short upon seeing Raav reclining on one of the benches. At the sight of his full lips and dark eyes, all my insecurities about our differences came thundering back. My words of greeting deserted me.

Raav nodded acknowledgment of my arrival, face unreadable. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t indifference. Did that mean I was right to worry? Had he realized what an idiot he’d been during his brief attraction to a gutterborn?

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Raav,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. But maybe I had a right to be upset. After all, we’d been back for four days, and he’d made no effort to find me. Then again, it had taken this long for me to look in on Nan . . .

He flinched, and I immediately regretted my tone.

“Can we talk later?” he asked.

Without meeting his eyes, I nodded then smiled a greeting at Mistress Nyralit. Elegant as always, she lounged on another couch.

“So, how fares the hero of the Nocturnai?” Captain Altak said, his eyes teasing. I could tell he sensed the awkwardness between me and Raav and was trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t work.

Sagging into an upholstered armchair, I sighed. “The traders are avoiding me.”

“The Council is stubborn,” Mistress Nyralit said. Nyralit, I reminded myself. She’d asked to drop the title of strandmistress during our voyage home. I assumed the change was because of what we’d learned about nightforging. By training generations of nightcallers, she’d helped condemn thousands of souls to eternal imprisonment. I didn’t blame her for wanting to forget.

As if sensing my thoughts, her fingers wandered to the nightforged chain that coiled around her wrist. Imbued with the magic of a nightstrand, the iridescent bracelet remained fixed to her without the help of a clasp.

Unable to resist, I lowered my walls, extended a thread of perception toward the chain. As with Paono’s pendant and the sails aboard Zyri’s Promise, I sensed vitality in the bracelet but couldn’t speak directly with the soul. As I withdrew, the emptiness in my head was a reminder of everything—everyone—I’d left behind on Ioene.

I thought about the spirit bound within the chain. Nyralit's nightcalling talent meant that she was a descendant of the Vanished. The imprisoned soul could take comfort in that bond, at least.

“Paono is alone up there,” I said. “And the storms are coming.”

“We know,” Captain Altak said. Where Nyralit and Raav lounged on cushioned benches, he sat in a stiff-backed chair, carved with ornate symbols relating to the sea. Ever a captain, even when quartered in his chambers in Istanik.

“Frankly, Lilik, it’s worse than you realize,” he said. “The Council is considering forming a new Nocturnai. They insist that we can’t possibly survive without replenishing the nightforged weapons.”

“What?” I sprang to my feet. “Don’t they understand what nightforging does?”

As I spoke, I felt a scratching at my mental barriers. Faint, but insistent. Startled, I ran my eyes over the room. Since leaving Ioene, I’d had no contact from the aether, but I’d kept the walls up around my mind anyway. Better to feel as if the lonely silence were my choice.

The scratching came again, a sensation so like Peldin’s attempts to contact me that my breath hitched.

Tentatively, I lowered my walls. Above the mantle, a pair of nightforged daggers were mounted in a velvet-backed frame. Forged during the centuries when the Nocturnai produced more art than weapons, the blades were made of nightforged steel, folded and pounded so that the layering highlighted the iridescence in the metal. Gold wire wrapped the hilts, and the silver-wrought guards ended in graceful filigrees. One blade was longer than the other, around the length of my forearm, whereas the shorter could slip into a boot holster.

The longer of the daggers seized my attention, compelling me to move closer.

“Lilik?” Nyralit asked as I shuffled forward. “What is it?”

“The dagger . . . It’s . . .”

Before I could finish, I heard a male voice in my mind.

Zyri? Zyri! You’re here!

“Who . . .?” I whispered. Something about the voice was so familiar.

But you’re different. What happened to you, Zyri?

My knees buckled when I realized why I recognized the voice. The boy had lived in my dreams for weeks. I staggered back into the cushioned chair, staring at the dagger that held the soul of Zyri’s lover, Tyrak.

“Tides,” I mumbled.

What? Zyri? Are you okay?

Raav slipped to my side, kneeling so close that I felt the warmth of his body. Memories of Tyrak mixed with the sensation of Raav’s nearness, and abruptly I felt as if I were spinning. I planted my hands and slammed my walls into place, hating to shut Tyrak out but unable to deal with the storm of emotions pounding me.

“Your dagger spoke to me,” I whispered as I looked at Captain Altak.

“What?” he asked.

“The nightforged spirit.”

Captain Altak stood and approached the mounted daggers, a faint smile on his face. “What a wonder. I bought these off a foreign merchant, if you believe it. Apparently, one of the traders’ mercenaries deserted. Sold the weapons off at a tenth their value in order to get rid of the evidence that he’d abandoned his contract. Always thought it was a peculiar whim of fate that brought them back to a captain of the Nocturnai.”

“Lilik? You’re pale,” Raav laid a hand on the arm of my chair. I forced myself to meet his eyes, briefly, before turning back to the captain.

“Zyri knew him,” I said quietly.

Nyralit swooped down in front of me. “In what way?” she asked.

“They were . . . close.” I couldn’t say more without losing my composure. Tyrak and Zyri’s love had been so intense. Because I’d possessed Zyri’s memories, it still felt fresh to me. Especially the tragic end.

At the sound of heavy footsteps, I peered around Nyralit to see Captain Altak removing the dagger from its mounting.

“Then it sounds like fate has another quirk in store for this blade,” he said, holding the weapon out. “I’d planned to reward you richly for your position on the Nocturnai. Not everything turned out as we’d hoped, but this is the least I can do.”

I looked at him, brows drawn together.

“Take it,” he urged.

I shook my head. “I don’t even want to think about what you paid for it.”

“It’s just money. I always seem to find more. Think about it, Lilik. This boy has been trapped in a dagger for hundreds of years. And now he’s found someone he can talk to. Better, he’s found someone who once held the memories of a . . . friend. We can never atone for all those souls we nightforged. But I can’t possibly keep this when I could help him be less alone.”

My words were lost in the caverns of my heart. Looking closer at the blade, I imagined the centuries Tyrak had dwelt within it. The things he’d seen.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” I said at last.

“Unnecessary. I couldn’t justify keeping it even if I were a greedy sort.”

Swallowing, I thinned my walls, just enough to allow my emotions to bleed into the dagger. I wanted Tyrak to know how deeply he’d affected me, and that I’d only shut him out because I’d been overwhelmed.

“We have much to talk about,” I whispered.

You aren’t Zyri, are you? he asked, a desperate edge to his voice.

“Yes and no. It’s complicated. You’ve waited so long . . . I’m sorry to ask for just a few hours more.”

I’d wait for you for eternity, he said. You know that, Zyri.

I pressed my lips together and forced my walls back up. I felt the pain of parting like a cold fist around my heart. Swallowing, I met Raav’s concerned eyes.

“You okay?” he asked.

Lip trembling, I nodded. “I will be.” After a moment, I cleared my throat. “I should get to Council Hall.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Raav said. “It will give us a chance to catch up.”

At this, a meaningful look passed between Captain Altak and Nyralit. Her lips twitched toward a smile. When I shook my head at Raav’s offer, everyone seemed shocked.

“I have to hurry,” I said. “And I need to get myself together. I can’t go in there without a good plan.”

If I walked into Council Hall feeling like I did now, I’d never have the poise I needed to convince the traders to support me. Regardless of my feelings about Tyrak or Raav, right now I had a duty.

Raav looked away. I knew I’d hurt him by my refusal, and I laid my hand over his. “Tonight?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I’ll come find you.”

I gave his hand a squeeze before standing. “Wish me luck,” I said.

“Good luck, Lilik,” the captain said as I slipped out the door.

Chapter Three

WITH THE DAGGER tucked into my satchel—I couldn’t think about it, not yet—I climbed the stairs leading to the council hall’s entrance. As usual, the heavy doors, carved of dark, ancient wood from distant shores known only to trader Houses, stood closed. Guards watched from either side. Though I stood just paces away, neither of them men spared me a glance.

I shrugged and sat on the top step. Unlike most buildings in Istanik, Council Hall had just one entrance and exit. If the traders wanted to hold a session, they’d have to get past me. And I wouldn’t remain silent anymore. If they refused me again, the whole city would hear.

While I waited, I thought about Paono, all alone on Ioene. I hoped he’d found allies. I doubted that everyone from Mieshk’s camp actually wanted to remain with her, especially after they’d learned that we’d found a way home. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

As the sun crawled up the sky, my frustration grew, my thoughts humming like bees in my skull. Another Nocturnai? How could the Council be so stupid?

And I still wasn't sure what Nan had been hinting at. Did she think I’d ask the gutterborn to steal ships from the traders? What chance could we possibly have? Anyway, that idea seemed way too radical for Nan. Though when I thought about it, she rarely talked about herself. Were there things about her I just didn’t know?

A small cloud passed over the sun, the sudden absence of midday heat reminding me of the time. Shading my eyes with my hand, I checked the clock on the front of the courthouse. Past noon already. Had the traders decided not to meet today?

Turning toward the doors, I glimpsed amusement on one of the guard’s faces before he jerked his eyes from me. Disappointment settled in my gut like wet sand. I’d been so intent on blocking entrance to the hall I hadn’t considered that the traders might outwit me. They’d probably arrived hours ago.

Climbing to my feet, I stomped to the door, ignoring the chuckles of the guards. From within the chambers, I heard raised voices. I pounded on the doors. The sound echoed within, stilling the argument.

“Stubborn,” the guard said. “But not very bright, are you? If you haven’t figured it out by now, they’re ignoring you on purpose.”

I glared at him and knocked again. After a moment, the doors cracked open, revealing a harried-looking page. Around twelve or thirteen, the insignia on his tunic announced him as a younger sibling of House Vaskilt, likely in training to serve as clerk to his brother or sister when they ascended to House prime.

“I will address the Council,” I said. “It’s not a request this time.”

Though the page had been a different person every day, the scenario hadn’t changed. As I held the boy’s eyes, I slid my arm into the gap between the doors. He wouldn’t shut them in my face. Not again.

“Lilik Boket,” the page said with a sneer. “What a surprise.”

Snarling, I pushed past him and started down the long corridor that accessed the main chamber. At its end, I paused, controlling the impulse to straighten my clothing. Old habits. I no longer cared to grovel before the traders. I’d rather sail for the Outer Isles than fall back into that old role. But I must remember to be respectful, at least. I still needed something from them.

“Please follow me,” the page said belatedly, apparently having decided it was better for the traders to pretend I’d come at their invitation than to lose face by failing to defend their council chambers from a seventeen-year-old girl.

While the page preceded me into the main chamber, I glanced around. Here in their private hall, they made no attempt to hide their wealth. As I took in the nightforged lanterns, velvet wall hangings, and polished marble columns, I wondered how they could continue to justify the defense tax. Clearly, they could fund the army without the help of the gutterborn.

I had to credit their wisdom, however. Traders might wear embroidered silk and hire guardsmen to escort them through the city, but their relative modesty in public spaces effectively disguised their true fortunes. By doing so, they’d avoided open rebellion for over a century.

Sitting in tiered rows of chairs, the council members shifted when I strode up the central aisle to the speaker’s podium. A trader I didn’t recognize stood before the plinth, but at a signal from someone in the rows of seats, she nodded and yielded the floor to me.

I turned to face the Council. They sat according to status. In the front row, I recognized Trader Yiltak, Moanet Yiltak’s mother. The seat beside her was empty, likely reserved for Moanet. On the opposite side of the aisle, the closest pair of seats were unoccupied. I noticed ornate Us carved into the chair backs. Seats for the head and prime heir of House Ulstat, I assumed. Mieshk would have occupied one of those chairs had she returned from Ioene. Because her family came from the island of Araok, more than a day’s sail away, Mieshk’s father was likely absent during many council sessions. I wondered whether he’d learned about the events on Ioene yet.

“Nightcaller Boket,” said Trader Yiltak. “How considerate of you to join us.” She fixed me with an insincere smile.

“Thank you for hearing me so promptly,” I returned, refusing the bait. “The information I learned on Ioene is vitally important to the Islands.”

“So we’ve been told. Repeatedly. And here you are to reiterate the same story.” She stopped short of rolling her eyes, but only just.

“Given the lack of action from the Council, I figured you must not have heard the whole story.”

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to summarize,” she said. “Shortly after the Nocturnai’s arrival at Ioene, the volcano erupted, sinking the ship and marooning the expedition. Mieshk Ulstat assumed control of the survivors. We assume she felt that trader leadership was necessary, given the circumstances.”

Trader leadership? Maybe she meant trader exploitation. I glared at the smug faces of the House heirs and primes, grabbed the sides of the podium, and clenched the wood as if my hands wrapped Trader Yiltak’s neck. “It was mutiny. Her henchmen forced the captain from his position.”

“Yes, Captain Altak and the strandmistress leveled the same accusation. But you must understand our position here. A divide was opened within the ranks of the Nocturnai. Only members from one of the two parties returned home to tell the tale. In the interest of fairness, we must try to take an objective view of the events.”

“Objective? Or a view that supports your desire to keep enslaving—”

Trader Yiltak raised a gavel, preparing to rap it upon the rail before her.

“Allow me to finish, please.”

Still white-knuckling the podium, I clenched my teeth and nodded.

“According to the accounts we’ve heard, Mieshk blamed you for the eruption. Is this true?”

“It is. But she was trying to divert attention from herself. She was feeding nightstrands to—”

Trader Yiltak raised her eyebrow, cutting me short. “Yet you fled.”

“I did.”

“Because you were guilty?”

“Because I can’t argue with a trader and win. You’re proving that right now.”

Near the rear of the chamber, an elderly trader leaned to whisper to his heir. The young woman nodded.

“Respectfully, Trader Yiltak,” the man said in a voice querulous with age.

Trader Yiltak pivoted to face the speaker. “Yes, Trader Srukolk?”

Srukolk . . . Heiklet’s family. The man must be her grandfather. Judging by the younger woman’s rigid features, the mask broken only by the tightness of grief around her eyes, I gathered the other was Heiklet’s mother.

“If we wish to take the objective view, we should allow the girl to speak without being accused. Judgment can come later.”

A few traders sitting near the Srukolks nodded their agreement. Trader Yiltak’s lips thinned as she scanned the rows of chairs. “Fair point. So—” She turned back to me. “—after you fled, a few others abandoned Mieshk to join your renegade group.”

“A good choice, since they were the ones who made it home,” I said.

Trader Yiltak’s brows raised, and I realized my mistake. Though it had only been around twenty days since Heiklet died, the events of her rescue felt like a different life. At the same time, memories of her filled my heart. So small and brave.

“Traders Srukolk—” I wanted to look anywhere but into their eyes, but I forced myself to meet them. “None of us would have made it home without Heiklet. She was our . . . she was my friend. I’m honored to have known her.”

Heiklet’s mother looked past me, silent. The loss of a child was beyond my imagination. I wished I could do more.

After a long silence, I continued. “We didn’t want to fight Mieshk’s group. They attacked us.”

“That’s your story. But I understand that your group escaped unscathed while one of Mieshk’s followers was killed. Those facts make it difficult to determine the aggressors in the situation.”

“Have some respect, Trader!” one of the traders sitting near the Srukolks called out. “As we’ve just discussed, neither side went without . . . losses.”

In response, Trader Yiltak nodded. “Yes, that is so,” she said.

I didn’t know if it was anger or embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

As Trader Yiltak drew breath to speak again, another woman stood. She looked oddly familiar. “You agreed we should move on,” she said.

“Fair. As long as we all recognize the potential for many interpretations of this young woman’s story. So . . .” Trader Yiltak returned her gaze to me. “We’ve invited you into this chamber to explain your claim that the nightstrands are souls of . . . What did you call them? A lost civilization?”

It didn’t seem to bother Trader Yiltak that my forced entry into the building was about as far as I could get from an invitation.

“The Vanished,” I said.

“And they speak to you?”

I held up my palms. Against the natural light falling through the chamber windows as well as countless wall sconces and chandeliers, my scars’ glow was faint.

“I am a channeler. A soul priestess.”

“A bold statement,” Trader Yiltak said.

“It’s only the truth. Respectfully, Trader Yiltak, I’d hoped to discuss plans for returning to Ioene. We must rescue the remaining voyagers and stop Mieshk Ulstat. I need people to fight. Ships.”

“An army to defeat a single trader heir and a small collection of deckhands. Yes, we heard the same request from Trader Ovintak’s younger son.” Trader Yiltak gestured toward the woman who’d looked familiar. I understood now. Raav had inherited many of his mother’s features. And beside her, the man of about thirty years must be Raav’s cruel brother, Frask.

From the beginning, I’d known Raav was a trader while I was gutterborn. Any relationship between us would be taboo. But until I saw his family inside Trader Council Hall, it hadn’t seemed real.

I realized only after Trader Yiltak cleared her throat that I’d been staring.

“Mieshk is powerful,” I said, swallowing. “She’s . . . changed. Her followers are zealous. They truly believe she’s an ancestor-god.”

“Yet you must understand why Raav Ovintak’s request for six ships to accompany Zyri’s Promise back to Ioene seems outlandish. The Nocturnai included less than a hundred voyagers.”

“Think about the advantage of a nightforged sword over mundane steel. She wields that level of power many times over. She can bring the mountain down upon her attackers.”

“Which brings up another point . . .” All eyes turned to Frask Ovintak. Seeing the cruel twist in the man’s lips, I couldn’t help remembering Raav’s stories of being beaten by Frask when he was young. Of course, Frask wouldn’t attempt something like that now—judging from what I knew of Raav’s body, my memories of running my hands down his muscular arms, Frask would stand little chance in a brawl against his brother. Nonetheless, even though their mother would hold the title of prime until she died, Frask controlled the House in all but name. By all accounts, he ran it ruthlessly.

“Mistress Nyralit told us you’d have us actually stop the Nocturnai,” Frask said. “We might as well hand over the Islands to the Waikert.”

“Nightforging is not what we thought. Every time a nightcaller captures a strand, she’s imprisoning a soul.”

Frask stood, his face dark with anger. Nearby traders shifted away, clearly uncomfortable with the break in his calm. “Nightforged weapons are our only defense against annihilation.”

What should I say? Picking a fight with Raav’s family would only make things worse for him. For us.

I jumped when Trader Yiltak banged her gavel, causing several traders to hide their amusement at my gutterborn nerves.

“Frask Ovintak speaks to my point, though with less evenness than I might hope,” she said. “Nightcaller—or should I say Channeler—” Her mouth twisted condescendingly. “—Boket. You say the nightstrands speak to you. In fact, you claim to have been granted memories of their ancient civilization. According to you, we must return to Ioene, defeat a rogue trader, and remain to—as Mistress Nyralit put it—heal the island.”

“Yes, Trader, that’s right.”

“So I must ask . . . where is your proof? Right now, all we have is the word of a gutterborn girl accused by at least one trader of causing the problems upon Ioene.”

Silence followed her question. Within the crystal facets of the chandelier, a single candle sputtered. From outside, the giggle of a passing child filtered into the chamber.

“The sail on Zyri’s Promise,” I said.

“Was nightcrafted by Katrikki Korpit, a nightcaller of the Nocturnai.”

“It’s far more advanced than anything we’ve made in five centuries of Nocturnais,” I countered.

“Then the young Korpit should be congratulated. Though due to rumor of strange associations upon the voyage, her father has ordered her confined.”

At this, Trader Yiltak cast a glance at a man in the second row. He nodded, solemn. Katrikki’s father, I guessed.

“She provided the conduit, but the nightstrands went into the sail willingly,” I said. “No disrespect to her skills, but it wouldn’t have worked otherwise.”

“So Katrikki Korpit is nothing more than an average nightcaller. Yet after five centuries of Nocturnais, you’re the first to hold this new designation of ‘Channeler’.”

Scattered coughs and shuffling feet followed Trader Yiltak’s words. I scanned the gathered traders, looking for allies. Only Heiklet’s family showed any sympathy, evidenced by the vaguely kind expressions on their faces. Kindness, yes, but condescension as well. I’d won their good will with my words about Heiklet. But that didn’t mean they believed me.

“My sentinel, Paono. He is a channeler, too—a life-channeler.”

Frask Ovintak snorted. “Convenient that he’s not here.”

“The Vanished said one of us must remain to prevent Mieshk from causing another cataclysm.” My voice held a desperate edge. I’d lost. I knew it. But I couldn’t give up. Paono was counting on me.

Sneering, Raav’s brother stepped into the aisle and approached the speaker’s podium. I took an unwitting step back, unnerved by the curl of his lip and the hate in his eyes. He knew about me and Raav. I no longer doubted that.

Frask stepped into the space freed by my retreat and pressed a clenched fist to the top of the podium. Addressing me, but looking only at his fellow traders, he spoke loudly enough that commoners passing the hall could surely hear through the walls.

“This gutter—” He coughed. “Excuse me. This daughter of an Istaniker egg-seller would have us forfeit our safety and livelihood based on nothing but her word. Miraculously, she’s seduced a number of respected citizens with her story, including the Nocturnai’s captain and strandmistress. And unfortunately—” A look of profound disgust crossed Frask’s face. “—my own brother.”

Frask’s mother nodded, her upper lip twitching.

“I did nothing but tell the truth!” I protested. “The others were with me when I used Zyri’s memories to find Ashkalan. It’s a city built by the Vanished.”

Stepping away from the podium, Frask straightened. Tensed. I whipped my hands up to defend my face. Too late. His backhand snapped my head to the side, and I fell, smacking against the marble floor of the hall. Traders gasped.

Blackness closed down on my vision, and for a moment, my mental walls fell away, leaving me open.

No! That filth! Tyrak said, his anger seething as it pressed into my mind.

Dizzied, I slumped, cool tile against my aching cheek.

“Trader Ovintak, you’ll take your seat now,” Trader Yiltak said coolly. Cracking my eyelids open, I struggled to force my walls back up. My concentration was too scattered, and Tyrak’s outrage flooded me.

“In a moment,” Frask said. As he shifted behind the podium, he stomped down on my outstretched fingers, grinding them into the floor. I squealed between gritted teeth.

You have to stand. Get clear.

In the back row, Trader Srukolk stood. “Stop this! We are civilized people, Trader Ovintak!”

“You may leave the chambers, Heir Ovintak,” Trader Yiltak said, emphasizing his subordinate title.

I tried to scoot away, but my fingers bent under his boot, a fresh wave of agony.

“Civilized . . .” Frask said. “My apologies.” His boot lifted from my hand. I gagged in relief. Finally, my walls slammed home, and I managed to roll away from him.

“I have just one question for Nightcaller Boket,” he said, teeth gleaming when he snarled at me. “I’ve heard rumors from some of the commoners who returned with you from Ioene. They tell a strange tale, something about a figurine. You and this life-channeler—”

“Paono,” I snarled.

“Before you left Ioene, you and Paono had to get this figurine away from Mieshk. It was giving her power, and apparently, it was your fault she had possession of it. Pardon me if I am confused here, but one of the voyagers claimed to overhear you calling it the Yiltak Effigy. Now isn’t that strange?”

“That’s enough, Frask! You are excused.” Trader Yiltak stood to her full height. Sitting, Moanet’s mother was the most impressive presence in the chamber. Standing, she left no doubt about how her House had risen to the most powerful in the Islands.

“Of course, Trader Yiltak. Please forgive me if I’ve overstepped.” After inclining his head, Raav’s brother stalked down the exit corridor. The doors opened, admitting the clamor of the courthouse square, then shut behind him.

“I believe we’ve heard enough for today,” Trader Yiltak said. Though her voice was iron, a twitch of her lower eyelid betrayed the crack in her confidence. “Council is adjourned. We’ll reconvene mid-morning tomorrow.”

Murmuring in scandalized whispers, the traders stood from their seats. In small clots of four and five, they filed for the door. None, not even the Srukolks, stopped to help me up from the floor. I clambered to my feet on my own.

Finally, only Trader Yiltak and I remained in the chamber.

“We have much to talk about,” she said.

“Moanet gave me—”

“Not here. Never here. You may come to the rear of our House this evening.”

She gathered her satchel and turned for the door, dismissing me. And why not? I was gutterborn. I’d do her bidding, come to her on her terms. Unfortunately for her, my days of unthinking obedience were over. I had the advantage here. The Yiltak Effigy might be unspoken knowledge among traders, but admitting to its existence would butcher House Yiltak’s status.

“Actually,” I said, “I’d prefer we met in my home. The last time I visited House Yiltak, I regretted that choice.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Insolent, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. But I suspect I’ll see you tonight. It won’t be difficult to find us. Just smell around for eggs.”

Chapter Four

TYRAK’S GRIEF PIERCED me as surely as the dagger imprisoning him might. I sat upon a grassy hill, cradling the blade. After leaving the council chamber, I’d hurried through the gutter district and found this spot, a small opening in the grove of evergreens wedged between the formal boundary of the city and the scattered shanties and itinerant tents beyond. Once nestled into the deep grass, I’d dropped my walls and explained that I wasn’t Zyri, not like he imagined.

“She loved you until the end. She still loves you,” I whispered.

I feel her ghost inside you. I can’t let her go. How did she bear it, all these years?

“Time is different for the souls on Ioene. It hasn’t felt long. I suspect she thought she’d find you there eventually.”

I was looking for her, too. And then something pulled me down and forced me inside the metal. I was terrified. It hurt so much to be bound against my will, as if each of my bones was broken to force me to fit the blade’s shape.

“I’m sorry.”

But without a real connection to another soul, I shut down. I’ve been living behind a wall. Time hasn’t felt real. It seems like our last day together was yesterday, but at the same time, I know I’ve been imprisoned for a dozen, maybe a hundred, lifetimes.

Tyrak’s yearning for his lost Zyri filled me, a bottomless need, fathomless.

“Tell me how to help you,” I said. I remembered the little girl who’d been trapped inside Mieshk’s dagger. I’d helped her choose nonexistence over the continued agony of imprisonment—sometimes the guilt of that choice ate at me. Could I have suggested a better way?

I ought to give Tyrak the option, but I was selfish. He wasn’t mine. He’d never been mine. But the long embraces . . . his touch setting my whole body afire . . . Memories flooded my mind. I couldn’t lose him so soon. Not after we were finally reunited.

No. I shook my head. It wasn’t me he’d loved. I’d never slipped away to swim with him in a hidden lagoon. I’d never felt his hands in my hair, the warmth of his lips and heat of his breath on my face. That was Zyri. She’d died a thousand years ago.

I tried to form bonds with the men and women who owned me. When they fought, I guided their hands. But the blood, Zyri. Over and over. I killed, and I didn’t really know for whom.

Wind rustled the boughs of the trees, bent the grass in undulating waves. My throat ached. Many of Zyri’s memories had faded, but her feelings for Tyrak had blazed so bright that even with the veil of distance, I couldn’t help loving him, too. I traced the curve of the blade with a finger.

“I’m not Zyri, Tyrak. If we’d known I’d find you here . . . she would never have broken off our joining.”

I know. I just . . . I feel like I’m losing her all over again.

“I’m going back to Ioene as soon as I can gather support. I’ll take you. We can find her. I don’t know if you two will be able to . . . Peldin never told me whether imprisoned souls could communicate with the others.”

You could join with her again.

Just the thought made my heart leap. Zyri’s memories combined with mine: I could be her, be with Tyrak. But it wasn’t fair to Zyri. Combined with me, she wasn’t really living. She’d been as much a prisoner in my mind as Tyrak was in the nightforged dagger.

And as for me . . . Paono had been right. I’d begun to lose myself.

“I can’t. It’s not the right way.”

Then what good will it do to return? I’m trapped in this blade, forced to live through its possessor. I’ll never be with her again.

Hearing the anguish in his voice, I could scarcely breathe. I thought of Paono. Sometimes, he and Tyrak were one in my mind. But Paono and I would never be like Zyri and Tyrak. He’d chosen Katrikki. And as for Raav, I hoped I still had a chance with him. But Zyri and Tyrak had been friends for years before their first kiss. Raav and I didn’t have that foundation. Maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe we could still build something as strong as they’d had. I just didn’t know.

“Don’t give up yet,” I said. “The souls of the Vanished are bound to Ioene. Maybe you’ll be able to sense her once we’ve returned.”

I was a channeler. Like you, but not nearly as talented. I know the limitations of the aether and binding. I might feel her, through you. But I’ll never connect to her again. Not like we were.

I pulled the dagger to my chest, laying the blade against my breastbone. Tyrak. He’d never be mine, but I loved him all the same, a pale ghost of Zyri’s feelings.

It hurts.

“I know,” I said. “I’ll find a way. You’ll be with her again.”

But as I said the words, I swallowed. Even if I could reunite Tyrak with Zyri’s spirit, would I? Sitting upon the hill as the sun sank toward the horizon, I doubted myself. I had him to myself, now. Could I let that go? I shivered, hating my greed.

Lilik, he said, almost as if trying out my name. How soon? I want to see Ioene.

Running a thumb over the dagger’s pommel, I considered.

“I don’t know, Tyrak. Soon, I hope. But there are so many obstacles.” The Waikert. The Council. The uncertainty of the storm season. Mieshk.

I watched a line of wind-torn clouds turn pink in the light of the setting sun. In my hand, Tyrak hummed with muted pleasure.

“Can you see the sky?” I asked.

It’s—no. Not on my own. Through the years, I’ve had a sense of my surroundings because my wielders’ impressions are shared with me. But with you, it’s like I see through your eyes, feel through your heart.

I swallowed. Tyrak depended on me to experience the world. But compared to the times he’d lived in, my life was so . . . common. Could I manage to make it seem more vibrant by seeing more fully, listening more carefully? Or would my life always seem boring to someone who’d grown up in Ashkalan.

Remembering the Vanished city, I glanced toward the streets of Istanik. Silhouetted against the purple sky, the spires atop the trader households were already aglow with multi-colored flame. I jerked upright, realizing I’d lost track of time. Da and Jaret would want us to share a family dinner, and after that, I needed to prepare for Trader Yiltak’s visit.

“We have to go,” I said.

Lilik?

“Yes?”

What happened in Council Hall, when the man hit you . . .

Shame flooded my cheeks. I should have seen it coming.

No! His voice was so loud I nearly winced. Never blame yourself for someone’s cruelty. Never.

I held my silence, waiting.

It won’t happen again, he said. I’ll make sure of it.

“How?”

I will protect you as long as you carry me, by teaching you to protect yourself. We can begin right now.

Hearing those words, I wanted nothing more than to stay on that hill for hours. But I had a family that loved me. I couldn’t abandon them.

“Just let me go home and check in. I don’t want them to worry.”

A full moon silvered the fountain square, turning the spray of falling water to a crystal shower and glinting off wet cobblestones. Falling down three tiers of granite, the fountain hissed and burbled, splashing into the dark pool beneath.

As I strode into the square, I smiled in gratitude for my family. Before I’d managed to get out my whole, rehearsed explanation about needing time alone, Da had offered to take Jaret to the evening market. He’d always known how to read me.

Though, now that I thought about it, maybe the offer wasn’t just motivated by his understanding nature. Da’s cooking really wasn’t very good. He’d prepared a stew of sorts, but it didn’t smell all that appetizing.

The thought brought a smirk to my face. Tomorrow, I would have to fix them something nice.

I walked to the fountain. When Paono and I were young, we used to throw stones into it. We’d sit on the edge of the pool and talk, our voices held close by the mist in the air. I missed him so much. A year ago, I could never have imagined us apart.

Around the fountain square, buildings shouldered close, shutters pulled over windows, doors barred and locked. Unlike the courthouse square, home to Trader Council Hall and the courthouse, the fountain square belonged to the gutterborn. We worked together to scrub the fountain clean, to sweep the cobbles. It was our pride, the heart of our slum. No matter what rags we had to wear, what scraps we had to eat, we could always feel proud of our fountain. Of course, Paono and I had probably caused plenty of consternation among the older commoners, especially those who had to dig out the rocks we threw into the plumbing.

Because the fountain square was far from the trader district and market quarter, patrols by the city guard were rare. But fountain square was sacred; even the most unsavory gutterborn would think twice before bothering me here, even at night. I wasn’t a fool, however. Before I let my guard down, I inspected the shadowy recesses and darkened alley mouths. My time on Ioene had made me cautious.

Good, Tyrak said. You need to be careful. All the time.

At my side, the dagger was a comforting weight. I slipped it from my satchel, running my thumb over the filigrees on the guard and pommel. Not wanting my bag to get soaked, I set it next to the low wall surrounding the fountain and covered it with my vest of oiled leather.

Barefoot would be best, Tyrak offered. Easier to feel the ground and adjust.

Nodding, I slipped off my battered sandals. The stones were cold, damp with the spray from the fountain. Minuscule pieces of grit bit into the soles of my feet, ever so slightly uncomfortable, but adding traction on the slick cobbles.

Are you ready? Tyrak asked as I stepped away from the fountain.

I am, I thought, attempting to project my thoughts as Peldin had told me I could.

Lilik! I heard you! Well done.

I nodded, a little embarrassed at the praise. I couldn’t keep talking to the empty air. Already, the Trader Council had all but declared me a fraud. The last thing I needed was an accusation of madness.

All right, he said. First you should feel how the dagger sits in each hand—you won’t know when you might need to fight with your left. But after, take the weapon in your right hand. We’ll start there. It’s important to think about your grip. This blade has cutting edges on both sides, but the slight curve means you’ll want to slash with the longer edge.

The blade cut the air, nightforged steel gleaming in the moonlight, as I passed it from hand to hand. Ending with my right hand wrapping the hilt, I felt the ridges of gold threadwork beneath my palm. The roughness gave security to my grip, and I spun the weapon in my hand a few times before settling the guard into the cradle provided by the webbing of my thumb.

As I felt his presence snug within my hand, one of Zyri’s memories forced its way into my mind. She sat with Tyrak upon a bench near a natural spring. Autumn had come, and the nights were longer, but day flowers still bloomed, drenching the air in their heavy perfume. She leaned into him, head resting on his shoulder. When he moved, the muscles shifted beneath her cheek, reminding her of his strength.

Turning to her, he cupped her face in his hand, his skin warm, roughened by hard work. His thumb caressed her lips, parting them slightly.

“Zyri,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Lilik?

I shook free from the recollection. “Yes?” I said aloud, forgetting my efforts to direct my thoughts to him.

Just now . . . were you doing anything? I felt Zyri.

Shame flooded my veins. What should I say? I’d been reliving one of their intimate moments. It wasn’t fair to him or her, yet I couldn’t help remembering. I wasn’t sure I could make myself stop. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

It’s—I’m sorry Tyrak. It was a memory. They come, sometimes.

She was really within you, he said as if finally believing it. Do you think there’s a chance she’s still . . .

I don’t think so. She wanted to be free, and I released her. But Zyri changed me. I saw so much through her eyes, I sometimes feel as if I became more like her.

Tyrak was silent for a moment. Beneath my hand, I sensed a sort of melancholy. A longing that echoed my own.

My other bonds weren’t like this, he said. I mean—aside from our ability to communicate, the connection was thin. I could feel my wielder’s intent, and often I could guide their hand. But I never knew the person. It’s different with you. I’ve heard about a connection like this, but only in whispers. Rumors. They called it a shadowbond.

I nodded, feeling him close.

When he spoke again, his voice sounded pained. I think we should go on with the lesson.

You’re right. We should. I gripped the hilt tighter, raised it before me.

That’s good. You’re on guard. But keep your elbow and knees bent, ready to move. You are small and quick—that’s your advantage.

Swallowing, I eased into a high crouch, right foot forward. Shuffling back and forth, I tested my ability to move in balance with my weapon arm ready to strike.

Like this?

Yes, your movements are graceful while disguising the ability to pounce. That’s good. Now, slice. Remember, without an enemy to absorb the blow, your muscles will need to stop your swing. Don’t put all your power behind it or you’ll strain something. This is about learning to move and building a true connection where we join.

I slashed at the air, but the movement was awkward as if I were trying to deflect a flitting hummingbird. Adjusting my stance, I tried again, envisioning a sweeping arc that snagged on the woven-reed armor favored by the Waikert. Still, the attack lacked power.

Lilik? May I show you?

How?

I can influence your movement—that’s how I’ve helped my wielders in the past. But I think with you, I can do more. If you open to me.

In the same way that I open my thoughts?

He hesitated. Not just your thoughts. Try offering more. Your spirit, I suppose.

I nodded. Swallowing, I closed my eyes. Mist from the fountain wet my face, while from a rooftop somewhere behind, a pigeon cooed. Beneath my hand, the dagger grew warm.

It’s not working. You told me you have the ability to put up walls. Try the opposite. Imagine them dropping further. Try to forget where you are.

One by one, I focused on my senses. Where the cobbles were cold against the bottom of my feet, I imagined numbness. The chill damp that collected on my skin faded. Quiet splashing from the fountain pinched off into silence.

Tyrak wrapped me. Abruptly, he was in the square behind me, his body warm against mine. His feet moved to press against the outsides of mine, and his hand encircled mine on the dagger’s hilt.

I gasped.

Yes, he said. Like that.

I swallowed, falling deeper, letting him direct me. Hugging my waist with his other arm, he gave a signal with his fingertips, pads pressing into my ribs and urging me to shuffle back. Quick-stepping, we covered a few paces. With firm pressure on my weapon hand, he dropped the dagger into a low, defensive position. Then, tensing behind me, he prepared us to spring. Exploding from the cobblestones, I leapt forward and stabbed, following with an upward movement to parry an imaginary blade.

Every motion, he guided me, leading as if in a dance. We sidestepped, slashed, moved to the pulse of the blood in my veins. Never clumsy to begin with, I danced across the makeshift arena. My eyes were open now, and the glittering droplets from the fountain gave the sense of a thousand candles shining around us. On the balls of our feet, we slid through the night, cutting down enemies.

I lost myself in the sensations. I imagined his heart beating, inches higher than my own, the vibrations passing from his chest into my back. His hips shifted moments before his feet, telling me how to move.

You’re doing great, Tyrak whispered in my ear.

I leaped, dagger pointed down, ready to stab a phantom enemy.

From the edge of the square, a loud, slow clapping of hands cracked the night, shattering the illusion and ruining my concentration. My toe turned under when I landed. I tumbled but managed to turn it into a roll. The dagger flipped from my hand and skittered across the courtyard.

Coming out of the roll, my first thought was for my weapon. I sprinted to fetch it and returned to a ready stance before scanning the shadows for the source of the noise.

“I’m sorry, Lilik. It was so beautiful—amazing really. I couldn’t help applauding. Are you okay?”

Raav stepped from between a pair of buildings. Lit by the moon, his face was achingly handsome. For a moment, I felt the doubling of self that had been so difficult to handle on Ioene. I was Zyri, living in her time, in love with Tyrak. And I was Lilik, failed nightcaller, currently failing to gather support to return to Ioene.

“How did you find me?” I asked, wincing at my sharp tone. I hadn’t meant for it to come out that way.

“I asked. You’re a gutterborn hero, remember. You can’t just walk around the slums and expect not to be noticed. Not after the Nocturnai.”

“Frask certainly noticed me,” I said. My free hand started to tremble. I shoved it in my pocket so he wouldn’t see.

Ravv ran his hands through his hair then curled them into fists. When he lowered his arms, his whole body seemed to vibrate with anger.

“So it’s true?” he asked. “He hit you?”

I nodded, not trusting my words.

Jaw clenched, Raav looked to the side. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “He’ll regret it, Lilik. I swear to you.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“But don’t you see? I can’t just stand by. Not after that. Before we left Ioene, I promised myself I would be strong enough to deserve you. And this is my first test.”

“But you don’t need to prove anything,” I said. “We survived Ioene together.”

He stepped toward me but stopped short, his eyes abruptly anguished. “My brother hit you, Lilik. I can’t live under his roof after that. But you and I talked about making the return to Ioene more important than our relationship. And the only way I can influence the Council is through Frask. So what do I do?”

Raav moved to the fountain. Sitting on its rim, he extended a hand, inviting me to join him. My emotions were a whirlpool, first the experience with Tyrak and now this. Raav’s brows drew together when I hesitated. I forced myself to step toward him, one foot after the other. We had enough to deal with without him learning how confused the dagger made me feel.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see his hand smacking your face,” Raav said, his voice tight. “It’s killing me.”

I touched my cheek at the memory, wincing at the tenderness. No doubt I’d have an ugly bruise. But he was right; we’d agreed that nothing was more important than retaking Ioene. We needed to keep perspective.

After slipping the dagger into my satchel, I sat beside him and touched his knee. “I’m sorry I was distant this morning. I was worried you’d changed your mind about me.”

Raav faced me. “No! Of course not.”

“What happens if you leave your House?” I asked.

“If I anger Frask, he’ll just work harder to undermine us.”

“How much influence does he really have?”

Raav shrugged. “Right now, Katrikki and I are your only allies among the traders. I guess he can’t change things that much, considering.”

“Then you should leave,” I said “But do it quietly. You can confront your brother after we secure help from the Council.”

Raav’s jaw worked, muscles knotting beneath his cheek, but eventually he nodded. “I won’t forget what he did to you. I’m just postponing some of my response.”

As Raav scooted closer, I leaned into him. With the dagger hidden away, my memories of Tyrak faded. Raav was real. Actual blood flowed through his veins. Relieved, I exhaled. I was Lilik Boket. Zyri died centuries ago.

“Have you talked to Katrikki?” I asked.

“She’s still locked away. But I—” Raav snatched my hand. He squeezed, reassuring, before continuing. “—I spoke to Mareti. She’s hurt. I understand—so many people assumed our parents would negotiate a betrothal.”

The mention of her name didn’t provoke the same jealousy I’d felt on Ioene. But I still wanted to avoid the subject. “If you leave your House, where will you go?”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever happens is temporary—we still have Ashkalan, right? We’ll rebuild it and live the way we want.” He reached up and cupped my face. I swayed, dizzied by the fresh memory of Tyrak touching Zyri in that way. Noting my quick intake of breath, he brought his lips to mine before I could protest.

All at once, I wanted him with my whole soul. I wanted him to be for me what I’d never have from Tyrak. But just as I fell into the kiss, I felt a cry of anguish.

Zyri . . .

Nearly choking on Tyrak’s heartache, I pulled away. Raav slowly opened his eyes, longing written on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have asked permission.”

“It’s not that,” I said. But how could I tell him that Tyrak was as confused as I? That feeling me kiss another, for him, was like watching Zyri forsake him.

I couldn’t.

“I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

Raav’s face hardened, and I knew he didn’t believe me. As he stood, I saw him don his armor. Invisible, but effective all the same.

“I’ll find you after I’ve settled with Frask,” he said.

“Raav?”

His eyes flashed when he turned. “What?”

“Just give me a little time, okay?”

His lips thinned as he nodded. All gentleness had vanished from his face when he turned and stalked from the courtyard.

Chapter Five

INSIDE THE SMALL room I shared with my family, the crackling fire cast a warm glow on our humble collection of possessions. I wondered what Trader Yiltak would think of our home. The entry hall for House Yiltak was larger than our entire space. Shrugging, I grabbed the iron hook from beside the fireplace and used it to nudge the metal arm supporting the soup kettle into the fire. Flame licked the blackened bottom of the pot.

Not knowing how long I’d wait before Trader Yiltak arrived, I pulled out a basket containing scraps of leather, an awl, waxed thread, a handful of precious grommets. After measuring and marking the leather to fit the blade of Tyrak’s dagger, I grabbed a pair of heavy snips and cut out pieces for a simple sheath. The distraction only worked for a short time. Soon enough, I was on my feet, pacing. I needed this meeting to go well.

Outside the window, the narrow street was aglow with the green flame marking the gutter district. As had been the custom for more than a century, city light-bearers stood on street corners with colored lamps held aloft. Part sentry, part poet, they spoke to passersby and kept an eye on the street. But their most important role was warning the population of attacks. Ordinarily, the keepers of the harbor guardstones burned yellow fires in the small watchtowers capping the stones. But if a warship were spotted, the flame would flare red. Horns would sound, alerting the city, and even the outlying districts would know of the threat by the change in color of the street lamps.

Red for blood. Red for fear.

Though I had no love for the usual, sickly “gutterborn green,” it was much better than the alternative.

A hooded figure swept past the window. I tensed when the rapping came at the door. Trader Yiltak had found me. I’d purposefully avoided telling her my address. Let her come to the gutterborn quarter and ask around. Maybe it would give her a better notion of how we were forced to live under the traders’ defense tax. It had been well over a century since the commoners signed the defense lien, forfeiting our right to own property in exchange for the traders paying for a mercenary army to save us from the Waikert. The defense tax was supposed to buy back our homes. It might have worked if the Trader Council had helped the Kiriilti people build their own army, or if the Waikert had been less vicious. But the traders had no real reason to change the arrangement. Not when the gutterborn kept paying the tax.

I tucked Tyrak’s dagger into the satchel hanging on the back of my chair and I opened the door. Looming over me, Trader Yiltak regarded me with hard eyes. She wasn’t pleased with my demand, but I thought I saw new respect in her expression. She did not expect an easy negotiation. I thought back to our first meeting, before I sailed with the Nocturnai. On that night, Trader Yiltak had seemed as intimidating as a mythical beast. Now, I’d forced her to meet me on my terms. Ioene had changed me.

“Come in,” I said, stepping aside.

She ducked as she stepped over the threshold. After scanning the room, she stepped to Da’s kitchen chair, the largest in our home.

“I’ve come to you, as requested. I’d like you to honor that by closing the curtain. It would be quite bad for Yiltak’s standing if I’m recognized here.”

I considered for a moment, wondering if bending to her request would put me on weaker ground, but decided to save my arguments for the points that most mattered. Tugging the curtain to slide it along the rod, I shut out the scene beyond the wavy glass.

Trader Yiltak pushed her hood back, showing her close-cropped hair, the customary style of a head trader. “So . . . this figurine? Frask Ovintak called it the Yiltak Effigy.”

“I assume you’re aware of it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Even if I were, I’d be foolish to admit it. Trader Ovintak spoke as if it were implicated in the Nocturnai’s failure.”

“Seems strange, doesn’t it? How could a small statue affect the events on Ioene?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” she said.

She wasn’t going to give up information easily. I pivoted, taking a different direction of attack. “I assume you checked your home before you came here. The figurine is gone. The simplest explanation is that Moanet gave it to me, right?”

Trader Yiltak’s nostrils flared. “Let’s assume I looked through our possessions and found it missing. Further, let’s assume I know the properties of this little statuette. Where would that leave us?”

I’d remained standing, facing the woman. To gain time, I strode to the table and pulled out another chair.

“I was considering that we might help one another,” I said as I sat.

Her perfectly arched brows raised. “Go on.”

I cocked my head, thinking. I had a small amount of leverage on her already—she didn’t realize that the existence of the figurine had been an open secret among the traders for decades. But I wanted more advantage before laying out my demands.

“Is Moanet all right? I noticed she didn’t attend the meeting at the council hall.” Of course, I knew she’d eloped, but I wanted to hear what Trader Yiltak had been telling her peers.

“She’s away on a trading mission. As you probably know, Moanet is my only heir. In the event that I die prematurely, she will have a large operation to manage. I thought it best that she begin taking on responsibility now.”

“Oh, interesting. So she didn’t sail away with a husband you disapproved of? Perhaps she was just trying to mislead me.”

Trader Yiltak’s eyes widened, and I knew I had her.

“Seems you’re full of surprises, Nightcaller Boket.”

“You know Moanet gave me the figurine. You must have drawn the conclusion that I have no nightcalling talent.”

“Yet you claim to channel the nightstrands’ spirits. Again, I wonder why I should believe you.”

“Well, you won’t take my word, nor that of the other traders. Katrikki Korpit saw the nightstrands swarming me for sanctuary. Raav Ovintak and Islilla Thuvet can confirm that I collapsed a tunnel simply by laying hands on it.”

“The volcano was abnormally active. An earthquake could have destabilized the cavern.”

I stared her in the eyes. “You’re grasping for any evidence that might refute my claim, while refusing to listen to the simple explanation.”

Laying a hand casually on the table, Trader Yiltak leaned back in her chair. “That, of course, is the way that traders negotiate. Do you think I raised House Yiltak from middling to dominating by simply accepting the words offered by others?”

In the fireplace, the soup kettle bubbled over, droplets sizzling when they fell upon the coals. “A moment,” I said. With the hook, I snagged the kettle holder and swung the stew out over the hearth. “Hungry?” I offered as I ladled myself a bowlful.

Her mouth twisted, amused. “Plucky one, aren’t you. I see why Moanet chose you for her plans.”

Sauntering back to the table, I kicked out the chair leg and sat. I lifted a bite and blew across it. “I wasn’t the same person then. If I hadn’t been trapped by my own stupid lie, I never would have gone.”

“And now?”

Would I still choose to journey to Ioene after everything that happened? Most likely, Mieshk would have seized control of the Nocturnai with or without the Effigy. Without me and Paono, the strands would have had no defense against her. So yes, I supposed I’d join the expedition regardless.

“I wouldn’t have a choice. Ioene would be doomed otherwise. Probably the Kiriilt Islands, too.”

Trader Yiltak traced circles on the tabletop with a fingertip. “So . . . where does this leave us, Lilik Boket.”

I swallowed a bite of stew—not bad. Either Da’s cooking had improved in my absence, or I was still enjoying the break from boiled jellyfish.

“I know things you would rather keep from the other traders,” I said.

“Perhaps.”

“And I need an ally on the Council.”

“Say I did believe you,” Trader Yiltak said. “Of course I’d support the ousting of Mieshk Ulstat. According to you, healing Ioene will give us access to magic much more powerful than nightcrafting. The trader Houses who take control of the restoration will benefit greatly.”

I gritted my teeth. I hadn’t proposed we retake Ioene to give the traders more power. But without the support of the Council, I didn’t have the resources to defeat Mieshk. I’d have to find a way out of the dilemma. But right now, I needed to Trader Yiltak’s support.

“Then you agree need to remove Mieshk? We don’t have much time if we want to get there and back before the storm season.”

She raised a hand, cautioning. “I’m not saying that. You have a lot to learn about negotiation.”

“Then what are you saying?” I asked.

“No trader maintains a position of power by moving rashly. It’s true, you know things that could damage my reputation. And I have the means to erase your threat. But I’d rather not go that far.”

I remembered Moanet’s words from months before. House Yiltak guards are loyal and don’t ask questions.

“What do you want, then?”

“You must prove your claims about the nightstrands and the Vanished. I don’t know how you’ll do it. That’s up to you. But glowing hands and the stories of a few adolescents—one of whom appears to have a romantic interest in you—are not enough for me to risk my empire. You say you’re a channeler. Show me.”

I dipped my spoon into the soup. “And if I can?”

“We’ll sail for Ioene within the week. But if you can’t—” She paused, staring me directly in the eye. “—I will not hesitate to protect what’s mine.”

She stood and headed for the door. Recalling my manners, I pushed out my chair as if to escort her to the threshold, but stopped, paralyzed. Though the curtain hid the street from view, light leaked around its edges.

The lamps outside burned red.

Chapter Six

DESPITE THE CLOAK that hid her face, Trader Yiltak’s long legs pushed her forward faster than I could run. By the time we reached the boundary with the central district, she’d pulled ahead by a block. As she turned the corner to head for House Yiltak, she unfastened her cloak, letting it fall to a puddle on the street.

Seeing the finely-made garment lying on the cobbles, I resisted the gutterborn impulse to snatch it up. I ran past, leaping over the folds of fine velvet. Someone would be happy later, if we weren’t clobbered by the Waikert.

At the thought of the savages pouring into town, I felt sick. Our soldiers were armed with mostly mundane weapons now; so many of the nightforged blades had been broken, stolen—even lost—over the last eight years. Our Nocturnai was supposed to return with a hold full of new weaponry. We’d failed. And if I had any say, we’d never nightforge another blade again.

But what would happen to us? Ioene might offer us a chance at defense—if Paono could heal her as the Vanished believed. But that was only a chance. For the last hundred years, our only certain defense came from nightforging.

Though I had a stitch in my side, I kept pushing, feet slapping cobbles, breath searing my lungs. In the central district, the blaring alarm horns reverberated in my chest, hurting my ears. House clerks stepped from official buildings, heading for the sanctuary of the trader compounds, while shopkeepers rushed to shutter their windows and board up their doors. Gutterborn children ran shrieking for the slums and their parents’ arms. They’d find little safety there, but at least they’d be with their families. I thought of Da and Jaret. Would they run home? Or would they head, as I was, to the safety of courthouse square? During the last Waikert attack, the edges of the city had burned while the soldiers formed a shield around the central district and trader quarter, stopping the savages short.

A large man, a butcher judging by his bloodstained apron, slammed me as he ran the other direction. Reeling, I fell into a wall and smacked my head. I saw stars and felt a hot anger spread from my side. Confused, I slapped my hand down and felt Tyrak’s gold-worked hilt.

I slipped him from the belt loop I’d used as a makeshift sheath.

“An accident,” I whispered as I panted.

But he didn’t apologize.

“He was scared.”

It’s no excuse. I told you a long time ago that I’d never let anyone hurt you. I meant it.

I shivered at the words. He meant Zyri, of course.

Ahead, the roar of a crowd spilled from the courthouse square into the side streets. Apparently, much of Istanik’s population remembered what had happened during the last attack.

I expected to hear cries of fear when I entered the square, but the crowd sounded more confused than anything. Instead of cowering, eyes on the streets which emptied into the square, the mob pushed forward on tiptoes, neck craned.

What was this?

I hopped onto a low stone pillar that formed the foundation for a building’s awning. Holding the awning post for balance, I scanned the crowd. Across the square, in front of the steps leading to the doors of Trader Council Hall, a small cluster of people shifted impatiently. Guards surrounded the group, hands on the pommels of their sheathed weapons. I squinted, confused. I couldn’t make out the details of the insignias on their armor, but the shape was familiar.

Abruptly, I realized where I’d seen it. On Ioene, when Mieshk seized power from Captain Altak, she’d worn the uniform of a prime trader heir. The insignia of House Ulstat had been upon her breast.

If these visitors were representatives from Mieshk’s family, why were they guarded? Why the alarm?

I slipped into the crowd.

“They came in warships is what I heard,” one man said.

“Naw, Council went to fetch the Ulstats, but the family refused to come so the Council took these ones hostage,” someone else responded.

I shook my head. Rumormongers rarely had the story right, and even with my small size, I’d never shove my way through the mob. Turning back, I ran down a darkened alley and then took a side street which would bring me out on the other side of the square. As I made my final turn, I spotted Trader Yiltak again.

She was trotting now—traders didn’t sprint in public. Noticing me, she nodded. “With me,” she said.

I didn’t need any encouragement.

At the edge of the square, House Yiltak guards materialized from the crowd. I saw relief in their eyes. They’d probably been near panic when the alarm was sounded, after dark, with their patron nowhere to be found. Trader Yiltak’s height made her visible in even the densest crowd; they’d probably been waiting, as eager for a glimpse of her close-cropped hair as for a meal after a storm-tide fast.

Her trader mask firmly in place, Trader Yiltak simply nodded at them, offering no explanation for her tardiness. “The nightcaller is with me,” she said.

Forging a path through the crowd, the Yiltak guards quickly escorted us to the Council hall. Upon reaching the stairs, Trader Yiltak stopped. Many of the other traders had already assembled just outside the door.

“I see that Trader Ulstat has neglected to join us,” Trader Yiltak said. “Past his bedtime?” I noticed that she didn’t mention the warships. Either that was just a rumor, or she was failing to acknowledge them on purpose.

“He sends us in his stead, Trader Yiltak.” An older woman, apparently cast from the same angular mold that had produced Mieshk and her sentinel, Laiska, stepped forward.

“I’m sure you intend to explain why he shows this lack of respect to the Council, of which he is a senior member.”

“Inside,” the woman said. “Trader business is not for commoner ears.” With that, she cast a pointed look at me.

Ignoring her, Trader Yiltak produced the key to the Council Hall and unlocked the doors.

“We’ll convene a session. Whether we’ll deem your message valid—considering that it is not issued directly from an Ulstat throat—will depend on the contents.”

Inside the hall, the lamps still burned. I wondered whether they were ever snuffed, or whether the traders just didn’t care about the waste of lamp oil.

I stood to the side as the traders filed in, unsure where or whether I should sit. Trader Yiltak offered no guidance. When Heiklet’s grandfather shuffled through the door—he looked as if he’d been asleep when the alarm sounded, no surprise with the sun long since set—I caught his eye. I nodded at him, hoping to show support. No matter the trader calm he attempted to maintain, the anger he felt toward the Ulstats was visible on his face, in the stiffness of his shoulders.

Finally, the Ulstat representatives strode through the door. Guards from half a dozen Houses stepped into the doorway as soon as the officials had entered the building, hands on swords. Barred entry, the Ulstat guards took up positions on the stoop, but not before the leader made eye contact with the Ulstat woman who’d spoken. A slight nod passed between them. I wondered what it meant and considered informing Trader Yiltak, but decided that my attendance at the proceeding was uncommon enough. It wasn’t the time to make a nuisance of myself.

The traders took the seats I’d seen them occupy before while the Ulstat woman strode to the speaker’s podium. Either she’d attended a Council session before or she’d been coached before arriving. Surrounding her, the other Ulstat officials formed a semicircle, as if adding weight to her words.

“Shall we get on with it then?” Trader Yiltak asked. “Arriving in warships in the late hours without a proper Ulstat representative—frankly I’m tempted to escort you back to the quay. As far as I’m concerned, your House can either send an appropriate delegation or forfeit its council position.”

The Ulstat representative cast Trader Yiltak a sly smile. “It’s a difficult time when the heir of a household isn’t available to stand in for the prime trader, isn’t it. You must sympathize, with Moanet . . . absent.”

“My daughter’s actions are not your concern.”

“Perhaps not,” the woman said. She ran her eyes over the gathered traders. “And I apologize for the late hour. This won’t take long, particularly if you elect to meet the Ulstat demands without negotiation.”

“Demands?” I was surprised to hear Raav’s mother speak up. For that matter, I wondered where Frask was. Nowhere good, I assumed. Or sleeping off the night’s drinks.

The Ulstat representative nodded. “Indeed. I’ll start with the easiest. Heretofore, Mieshk Ulstat will be given sole dominion over the island Ioene.”

Protests erupted from the traders while I cringed. Mieshk? Officially ruling Ioene? Ridiculous.

Apparently, the traders felt as I did. Standing, they hurled insults at the speaker. Some of the representatives from the minor Houses crowded forward from the rear.

“Order!” Trader Yiltak yelled. She stood, using her height as an advantage once again. She didn’t have her gavel on hand, but her voice was effective enough. Though they didn’t sit, the traders quieted.

“Clearly, we reject your first demand,” she said mildly. “Any more?”

The representative inclined her head. I noticed that none of the other Ulstat officials seemed surprised by the traders’ reactions. In fact, most watched the speaker with a sense of eagerness. There was something else going on here. Warships or not, the Ulstats had no business taking on the Trader Council, and though madness ran in their family, I doubted that Mieshk’s father expected the demands to be met. Edging toward the semicircle of delegates, I watched keenly, opening my ears in case they tried to whisper to one another.

“Trader Ulstat further demands that the Kirillti capital be moved from the city of Istanik, on Stanik Island, to Ilaraok, upon Araok.”

“Madness!” Trader Srukolk was red in the face, his calm finally crumbled. And no wonder. Mieshk Ulstat had killed his granddaughter.

“Lastly,” said the representative, voice raised. The angry yelling of the traders covered her words, and she paused, apparently content to wait for quiet.

What does this mean for Ioene? Tyrak asked me.

I closed my eyes and focused my thoughts, struggling to concentrate with the noise.

I don’t know, I managed to say.

Returning my attention to the Council chambers, my brows drew together. Rather than standing at ease as they’d previously been, I noticed that the Ulstat officials had tensed. One of them was staring out a window on the southern wall. Tapping his neighbor with the back of his hand, he nodded. Something was happening.

From my position, I couldn’t see out the window. I wondered what the man had noticed out there. I slipped along the wall until I could get a look. Over the harbor, the night sky glowed a peculiar blue. Moving closer still, I understood. Though I couldn’t spot the source, new fires burned, the flames a deep azure. But what did that mean? With the alarm lamps burning red—they wouldn’t be doused without notice from the Council that the threat had passed—the blue must be a signal. Most likely, a means for the warships to communicate with the delegation.

Attempting to catch Trader Yiltak’s attention, I sidled toward the trader seats.

The first concussion knocked me from my feet. More booms shook the city as I sprawled, while a loud grating noise came from directly behind me. I rolled to see the wall open, a previously hidden door yawning in the polished marble stonework. A narrow hallway stretched into darkness, dotted every few paces by a dim candle lantern. A figure stood in the doorway, light from the council chamber falling on his face.

Frask Ovintak.

With a glance at me that quickly turned murderous, he gestured at the Ulstat delegates. They’d already begun moving, racing toward the secret exit. In their haste, they leaped my body. Flinching, I tucked my knees up to cover my belly.

Now, Tyrak said. Stop her.

Just one Ulstat official remained in the hall, the speaker. As she ran toward me, I kicked out. My foot tangled with hers, and she slammed the ground, chin splitting on the stone. Scrambling to my feet, I dove atop her. Raising Tyrak, I held the point of the blade against the back of her neck.

Frask’s eyes met mine. He stood paralyzed, unsure whether to abandon the woman. But something over my shoulder caught his attention, and he quickly decided. Raav’s brother retreated into the tunnel, shoving the door shut as House guards thundered for the passage. Throwing themselves at the closed portal, they scrabbled fingers over the marble in search of the seam.

No use. Whether the door only opened from the inside or whether Frask had managed to lock it, the passage was sealed over the Ulstat retreat.

Beneath me, the woman squirmed and grunted.

“She’s got one, you fools,” Trader Yiltak yelled, dashing toward me.

Moments later, a guard replaced my weight with a foot upon the Ulstat woman’s spine. Sword drawn, he laid it alongside her neck. She stilled, recognizing her odds.

As I clambered to my feet, Trader Yiltak looked me up and down. “Not bad. I suppose I owe you my thanks.”

It was the closest I’d get to a compliment, but I didn’t bother to bask in it. The days that I cared for trader regard were gone. I did, however, hope that this helped my case with the return to Ioene.

“Trader Yiltak,” someone called breathlessly. I turned to see a House Yiltak functionary approaching. The front doors to the hall had been reopened, and were once again defended by a wall of guards solid as iron.

Panting, the man stopped in front of Trader Yiltak, and went to a knee.

“It’s not the time for etiquette, Tren. What is it?”

The man stood. “It’s the harbor, Trader. It’s burning. Buildings toppled. The Ulstats have something we’ve never seen. Rumor is, they’ve figured out how to use the black powder from their mines in some sort of weapons.”

“They’re called cannons,” the Ulstat woman said from the floor. “We knew the demands would be rejected, so thought we’d offer a demonstration.”

I stared, disgusted. As if Mieshk hadn’t already caused enough problems, this conflict with her family would hopelessly delay the return to Ioene. Once again, I thought of Nan’s words. Maybe I should forget the traders. Focus on the resources I already controlled.

Captain Altak was on my side, and we had Zyri’s Promise to sail us, but—

Panic stole my breath. The harbor was burning, isn’t that what the guard said? Buildings demolished. Warships attacking.

Whirling, I ran for the door, no longer caring what passed between the traders. Zyri’s Promise was tied to the quay.

Chapter Seven

THE WATERFRONT WAS in chaos. Gaping holes had been ripped through warehouses and the offices of House clerks. Inside the buildings, scraps of burning paper danced on the night air, sparks whirling. Smoke poured from a dozen fires, set when torches and street lanterns were toppled. I coughed, blinked, squinting through darkness and flame for a glimpse of Zyri’s Promise.

She’d been moored at the far end of the quay. Smoke searing my lungs, I sprinted over stone blocks that had been reduced to shards, past heavy metal cleats smashed flat against the stonework. I couldn’t understand what could do this until I saw an iron ball resting in the crater it had smashed in the masonry.

My eyes turned to the warships, dark shadows crowned with blue flame. The vessels floated hundreds of paces away. A weapon that could hurl the heavy balls so far . . . I struggled to even imagine it.

Another scream tore me from my thoughts, and I continued on. There would be time to consider the implications of the Ulstat’s new cannons later.

Near the exit of one of the city streets, a makeshift hospital was already in use. The injured had been dragged clear of the waterfront and laid upon sacks of cargo, mattresses pulled from the nearby soldiers’ barracks, and in some cases, upon bare cobblestones. One of the men nearest the water had a broken leg. I swallowed, stomach clenching, at the sight of exposed bone. When he screamed, a healer handed him a small cup. Liquor or evenshade. Something to calm him.

I kept running.

Halfway down the waterfront, a large pit cratered the stonework, chips strewn, the ball bounced up and away to smash the glass windows of the harbor authority. I leaped the hole, and my sandals skidded on the loose rock opposite. My feet flew from beneath me and I smacked hard stone, rattling my teeth.

From the water beside me came a loud groan. A ship, still cleated to a pier which jutted from the main waterfront listed hard, her hull gaping where a ball had punched through. With the hull lit an angry red by the fires, the gash in her side was a black pit.

Zyri’s Promise momentarily forgotten, I stared, dumbstruck. As the ship heeled farther and farther, the pier shrieked and cracked in protest, pilings lifting from the harbor floor, dripping algae and mud. With a final moan, the decking toppled into the sea, and the ship sank with a splash quieter than I’d expected.

I clambered to my feet, wincing at the pain where my hip had slammed the stone. I set off at a sprint for Zyri’s Promise.

Around me, men yelled, aghast at the devastation, angry and confused. Where fires burned hottest, bucket brigades formed, anchored on one end by men tossing water onto the blaze, and at the other where people tied ropes to the bucket handles, lowering the containers down to the sea to fill.

Finally, I glimpsed her in the dimmer glow at the end of the waterfront. Because she’d been moored far from the buzz of daily harbor traffic, Zyri’s Promise had been protected from the onslaught. At least, no obvious holes marred her decks or rigging. Impervious to fire, she had nothing to fear from the blazes on the shore, but I saw that Captain Altak was taking no chances. Crewmen swarmed the deck and quay, uncleating lines and casting off. Upon the deck, the sail was raised to half mast, only enough to pull her away from danger.

Exhaling with relief, I finally turned back to the harbor. The trio of Ulstat warships hulked midway between me and the guardstones. Highlighted by crackling blue fire, the crew scurried across the decks, raising anchor and preparing the ships to move off. To save the vessels from retaliation, I assumed, though I imagined they’d not go far. The threat posed by the cannons only mattered if they remained in a position to use them.

From a sheltered cove on the far side of the harbor, I spotted a shadowy skiff skimming across the water. A handful of people sat in the middle of the boat, holding lanterns that silhouetted their figures, while four others pulled the oars. In the stern, a lone person sat. Squinting, I still couldn’t make out details. When the small vessel approached the closest warship, I decided it must be the delegation that had escaped from Council Hall. The man in the back of the boat was likely Frask. I wondered what they’d offered him. A position of power on Araok? The attack was well planned, considering the short time they’d had since our return. I wondered how long Frask had been waiting for such an opportunity.

Calls from the water caught my attention. Gliding across the darkened harbor, Zyri’s Promise slid into an area of the harbor with no structures along the shore. Shortly after, the sail was once again furled. A winch whirled as the captain dropped a sea anchor, allowing them to maintain position without pinning themselves to the harbor floor.

Confident that he’d keep her safe, I set off for the hospital intent on helping where I could. My weapon was once again stuck through my belt. For comfort, I laid a hand on the dagger’s pommel. Tyrak’s pommel. Somehow, the boy and the dagger were one.

Why do we do these things to each other? he asked.

Narrowing my thoughts, I shoved the words toward him. Our nature, I guess.

I wish it were different.

Me, too.

Ahead, a group of rough-looking men crept from an alley. Moving in a clot, eyes wary, they approached a stack of shipping-ready cargo, the crates stamped with the insignia of House Yiltak. A rope surrounded the pile; I assumed that Trader Yiltak would ordinarily have a guard posted over the goods, but that the men responsible had abandoned their post to help put out fires.

As the first of the looters ducked beneath the rope, I inched Tyrak from the sheath.

Don’t be stupid, he said.

I can’t let them take what they don’t own.

You’ve had one lesson in fighting. Even if you’d practiced for years, there are still too many.

Jaw clenched, I nodded. As they cracked open the first crate, I edged toward the water, walking near the low curb at the edge of the seawall. Through my palm, I felt Tyrak’s tension. When I’d nearly cleared the area, I broke into a trot then heard a shout from behind.

“Hey!”

I tensed and spun, thinking the men had noticed me. I raised the dagger, ready to attempt a defense.

I sighed in relief. A pair of city guardsmen approached from opposite the looters, hands on their cudgels. The robbers clustered together, laying hands on knives and slipping their fingers into brass knuckles. As the guardsmen approached, the largest of the looters stepped to the front.

“You defending trader scum? Easier to just walk away, yeah?”

One of the guardsmen spun his cudgel, a flick of the wrist. “Drop what you’ve taken and help with the fires, and Trader Yiltak won’t hear anything.”

“Help protect trader assets from burning, you mean? Hundred years paying their rotted defense tax, traders claiming they need that money to protect everyone, and then a trader House attacks the city. Probably used our own rotted tax money to build the warships. Only fair we take back what we’re owed.”

The looter’s friends growled approval. One slipped beneath the rope, firelight glinting off the sections of his blade that weren’t covered in rust. A guardsman took an unwitting step back. Nine looters to two guardsmen was a bad ratio.

I should help, I said.

Did you not listen to me? You’ll only get yourself hurt or killed.

Before I could argue further, another group of armed men and women ran past me, feet pounding the stone sidewalk. Unlike the city guard, these soldiers bore edged weapons, among them, a pair of nightforged swords. On the back of their leather armor chestpieces, the insignia of House Yiltak had been embossed and painted red. Mercenaries answering to the Yiltaks. I didn’t like the soldiers, but for once I was glad to see them.

Well, I guess that settles that, Tyrak said.

Guess so.

As I stepped back from the site of the impending melee, a shout from the soldiers scattered the looters like birds from a tree. As the thieves clambered over the heap of cargo and jumped the far edge, sprinting for the relative safety of the alleys, the Yiltak mercenaries slowed to a trot.

I slid Tyrak back into my belt loop, ready to continue on to the hospital when one of the looters turned. Teeth bared, he leaped for the closest open crate and yanked out a small, rosewood box. Even from my vantage of a hundred paces, I spotted the glint of inlaid gems. Cradling the box against his belly, the man whirled.

Only to be bludgeoned in the temple by a cudgel blow that had been aimed at his shoulder.

The city guardsmen watched, mouth open in shock, as the man crumpled, boneless. Blood streamed from the wound to his head. Pulling the box from his limp fingers, the guardsman tossed it back into the crate before laying fingers on the pulse point in the man’s neck.

He whispered something as he shook his head, horror-struck.

One of the soldiers swaggered over. “First kill?” she asked. My lip curled at the woman’s tone. Back when the defense bargain was struck, Kiriilti Islanders had no trained soldiers to combat the new threat of the brutal Waikert sea tribes. The trader Houses had hired the mercenary army. It made sense then, but should have been just a temporary solution while we trained a Kiriilti force. Mercenaries would never fight with the same ferocity as Islanders defending their home. Worse, they were coarse men and women, born into violence and living by that code.

Standing over the corpse, the guardsman ignored the soldier. Blinking, he replaced his cudgel in his belt holster. I knew how he felt. Sometimes, I woke in the night with the image in my head: two attackers chasing me through the dark of Ioene, falling to the ground when I led them through a cloud of poisonous vapors. I’d killed, and a small part of my soul had died along with them.

Seeking comfort, I opened myself further to Tyrak. Imprisoned within a nightforged weapon, he, too, knew the feeling of blood, the pain of taking a life.

Miva! Tides, oh Miva . . .

I jerked. Tyrak? Was that you? I asked, even though it had sounded nothing like him.

Was what me?

Did you hear a voice? Calling for Miva?

I heard nothing but the sadness in your heart, Lilik.

Swaying, I stepped toward the dead man and the soldiers surrounding him. Before I reached the scene, two of the soldiers shouldered the guardsman aside and lifted the body from the cobbles.

Hello? I asked, forcing my thoughts toward the corpse.

What? Who? Oh Miva . . . I only wanted to buy her freedom. She’ll rot in the prison.

Are you . . . can you hear me?

Silence filled my inner thoughts, as if a cavern lay open, waiting for a gust of wind. Abruptly, it came.

I hear you.

Good! I said, trying to project calm. Sympathy.

I’m gone, am I not? Tides . . .

I—yes. Your body is dead. Your spirit is not.

Miva! His shriek pierced me.

She’s imprisoned?

In the city lock-up. She hid away money that was meant for the defense tax.

I sighed, the man’s emotions bleeding into mine. He’d loved her, but there was something else. His guilt overwhelmed everything. Maybe he’d been responsible, somehow. My heart ached for him.

Abruptly, I felt a spear of anger. I can’t be here. I have to go to her.

Like a bubble popping, he was gone. I staggered.

Tyrak . . .

I heard it, Lilik. It took me a moment, but I caught most of the conversation. You tried. In my day, channelers were trained.

Still shocked by what had happened, I blinked. Tyrak, do you realize what this means? I thought that only the spirits of the Vanished formed nightstrands. I didn’t really think about what happened to Kiriilti when we died. Our nightcallers have never sensed the strands here.

Have they tried?

I assume so.

But maybe they hadn’t. Or maybe their abilities were too weak here.

Around me, fires blazed, men and women shouted and cried. Guards from House Korpit carried another corpse away from the waterfront. But despite the smoke and the haze and the noise, I fell into memories. Ever since I was a young child, I’d imagined stories and histories to help me cope with my gutterborn life. Almost always, the imaginings focused on voices and emotions, the same sensations I’d felt from the spirits of the Vanished.

I’ve felt them all along, I said, awestruck. It took the Vanished to make me understand, but I’ve been a channeler from the beginning.

Looking out to sea, I cast my thoughts to faraway Ioene and the spirits of the Vanished that had showed me my path. The nightstrands were here, too. The spirits of our ancestors were all around us. And we’d never known it.

Chapter Eight

MORNING SUN FELL on the street outside our room. Like in most gutterborn homes, the narrow streets and small windows kept the golden rays from entering directly, but the honeyed light outside lent a sense of calm.

Calm on the surface, anyway. Inside, I was crackling with anger. Shortly after I’d staggered home, in shock and still reeling from what I’d learned about nightstrands in the Kiriilt Islands, Da had shouldered through the door carrying Jaret in his arms.

I’d hoped my father and brother had stayed away from the violence at the harbor. No luck. Because of their stubborn desire to help, they’d rushed to the quay shortly after the barrage from the cannons. Guards from one of the trader Houses had told them to go home. Instead of listening, Jaret had sprinted for a bucket brigade, only to be smacked by a guard’s cudgel for disobedience.

The healer didn’t know if the bone was cracked or bruised. Either way, how could I keep trying to work with the Trader Council when they hurt children for the crime of trying to help?

In any case, no ships would be returning to Ioene until we dealt with the Ulstats. I’d dealt with Mieshk on Ioene; somehow, I’d find a way to deal with her family and the other traders. But after last night, I couldn’t pretend I could do it without involving my family.

I shoved the awl through the hardened leather pieces of the dagger sheath. It was almost finished, just a few more stitches and pounding in the grommets to reinforce a few places. When Da carried breakfast over to the table—eggs, unsurprising given the family business of delivering them—I pushed my work aside.

Jaret stabbed an egg to puncture the yolk. Setting down his fork—his injured arm was in a sling—he grabbed a hunk of bread and dipped it into the gooey yellow. “What do you think the Council will do?” he asked, speaking with his mouth full.

I made a face at his bad manners—hurt or not, he didn’t get a pass on that. “I don’t understand traders any better than you do.”

“But you’re almost a trader yourself,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Attending Council sessions—not to mention the rumor I heard.”

“Oh?” Da said. “Not more talk about Lilik and the young man from House Ovintak . . .”

At that, I shoved a bite into my mouth and chewed. They knew the story about Raav, more or less, but since I had no idea what would happen with him, I definitely didn’t feel like talking about it.

“Trader Yiltak came here last night,” Jaret said. “Can you believe it? Lilik making a trader come to her?” He cackled.

I flinched. After what had happened to my brother, the association between me and the Council was not something to be proud of.

“Oh, really?” Da said. “And you didn’t see fit to mention this, Lil?”

“Didn’t seem to matter after the attack. Anyway, since when are you so nosy, Jaret?”

My brother stuck his yolk-covered tongue at me. I grimaced, disgusted.

“So why was she here?” Da asked.

“I . . . it’s a complicated story.” I hadn’t told them about the figurine. Da had been so proud of me when I was selected for the Nocturnai. I couldn’t make myself admit that I’d only been nominated because I cheated on the trial. “Right now I could really use your advice.”

Da set his fork down, giving me his full attention. Jaret, on the other hand, kicked me under the table. “Nightcaller Lilik. Soooo important,” he teased in a sing-song voice.

“I’m serious, Jaret. Can you clap shut for a minute?”

“Oh fine.” He rolled his eyes.

“I met with Trader Yiltak to try to strike a bargain.”

“Okay . . .” Da said. His eyes roved the room, obviously struggling to contain his curiosity about how I’d convinced the most powerful person in the Islands to come to our tiny home. On my first night at home, I’d told him about my time on Ioene, talking until almost dawn. But I knew part of him still saw me as his little girl.

“The problem is, the traders don’t believe what I’ve told them about the nightstrands. Some think I’ve made it up to discredit Mieshk—though I’d say her father’s attack solved that problem. At any rate, no one wants to provide ships or soldiers. They don’t think it’s worth it to rescue the others.”

“Even the traders that still have children on Ioene?”

I shrugged. “That’s a good point. Maybe I could try to talk to them specifically. But as a whole, no. And they think it’s madness to stop nightforging when we’re barely fending off the Waikert.”

“So you wanted to convince Trader Yiltak. That’s my Lilik, starting at the top.”

I shrugged. “I know a few things she wouldn’t want told. I thought I could use that.”

He grinned. “Oh really? Blackmailing the prime Yiltak. I like it. And where’d you learn these . . . things?”

“Long story. From Moanet Yiltak, mostly. The point is, I convinced her to make a deal.”

His brows raised as he pushed back from the table. “I’m impressed.”

“I’m not,” Jaret muttered. “Doesn’t change that you’re still my smelly sister.”

I glared at him. “Trader Yiltak understands the value of restoring Ioene, but she won’t help without better evidence. She wants me to prove that I’m a channeler.”

“Hard to do without a nightstrand around,” Da mused. “Unless you faked it, which isn’t really your style.”

I looked away. He might be my da, but he’d clearly misjudged me in that regard.

“I discovered something last night . . .”

“What’s that?”

“The nightstrands are here, too.”

Da had been leaning back in his chair. At my words, he fell forward, bracing his hands on the table. “Really? We’ve been doing these ridiculous Nocturnais, and the strands have been here all along? Who are they?”

Jaret stuffed another bite into his mouth before speaking. “Our ancestors, obviously. Lilik already said she thinks we’re descended from the Vanished that washed up here.”

Brows knit, Da blinked. “But why can’t the nightcallers see them?”

I shrugged. “Maybe they’ve never tried? I’m not sure. But anyway . . .”

“You could talk to one. You could find a Yiltak ancestor floating around in Stanik Island’s aether and get them to tell you something private.”

I nodded. “I don’t think it would be that hard, now that I know what to listen for. But—”

“As soon as you do that, the traders will know we have nightstrands here.”

“They’ll see the chance to arm our mercenaries, create a hundred nightforged weapons a day. Not to mention the other magical goods they could sell.”

“Hmm. A real dilemma,” Da said. “What if you chose the right people to tell? Don’t worry about Trader Yiltak for now. You don’t need her. Concentrate on the traders who have morals—if there are any, that is. It may be worth the risk.”

Nothing would make it okay to bind souls against their will, Tyrak said. It’s slavery.

I know. I won’t allow it, I said.

“I don’t know, Da. I think . . . I’d like to talk to some of the strands here. But unlike the Vanished, they weren’t raised to understand what’s happened to them. There haven’t been trained channelers in the Kiriilt Islands for centuries. For all I know, the strands have gone mad without guidance.”

I thought of the man’s reaction from the previous night. He’d been so shocked, unsure whether he was alive or dead. His poor Miva, too. Would she never know what had happened to her lover? Or maybe he was her husband. In any case, I made a mental vow to attempt to speak with her.

As I sipped from my teacup, contemplating, a quiet knock came at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Jaret said, jumping from his seat—even though he was twelve, visitors still excited him. After twisting the knob, he yanked the door open. The eagerness on his face turned to puzzlement when he didn’t recognize the woman on our doorstep. Wearing tattered clothing poorly matched to her beautiful beaded necklaces and bracelets, she licked her lips, tentative. Stray hairs had escaped the scarf she’d wrapped around her head. Nervously, she tucked them behind her ears.

Da laid his hands on the table, his face so beset with emotions that it trembled. As he sat frozen, Jaret’s gaze flitted from face to face, hopelessly confused.

Finally, I spoke: “Hello, Mother.”

Chapter Nine

MOTHER SAT AT the table, eyes on its scarred wood. As Da paced the room, back and forth, back and forth, she breathed, chewing her lip.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” she said.

In the corner, Jaret glared from the pile of bedding he and I shoved against the wall every morning. In the back of his throat, he made a noise that sounded close to a growl.

Reaching the far wall, Da whirled again, each footfall planted with enough emphasis to suggest nails driven into a coffin. His gaze was dark, fists clenched. I’d never seen him this way, even after the worst of his scuffles with the tax collectors.

Numbed by the scene, I slid into a chair opposite my mother. I searched her face for some hint that I was born of her flesh. Some instinctual connection. And maybe, for a scrap of the love I remembered from those distant years. But in her beautiful, high cheekbones and dark brown eyes, all I saw was a stranger.

I don’t know what to say, Lilik.

In thanks for his support, I brushed a thumb against Tyrak’s pommel. My eyes strayed to the almost-finished sheath. I was tempted to work on it as a distraction from my emotions, but restrained myself.

“You don’t know how hard it was,” Da spat. Anger purpled his cheeks. “They were so small.”

Mother’s indrawn breath shook. I searched my heart for pity and found nothing.

“I do know,” she said. “But I knew what kind of man you are. I knew you could handle it.”

“They needed a mother, Maajidi!”

She said nothing in response, simply stared at her hands.

Again, Da paced. The silence in the room was suffocating.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

Her gaze wandered to my hands, in loose fists upon the table. In the amber morning light, my scars looked more pearly than shimmering, but there was no pretending they were normal.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“I asked first. What could possibly make you come back here and think we’ll accept you?”

Anguish turned her face ugly. “I don’t expect you to want me—I won’t push myself on you. But I couldn’t come to Istanik without visiting you. My settlement—there were just ten of us. The waves demolished it. Only three of us survived, and we have nothing. It’s all washed away. The story is the same across the Outer Isles. We’re devastated. We’ll find a way through, but for now, we’re in the camps outside town.”

I sat up straight. “Waves?”

“Swells like no one has ever seen. We have a legend in the Outer Isles, that the storms made the world, pushing up the islands. On the last day of creation, the waves threw us ashore. Only the strongest survived the battering. There are people who say the storms will erase us someday, too.”

My thoughts raced through the stories I had from the Vanished, of the cataclysm that shattered Ioene, its chaos stretching as far as the Kiriilt Islands. My theory was that a few survivors from the Vanished made landfall in the Islands. Our nightcalling and channeling talents came via these ancestors.

“Which direction are they coming from?”

“The waves?” Mother asked.

I nodded.

“North. Always north. We weren’t prepared.”

“Ioene,” I whispered.

Da had stopped pacing. I looked at him, heart thudding. If the waves were what I thought, it meant Mieshk had regained much of her power. We might already be too late.

But the look in Da’s eyes stilled my tongue. Deep, profound hurt. He was so shaken over her return. And here I was chatting with the woman who’d abandoned us. I needed to explain why.

“Da, it’s Mieshk. I’m afraid she’s done this.”

But my words didn’t seem to register. Da was just too devastated by Mother’s return to comprehend the danger. Right now, he needed reassurance—the discussion of Ioene could come later. I stood and wrapped my arms around him.

“Da . . . no matter what, it’s you who raised me. You who loved me. I will never forget that. She will never replace you.”

The first sob wracked his body.

Oh, Da.

It was noon before I left my house. Mother had gone back to the itinerant camps, tents pitched in the borderland between the gutter slums and the rolling, terraced farmland that stretched into the island’s vast interior. In her absence, anger and hurt filled our home. I wanted to stay the rest of the afternoon with Da and Jaret, but had to do something first. After putting the finishing touches on the sheath, I strapped it to my belt and slid Tyrak inside. Stopping to peck Da on the cheek, a last reassurance, I slipped out the door.

A somber quiet suffused the streets of Istanik. In the gutter slums, people whispered. Their words carried outrage and disbelief. After so many years collecting the defense tax now a trader House had turned against us? In my chest, a different anger burned. The Ulstat attack, my mother’s return, the constant low-grade threat of a Waikert . . . they were all distractions from the situation on Ioene.

Distractions that could doom us.

Closer to the central district, where the slums bled into low-class shops and store fronts, often with gap-walled apartments stacked on top, merchants were attempting to put order to their days. Outside with a straw broom, a cloth-seller aimlessly pushed grit around on the cobbles. Another woman strode up and greeted her.

“Any word?” the cloth merchant asked her friend.

“He’s safe. Only injured, a burn on his arm. Healers say we were lucky. Only four deaths.”

As the newcomer spoke, her gaze flicked to me. Eyes widened in surprise, she nodded a greeting.

“Nightcaller,” she said.

After the first couple days back in Istanik, I’d stopped trying to argue when people bowed and called me that. I answered the greeting with a quick nod.

Both women turned to watch me pass. As I rounded the corner, heading for the courthouse square, I wondered whether Mother had heard about me when she’d arrived in Istanik. She’d said she planned to set up as a jewelry crafter; I imagined she’d made at least a few contacts within the city to help her get started.

At the thought, my lip twitched in suppressed disgust. If Mother was setting up a business, she clearly had no plans to leave any time soon. Why here? Couldn’t she set up shop somewhere that she wouldn’t hurt Da?

The courthouse square was uncharacteristically empty. Along one leg, Trader Council Hall was an imposing presence. Atop the flight of stairs leading to the massive doors, at least a dozen House guards stood with hands upon weapons, hard eyes scanning the square. Ready for Ulstat soldiers to come tearing into the city? Or perhaps understanding that the commoners would be furious over the situation. I shook my head. Of course not. After more than a century of obediance, why would the traders expect the gutterborn to start standing up for themselves now?

I trotted across the square, feeling the guards’ eyes upon me. The council hall took up only part of its edge of the square. Private meeting chambers stood on either side, the smaller buildings separated by narrow but immaculate alleyways. Guards stood in these gaps, protecting the approaches to the trader district.

The entire northern wall of the square was taken up by the courthouse, a building large enough to house whole neighborhoods of gutterborn. I’d never actually been inside. Half the ground floor held offices for trader House clerks and city officials. The other half, an immense room broken only by fat support pillars, was the trader market. Within, Kiriilti traders and their foreign partners brokered deals, set prices, and determined trade routes. Supposedly, the courthouse’s upper floor held chambers for visiting foreigners—none of the gutterborn knew for sure.

At the corner where Trader Council Hall met the courthouse, a small side street left the square. Constructed of close-fitting slate flagstones—an expense that would never be considered in other parts of the city—this narrow avenue was the main access to the trader district. Commoners were permitted upon it—after all, there were many errands to be run and deliveries to be made to the trader households—but the moment I stepped on the first stone, I felt the eyes of sentries upon me.

Didn’t matter. They wouldn’t bother me unless I did something suspicious. Besides, they most likely knew me by reputation.

You’re nervous, Tyrak observed.

Was I?

It’s the trader, he said. Raav. You aren’t sure what you’ll say.

“Of course I’m nervous. His brother is a traitor. I may have to be the one to tell him.”

No, it’s not that. You’re afraid he won’t want to see you after what happened at the fountain. And, Lilik, best not to talk aloud. You sound unstable when you do.

My cheeks heated, both from the reminder not to speak to the air and from Tyrak’s knowledge of my feelings toward Raav.

One other thing. With these words, Tyrak’s voice seemed too casual, as if he were trying to force it. I’m sorry for how I reacted when he . . . when you . . .

When he kissed me? I asked.

Yeah, that. It’s just confusing. But you obviously care for each other. You shouldn’t be nervous—he’ll be glad to see you.

I don’t know. Sometimes I think it would be better if he wasn’t, I said. He’s a trader and I’m gutterborn. His brother . . . you know what Frask did to me. And now I have to tell him about Frask and the Ulstats.

He’ll be glad the news comes from you. But as for the mother, I’d be cautious.

I reached an intersection and glanced left and right. Which way to House Ovintak? Raav had mentioned a view of the harbor. Which meant left. Uphill. The traders marked their domains with intricate gilt lettering near the main entrances. I’d spot it once there.

Deeper into the trader district, the streets were still flagstone, brushed clean each day by commoners hired for the task. But the difficulties imposed by the Waikert wars showed in the occasional cracked stone, the gaps where a section had fractured entirely and been pulled away, replaced with sand to keep unwary traders from tripping. Still, potted trees stood at intersections, unripe fruit hanging from the branches. In the flowering season, the smell of blossoms sometimes wafted all the way over to the gutter slums.

Though I wasn’t sure until I spotted the lettering, House Ovintak was obvious from Raav’s descriptions of his childhood home. On the second story, a long balcony stretched across the front of the massive building. Upon it were benches and umbrellas, and flowering vines draped the rail, trailing down almost to the ground. A small, walled courtyard stood between the street and the front door. Inside, a path split to go around a fountain—dry now, and filled with dead leaves. Atop wide stairs leading to the door, a sentry wrapped his hand around the hilt of a sheathed short sword. Most Houses kept a guard or two on watch and employed a butler to answer the door. A dedicated sentry on the doorstep was probably Frask’s way of making up for his House’s fall from fortune.

I stopped at the courtyard entrance, abruptly unsure. I knew Raav, or at least, I knew the young man who’d journeyed with me to Ioene. But the trader inside that home might be an entirely different person than the Raav from the Nocturnai. How would he act toward me when surrounded by reminders of his wealth and power—and especially knowing that associating with me could take those things away? And as for Raav’s mother, Praviili Ovintak, she’d simply stood by while Frask hit me in front of the Trader Council. I didn’t expect a warm reception from her.

But I was worried; Raav and his mother might not know about Frask’s betrayal. They needed a chance to prepare for the Council’s response. I probably should have come here right after the attack. But now was no time for regrets.

Fists balled, I stepped through the arch and marched up the path.

“Excuse me?” the sentry called as I approached. “Have you business with House Ovintak?”

Near his free hand, a bell rope dangled. I assumed it was meant to call reinforcements, a warning, or both.

“I need to speak with Raav. He’ll want to see me.”

“You have no appointment? I’m sorry, but—”

“Call him, if you’re concerned. I’m Lilik Boket.”

He scanned me up and down, taking in the simple belted tunic, trousers, and sandals I wore. Before the Nocturnai, my clothing was patched, ill-fitting, and often filthy. If I’d come in that condition, the sentry would surely have chased me out with his weapon drawn. As it was, he paused, considering.

“You’ll have to retreat to the street while I send word,” he said.

Rolling my eyes, I stepped back a pace. “Do I look like a threat?”

His mouth twisted while a lower eyelid twitched. I realized that he’d likely had plenty of warnings from Frask Ovintak, and quite possibly a brutal punishment or two.

“Frask is gone,” I said. “Just call Raav.”

With nostrils flared, the sentry reached for the door latch. Cracking the door, he called inside, “Someone fetch Frask. Or Trader Ovintak if you can’t locate him.”

Interesting. Most likely, the bell rope didn’t work, or he’d have tugged it. Also, it seemed that the servants didn’t know, at least not conclusively, that Frask was gone. But if Raav’s mother came to the door, I’d have little chance getting inside. As the guard started to pull the door shut, I sprang. Wedging my foot into the gap between door and jamb, I levered against the heavy wood, wincing as the corner bit into my unprotected skin.

“Raav!” I called. “We need to talk. Now.”

The guard pulled on his sword, a hand’s width of bare steel sliding from the sheath with a hiss. I glanced at it, then pressed my lips together. He wouldn’t kill me on his House’s doorstep.

It didn’t stop him from pushing a foot against my shin, shoving at it to try to dislodge me.

“Raav!” I yelled again.

From inside, I heard the sound of feet shuffling over polished stone. A stressed-looking butler appeared in the gap, thin hair flying up from his scalp.

“What is going on here?” he asked.

“Girl says she needs to speak with the younger brother.”

“With Raav,” I said through gritted teeth, my eyes tearing at the pain in my foot. “He has a name. And he’ll want to see me.”

With a sigh of exasperation, the butler rolled his eyes. “Girls have been coming here to get Raav’s attention for the last half-decade. And I’m supposed to let you in?”

At the reminder that I wasn’t the first girl Raav had shown interest in, my small flame of jealousy once again leaped to life. I quickly snuffed it. This wasn’t the time for juvenile emotions.

He’s trying to make you feel worthless, Tyrak said. You’re not. Just the opposite. Raav rejected the other girls and chose you.

But these men still see me as a pathetic gutterborn, I responded.

More likely, they want you to see yourself that way.

“Miss?” the butler said. “Did you hear me?”

I blinked. Apparently not. But I did notice the sentry had let up his pressure on the door. The blood flowed back into my toes.

“Sorry, I was distracted.”

“Interesting. At any rate, I said you’ll need an appointment.”

“Raav!” I yelled. I shoved past and was inside before he could stop me. The entryway of Raav’s home was huge. But unlike my memories of House Yiltak, House Ovintak had an air of despair about it. The marble tiles, while clean, had no shine. Curtains hung over the windows, dimming the light. A chandelier burned, dark blue flames, while lamps in the corners of the hall guttered, their wicks tossing up tongues of deep red fire. The broken bell rope was just one of many signs of neglect.

“Lilik!” I heard Raav’s purring tenor as the butler grabbed my arm. Raav stepped into the hall, and my breath caught. I’d become so used to seeing him in the same, ratty clothing he wore on Ioene, plus the shabbier jacket and pants he’d worn to follow me to the fountain square. Here in his home, he was dressed in a fitted tunic that stopped just below his waist. His tailored pants showed off his long legs, and his bare feet padded like a cat’s over the smooth floor. Countering the precise appearance of his clothing, his hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his hands through it.

When he spotted the butler grasping me, his eyes threw darts. “Let her go. Now.” His low voice turned from purr to growl. Though the butler’s reluctance was apparent in his delay, he released my arm and stepped back, hands clasped behind his back.

“As you say,” the man said, bowing his head. Though he obeyed, something in his posture suggested insolence.

Raav’s eyes smoldered with anger as he stared at the man. After a moment, he turned his attention to me.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, bending to speak into my ear. The warmth of his body seemed to surround me, pulling me close. I wanted to wrap my arms around his waist.

“What did you hear about the attack?” I asked, searching his face for clues.

Raav’s hard eyes once again examined the butler and sentry. With a curt nod, he dismissed them both. “You may return to your tasks.”

After ducking a shallow bow that just barely indicated obedience, the sentry pulled the door shut. Lips pursed, reminding me of a nursemaid more than a house servant, the butler spun on his heels and brushed past us on the way deeper into the house.

Raav turned to me, pinching his temples. “Look, I’m sorry about last night. You’re just being cautious and I took it too hard.”

Flustered, I looked aside. “I’ve been so overwhelmed since we got back. I’m sorry, too.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Forgiven, of course.”

I wanted to fall into his arms, but I stayed upright. Barely. “My mother came home,” I blurted.

His eyes widened as he touched my elbow in support. “What? From the Outer Isles?”

I nodded. “There were storms. Waves. Their homes were destroyed.”

“Mieshk?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I’m glad you came. I want to be there for you when you need me.”

I gritted my teeth, embarrassed about telling him my troubles first. “It’s actually—there’s more I need to tell you. Should we—” I glanced toward the hall’s exit to the rest of the house, a wide marble archway carved with spiraling filigrees.

A light flush colored his cheeks. “Of course. I’m sorry. I was so surprised to see you, I forgot my manners.”

“Raav?” I said. “I think you should get your mother.”

Raav stiffened. “Did I just hear that right?”

I nodded. “Trust me.”

“We’ll go to her. Come on.” He started for the arch, hand resting lightly on my shoulder to guide me. I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring his touch.

As we walked, he spoke, “As for what I know about the attack . . . we saw the fires. A messenger came with news. Some sort of new Ulstat weapon. Traders are supposed to stay inside for safety. Apparently there was an emergency council session just before the attack, but Frask didn’t wake Mother for it. And he hasn’t been home yet with the details . . . not that that’s surprising.”

“No,” I said quietly. I wanted to tell him right then, but had already made the choice to include his mother.

Once into the main part of the house, Raav led me down a set of high-ceiling hallways to a back room. There, large glass panes looked out over a small garden where roses bloomed, separated by graveled paths.

“Mother?” he said as we entered the room. I hadn’t noticed her until he called. House Ovintak’s prime trader sat in a stuffed chaise, staring out the window. Her face was drawn, lined with age and fatigue. When Raav addressed her, she turned dull eyes to him.

“This is Lilik Boket,” he said.

“She knows,” I interjected.

Raav’s face darkened as he followed my gist. She’d been present when her son hit me—hard to forget that sort of introduction. As if to defend me from a hurt already inflicted, Raav dropped an arm over my shoulder. His mother looked away.

“Frask will not allow it,” she said. “If you value her life, send her away.”

“Never,” Raav said. The anger in his voice sawed through me. I swallowed at the display of emotion.

“Sit,” he whispered in my ear. On the side of the room opposite Trader Ovintak, a pair of straight-backed chairs bracketed a small table. Upon it, a game of storms and ships, one of many played with a set of polished stones sat abandoned. After scooting the chairs closer together, Raav nudged me into one and took the other.

“There’s more to the story from last night,” I said.

“Oh?” His brows raised.

His mother didn’t bother to acknowledge the conversation, but I knew she was listening.

“It was Frask. He brought the Ulstats.”

Raav’s eyes widened and shot to his mother. The woman tensed, but said nothing.

“That’s a . . . strong statement,” he said.

Realizing my precarious position, I licked my lips before continuing. “No matter what Frask did to me, I wouldn’t lie about this. Right after the attack, he helped the Ulstat delegation escape through a passage out of the Council Hall.”

“Frask? And the Ulstats?” Raav said, struggling to accept the information.

“I’m sorry, Raav. I saw him on a skiff after, rowing out to their ships.”

“Mother, are you listening?” he asked.

The woman rolled her head to look at us. “I hear what she’s saying. I don’t believe her, though.”

“The other traders saw,” I said. “If they haven’t sent word to you about it yet, I imagine they will.”

“We need to prepare a response,” Raav said. “We can’t let them think we were involved.”

Trader Ovintak stared at her younger son. Blinked. “I suppose this is where you ask me to disinherit him,” she said with a melancholy smile. As she spoke, one of her arms started to twitch.

“This has nothing to do with inheritance, Mother,” he said. “This is serious. They’ll blame us.”

Abruptly, Trader Ovintak’s eyes rolled back. Her limbs shook as she began to thrash.

“Raav?” I asked. “Is she . . .”

He swallowed, face hard. “It’s a condition that has afflicted her for some time. Since one of Frask’s . . . never mind.”

Since what? Since he beat her and caused an injury to her mind? I stared at the woman in horror.

“I think you should leave, Lilik,” Raav said quietly. He stared at his hands while he spoke.

I laid a hand on his knee. “Can we meet later?”

He nodded, just a twitch of his chin. “Captain Altak’s, before dinner time.”

“He’s aboard Zyri’s Promise,” I said. “He sailed her clear of the quay during the attack.”

“Perfect. We won’t have to worry about people listening in.”

“See you there,” I said, squeezing his knee before lifting my hand.

“The sentry won’t give you any problems on the way out.” He didn’t look at me while he spoke.

With another glance at his mother, still locked in her fit, I stepped out of the room, leaving silence in my wake.

Outside Raav’s home, the midday sun highlighted parts of the courtyard gone derelict with inattention. Aside from the leaves in the fountain, the outer wall separating the courtyard from the street had many sections where mortar was missing from between the stones. Small plants grew from niches in the stonework. I shuffled toward the outer archway, thoughts on Raav and his mother and the complicated pain that Frask had worked upon his family. Near the exit, I heard the sound of booted feet marching on the street beyond. A quick glance at the sentry told me he’d noticed them too. Already, his sword was drawn; patrols of this size were uncommon in the trader district.

Instead of passing through the archway, I slid along the inner side of the wall. I didn’t want to set foot on a trader district street while a large force was passing through. Most likely, the patrol was a contingent of guardsmen gathered from multiple Houses to secure the district after the Ulstat attack, but I didn’t want to take my chances. If the traders had assigned their mercenary soldiers to help the city guard and House forces defend the city’s streets, the next few days would be difficult for gutterborn. Though the mercenaries were supposedly hired to defend all Kiriilti, the traders rarely disciplined those who had a little “fun” at the expense of the gutterborn.

While the sentry’s attention remained on the street, I slid behind a pear tree. Unlike most of the fruit-bearing trees in the district, neatly trimmed to arch over pathways, this one had a small copse of smaller shoots around its trunk. Untidy, but a good screen for hiding behind. I ducked down and waited.

I expected the patrol to move past quickly, but when the footsteps stopped just outside the arch, my eyes shot to the sentry. Wide-eyed and thin-lipped, he stared down the path connecting to the street.

As the leader of the patrol stepped into House Ovintak’s courtyard, she cleared her throat. Upon the shoulder and breast of her uniform was the sigil of House Yiltak. Behind her, two more Yiltak guards stood at attention, followed by half a dozen guards from other trader families. The mix of Houses meant this was a joint Council action. It didn’t look good for Raav.

After a moment, the guards stepped aside, allowing the tall figure of Trader Yiltak to stride forward.

“Sentry, please summon Trader Ovintak and her son, Raav.”

To the guard’s credit, he stood his ground, though the white-knuckled grip around his sword hilt betrayed his nerves. “I’m sorry, Trader Yiltak, but I’ll need to convey a reason for your request.”

“Of course,” Trader Yiltak said in a raised voice. “Though the House may have preferred a more discreet conversation. I’ve come with a warrant for the arrest of the remaining members of House Ovintak, in connection with the betrayal of the Kiriilt Islands by the prime heir, Frask Ovintak.”

At her words, delivered in a near shout, even the Yiltak House guard shuffled in discomfort. Near panic, the sentry threw open the door. “Get the traders. Now,” he called.

Raav emerged within moments, supporting his mother on his arm. “Trader Yiltak,” he said mildly.

Despite his outward calm, I could see his nervousness in the deep rise and fall of his chest. The proud lines of Raav’s face caught the sun, and I wished desperately that I’d warned him earlier. What would happen to him now? Trader justice was severe, and rarely fair. But would they really imprison the Ovintaks? Maybe it was a ploy to get Frask to return. A temporary situation.

“You may wish to choose more appropriate garb for a prison cell,” Trader Yiltak said.

“Oh?” Raav asked, brow raised. “And I’m now to take orders from you regarding my attire?”

Trader Yiltak shook her head, as if saddened by the situation. “As you wish, Raav Ovintak.” She turned to her guards. “Seize them. Avoid injury if you can.”

The guards moved to Raav’s mother first. Shrieking and fighting, she kicked at them, only to collapse like a wet rag when they grabbed her. Four guards carried her into the street.

Though Raav’s muscles tensed, obvious under the fine fabric of his tunic, he made no effort to resist. The Yiltak guards locked his wrists in irons and, clasping him firmly around the arms, led him from the courtyard. The Ovintak sentry followed them into the street. When I emerged from behind the tree and exited the courtyard, he was still staring.

Shoulders straight and moving with grace despite his bare feet and wrist shackles, Raav followed Trader Yiltak toward the edge of the trader district. Stricken, I could only watch.

Chapter Ten

DOCKSIDE, A FEW enterprising fishermen tied up during the midday hours, hiring out as ferries to isolated coves and the harbor mouth. Today, only one small boat braved the battered quay area, captained by a sun-weathered man whose age I couldn’t guess. When I approached, paying no heed to the destruction on the waterfront, he cast me a skeptical glance.

Rather than ask his prices, I searched my pocket for a quarter-crescent. The man rolled his eyes when I held it out.

“I’m the only fare you’ll get today,” I said, fairly certain it was the truth. Aside from the few merchants who’d opened shop and the guardsmen who roamed the city, cudgels out, the streets were largely empty. I’d passed half a dozen knots of gossiping commoners, but they’d congregated outside homes rather than venturing beyond the slums.

He glared, as if offended by my speaking the truth. As he pretended to weigh my offer, I noticed a second rowboat leaving Zyri’s Promise.

I gestured with my chin. “Looks like there’s another who’ll take me if you’re too busy. I don’t mind waiting.”

“I ought to be running a charity,” the man complained as he held out his hand for my coin.

The small boat rocked as I stepped into the bottom. Bending my knees, I spread my arms wide to balance. The fisherman chuckled unkindly. “Gutter,” he muttered under his breath.

In truth, I’d had no desire to wait for the other boat; whoever had been visiting Captain Altak might be a friend, but they were just as likely a foe. As my ferry captain rowed us toward the Vanished-built ship, I peered sideways at the returning boat. Sitting in the stern, the passenger wore a silk coat ill-suited for a trip aboard a fish-smelling rowboat. His clothing marked him as a trader, though I knew few enough of the younger generation to tell which House he represented. I wondered what his business had been with Captain Altak.

When we pulled alongside the ship, I called out. Moments later, Gaff’s weathered face appeared over the rail.

“Lilik!” he called, grinning. I returned the smile. Though we’d been back in Istanik for less than ten days, it felt like months since I’d seen some of the friends I made on Ioene.

“How fares the second mate of Zyri’s Promise?” I asked.

“I couldn’t be much better, considering the circumstances,” he said. His head disappeared and I heard his gruff shout as he called a deckhand to drop the ladder. As it snaked over the side, I glanced at the fisherman. Our eyes met, and his jerked away, but not before I spotted a hint of amusement—and perhaps disappointment—on his face. He recognized my name, of course, and was probably wishing he’d put it together before, a commoner asking for passage to Zyri’s Promise. I might not be rich, but after my nomination to the Nocturnai, my family no longer had to scrape for coin—traders gave Da double the commissions he used to receive, and paid almost double the price for each one. The fisherman could have charged me a full crescent before I walked away.

I cast him a small smile and shrugged before grabbing the rope ladder and climbing out of his boat.

“I’m supposed to wait, yeah?” he asked, clearly hoping that was the case. Now that he knew who I was, he wouldn’t accept such a small fee for the return trip.

“I’m sure Captain Altak will lower the ship’s dinghy and have a deckhand row me back, but thanks for your generous offer,” I said with a wink.

Sighing, he hefted the oars and pushed off. “Nightcallers,” he muttered in the same tone he’d used when calling me gutter not long before.

Upon the decks of Zyri’s Promise, the mood was somber, but not as fearful as the pervading feeling in town. Deckhands moved with a measure of seriousness. If I wasn’t mistaken, they were preparing the ship for a voyage. Maybe concern over the Ulstat situation had led Captain Altak to call for the preparations.

“Leaving?” I asked Gaff.

The big man shrugged. “Have to ask the captain about that,” he said. “He’s in his cabin with the first mate.”

Despite my worry for Raav, I smiled again at the thought of reuniting with Tkira. Though she had a coarse exterior, the woman had a knack for making me feel both comfortable and confident. Aside from my family, I couldn’t think of a group I’d rather trust than the senior crew and captain of Zyri’s Promise.

As it had been aboard the Nocturnai’s ship, the Evaeni, Captain Altak’s cabin was built above-deck rather than down in the hold where most of the crew lodged. Unlike the Evaeni, however, the captain’s new room was adorned with finery and treasures. To most, it would seem like vanity. But I knew why Captain Altak had stocked his chambers with magical items we’d found inside the ancient city, Ashkalan. He wanted to impress upon the traders the value of wresting Ioene from Mieshk Ulstat’s grip. Though we could never, in good conscience, nightforge another weapon, the secrets we’d uncover by healing the island would more than make up for the change.

The door to the cabin was open to the air. Inside, the curtains had been pulled back from glass windows that hadn’t become wavy or been shattered in the thousand years since the cataclysm destroyed the Vanished civilization. Sitting behind a polished wood desk, Captain Altak greeted me with a warm smile. I checked the sides of the room for Tkira, but didn’t spot her. Maybe she’d gone below. A disappointment, but in some ways, it would be easier to talk to the captain alone.

“I’m glad you came,” he said. “I thought I’d have to send a messenger. We need—”

“Captain, they took Raav.”

Whatever he’d planned to say was forgotten. “The Council?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Rot. Though I’m not all that surprised, I suppose.”

“What can we do?”

The image of Raav being marched to the prison, barefoot and proud, filled my thoughts. I felt my chest tighten.

He’s strong, Tyrak assured me.

My hand fell on the dagger in gratitude for his support. Captain Altak’s eyes followed my motion. “I see you’re bonding with the blade.”

“Tyrak is teaching me to defend myself.”

“Is that all? I’ve been thinking of your situation. In many ways, you were Zyri for a time. It can’t be easy for either of you. Confusing, I imagine.”

At this, I blushed. Was I still confused, or had I managed to separate my memories from my reality? I thought of our training, the feeling of Tyrak’s illusory body so close to mine. Raav’s kiss so soon afterward. In truth, I was both confused and handling it. Both Lilik fighting to save her best friend and Zyri reunited with her lost love.

In truth, I’m struggling with it, Tyrak added.

That, at least, was a relief. I wasn’t alone in my turmoil. Things would be much worse if I felt this strange attraction to him and had it entirely rejected.

“Well . . .” I said, searching for words to describe my feelings.

“You know about me and Nyralit, I imagine.”

“I’d guessed based on the way you act together.”

Captain Altak brushed the rings in his ear with a finger, a habit he often used when ordering his thoughts. “We’ve been together for many years. But as you know, trader and commoner don’t mix. I might be a Nocturnai captain, but it doesn’t change that I was seaborn. Son of a simple deckhand. Her family would never have it. We tried to call it off lots of times. But in the years between Nocturnais, we took the Evaeni to many distant ports. Rules are different in other lands. The times we were back here and had to hide our relationship were challenging. Excruciating sometimes. It’s not the same thing, I know. But the echo of a love, no matter how distant, is powerful. It’s not wrong to be confused.”

“Thanks, Captain Altak.”

“Have you considered calling me Vidyul?” he asked. “We’re no longer on a Nocturnai, nor are you crew on my ship.”

I shook my head. The thought had never occurred to me. The only person I’d heard calling him anything but Captain was the strandmistress, and I didn’t feel ready for that level of familiarity.

“Well, think about it. I’d rather be your friend and equal than hold on to some status I have no right to.”

“You sailed us to Ioene and brought us home. You’ll always be my captain,” I said.

He shrugged. “Fair enough. At any rate, the offer stands. Vidyul or Captain, it’s all the same to me.”

I sidestepped to one of the cabinets and picked up the pair of goblets set out atop it. Pressing a palm against the glass, I lifted it and noticed the yellow hand print left behind. Islilla, Heiklet’s sentinel, had found the glasses while we searched Ashkalan for sailcloth.

“I saw a trader leaving the ship while I was negotiating a fare out here.”

“It’s a problem. The Council has been pressing me to hand over Zyri’s Promise.”

I stared at him, aghast. “She’s yours!”

Raising his brows, he nodded agreement. “I agree with you. But you know traders. They’re looking for a return on the investment they made in the Nocturnai.”

“But they didn’t buy the Evaeni. You did.”

“True. And I worked hard for the years between Nocturnais to make sure I had the funds to keep her afloat. The trader Houses contributed rations for the expedition and raw materials for the forges. That’s about it.”

“Then it’s ridiculous for them to claim her.”

He shrugged. “Have traders ever been concerned with fairness?”

“I guess not,” I said, sighing. “So what will you do?”

“In truth, they can’t take her from me easily. She’s swifter than their best warships, by ten-fold. In fact, with the blockade the Ulstats have set at the harbor mouth, Zyri’s Promise is the only vessel that can slip in and out unscathed. Cannons or not, they’ve no hope of maneuvering fast enough to damage her. But I can’t outright refuse the traders’ demands, not if we want any sway with the Council regarding the return voyage to Ioene.”

“With the Ulstats blocking the harbor, I don’t see how we’ll manage that anyway,” I said.

The captain’s chest expanded to fill his brass-buttoned coat. “No,” he said, exhaling. “It doesn’t seem likely.”

“What’s next then?”

Captain Altak regarded me with eyes that betrayed his lack of confidence. “That’s why I wanted to get a messenger to you. I’m planning to cast off tonight. We’ll sail just after dusk to better avoid the Ulstat fleet. I’ll head to the lesser Kiriilti ports and try to drum up support. Maybe with a pincer attack, bringing ships from behind and the harbor at once, we’ll be able to oust the Ulstats long enough to make for Ioene.”

“What about Raav? I can’t get him out of the prison alone.”

Sliding a paperweight back and forth across his desk, he eyed me from beneath bushy brows. “You’re going to have to, Lilik. I heard you had sway with Trader Yiltak. Use it. Go to Katrikki. The Korpits may help if given the right reasons.”

At the thought of contacting Katrikki, my stomach turned. No matter how I tried, I still didn’t like her.

“I’ll try,” I said.

“There’s the older Korpit sister . . .” he said gently. “I think you’ll find her sympathetic.”

At once, my face went hot. Even though Raav had broken off their relationship, their near-betrothal before the Nocturnai would still be strong in trader memory. And from what Raav had said about Mareti, she was kind. She’d speak for him, even after he’d told her he wouldn’t marry her.

“Yes, you’re right,” I said.

“Lilik,” he said, eyes serious.

“Yes?”

“I think we need to be honest about our chances here. You know that it doesn’t look good, right? For Raav or for Ioene.”

Balling my fists, I nodded. “But I won’t give up on him. Or Paono.”

“I’ll be back in two weeks at the latest. Do what you can to gather support here. And if you find any way to pry the Ulstats out of their blockade, by all means . . .”

My next question leaped from my throat unexpectedly. “Did you know there are nightstrands on Stanik Island?”

His brows reached high on his forehead. “I had no idea. Does Nyralit know?” Behind his eyes, I glimpsed a flicker of worry that his lover had kept something from him.

“I don’t think so. I only sensed one just after a man died last night. I’m afraid to tell anyone, even if it might prove my story to the traders.”

He nodded. “Rightly considered. If they knew, I can’t predict what they might do. I’ll tell Nyralit tonight, after we’re clear of Stanik Island’s waters. She might have ideas on how to use the information. You can trust her, of course. She believes everything you’ve told her about the strands.”

And likely grieves daily for what she’s done to them, I thought.

“I learned there are heavy storms striking the Outer Isles,” I said. “Be safe.”

The captain’s face grew serious with the news. Most likely, he understood what the storms meant. “You too, channeler. Don’t take any chances, okay?”

“No chances.”

With that, I stepped outside. As soon as he spotted me, Gaff hurried over, his crutch thumping against the deck. He gestured at one of the deckhands to prepare the dinghy.

Abruptly, I felt weak. Of the half-dozen people I called friends in this world, four were leaving, one was locked in the prison, and one was fighting for his life—and for the safety of all the world—on the night-soaked slopes of Ioene.

The Ulstats had turned on us and were ready to attack Stanik Island if we didn’t cave to their ridiculous demands.

What was next? A Waikert attack? I shuddered at the thought.

Climbing into the rowboat, I pasted on a brave face.

“Thanks, Gaff,” I said. “The captain is lucky to have such loyal people close.”

“See you soon,” he returned.

As the pulley squealed and the boat lowered toward the sea, Tyrak spoke in my thoughts.

We’ll solve this, Lilik. I know we will.

I hope so, I returned.

The boat hit the water with a splash.

Chapter Eleven

CROSSING INTO THE gutter slums, I felt the day’s first hunger pangs. When I was young, I’d become accustomed to them; we never had quite enough food, and certainly had never enjoyed the luxury of a midday meal. But on the voyage to Ioene, even when forced to forage for my own food, I’d forgotten what it felt like to go through day after day with an empty belly. My family had more than enough money to eat well now, but between my mother’s arrival and Raav’s arrest, I’d forgotten. Breakfast was long gone from my belly. I made a vow to pause and eat something once I returned home. Besides, it would give me time to think.

Most parts of the gutter slums hadn’t changed much in the years I’d been alive. Somewhere between untidy and downright filthy, each narrow alley and square had its own peculiar odor, depending on who lived nearby, what trash they left outside their buildings, and whether they had a particular trade. For instance, my family’s business had a reputation for filling the nearby streets with disgusting clouds of scent whenever a rotten egg was mistakenly cracked inside its carton.

On the edge of the slums nearest the quay, a different sort of scenery soured the mood. About fifteen years after the defense bargain was signed, a wide swath of the slums had been razed, the gutterborn evicted. In the place of the shanties and alleys, the traders had ordered stone-walled barracks built. The mercenary army had been lodged there since.

During my younger years, the soldiers kept to themselves. But as the time since the last Nocturnai had stretched through five, six, seven years, and the nightforged weapons were slowly lost to breakage, theft, or misplacement, soldiers took more injuries in skirmishes against the Waikert. Some died. The gutterborn weren’t to blame, but the soldiers took out their frustration on their gutter neighbors anyway. The area nearest the barracks was a dour place, its inhabitants surly and destitute. And the smell—rotting food, spilled liquor, fish skeletons cast into the alleys—matched the setting.

Though this neighborhood—we called it the barracks strip—was the most direct route home, I steered wide around it.

While I walked, I ran my thumb over Tyrak’s pommel.

I’m sorry if what the captain said upset you, he said after a while. About us . . . the confusion.

Me, too, Tyrak. But we’ll figure it out.

Would you like to train today?

My stomach tingled at the memory of his body behind mine.

I would, I said. After lunch?

How about now? A soldier is more than a set of battle reflexes and sword thrusts. To stay alive, you must be alert. Always.

And you think I’m not?

The alley we just passed. I see through your eyes, remember? There was a beggar sitting at the entrance. You noticed her, but you didn’t spot the knife at her belt.

I’m sure she carries it to protect herself. We aren’t far from the barracks strip.

You’re probably right. But a soldier would be wary. Anyone can pose as a beggar.

As if in response to his words, the hairs on my arms stood up, gooseflesh responding to my shiver. Did I really want to be the sort of person who suspected everyone I met? Did I want to see threats everywhere I looked?

It doesn’t mean being distrustful, he said, as if in response to my thoughts. Only aware.

Okay, I said. So I should watch everyone. Inspect them.

May I guide you? he asked.

When I nodded, the change was so swift my heart stuttered. Where moments before, I’d been alone with his voice, abruptly, Tyrak was within me. My body moved in time with his cues. Footfalls that had been careless, automatic, were now calculated. My sandals avoided gravel which might give away my presence with a crunch. By opening my ears to my surroundings, I noticed a rat snuffling through the pile of rags beside a blacksmith’s shop.

But more than that, I felt his spirit filling my heart. As if we were strings tuned to the same key, we existed in harmony. My heartbeat was his, and his mine.

As quickly as he’d entered me, Tyrak was gone. I coughed, stumbling.

I’m sorry, Lilik. That was too much, he said, his voice strained. I only meant to guide you gently, but once I touched your senses, I felt her there and I dove.

Lip trembling, I could only nod. In that moment, I wished more than anything that I’d never let Zyri go. Even if I had to share Tyrak with her, it would be better than never having him again.

Except I’d never had him. That was Zyri. The girl who lived hundreds of years ago.

Breath shaky, eyes hot, I turned onto the narrow aisle between buildings that would deposit me at my home. All I wanted right now was to lie down and clear my head.

After eating, I reminded myself.

Regardless of what I might imagine I felt for Tyrak, my living friends needed me, too. I had to get Raav out of prison. I needed to sail for Ioene and rescue Paono before Mieshk destroyed the island.

Before I stepped into the wider street near my home, a wave of exhaustion hit me. I covered my face with my hands and after a deep sigh, stood straight and strode into open air. I would get through this—after Ioene, lost in the dark and hunted by a madwoman, I could handle Istanik.

Reassured, I hurried around a bend to reach my doorstep.

And stopped short, my heart plummeting into my gut.

“We need to talk, Lilik. Alone.”

Mother.

Chapter Twelve

I MADE MY mother wait outside while I stomped into the house, retrieved some hard bread and a pot of jam from our small pantry cupboard, and sat at the table to eat. Taking my time, I ignored her peering through the window, brushing aside the admonishments Tyrak offered about my manners.

Sometimes, I just didn’t want to be polite.

Finally, after polishing off the bread and a tin cup of honeyed pear juice, I grabbed my padded jacket and stepped outside. The sun had fallen halfway to the horizon—as long as I was stuck talking to the woman who’d abandoned me twelve years ago, I’d neither be cold nor hungry.

We turned toward the edge of the slum where it bled into the itinerant tents. Speaking little, I allowed her to set the pace, hanging back behind her shoulder so that she had no illusions about my reluctance. At the edge of the camp, she turned, steering for the upper hills where the most decrepit of the gutterborn’s shanties clung to slopes too steep to support them. Many buildings dug heels into the slope behind, while balancing their toes on stilts driven into the clay soil of the hillside. In the shelter of the buildings’ floors, a few of the more desperate gutterborn slept out during the warmer months. The defense tax for those refusing to pay for the privilege of sleeping in their ancestral homes was lower, but abandoned rooms were often occupied by the time their former residents returned. Those gutterborn who resorted to sleeping out were often too poor to care.

“I’d forgotten about all this in the years I was away,” Mother said. “In the Outer Isles, villages come together to pay the taxes. If one person falls short, the whole settlement absorbs the cost.”

“Yeah, well, your village is gone now. No use explaining how much better off you were. It’s obvious anyway, seeing as you left us for it.”

A wave of deep sadness crossed her face. Maybe I was being too harsh. But then I remembered Da’s sobs. She’d hurt us all by leaving, but it was worst of all for Da. He’d done everything for her, and still it wasn’t good enough. I didn’t really care how harsh I sounded.

“So what’s this about?” I asked.

“I wanted a chance, however short, to get to know you, Lilik.”

“You had that chance,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. We’d stopped walking, and instead stood in the shadow of one of the stilt houses. Remembering that many of them collapsed every time the rains came, I edged toward the open area of packed earth that resembled a street in this area of the slums.

“Tell me about Ioene,” she pressed, ignoring my barb.

I shrugged. “It was dark. I killed two men.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly, but she said nothing. I’d hoped to shock her into hating me—in truth, this would be a lot easier if she’d just go. But she persisted.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Not as sorry as they were, I bet.”

At that, she started walking again, placing her slippered feet carefully on the steepening trail. “Did you ever wonder why I left, Lilik?”

Only every day for the first ten years, I thought. “Not really. I assumed you just didn’t love us.”

My mother stiffened, and I knew I’d finally landed a blow. But instead of turning and defending herself, as I’d imagined she would, she continued up the hill. We were nearing the edge of the slums now, the edge of Istanik proper. Much higher, and we’d reach the steep slopes where a handful of terraces had been laboriously cut from the mountain. Those farmers who couldn’t afford any other land worked hard to scratch a living from the perilously perched strips of land.

“Someday you’ll have children of your own,” she said. “And then you’ll know that what you accuse me of is impossible. Even the worst mother in the world loves her children.”

“As a terrible mother, I guess you speak with authority,” I said.

She blinked slowly before continuing. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. I should have told your da the truth. But I was ashamed. Afraid, too.”

“Afraid of what? Your infant son who wasn’t even weaned? Your five-year-old daughter who loved her mother more than anything?”

I kicked at a rock, stubbing my bare toe against it. Why had I admitted that to her?

When my mother spoke again, her voice shook. “In a way, yes. I was terribly afraid. I thought I was going mad, Lilik. It terrified me because I was worried I’d make a mistake. I didn’t think I could be trusted to care for you, and when I tried to express my fears to your father, he only smiled and reassured me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I said. At this point, I had no interest in her excuses. My mother had been too weak to handle her responsibilities, and she’d run to the Outer Isles to escape them. End of story.

“I’m so sorry, Lilik. I fled to protect you. When I returned, I knew it would be hard to earn your forgiveness, but I hoped I would in time. Unfortunately, I don’t have that time. It’s only been a day since I got back to Istanik, and I already feel the madness returning. It’s something about the city . . .”

“Then leave,” I said, even as a tiny worm of curiosity squiggled into my mind.

She turned to face me, a tear tracking down her cheek. In her face, I saw the bone structure that we shared, the narrow, straight nose and the chin that I’d always felt was too pointy even though Paono had laughed at me for complaining about it. I hated that I looked like her.

“I am. Soon. But I’d hoped . . . Lilik, would you consider coming with me? My friends from the Outer Isles have decided to found a new settlement on one of the unpopulated islands. Somewhere small, in the lee of the Outer Isles, where the storms won’t break us again. They’d accept you willingly. Lovingly. And we’d finally have a chance to become acquainted, mother to daughter.”

I realized my mouth was hanging open, and shut it with an audible click of teeth. Was she serious? After everything, she expected me to leave with her?

“We’re strong,” she said. “For the last hundred years, the Outer Isles have defended ourselves—no matter what the traders say, their fleets are never around when the Waikert come. You say the Kiriilti are more vulnerable than ever. Come with us. Let me protect you where I failed before.”

Unable to speak, I just stared at her. From within a nearby shack, I heard the noise of someone cooking, utensils scraping against cheap pots. The unseen man hummed as he worked. Despite whatever hardship had forced him into the stilts, as this area was called, he’d found a measure of happiness.

Rather than speaking, I just shook my head at my mother. After a long moment, I turned and started down the hill.

“I know I hurt you, Lilik,” she called. “I’d stay in Istanik if I could. Forever if it would bring you back to me. But I wouldn’t be the same woman. The madness would take me. Just think about it, okay? You know where to find me—I’ll stay as long as I can.”

I couldn’t keep my footsteps slow. Heedless of the sharp stones that jutted from the path, the plunge I’d take if I tripped, I broke into a trot and then a full sprint. Away from my mother and her deranged ideas. Away from the tiny shard of my soul that still loved her, and had waited more than a decade for her to want me again.

Chapter Thirteen

I DIDN’T TELL Da or Jaret about my meeting with Mother. How could I? No matter what I said to reassure him, Da would be worried I’d accept her offer. And as for Jaret, the sooner he forgot her reappearance, the better.

All that evening, I sat with my family in our small home and talked of unimportant things. They seemed to sense my need to just relax and forget the situation for a while. I couldn’t remove the Ulstats from our harbor tonight—if ever. And I was just so tired.

Though the opportunity came up more than once, I didn’t tell them about Raav’s arrest. I didn’t want condolences or comfort. Tonight, I just wanted to escape.

As the fire crackled, the stew pot bubbling, Jaret confounded me by beating me four times in a row at storms and ships. Disgusted that he’d improved so much over the past months, I challenged him to sheep and wolves, a variant using the same stones but played with a different starting position and slightly different rules. Da laughed when Jaret humiliated me for the fifth time, and I pretended to be angry, swiping the board clean after my defeat.

Tucked into my bed that night, I listened to my brother and father’s breathing. The quiet sounds were my anchor, proof that I still had a place of comfort, even though they’d changed slightly while I was away—Jaret’s voice had started to drop, an early change for an Istaniker. His voice cracked sometimes and brought a dark flush to his face. I hoped that the months ahead would be easier on him than the beginning of adolescence had been for me. With no mother around, I’d been lost and afraid, and had finally turned to Nan for advice. If Da had known the turmoil I’d endured, I’m sure he’d have done his best to help me. Thankfully, those days were far in the past.

I drifted off, vaguely uneasy, but with the closeness of my family to make up for it. Tomorrow, I had more work to do. But tonight, I slept soundly. I’d had a mother once, and the woman she’d become now wanted back into my life. But the last thing I would do would be to let her—or anyone—hurt this perfect home.

Never ever.

It was noon by the time I reached the doors of House Yiltak. The sun beat down mercilessly; days on Stanik Island were rarely oppressively hot nor intolerably cold, but the heat today was cruel.

Months ago, I’d felt like a cockroach as I lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it fall against the Yiltak’s door. Now I slammed the metal ring against the cast-iron plate beneath it. The sound reverberated through the building, vibrating the steps beneath me.

A small copper pane slid aside, showing Trader Yiltak behind the door. Unlike Frask Ovintak, the prime trader of House Yiltak had no need to impress with sentries and butlers. Just her confidence was enough to convey her power.

“I wondered how long it would be before you came knocking,” she said, unlatching the door.

Without waiting for a formal invitation, I stepped over the threshold. “Raav Ovintak had nothing to do with his brother’s betrayal,” I said.

“Oh, I know,” she responded. A curt nod to a nearby servant sent him scurrying down the long hallway. With a sweep of her hand, she directed me toward an adjoining antechamber. Within, a pair of chairs carved of cacao wood faced each other across a mirrored table. I stayed well clear of my reflection, not wanting the reminder of my mother.

“Then you’ll give him a fair trial? I doubt Praviili knew anything either. Frask is—”

“First of all, Lilik, if I hear you refer to a prime trader in the familiar again, I’ll have you put in prison alongside your darkling Raav,” she said with a look that invited no argument.

Though her words tempted me to retort, I clenched my jaw to contain the impulse. A familiar gutter saying was, “Never argue with a trader.” I wanted something from the woman, and I’d only make my job more difficult if I provoked her.

“Second of all,” she continued, “don’t presume to lecture me on the inner workings of a trader household. I know full well that Frask holds the power in his House. Most likely, he’s battered his mother into submission. I severely disapprove of the man, but it is not within my power—not even as the controlling voice in the Council—to change his behavior.”

Only slightly chastened, I nodded.

“Now, as to Raav and his mother, it doesn’t matter if they are innocent. Currently, they are the only leverage the Council has over Frask, and Frask is the only leverage we have over the Ulstats, at least until we figure out what to do against their new weapons. So, until this blockade . . . or maybe we ought to call it what it is: a siege . . . Until it’s broken, Raav and his mother will remain in the prison.”

“But Frask doesn’t care what happens to them. What good will it do to keep them locked up?”

“They are held under the accusation of treason, which means their assets are forfeit. For now, we’ve placed their coin in a common Council account. The home has been seized, and the ships which were in port are being guarded by Council-appointed men.”

“And you think holding his inheritance hostage will sway Frask? He had to know he was giving that up when he threw in with the Ulstats.”

The servant who’d been sent on an errand returned with a tray. Rather than the melted chocolate her daughter had offered me, Trader Yiltak had requested tea. Remembering Nyralit’s etiquette lessons, I raised my cup and inhaled deep of the aroma.

“To your longevity, Trader,” I said before setting the cup down. Drinking before her would be incredibly rude.

She raised her brows. “You’re well-mannered for one with a common birth.”

I let her wonder where I’d learned the proper way to drink tea with a prime trader, offering no response while I waited. After she sipped, I took a long drink.

“At any rate,” she said, “yes, I do think it will sway him. He’s prime heir. Still. And given his hold over Praviili . . . Trader Ovintak—” She looked at me pointedly. “—no amount of bad behavior will change that. Every year under his command, the status of House Ovintak has decayed, to the point that many Council members won’t even receive him in their homes. So, he turned to House Ulstat.”

At this she sneered, set her cup down, and crossed her hands atop her knee.

“What he did not anticipate,” she continued, “was his family’s arrest and the Council’s seizure of his assets. You see, right now, there is no House Ovintak. Certainly, the name could be restored if he were to surrender, but if, for instance, the mother were to die before we resolved this situation, there would be no formal heir. The assets would be divided amongst the Council members. Frask’s Ulstat friends will have far less interest in him without the Ovintak fortune. If that’s even an appropriate description of their current finances.”

A dart of cold stabbed my chest. “Wait,” I said. “Back up. You’re saying you’d execute Raav’s mother—Trader Ovintak?”

“I’m not saying anything . . . yet. But if the blockade continues, the Council will have to consider options. Likely, we’ll need to prove our resolve. Raav might be an adequate example for this.”

Abruptly, the world fell away. Was she actually hinting that Raav would be killed to get his brother’s attention?

“But he didn’t do anything,” I said, knowing my plea would go nowhere.

“Other than suffer the misfortune of being a younger sibling to Frask Ovintak, no, he didn’t. But as you well know, we can neither choose our birth nor change the consequences of it.”

“What about the Ulstat delegate? The one I tackled for you?”

Trader Yiltak stared at me as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her long legs at the ankle. “She’s being used elsewhere. A plan that I don’t care to disclose. So, Lilik. About our bargain . . .”

How could she act so casual after what she’d just admitted? I stared at her, cold fingers of shock around my throat. Were most traders really this ruthless?

“You understand that the bargain’s useless now,” she continued. “With the Ulstats at our harbor mouth, it doesn’t matter what I believe about the nightstrands.”

I wouldn’t be so easily distracted. “Let me speak to Raav,” I said.

Her mouth twisted as she appeared to contemplate this. “I don’t see why I should.”

“Because it’s the decent thing to do? You’re condemning him without reason. Doesn’t he at least deserve the chance to speak to his friends?”

“Perhaps. But you know what our society thinks about the mixing of trader and commoner. Frankly, Lilik, you’d only harm his cause.” Her eyes were hard, but behind them I thought I saw a hint of remorse for what she had to do.

Pinching the handle of my teacup, I stared into the honey-colored liquid. “He needs shoes,” I said.

Trader Yiltak’s face softened. “I’ll see what I can do. But if you really want to help him while furthering your other cause . . . You’re a clever girl. Clever enough to return from Ioene after the Nocturnai’s ship sank. Perhaps you can put your mind to helping us with the Ulstat situation.”

I blinked. Her last sentence had been as close as a trader would ever get to asking for gutterborn help. “I don’t know what you think I can do,” I said.

“Hmm. Well, maybe I’m wrong. Regardless, you came here to plead for Raav’s release. I’ve told you how you might achieve that as well as remove blockades to our continued discussions on Ioene. It’s up to you whether you wish to act. Now, I’m sure you have a full day ahead of you . . .”

I knew a dismissal when I heard one. Recalling my manners, I left a swallow of tea in the cup. “May your coffers never empty,” I mumbled. Mistress Nyralit had taught me well, for all the good it had done.

When I exited the antechamber, a servant opened the front door. I stepped out into the blazing sun and flinched when the heavy iron slab clanged shut behind me.

Chapter Fourteen

FROM THE FRINGE of the gutter slums, a trail led along a blanket of relatively-flat farmland, some of the only fields on Istanik which needed no terracing to cultivate. A wooden fence ran the length, more to discourage wild animals than to keep people from wandering into the fields. Istanikers weren’t always honest, but we all depended on the farmers. Even the unfortunates who lived in the barracks strips respected that.

After about half an hour’s walk, the trail crested a small hill and then switch-backed down a steep bluff to one of Stanik Island’s ocean beaches. In years past, it had been one of my favorite places to come with Paono. We dug clams, threw rocks into the crumbling surf, and swam on the warmer days. With the heat today, I’d decided the beach would be a good place to spend the afternoon.

Once upon the sand, I sat on a log and removed my sandals. The ground was scorching on the bottoms of my feet, so I quickly rolled up my trousers and dashed for the tide line. Plunging into ankle-deep water, I waited for a wave to wash ashore, cooling my legs and tickling as it withdrew.

To the left, the coast curved out to a point, upon which the closer of the harbor guardstones towered. The flame burned yellow today, no imminent threat, but they might as well have left the red flames in place. You’d have to be blind to ignore the warships hulking just off the harbor entrance.

In truth, though I’d come here to cool down, I also hoped to get a look at the Ulstat force. Upon the ships’ decks, cannons were placed every twenty paces or so along the rail—though I’d never seen them before, it wasn’t hard to understand how they worked. A large cylinder sat on a wheeled base, chained to the deck with some slack. Beside each, metal balls were stacked within a frame of planks fastened to the deck. All told, the Ulstat vessels had around thirty of the weapons. If each of them fired their stockpile of balls, Istanik’s waterfront would be entirely destroyed. I wondered how far the cannons could hurl their ammunition. If the traders were to build some sort of wall upon the harbor floor, something that would prevent deep-keeled ships from approaching the quay, it might protect the city. But of course, that would cripple trade. Not a workable solution.

As far as I could tell, the best way to get rid of the Ulstat threat was to remove their cannons. Unfortunately, the heavy chains fastening them to the deck looked rather hard to sever. But without the balls, their weapons were useless. It wouldn’t be too hard to throw them overboard, given access to the decks. Or maybe even easier, we could send someone to find and destroy their black powder.

Soldiers trained as scouts or spies might be able to get aboard, especially at night. I wondered whether the Council had plans to try something like that.

You’re not thinking of trying to sneak aboard one of those ships, are you? Tyrak asked, his guess uncannily accurate.

I wasn’t planning on it.

In truth, I probably would try eventually, if it were my only chance to save Raav and Paono. But Tyrak didn’t need to know that.

Enjoying the caress of the water on my legs, I waded to the edge of the dry sand and unbuckled my belt. With a measure of reluctance, I laid it—and Tyrak’s dagger—upon the sand before stripping off my overtunic and trousers. Clad in only my underclothes, I splashed into the surf and dove.

By the time I left the beach, it was later than I’d planned. The water had felt too good on my skin, and especially with the sun beating down, I’d had no desire to trudge back into the city. But now that the sun brushed the horizon, I’d have to hurry if I wanted to be received at House Korpit before dark. As I left the farms behind and entered the slums, I cut right, heading along the barracks strip on the street separating the soldiers’ buildings from the gutterborn homes. Not the safest route, but it was quickest. I hadn’t left myself many options.

As I hurried along the filth-stained cobbles—I didn’t even want to know what most of the dark patches were—I kept a wary eye on the barracks, attempting to put Tyrak’s instruction to use. In the gaps between the buildings, soldiers played dice, or in some cases, just sat on whatever object made a convenient stool, bottles tucked between their feet. One of the men, a wiry soldier with stubble coating his jaw, snarled when we made eye contact. I ducked my head and hurried on.

From down by the harbor I heard the sounds of workers attempting repairs to the waterfront, calls of dockworkers organizing the heaps of outbound goods that were piling up as a result of the blockade.

Lilik! Tyrak said abruptly.

I jerked, whipping my head around. What?

Listen.

From behind came the sound of boots stomping cobblestones. My jaw tightened. Rot.

Just stay calm. Glance up one of the alleys and pretend you see someone.

I did as he said, peering into the gutter district and waving. The footfalls behind me slowed, but didn’t stop. Unable to help myself, I glanced back. The underside of my tongue hurt as fear sent saliva flooding into my mouth. Three men were following me, all soldiers, and by their unsteady gaits, I guessed all of them were drunk.

My hand dropped to my dagger.

You can’t fight them. Even if you were fully trained, three on one is bad odds. Turn into the alley.

As I veered for the slums, one of the men called out. “Hey! Hey, girl!”

My heart sped, pounding against my ribs as I broke into a sprint. Growls erupted from my pursuers and their footsteps came faster.

What now, Tyrak?

Now we run, he said.

I’m already running—

My words died as he joined me again, his spirit melding into mine. Tyrak filled me top to bottom, his awareness raising mine from a low hum to a high-intensity whistle. Never slow, I nonetheless felt each twitch of my muscle like the snap of a bowstring, each smack of my foot as the pounding of hammer against anvil. Guiding my thighs, my hips, and my arms, Tyrak taught me to sprint like I’d never moved before. The ground flew beneath me as my breath filled my lungs with life-giving energy. Ahead, the alley split, to the left climbing away from the harbor, to the right, veering back toward the barracks strip and quay. Tyrak nudged us left, his confidence filling me with the certainty that I could outdistance the soldiers. That I could run forever. Alone, I was good. Together, we were unstoppable.

As we pounded up the slope, the thumps and grunts of our pursuit fading, I concentrated on my breathing. Our breathing. Tyrak’s breath filled my lungs. His heart beat within my own. I felt greater than myself. More than complete.

When the man stepped from the stoop of a close-pressed building, I collided with him so thoroughly, all three of us—me, Tyrak, and the new person—tangled and stumbled, nearly falling to the cobbles.

“You okay—” The man stopped, stared, then widened his eyes. “Nightcaller Boket! My apologies. I saw you running . . .” He trailed off, as if unsure how to proceed.

Almost reluctantly this time, Tyrak withdrew. I felt his spirit leave me, pulling from my fingertips, my arms, my feet, legs and spine. I shivered, cold without him.

“Lilik?” the man asked.

I forced my awareness to him. “Wha—yes, sorry. I was being chased.”

The man’s face darkened. I noticed a club stuck through his belt and a pair of brass knuckles fitted over the fingers of his right hand. “Soldiers,” he said, not a question, but rather an affirmation.

“I shouldn’t have cut along the barracks, but I was in a hurry.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about which part of the city you walk through, especially during the daylight hours. I’m sorry, Nightcaller.”

Hearing him call me that again, I gritted my teeth. I wondered if I’d be stuck with the title forever, a lifelong reminder of my lies.

“It’s not your fault,” I said as I got ready to excuse myself from the conversation.

“Well, in a way it is. We’ve organized, you see. Those of us living in or near barracks strip. Soldiers are getting worse lately. The traders aren’t doing anything about it, so seems it’s up to us.”

Nan’s words echoed in my mind. Many now believe we ought to stop asking for trader permission to get what we want, she’d said.

Again, I surveyed the man. He wore simple, gutterborn clothing, a formless tunic over loose trousers, but at the neck of his shirt a strip of hardened leather showed. Armor.

“I hadn’t heard,” I said.

“We’re keeping it quiet. You know well enough what happens when you provoke a trader.”

I thought of what they’d done to Raav. Yes, indeed I did know.

“So you fend off soldiers that try to leave the barracks?”

“We’ve just started our patrols, honestly. I keep watch around here, help organize the others. We’re calling ourselves gutter wardens. But we haven’t had much chance to test ourselves yet. In truth, you’re one of the first I had the chance to help, and it appears to me—” He leaned around me and peered down the street. “—you managed to take care of yourself.”

Not exactly, I thought. I needed a lesson in how to run, first.

I shrugged. “I’m glad you were here. If I’d been just a little slower, they’d have caught me.”

He bowed, touching his forehead as he smiled. “It’s my honor.”

“I’d better go,” I said. “Running late. Which is why I took the shortcut in the first place.”

“Understood.” The man stepped aside. “And Lilik, if you need anything again, you’ll find me here. Any of us would be glad to help you. We’d fight for you.”

They’d fight for me . . . but what did that mean? At his words, I envisioned a gutterborn army swarming the Ulstat ships, sinking them before marching on Trader Council Hall. We could take the city, demolish the Council’s authority, and then sail for Ioene.

But we had no weapons. No expertise. How would we even begin?

“I’ll remember,” I said, blushing.

Aren’t you just the bee’s favorite blossom? Tyrak mused. He kept his tone light, but his voice sounded strained, an echo of his struggle after our previous joining.

Hey, Tyrak? Do you think we could do this without the traders?

Hmm. It wouldn’t be easy, but . . .

Maybe?

Maybe. If we must.

Katrikki Korpit’s home was just a few blocks from House Ovintak, which meant I had little choice but to see the changes to Raav’s home. True to Trader Yiltak’s description, the house had been seized. Guards from low-ranking Houses, no doubt assigned by the Council, stood outside the courtyard archway, bracketed the main door, and paced the second-floor balcony. I curled my lip in disgust at the situation. Why send so many? Raav and Praviili were in the prison, and Frask—I assumed—was aboard one of the Ulstat vessels. Who did the traders think they were guarding the property from?

But I knew, of course. The whole thing was for show. An opportunity for the leaders of the Trader Council to illustrate the consequences of breaking with the majority. If they were truly concerned about the building being attacked, they’d send elite guards from the richer Houses to patrol the grounds.

Glaring at the guards, I stalked past. At least my anger would give me extra motivation at Katrikki’s doorstep. No matter the differences between us, I needed her help.

And Mareti’s.

The thought of meeting Raav’s former lover made me cringe. Raav had said she was kind. Thoughtful. Too soft to be named heir to House Korpit. I already felt inadequate, and I hadn’t even met her.

House Korpit had a sprawling garden separating their massive compound from the street. As if to discourage casual visitors, the path from the street wound through plantings, around stone statues, and even across the floor of a large gazebo. After what felt like a quarter-hour meandering through their showcase of wealth and power, I finally mounted the stairs.

The door knocker was made of nightforged silver, the metal appearing to flow within an invisible mold. What a waste, a soul trapped within the object, their life given over to such a mundane existence.

“Sorry,” I whispered as I raised the silver ring and let it drop against the plate. If the spirit within heard me, they made no response.

Within moments, a servant answered the door. Clad in silk almost as fine as a lower-status trader might wear, her face was locked in an arrogant expression. Sneering, she looked me up and down. “Yes?”

“I’d like to speak with Katrikki, please.”

“The Korpit heir is currently unavailable. She’s taken to her chambers for the time being. Thank you.”

With that, the servant shut the door in my face. From within, I heard the click of retreating footsteps. I knocked again. And again.

I waited long enough to be sure no one was coming before slipping down the stairs and around the side of the house. Like most trader homes, the building was as large as a city block in the gutter slums. Because of the gardens that surrounded the home like a moat, I moved without attracting notice. The windows were above eye height; every time I passed beneath one, I jumped and caught the sill, pulled up to peer inside. I didn’t see anyone. Just furniture, musical instruments, or in some cases, just a bare room.

Why did traders think they needed so much space, when they seemed to use less than half of it?

Near the back of the building, I finally spotted someone inside a room, a young woman I didn’t recognize. Figuring it had to be Mareti, I tried letting go of the window sill with one hand to knock, only to realize I wasn’t strong enough to hold myself with just one arm. I fell, tumbling into a hedge. As I rolled out of the bush I noticed a few loose pebbles beneath the branches. I glanced at the window. It was worth a try.

After tossing a few—most even hit the window pane—I had yet to get Mareti’s attention. The sun had set and the sky turned a deep purple. Trader Korpit, Katrikki’s father, could have me thrown in a hanging prison basket if he discovered me lurking on his property after dark.

I tried to climb the hedge, narrow twigs snapping beneath my feet. The bush gave way, and I flopped over into the next pathway between plantings.

Rot.

All right, so much for stealth.

“Mareti!” I yelled as loud as I could. Her face appeared in the window moments later. Staring at me, still sprawled in the foliage outside her window, her face went from shock to confusion and possibly horror.

“Yes, hello!” I called, waving.

She disappeared. After about a minute, I heard a door open at the rear of the building. Katrikki’s sister rounded the corner and stopped, staring at me.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Lilik Boket.”

If she recognized my name, she gave no hint of it.

“And what do you want?”

“I came to the front door asking for Katrikki but your servant wouldn’t let me in.”

“Katrikki isn’t taking visitors.”

“I know. It’s because of my friend, Paono.”

Comprehension dawned on her face, the light of understanding followed by sadness.

“You know,” I said. “About me and Raav.”

Mareti nodded, her eyes glassy.

“I didn’t know his history with you when we first met.” I knew the excuse wouldn’t make her feel better. She’d been abandoned for a commoner, the worst kind of insult for a trader.

With a deep sigh, she motioned me forward. “Come on. We can talk in the walled garden.”

As I followed her, I couldn’t help admiring her poise. Contrasted with my reaction when I’d heard about Raav’s previous relationship with her, I wondered whether he’d have been better off choosing her.

At the back of the home, a head-high wall made of plastered bricks surrounded an immaculate private garden. Not a single leaf was out of place, nor a blossom drooping. In the center of the area, water cascaded down four tiers of starkly veined marble. Benches hid in corners and amongst the foliage, compelling one to sit and share secrets. Mareti motioned me to the nearest.

“Did you hear about what happened to Raav?” I asked as I sat.

“My father told me.” She pressed her lips together while she collected herself. “He enjoyed watching my reaction, I think. My family thought I was naive to want a relationship with Raav. They forced Katrikki to name him her sentinel to separate us.”

“I know. Raav told me.”

Her gaze fell to her feet, delicate slippers worked with gold thread. “I pushed Raav away before he left. I guess I was scared of being hurt. I shouldn’t be surprised he found someone else.”

“He said nice things about you. That’s part of why I came.”

Mareti had the same imperious features as her sister, but where Katrikki’s hair was so blond it almost looked white, Mareti’s was like honey. Both colors were rare among the Kiriilti population, most of whom had black, straight hair like mine. But I thought the lightness suited Mareti better than her sister. She was truly beautiful, a trait accented by her natural grace. I nearly shook my head, still stunned by the idea that Raav would choose me over her.

“I thought you wanted to see Katrikki.”

“I did—do. But I was hoping you could help Raav. I can’t do anything for him.”

Her brow knit. “And you think I can?”

“Your chances are better than mine. When have the traders ever listened to a gutterborn?”

Mareti chewed her lip, swiveling on the bench to face me. “You shouldn’t call yourself that. If the commoners would just stand up to us, things would get better for you.”

“But if I use the term without shame, it loses its power don’t you think?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. But I still don’t think I can help Raav.”

“Will you try?”

“My father never listens to me.”

“Then go to the Council. You’re allowed an audience, right?”

Her delicate nostrils flared when she sighed. “I’ll petition for a chance to speak.”

“And Katrikki?”

A pair of night birds fluttered down and landed on the wall beside us. Mareti watched them for a moment before speaking. “My sister changed on Ioene. For the better, I think, which is why my father is unhappy with her. As prime heir, she can speak to the Council whenever she wants, but Father will find ways to prevent it.”

“Is there any way I can talk to her? Paono . . . if we don’t figure out a way to leave for Ioene soon, he might not . . .” I trailed off, not wanting to say the words aloud. “Plus, I’m hoping she can help me figure something out.”

“Figure what out?”

“It’s about nightcalling.” I’d been working an idea over in my head, but unfortunately couldn’t act on it without a real nightcaller.

As if concerned we might be overheard, Mareti glanced at the looming wall of her home. Though the curtains had been drawn over windows at the front of the building, colored candlelight spilled into the night from half a dozen back here.

“I hope you won’t jump to conclusions when I tell you this. But I used to . . .” Mareti paused as if trying to decide what to say.

“You used to sneak out to meet Raav. I know.”

Blinking, she nodded. “I’ll help her. The only way to get past the servants is to wait until after most are abed.”

“Tonight?”

She shook her head. “I’ll have to prepare a few things. Three days. We should meet in the garden district. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can for Raav.”

I ducked my head, aware of my status. “Gutter—I mean, commoners aren’t allowed into the trader gardens.”

She blushed, whether in embarrassment over her fellow traders or for her unthinking comment I wasn’t sure. “There’s a way in,” she said. “On the west boundary. Trees on both sides overhang the wall. I used to climb in that way when I was young.”

“I don’t know my way around the gardens.” Though the traders opened their precious gardens to the public a few times a year, I’d never cared to go gawk at things I couldn’t have.

“We’ll meet you just inside the wall by the climbing trees.”

“All right,” I said, standing. “Thank you, Mareti. I understand what Raav saw in you.”

She looked away. “See you in three days.”

Chapter Fifteen

A COUPLE DAYS passed with no news. Jaret found a job running errands for a seamstress who’d managed to establish herself near the edge of courthouse square. With the added visibility, she had more customers than she could handle while taking care of things like cloth orders and seeing that her scissors were sharpened once a week. As it was Jaret’s first job aside from helping Da—and because his arm was still in a sling—she didn’t have to pay him much. In truth, I suspected he’d have done the job for free. Now that I was back, rattling around the house and blabbing about my worries, the work gave him a chance to escape.

Or maybe I was being too hard on myself. The Ulstat blockade was making me depressed. My head was full of ideas for getting rid of those cannons, but I didn’t know how to put them into action.

Instead, I focused on learning to defend myself. Within the confines of our house, there wasn’t much space to practice lunges and evasion, but Tyrak claimed that many fights took place in tight quarters. Home was as good a training ground as any.

Though his soft voice filled my mind, he hadn’t touched me since the evening on the barracks strip. We didn’t speak of it, and even though I yearned to feel him guiding my body, I was glad he held back. My feelings about it were too confusing.

That was good, Lilik, he said after a lesson in spinning away and surprising an attacker with a roundhouse kick. It had been three days since I spoke with Mareti. In just a few hours, I’d head to the trader gardens to meet the Korpit sisters.

I have a good teacher, I said.

But I have to ask . . . What are we doing hiding away in your house?

Waiting for the meeting with Katrikki. Hoping for news. What should I be doing?

Well, Trader Yiltak asked you to take care of the Ulstats . . .

I flopped into a chair and laid the dagger on the table, keeping a finger on the hilt. And how am I supposed to do that? Even if I could convince a bunch of gutterborn to swim out to the warships, they’d get slaughtered as soon as they climbed on board.

Because they’re untrained? Don’t underestimate the advantages gained by fighting for your home. I’ve seen it plenty of times when a soldier brought me on an inland defense patrol only to find half a dozen sea tribesmen killed by a farmer defending her children.

But it’s not just the training, I said. The Ulstat guards have armor and nightforged weapons. The gutterborn have kitchen knives and blacksmith hammers.

Fortunately, all you need to solve that problem is money. Maybe you won’t find a supply of nightforged blades, but those blacksmiths can turn out swords as easily as horseshoes as long as they can buy the steel.

I tapped my index finger against the table, not exactly annoyed, but wondering how he could act like getting coin was easy.

In any case, I don’t see how I could convince the gutterborn to get involved in a fight between traders. Don’t you think we’ve suffered enough because of them?

Are you sure that’s how they’d see it? he asked. Or are you just making excuses out of fear? Honestly, I think it’s time the Council lost their authority entirely, but at the very least, you need to stop moping while you wait for someone else to help Raav.

My fist slammed the table. You don’t think I’m trying?

Well, you asked Trader Yiltak to let you see him, but what did Nan say? Many gutterborn are done asking trader permission for the things they want . . .

You’re saying I should just march into the prison?

Not necessarily, Tyrak said. I’m just pointing out that you haven’t tried.

I laid my forearms on the table and pillowed my head on them. “Maybe you’re right,” I said aloud.

Though it was mid-morning, my eyes were heavy; I hadn’t slept well in days. Thinking of Raav, alone in a prison cell, I drifted off. In my dreams, fire spilled from Stanik Island’s mountains, pouring over Istanik as Ioene’s lava had over the cities of the Vanished.

Happy? I asked Tyrak.

I’m glad to see you trying something, yes.

The prison was a large stone building squatting behind the courthouse. Though I’d never had reason to visit it, I knew what to expect. The building was large enough to house fifty prisoners inside, but from what I’d heard, the interior cells were almost never occupied. Instead, the traders preferred to make examples of the accused. Protected by a fence of carved-stone lattice, most of the criminals were kept in the yard, locked in iron cages, exposed to the elements. The majority of outdoor cells had bunks with blankets as well as roofs that shed rain, but the worst crimes earned sentences in the hanging baskets. Something like an over-sized bird cage, these cells were suspended from thick chains, high enough that curious citizens could gawk at the prisoners. And though I say over-sized, I don’t mean by much. Generally, a prisoner had room to either lie in a ball or sit with knees drawn to their chest.

As I approached the building, distracting myself by watching each footfall come down on the bottom of my elongated shadow—behind me, the sun was close to setting—I feared the worst. Raav would be hanging in one of those cages, still barefoot and shivering in the evening breeze. I sighed with relief when I saw that the baskets were empty. Peering through the stone lattice at the outdoor cells, I didn’t spot him there, either.

I traversed along the edge of the prison grounds, bound for the gate. When I approached, the sentry climbed off his bench and faced me.

“Come to visit?” he asked. “Hours are almost over.” He shaded his eyes as he gestured toward the setting sun.

I blinked, surprised. “Uh. Yes. I didn’t know it was so easy, though.”

He nodded. “Half-moon. Anyone that wishes can spend an hour visiting friends or family, long as there are enough guards to keep track of you. And seeing as you’re the first person who cared to take the Council up on the offer today, we’ve got no problem accommodating.”

I cleared my throat, covering my shock. Finally, a bit of good fortune. “I’d like to see Raav Ovintak.”

The man’s laugh started as a chuckle and grew to a belly laugh. As I watched him, anger swelling, I had to force myself to calm down. He had no idea I was serious.

“Sorry, miss. It’s a good plan, convince a locked-up trader you can get him free . . . long as he pays you a modest sum. At any rate, you’ll have to beg him for coin another day. No one’s allowed to visit the trader cells.”

I stared him down to show I wasn’t amused.

“You were serious?” he asked after a moment.

“We’re friends,” I said, feeling I owed him no more explanation than that.

“Right, well, it’s still not allowed. Anyone else you care to see?”

I nearly told him no, but then remembered the night of the Ulstat attack, the thief whose spirit I’d made contact with. What was his wife’s name? . . .That’s right. Miva. From inside the outer wall, I might get a better idea of how to help Raav. Plus, I’d made myself a promise to tell the woman what had happened.

“You holding a woman named Miva?”

The man’s lips twitched in a half-smile. “Feisty one. Pretty, too.” He turned to call through the gate. “Hey! Markolt! Girl here to visit Miva. Must enjoy a good tirade.”

He turned back to me with a wink. I flashed him an insincere smile, narrowly avoiding a snide comment. Most city guardsmen joined the force because they wanted to make Istanik a better, safer place—unlike House guards who usually inherited the position and the hefty salary. By my guess, this man was one of the bad eggs, the sort who enjoyed the power his position gave him. Before I’d joined the Nocturnai, I would have told him off. Fortunately, the last few months had taught me some valuable lessons about getting what I wanted.

The gate swung open with a squeal of ungreased hinges, and I winced. Another guard strolled over. His face looked kinder than the gate sentry, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. I tugged my jacket down over my hips, hiding Tyrak’s dagger from view; if the guards noticed it, they’d confiscate it before letting me in. Given an opportunity to go deeper into the prison, I’d definitely want to be armed.

“Miva’s over there,” the new guard, Markolt, said while pointing.

When I started walking, he fell into step behind me. “Rules say I have to stick close. Sorry.”

I nodded. His presence didn’t bode well for me sneaking into Raav’s area, but at least he had the decency to apologize for it. “I understand.”

Miva looked up as I approached. Though her hair was ratted and her clothes filthy, I understood immediately why she’d made an impression on the guards. Where many of the prisoners sat inside their cages, dull-eyed, Miva was a burning fire. Her gaze reeled me in.

“Who in the rotted heap are you?” she asked.

“Hi, Miva,” I said. “My name is Lilik Boket.”

At this, Markolt jerked in surprise. Though neither gutter nor trader—guardsmen, both city and House were a class somewhere in between—he knew my name. Miva, on the other hand, gave no hint of recognition. I wondered if she’d already been locked up when I was chosen for the Nocturnai.

“I have bad news,” I said, approaching her cage. As I wrapped hands around the bars, the guard sucked in breath, probably to demand I step back. He seemed to reconsider, though, and said nothing.

Miva’s brows raised. “I’m already locked in this cage for the next ten years. What’s worse than that? They taking our blankets? Or am I next for the hanging basket?”

For all her bravado, I saw the fear in her eyes.

You’re here. The sudden voice in my head made me jerk in surprise. It wasn’t Tyrak, not this time. The thief? Closing my eyes, I tried to open myself further.

We met before, right? I cast my thought wide, unsure how to project it when speaking to someone I couldn’t precisely target.

You saw me murdered, yes.

“Well, what is it, girl?” Miva said, an impatient edge to her voice.

“A moment, Miva. I’m sorry. It’s . . .”

Touch her for me, the man said. Please. I’ve been here for . . . I don’t know. Time is strange. But all I’ve wanted to do is hold her.

“Miva, this will be difficult to hear,” I said. “Your lover is dead.”

Husband! We were married two years before she . . . before they took her.

“Lover? What?” she said, lip curling.

“Husband,” I corrected. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, but I saw the doubt in her eyes.

“I saw it happen. A guard struck him. The blow was intended for his shoulder, but he turned at the last second and took it on the temple.” I left out the part about the jeweled box and the man’s intent to sell it to pay her debts.

Miva’s eyelids fluttered as she struggled to reject what I’d said.

“I have no reason to lie,” I offered.

Acceptance fell over her like a yoke. Her face, moments ago a mask of cool indifference, twisted in pain. Miva collapsed to the cobbles that floored her cell, a wail escaping her lips. I followed her movement, dropping down beside her, and threaded my arm through the bars. She sat just out of reach; my fingers trailed over the stones as I withdrew them.

I don’t know what to do, I said, unsure whether I was speaking to the husband or Tyrak.

Tyrak answered: Do what you were born for, Lilik. You’re a channeler, the bridge where the living and the dead meet. You offer comfort. Connection.

Who in the rotted heap was that? the husband asked.

The similarities in the couple’s speech habits lifted my spirits. I licked my lips, staring into Miva’s eyes.

From behind, I heard mutterings in the other cells. More than one of them mentioned the word “nightcaller.” I ignored the other prisoners and focused on the task at hand.

I narrowed my thoughts and concentrated only on Tyrak. I didn’t realize he could hear you, too.

Your channeling talent is a bonfire, Lilik, he responded.

There it is again! the husband cried.

His name is Tyrak, I thought. He lost someone, too. What’s your name?

Dreven. Dreven Han.

I looked at the woman, her face torn by despair and confusion. Dreven, tell me something that only you and Miva knew. I need to convince her you’re here.

I . . . well . . . tell her the babies hatched. Two weeks after the guards took her. Three little chicks peeping and squawking in the eaves. They’ve fledged now. Flown away.

“Miva, will you take my hand?”

She looked at me like a cat who’d just been squirted with water. “Why?”

Go gently, Tyrak said. In my time, the bereaved knew what to expect from a channeler.

“I have a message for you,” I said quietly.

At this, the woman’s eyes shot to the guard. He’d backed off a respectful distance to give us privacy. Still, I understood Miva’s nervousness. She was locked away here with no hope of release. Things could still get worse, though. Trader justice was never kind.

“It’s nothing dangerous. It’s from Dreven.”

Her dead husband’s name brought a whine of grief from her lips, but I pressed on. “He wants you to know the chicks hatched not long after your arrest. They’ve flown away now.”

Miva’s lips pulled back from her teeth, a feral snarl. “So you tried to cozy up to him once I was locked up, that it?” She eyed me up and down. “What are you? Thirteen? My Dreven would have nothing to do with that.”

Tell her there was never anyone but her, Dreven said. From the first moment outside the doomsayer’s stall.

“He says you’re the only one he’s wanted, ever since that day outside the doomsayer’s. Miva, I know this is difficult to accept. I take it you weren’t free when the Nocturnai sailed for Ioene.”

She snorted. “Trader business for a trader war.”

A few of the other prisoners cheered at her words.

“Same thing now, what with the Ulstats attacking,” a nearby man said. He stood in his cell, dirty hands wrapping the bars. “We ought to have stood up for ourselves decades ago.”

“Never should have signed that stupid defense bargain in the first place,” Miva spat. She stared at me, eyes piercing. “So if you weren’t out for his affection, what? You keep talking like he’s alive even though you just told me the opposite.”

Thinking about the number of ears listening in, I reconsidered what I’d been revealing. None of the prisoners would be talking to a trader any time soon, but one of the guards might decide to tell the Council that I claimed I could speak to the dead. Specifically, a recently deceased Istaniker. Now that I’d explained channeling to the traders, someone would put it together. And they absolutely could not know about the presence of nightstrands on Stanik Island.

Reaching into her cage, I gestured for Miva to come closer. Though she regarded me with narrowed eyes, she edged within reach. Straining, I pressed a finger against her wrist.

“It’s not important how I know,” I said. At the same time, I projected my thought: Dreven. Try to speak to her.

It was only a theory; I had no training in channeling. But it had been so much easier to hear the strands when I’d laid my hands on Ioene’s stone. Plus, Tyrak’s voice was much stronger when I touched the dagger. It might work.

Miva. My love. Dreven’s voice broke before he could say more.

But Miva heard. I knew it by her gasp. Staring at me, she shook her head side to side, astonished.

“I just know,” I said quietly.

“Hey,” the guard warned, booted feet stomping closer. “No touching the prisoners.”

I wondered why he’d decided to object now, but quickly understood when I glanced over my shoulder. The iron gate had swung open, and a knot of traders had stepped into the yard. Among them, I spotted Trader Yiltak and Trader Korpit. So much for my hopes of getting inside the building. Smoothly, so as not to cause more trouble for the guard who’d been lenient, I slid away from Miva’s cage.

“Will you come again?” she whispered.

“Every half-moon that I’m in the city.”

As she smiled at me, her lip trembled. A tear slipped down her cheek.

Well done, Tyrak said. I’m proud of you.

What can I do to thank you? Dreven asked.

I started to tell him no thanks were necessary. I was a channeler; this was my duty. But as I watched the traders gather, whispering and casting glances my way, I realized there was one thing he could do for me.

Can you feel the other prisoners? I asked. On Ioene, the strands had difficulty sensing distance and location in the same way as the living, but for them, people burned bright.

Silence filled my mind while Dreven considered.

I think so, he said at last. It’s been difficult, but I’m feeling more . . . anchored now that you’re here.

It was much the same in our time, Tyrak added.

There’s a young man. A trader, locked inside. Raav Ovintak. He’s here with his mother.

I feel him.

My throat caught. Is he okay? Is he hurt? Afraid?

He’s okay. Hungry. But he’s okay.

My breath left my lungs. “Thank you,” I whispered, forgetting to speak through my thoughts.

“Huh?” the guard asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

I approached the traders, head held high. Most of them ignored me, though they clearly knew who I was. Trader Yiltak, on the other hand, fixed me with a hard stare. I met her eyes and shrugged. She didn’t control my movements. Though she might suspect my reasons for coming here, she had no proof.

Nodding at her, I stalked out the open gate. Only once I’d cleared the grounds did I pause to wonder: why were the traders here? Were they moving on Raav already? I whirled, ready to beg for his life. Too late: the gate swung shut in my face, its squeal reminding me of Miva’s wail upon hearing news of her beloved’s death.

Chapter Sixteen

I STILL HAD hours to wait before my meeting with the Korpit sisters. I wanted to keep my mind off Raav, so I decided to investigate the Istaniker nightstrands a little more before seeing Katrikki. I thought about the voices I’d heard growing up, so many stories I’d decided were created by my overactive imagination. They’d seemed like little scenes from the past. Histories. Unlike the strands on Ioene, the spirits in Istanik’s aether seemed confused. Locked to the stories of their deaths, maybe. What better place to try to contact them than the graveyard?

Near the stilt-houses on the upper fringes of the slums, the terrain plunged into a narrow valley. On one of the hillsides, before the final drop into the gorge where runoff from heavy winter rains carved a trench, a natural bench had formed. Centuries ago, the trees had been cleared away and a stone fence constructed. Much of the fence had fallen now, tumbling into the ravine below, but the enclosed area hadn’t changed. Istanik’s graveyard was a peaceful place, a meeting of ancient and new. Toward the back, the oldest graves were marked by headstones so worn by age and moss that no one knew who lay beneath them. Nearer to the city, the recent dead were buried.

As I neared the grounds, I swallowed hard at the sight of the newest graves. Two of them with the earth so freshly turned they could only be the people who’d been killed in the Ulstat attack. Dreven and another.

All at once, I was so angry I wanted to sink the Ulstat fleet myself. But it wasn’t only the Ulstat’s who’d hurt us. The Trader Council was just as much to blame. And had any of them shown a drop of remorse that one of their own members had turned on Istanik? Were they even considering risking themselves to take down the Ulstats?

Even before the Ulstat warships sailed into the harbor, the Council had been coming up with excuses for why they couldn’t help on Ioene. Most likely, they’d still be arguing with me if the Ulstat’s hadn’t shown up. And all the while, Mieshk grew stronger.

As I stood looking over the graves, I realized I was well and truly done hoping for their help. Gutterborn would retake Ioene. But before we set sail, we’d retake the city. It was the only way to be sure that no more commoners would die because of trader arrogance. We’d throw the Ulstats out of our harbor, and as soon as the Council lost power, I’d free Raav and the prisoners who’d been locked up for the crime of being poor.

Whenever I visited the cemetery, I made a point to pay tribute to Paono’s parents. Buried side by side, they were as close in death as they’d been in life. After slipping through the gate into the yard, I found their markers by ease of habit, and knelt in the moonlit grass.

“I’ll bring him home,” I promised, imagining they were watching.

And maybe they were. My tribute finished, I stood and faced the recesses of the cemetery. When I was young, this place used to spook me. I still remembered shivering, gooseflesh on my arms, during the funeral for Paono’s parents. But now, even at night, I felt only stillness in my heart. With what I’d learned on Ioene, the friendships I’d made with the spirits of the dead, I knew there was nothing to fear here.

Looking upon the moon-silvered graves, I opened my mind.

And gasped, recoiling.

Within the graveyard, the nightstrands howled. They ached. They lived in confusion and loss. Immediately, my jaw clenched with the rising urge to vomit.

Fires, Lilik. It’s awful.

I clasped my forehead between my fingers and thumbs. Had our dead been suffering like this ever since the survivors of the Vanished civilization washed up on our shores?

Can I fix it? I asked.

I—I don’t know. Not right away. I don’t think it’s like this for all of them. Not Dreven, clearly, but he had your early guidance. There must be others.

“I hope so,” I said, my voice loud in the darkness. My illusions that the graveyard was a place of repose had been shattered. I no longer wanted to pretend there was peace to be found here.

It’s nearly time to meet Katrikki.

I nodded, swallowing. In truth, I was glad for the excuse to leave.

The tree’s rough bark felt like oyster shells, smooth yet sharp, with edges that could cut. Carefully, I climbed from a large limb onto the wall, then spotted the other tree, some narrow-leafed variety, a few paces away. The branches didn’t overhang the wall as far as I’d hoped—maybe they’d been trimmed since Mareti’s childhood. I wasn’t sure how I’d manage to get back out of the gardens but decided I could solve that problem later. Teetering atop the wall, I jumped and caught the closest limb. The branch bent and crackled, leaves rustling. My heart crawled up my windpipe, lodging there for a moment while I waited for the inevitable snap of breaking wood, but the tree held. Wrapping my legs over the branch, I shimmied for the trunk.

“Ever think of joining an acrobats’ troupe?” Katrikki asked when I’d climbed low enough to hear her whisper.

I dropped the last body length to the ground. “Nah. I have too much fun hawking eggs.”

Mareti smiled at this, earning a glare from her sister that quickly vanished. Katrikki might not like me any more than I did her, but she recognized the help we offered one another.

“So here we are,” Mareti said.

“Any luck with Raav?” I asked.

She shook her head, her frustration showing on her face. “Maybe if I were heir. But I doubt they’d listen even then. They have no idea what to do about the Ulstats.”

“Have they tried to get aboard the ships? The cannon are the only problem here.” I shook my head, equally frustrated.

“True, but who is going to do it? No trader will risk it, and last I heard the soldiers are refusing orders until they find out who wins. Most House guardsmen are useless for shipboard combat.”

“So they’d rather take the easy route and sacrifice Raav.”

She shrugged. “It’s typical trader negotiation. Figure out the position of least risk and bargain from there.”

“Least risk to whom?” I asked, wondering why I’d ever considered asking for help from the Trader Council.

Mareti sighed. “You don’t have to convince me, Lilik.”

“But you didn’t drag me out of bed to talk to my sister, right?” Katrikki cut in.

As I turned to face the girl Paono had chosen, Tyrak whispered in my mind. You sure she’s an ally?

I nodded. Like Gaff had said, way back on Ioene when I was holding my secrets too close, I had to trust someone, sometime.

Katrikki’s brows had drawn together when Tyrak spoke. “Lilik?” she asked.

My attention snapped to her. “Yes?”

“Lost you for a moment. You used to do that when you talked to the air.”

I almost smiled. “My imaginary friends.”

“Yeah.” Her voice cracked, just slightly, at the reminder of the conversation I’d had with her and Paono.

“You must miss him,” I said softly.

She nodded. “I’m not the only one, though. We both care about him.”

Her honesty cemented my decision. “I have something to tell you. I need you—both of you—to promise to keep it quiet.”

As I looked between them, the Korpit sisters nodded.

“The nightstrands are here, too,” I said. “In Istanik.”

Katrikki inhaled sharply. “Really? But we never—”

“Did you ever try?”

“No, but someone must have.”

“You’re probably right,” I said. “But there’s a lot we don’t know about nightcalling. Maybe it only works on Ioene. Will you try?”

She blinked, surprised at the request. “I . . . sure.”

Mouthing the Chant of the Five, she closed her eyes. After a moment, her body relaxed, swept away by the trance we’d worked so hard to master aboard the Evaeni. As she fell deeper, I opened my mind, searching for the brush of spirits.

After a moment, Katrikki stiffened. I felt the soul, a tattered thing muttering nonsense, most likely driven mad by centuries of isolation, slip toward her. As Katrikki reached for it, the spirit howled, knocking me aside.

Stop! Wait! I called to the strand, hoping to calm him, but it was no use. The terrified spirit thrashed against Katrikki’s pull.

I stepped to her and laid a hand on her forearm. “Let him go,” I said.

Katrikki’s eyes fluttered open. She swallowed. “They’re different.”

“They had no channeler or histories to explain what was happening. They’ve been lost, floating and alone. Some for centuries.”

“Ioene has the Vanished, and we have the Lost,” she said, a desolate smile on her face. Maybe Katrikki wasn’t so bad. Some of the time, anyway.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t be able to call them,” I said. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t have to worry about the traders imprisoning our ancestors.”

“So that’s why you wanted to meet?”

“Partly,” I answered. “But we need to talk about Mieshk. We can’t keep waiting for the Council. Not if we want to get to Ioene before the storm season.”

Katrikki shrugged. “I’m confined to my house.”

“I need money,” I said bluntly. When I’d asked Mareti to bring Katrikki here, the thought hadn’t yet occurred to me. But after the conversation with Tyrak earlier in the day, I’d realized the Korpits were more than voices on the Council. They were some of the richest people in Istanik.

I almost laughed at Katrikki’s shocked expression. Conditioned to take offense at anyone asking for charity, she blinked and cleared her throat.

“Oh, sail over it, Katrikki,” Mareti said. She turned her gaze to me. “Of course. How much?”

“To start? Let’s say twenty gold shields. But it would be easier if you could give me that amount in smaller coin. Crescents and silver jits, if possible.”

At this, even Mareti’s eyes widened. “It’s a small sum for our family, but I know how little commoners survive on. How will this help you get to Ioene?”

I hesitated. Should I tell them the truth? The defense tax had built the Council warships. Gutterborn had just as much right to them as the traders did. And if any of those ships survived the Ulstat siege, we needed them to sail for Ioene. The fastest way to get ahold of them was to take them. But we couldn’t do that while the Council and their guardsmen had control of the city. If the Korpits were gutterborn, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell them my plans. But could I trust them considering their birth?

“You know that if we don’t defeat Mieshk, nothing else matters, right?” I asked.

“Of course,” both sisters spoke at once.

“Then you must believe that this is the best way to manage it.”

I explained what I intended to do, focusing more on getting to Ioene than my plans for changes to the Council. After all, even if the traders lost the defense tax, it didn’t mean they’d lose their fortunes. From now on, gutterborn and trader would work together to govern in the Kiriilt Islands. If we managed to retake Ioene, that is. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be anything left to govern.

As I spoke, Mareti’s nods went from slow and considering to firm and resolved. My heart slowed as I realized she wouldn’t betray me for this. After I’d finished talking, she didn’t hesitate. “You’ll have it. Tomorrow evening. I’ll meet you outside the walled garden, same time as before.”

“Mareti!” Katrikki said.

Mareti turned her back on her sister, rolling her eyes. “She’ll come around,” she said with a wink.

I smiled, feeling strangely like I’d made a new friend where I least expected it. “Before I go, I was wondering . . .” I glanced up at the tree. “Any ideas on how I’ll get out of here?”

“Follow me,” she said, hooking elbows with me. “That is, if you don’t mind swimming in the drainage channel from an overcrowded duck pond.”

“Sounds fun. You two plan to join me?”

At that, Katrikki turned her nose in the air, a look of profound disgust on her face.

I smirked.

A clinging fog had flowed over the city, cloaking the streets and suffused with the glow from the light-bearer’s lamps. In the trader district, the lanterns burned a deep purple, the color of wealth in the Kiriilt Islands. Slipping along the slate-flagged streets, I kept my head ducked, the hood of my cloak pulled tight. On nights like this, people’s suspicions ran wild. If the House guards spied a gutterborn girl out after dark, they were unlikely to treat me kindly.

Plus, the hood made me feel safe, as if by wrapping it around myself, I became invisible.

At the entrance to the Korpit House grounds, I paused, glancing up and down the street to assure I wasn’t spotted. As during my previous visit, no sentry guarded the front door.

You’re improving, Tyrak said. I feel your awareness of your surroundings.

I hope so. After tomorrow night, I’ll need to watch over my shoulder until the resistance succeeds.

You’re right, of course. It surprises me. Zyri was always naïve in that way, thinking that no one could ever hurt her.

I envy her for that, I said.

But if she’d been more wary, maybe she would have . . .

He trailed off, but I could fill in the missing thought. Maybe she would have survived. But wariness wouldn’t have helped Zyri. She drowned when her family’s ship sank during the cataclysm. I didn’t mention that to Tyrak, because it would only remind him of the terror she faced in the end.

Softened by fog, the paths within the Korpit gardens held a sort of mystery. I wondered what it was like to grow up as a trader. To have all this beauty and luxury surrounding you. From what I could tell, the trader heirs took it for granted. Well, most of them. Raav had been different. And Mareti, too. At the thought, a sort of cold regret filled my chest. Mareti and Raav were so well matched. If they’d stayed together after the Nocturnai’s return, I’m sure Trader Korpit would have convinced the Council not to arrest him. But Raav had chosen me, and now he faced execution. Some trade.

Though a little disoriented by the fog, I kept the wall of the house to my left and eventually found my way to the walled garden’s entrance. As I slipped through the gate, Mareti stood from a bench and hurried over, her silk slippers whispering against the stone path.

“We shouldn’t speak long or loud,” she whispered into my ear. “My father is holding a conference in one of the back rooms. Katrikki is listening in.”

“About the Ulstats?”

She nodded. “And Raav, I assume.”

A battered leather backpack rested against the carved-stone leg of her bench. When she hefted it, the contents jingled. Mareti cringed.

“I tried padding it, but couldn’t quite silence them.” She held the pack out.

When I grabbed the strap, the weight nearly unbalanced me.

“You asked for small coins,” she said with a crooked smile.

“I’ll pay you back,” I said. “I swear. Once we retake Ioene, everything will change.”

Mareti regarded me with a flat stare. “I’d rather not strike another bargain. We know what the defense lien has done for our nation.”

As I slipped the pack onto my shoulders, muscles twinging with the sudden, heavy pull, I met her eyes. “That’s true. But I won’t accept charity either.”

Inhaling, she nodded assent. “Do what you must, but understand that I expect no return.”

“I’m grateful to you,” I said, turning to go.

“Lilik . . . I don’t mean to condescend, but I wonder: do you have a plan for keeping that safe?”

I chewed my lip. “I’m learning to fight,” I said.

She laid a hand on my shoulder. “Traders never keep all their assets in one place.”

Right. I shouldn’t just hide the backpack.

“I’ll keep separate caches,” I said.

Turning again, I clasped her hand in mine. “Thank you, Mareti.”

I slipped out of the garden, already planning my hiding spots. Once free of the trader district, I turned for the hills that backed the city, my pace quick but not hurried enough to draw attention. When I’d passed beyond the reach of the light-bearer’s lanterns, I swung the pack off my shoulder and peered inside. Mareti had split the coins into smaller, oiled leather sacks. Perfect.

When Paono and I were young, we spent many days exploring the outskirts of Istanik. Between the narrow, brush-choked canyons, the graveyard, Nan’s house and mine, I was able to tuck the coin pouches into nearly a dozen different locations.

By the time I returned home, my legs were exhausted. I hadn’t checked the clock on the courthouse, but by my guess, it was nearly midnight. I shoved the final coin pouch under my bed, then peered into the empty backpack. In the bottom was a note.

He made the right choice.—M

Chapter Seventeen

“YOU SAID OUTER Islanders are good at defending themselves.”

My mother looked up at my words, clearly surprised to see me. She’d been bent over a makeshift workbench, winding a strand of worked silver around a metal dowel. When I was young, she’d stopped her jewelry-making business to help my father with the eggs and to take care of me. Because of that, I’d never really seen what she did, or if I had, I didn’t remember.

“You’ve decided to come with me?” The hope in her voice was so sudden, so strong, that I almost felt bad.

I shook my head. “I won’t abandon the people who need me.”

Her hands dropped to the scarred wood of the bench. “Right,” she said softly. “Unlike me.”

I kicked my toe into the dirt. “Sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to start off that way.”

“When you were little, you called me Mum.”

“And then I grew up. So, are they here? Your defender friends?”

Fiddling with the supplies on her bench—silver wire, a range of pliers, polished stone, and leather cord—she wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Some. Why?”

“Because it’s time for things to change in the Kiriilt Islands.”

Beside her was a sawed round of some sort of tree, probably the local pine species. Tipping it onto its bark, she rolled it toward me with her foot. “Will you at least sit?”

“I guess.” I nudged the log, sending it thudding back down flat, and sat on it like a stool. My mother and I faced each other over the workbench, holding our silence.

“So you’re going to start a revolution.”

“I’m going to free my imprisoned friend, get rid of the Ulstats, and make sure the traders can’t cause these problems again. Then I’m sailing for Ioene to rescue my friends. You can call it a revolution if you want.”

“Okay.”

“The traders have had one hundred-fifty years to make things better. They’ve failed. It’s the commoners’ turn now.”

Around us, tent dwellers moved back and forth, ducking under canvas flaps and taking seats upon whatever makeshift chairs they could find. Many had cookpots suspended on tripods over campfires. Nearing midday, the day wasn’t nearly as hot as the last few, but I still didn’t envy them the task of cooking beneath the blazing sun. I’d spent the morning inside, counting out the remaining days before storm season and jotting down my plans, but now I wished I’d come to visit Mother earlier. At least I hadn’t put it off—I had other stops to make but I’d decided to tackle the most difficult one first.

“So . . .”

“So I’m going to lead them.”

“You want to lead an army?” she asked.

“I’m organizing a resistance. Army is a strong word.”

“But you asked about the Outer Islanders and our experience fending off attacks.”

“I want to avoid conflict, but it’s not realistic. The Council won’t be pleased when we stand up to them. Plus, we need to be ready to take on the Ulstats and Mieshk’s forces after that.”

“You didn’t mention the Waikert,” she noted.

My toes tapped the ground. No, I hadn’t. Even with nightforged weapons, the traders’ mercenary soldiers could barely hold off the sea tribes. I wasn’t so stupid as to think a gutter army would succeed against the Waikert. Not yet.

“The traders are fighting amongst themselves. If the sea tribes attack now, we’ll lose anyway.”

“I see. Well, I suppose you can hope they won’t attack.”

“Not until we’ve returned to Ioene, at least. After we heal the island, I really believe we’ll be able to defeat the sea tribes for good.”

“You realize you’re talking about pitting untrained gutterborn against multiple sets of seasoned fighters,” she said.

“I don’t plan to attack directly. We have to be smart. Start small and in the shadows. I have ideas, but I’d like help . . . advice. That’s why I came to you.”

My mother shook her head. The expressions on her face suggested she was torn between pride and pity. “Say I introduce you . . .”

“I’ll agree to spend time in your new colony if that’s what you’re going to ask. After the Trader Council is disbanded, the Ulstats removed, and Ioene healed.”

“My daughter . . . such modest ambitions,” my mother said, a smile teasing her lips.

“I plan to hold the first resistance meeting in two days. Will you stay that long?”

“I lasted five years here after I married your Da. I’ll manage.”

“The ocean beach at dusk,” I said. “Ask them to come. They don’t have to commit to anything—yet.”

At the edge of the barracks strip, I hesitated. I wished I’d asked for the man’s name, the organizer of the gutter wardens. It would be safer to ask him to come out to me than to go into the strip in search of him. But if I were really going ahead with this, I couldn’t expect safety. The traders would figure out my involvement soon enough. I’d want to find a new place for my family to live, too—ideally, separate from me.

The thought of leaving them made my limbs weak. But it was only for a short time. Whether we won or lost, I doubted this conflict would last long.

Gathering my courage, I strode into the barracks strip. The farther downhill I traveled, the more my nerves prickled. Eyes seemed to watch from the shadows, and each rustling in the alleys sounded twice as loud in my ears. My shoulders hunched while my fists clenched.

You can’t defend yourself when you’re stiff, Tyrak said. Alert but at ease.

With a deep breath, I willed my muscles to relax.

Be a sapling, bending but not breaking.

What are you, some wise-man poet, I asked.

Hey! I thought it was good.

Feeling better, I scanned the street. Though dirtier, the homes and shops here weren’t all that different than those in my neighborhood. As I turned to search the next block, I stood a little taller.

I found the warden not long after, on a street that ran parallel to the alley in which we’d first collided.

“Lilik,” he said with a smile. If I wasn’t mistaken, his chest puffed, ever so slightly, when he realized I’d come looking for him.

“I’m glad I found you,” I said. “I was beginning to think you’d given up on the strip.”

“Never. I even recruited a few more helpers. Didn’t you notice them on your way in?”

I shook my head.

“Good,” he said. “We’re trying to keep our actions hidden. The last thing we need is some House guards in here mucking things up.”

“Speaking of,” I said, “I have a proposal for you.”

He listened to my plan avidly. Once I’d finished, there was a gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Pride? Hope?

“Will you come? We’ll meet at the ocean beach at dusk, two nights from now. Invite the others you’ve recruited.”

“I’ll be there, Nightcaller. But you’ll need a new title, don’t you think? Nightcaller Boket just doesn’t apply all that well here.”

“Do you have a suggestion?”

He paused. “I’ll think about it. But you can’t have head gutter warden. Sorry.”

I liked this man. “What’s your name, anyway?”

He blushed at the question, perhaps unused to mattering enough to have someone ask. “Tavenijet,” he said, “but most people just call me Jet.”

“All right, then, Jet. I’ll see you there.”

“Hey, Lilik?” he said as I turned away.

“Yeah?”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“Of course.”

“Start small. Gather your most loyal people first. And don’t use the beach. Go ahead and tell everyone that’s where you plan to convene. Late in the afternoon on the day of the meeting, spread the word of a change in location. As close to the meeting time as you think you can get away with. I’ll send someone to watch the beach from afar. If a contingent of House guardsmen show up, you’ll know that someone ratted you out.”

Chewing my lip, I nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

Well, Tyrak said, I think we’ve just found your general.

As I stepped up to Nan’s door, warm relief filled my chest. I hadn’t really thought I’d fail in my tasks today, but I hadn’t looked forward to them either. Especially the meeting with my mother. But I was actually glad to see Nan, even if I had serious things to ask her.

My knuckles rapped gently on the soft wood of her door. Noticing the new splinters and the crack that had opened near the hinges, I made a mental note to ask someone to come replace it.

“Come in,” she called in a voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.

“Hi, Nan.”

Paono’s grandmother’s face lit at the sight of me, and once again, I felt a wave of guilt. I’d promised to come after dinner days ago.

“I see you’re feeling guilty again,” she said as I shut the door behind me.

“On the way home from Ioene, I promised myself I’d visit you every day.”

“But you also expected the traders to work themselves into a lather in their excitement to supply your return to Ioene,” she said.

“It’s no excuse. I’ll—”

Her harsh, barking cough cut me off. Pawing the small table beside her rocking chair, Nan lifted a handkerchief to her face. As tears leaked from her eyes, the cough rose, rattling and wet now. Nan’s face purpled as she struggled to get air in between the heaving coughs.

“Oh, Nan,” I said, hurrying to her side. Unexpectedly, she pushed me away. I told myself not to be hurt at the rejection, but I was anyway. Scanning the room to hide the injured expression I felt on my face—not that she would notice while coughing—my gaze fell on her teapot. I shoved it over the hotplate on her potbellied stove, an expense she never could have afforded before Paono sailed for Ioene. I wondered if Captain Altak had bought it for her.

Finally, the coughing stopped. Nan spat into the hankie and folded it away before I could see what was inside.

“What can I do, Nan?” I asked. “How can I help?”

“You can’t, child. It’s just my old lungs, nothing to worry about. I’m sorry I pushed you. I was afraid I’d cough in your face.”

She was worried I’d see what she coughed into her handkerchief, more likely. Confronting her would do no good, though. Nan was as stubborn as they came.

As I waited for her to collect herself, the teakettle whistled. Standing on tiptoes, I plucked an earthenware mug from the shelf and filled it.

“Where are the herbs?” I asked.

“Cupboard above the table. There’s a diffuser in there too.”

After filling the small, silver ball with the herbal blend the healers had suggested, I lowered it into the water and placed the cup beside Nan’s chair.

“So, Lilik, how are you?” she asked.

“I’m tired, Nan,” I said, surprising myself with the confession.

“And it’s no wonder,” she returned. “Wrangling with traders, laying plans to take back Ioene. Surprised you haven’t found a way to sink those rotted Ulstat ships.”

“Do you think Paono is okay?”

Her wrinkles deepened, crinkling like tissue paper when she smiled. “I’m sure he’s fine. My grandson might not have confronted this sort of thing before, but he’s no stranger to challenge. You know that.”

“I know. But Mieshk was . . . she changed. Every time I think about him in the dark, hunted, I worry I doomed him.”

Nan picked up the chain for the diffuser, bobbed the ball through the water. “In any case, you’re doing everything you can, right?” Though she tried to sound casual, I detected a hint of . . . something else in her voice. Suspicion? Curiosity? Accusation?

“That’s part of why I’m here, Nan.”

“Oh?”

“You know people.”

Her eyes narrowed. “As do you.”

“But not the same sort.”

Setting her chair rocking, she regarded me with a no-nonsense stare. “Why don’t you just have out with it, Lilik? What are you planning?”

“It’s time to stop cowering from the traders.”

She shook her head. “That time was fifty years ago. I’d say it’s long past time. Wasn’t a week went by that I didn’t tell Paono that.”

“He never mentioned it.”

“Because he didn’t agree. He was afraid that standing up to the traders would get someone—me, in particular—hurt.”

“But you have friends. I know you do. When you suggested there were people who were ready to defy the traders, you weren’t just speculating.” Over the last few days, I’d thought back through the years. At least a few times a month, I’d spotted Nan out talking to the sorts of characters I wouldn’t expect an elderly woman to seek out. Blacksmiths with muscles like oxen. A flinty-eyed leatherworker who happened to keep an assortment of throwing daggers sheathed in her belt.

“It’s true. I’ve kept up contacts. Back before Paono’s parents died, I attended . . . meetings. Just talk, nothing more. We discussed how we might change things without bloodshed. Lately, I’ve heard rumors that their tone has changed.”

“Do they still meet?”

She shrugged. “Probably. I haven’t asked directly.”

“Anyone you still trust?”

“Depends. You still haven’t told me what you’re planning.”

“We won’t rescue Paono if we wait for trader help. But we need more ships than Zyri’s Promise. It’s time to quit asking and start taking. I’m talking about a resistance force.”

“And you’re going to lead it?” she asked. I couldn’t tell if her voice was skeptical, mocking, or both. Hearing the tone from Nan, one of the few people I expected to support me, I felt anger hot in my face.

“In fact, yes, I am. I may not be the best choice, but I’ll make up for it with desire. Dedication. So if you think you’re going to convince me otherwise, don’t waste your words.”

At that, Nan’s face split in a wide grin. “That’s my girl,” she said.

I blinked, confused. “But you just—”

“I just needed to know you were committed. Of course I believe in you, Lilik Boket. Now you just tell me what you want me to do.”

Chapter Eighteen

I WOKE, CONFUSED, to the sound of banging and grumbling. Da was at the stove with a skillet in hand. But the light outside was wrong for breakfast. Everything was red, as if the sun were setting.

“Da?”

“Fool traders,” he cursed.

“What is it?”

Jaret, who was covering the table with wood shavings as he whittled—injured arm awkwardly holding the thick piece of alderwood—pointed his knife at the window. “’Nother alarm.”

I blinked, peering out the wavy glass. The light beyond was not the ruddy glow of sunset, but rather the lanterns blazing red to warn of an attack.

“What time is it?”

“Almost dawn,” Da said.

“Rot,” I said, throwing off the covers.

Da spun, uncracked egg in hand. “You aren’t leaving?”

I threw a padded jacket over my linen shift, belting Tyrak to the outside. Pulling loose trousers over my underclothes, I shoved my feet into closed-toed shoes—I’d learned my lesson on stubbed toes lately.

“I need to get to the harbor,” I said, hurrying for the door.

“Lilik, you’ll just get hurt. What if it’s the Waikert?”

“It’s not,” I said. If the Waikert were attacking, we’d hear the screams. On clear nights, the sentry posts and watchtowers gave reasonable warning of a sea tribe attack, but with the fog last night, the savages would have crept into the city undetected. In fact, that’s how most attacks had come in the last five years, and a major part of the reason we were faring so poorly against them.

“Ulstats?” Da asked.

“Who else? I’m starting to think that the monster-heir’s madness lurks in every one of them.”

Laying his carving—a seal, by the looks of it—on the table, Jaret jumped to his feet. “I’m coming, then.”

I shook my head. “You can’t.”

His face screwed up, an expression that looked childish enough to justify my refusal to let him accompany me. “Why is it okay for you to go?”

“Because . . .” What could I say that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. Because I was wiser than him? More important? “Trader Yiltak will expect me there. I need her help, Jaret. I don’t want to deal with this.” The lie came so easily. I hoped the red light hid the guilty flush in my cheeks.

His eyes narrowed. “And because you’re a nightcaller—excuse me, a channeler—you’re part of the Trader Council now.”

“Someday, maybe,” I said with a wink that hid the truth in my words. I’d never be a member of the Trader Council, of course, but someday soon I hoped gutterborn would be as much part of the leadership as the traders were. Neither Da nor Jaret knew about the resistance yet. I’d been meaning to tell them this morning, including my plans for us to separate. But it would have to wait. And in the meantime, I’d have to think of a few resistance tasks for Jaret. Things that wouldn’t expose him to danger.

Da cracked the egg on the edge of the skillet. The innards sizzled when they hit the pan. “Just be safe, Lilik,” he said, recognizing that arguing wouldn’t sway me.

The street outside was silent except for the yowling of an alley cat, some tom confused by the early, red dawn. At the corner, light-bearers stood with stony faces, the flames burning many times brighter than usual, spitting and hissing. I dashed past without word, turning for courthouse square. As I neared the edge of the slums, a few doors cracked open, the occupants probably curious about the sound of my running feet. Faces appeared in the gaps, eyes glinting in the red light, but no one called out. Unlike the previous alarm, where lots of people had rushed to the city center for protection, the street-wise gutterborn had now decided to stay clear of the trader feud.

As I trotted into the square, I glanced at Trader Council Hall. As usual, the doors were shut, likely barred from inside. The guard duty had doubled in size, a dozen men and women standing atop the flight of stairs. By my guess, the traders were inside. I thought about trying to invite myself in, but decided it would be a waste of time. Trader Yiltak had dragged me along when she thought she could gain something by my presence. Unless I had a means to get rid of the Ulstats, she had little use for me now.

From the square, I could see down the wide avenue to the quay. Along the water, the warning fires burned brighter. Crew dashed to and fro, while dock laborers were—it appeared—relocating goods from the edge of the quay to locations deeper into the city. Most likely hoping to get them out of range of the Ulstat cannons.

Buildings blocked my view of much of the harbor, but by the actions of the people below—every few seconds, at least one person paused their work to cast a nervous glance over the water—I guessed the warships had once again passed the guardstones.

I took off toward the water at a light jog.

Something feels off, Lilik.

What do you mean? I asked.

Why aren’t the traders out?

They don’t often put themselves in danger.

But the House guards . . . the soldiers. The only people on the quay are dock and ship workers.

It was a good question, one for which I had no answer. But I trusted Tyrak’s judgment. Running a diagonal across the street, I moved to the edge so that I could slip along the fronts of buildings, ready to duck into an open door or alley mouth if necessary.

As I neared the waterfront, more of the harbor came into view. Once I could see the guardstones, towering as high as twenty men and capped with red bonfires bright enough to light an area three hundred paces across, I understood the alarm. The Ulstats had indeed returned, but not with just their initial three ships. Fifteen or twenty vessels now stood off Stanik’s shores, half in the harbor and half outside. If each of them were armed with the cannons the first three had brandished . . .

The traders should have acted earlier, Tyrak said. I don’t see what they can do in the face of this.

Just what I was thinking. We’ll have to surrender. Sometimes I wondered if he could read my thoughts.

I slipped into an alcove where a locked door defended the harbor master’s office. Already, my hopes for changing things with the resistance were fading. What could a handful of gutterborn armed with meat cleavers and brooms and kitchen knives do against twenty Ulstat warships. I hadn’t even realized they had such a fleet.

As I watched, a light flashed aboard one of the ships. A trail of color, red and orange, streaked skyward, sparks dribbling back to the water. It reminded me of a flaming arrow until another flash, much brighter than the first, lit the sky above the harbor. A second sun, burning in the sky. The bang was so loud I staggered backward into the building, clapping my hands over my ears. All around people yelled, screamed, and ran.

I blinked away the purple ghost of the flash, trying to orient. As the ringing in my ears lessened, a voice from the ship boomed over the water.

“Trader Council. We demand your answer.”

Peering, I noticed a smaller boat, a skiff with just four men at the oars, floating a couple hundred paces off the quay. In the bow, Frask Ovintak stood with a speaking horn in hand.

Why does he speak for the Ulstats? Tyrak asked.

I don’t know.

Well, I understood what Frask wanted from the arrangement. With House Ovintak falling in fortune, and Frask unwilling to take responsibility for it, he’d likely accept any offer that would prop up his decaying riches. But what was the Ulstat motive? I’d expected them to send a representative from the House by now, probably one of Mieshk’s siblings. Any bargain would need a proper Ulstat signature for ratification.

Not wanting to enter the range of the cannons, I slipped around the edge of the harbor master’s office and headed for the end of the quay where a packed earth path was supported by dry-stacked seawall. Meanwhile, the Ulstat ships prowled back and forth across the harbor, out of reach of arrows, but clearly showing their power.

Though few people were around this end of the quay, a few soldiers had filtered down from the barracks, while clerks who’d likely intended to report for morning duty in the shipping offices milled at the end of side streets. I kept my hand on my dagger, just in case.

After a quarter-hour or so, shortly after the leading edge of the sun broke from the horizon, a phalanx of House guardsmen marched out onto the quay. A delegation of traders followed behind, led by Trader Yiltak.

Unwise to expose the leadership, Tyrak mused.

Look, I said. I almost pointed before realizing he would naturally follow my gaze.

Oh . . . Tyrak said, understanding.

In front of the traders, two massive guards marched at the side of Raav and his mother. Though I couldn’t see from where I sat, I guessed by their gaits that their ankles were shackled. Praviili Ovintak shuffled, head bowed, stumbling every few paces while Raav marched with small, restrained steps. Chin raised, shoulders straight, his eyes were on the harbor. Seeking his brother.

Behind the Ovintaks, another prisoner stumbled. By appearance only ten or twelve years old, the child didn’t seem to be shackled at the ankles—the Trader Council had that much decency at least. But who was the child? Another Ovintak? A cousin maybe? Raav hadn’t mentioned any additional family.

The traders might expect the sight of his family to change Frask’s mind, but I didn’t. Nonetheless, I couldn’t let Raav face this alone. I rushed forward, desperate to give him what comfort I could.

Trader Yiltak raised her own speaking horn. “The Council unanimously rejects your demands,” she said.

While she spoke, another contingent of guards appeared, marching at the sides of a team of draft horses. The horses were hitched to a heavy wagon, and upon it stood three iron cages.

After waiting for the wagon to turn onto the quayside street, setting the cages broadside to the harbor, Trader Yiltak nudged Raav’s guards. Jerking the chains that bound the Ovintaks, they led the prisoners to the wagon. From the side streets, dock workers jeered. Raav’s mother hunched her shoulders at the taunts, but Raav ignored them, never taking his eyes from Frask.

“The Trader Council has temporarily seized the assets of House Ovintak. Until such time as Ulstat forces retreat from Stanik waters, Trader Ovintak and her younger heir will be imprisoned upon the quay, as will Lakdiken Ulstat. Bombard our harbor, and you kill your future.”

An Ulstat! No doubt captured with the help of the delegate I’d tackled on the night of the first attack. For the last week, I assumed the Trader Council had been sitting idle. But clearly, they’d managed to dispatch a small force to kidnap Mieshk’s brother. That likely explained the absence of Ulstats in the rowboat. With the brother kidnapped, that left only Mieshk’s younger sister at home. Mieshk’s father wouldn’t risk his final heir. Or himself, apparently.

As for thwarting the attack, the Ulstats might be mad, but I doubted they’d sacrifice one of their children when there were other options. Trader Yiltak had apparently made the same calculation. I grimaced. Only a trader would put a child in danger like this.

One by one, the prisoners were shoved into cages. Raav’s mother crumpled to the floor and lay in a heap. From a side street, someone threw an apple core. It bounced off the woman’s back, but she didn’t seem to notice.

When they put Raav in the cage, I couldn’t stop myself. I ran to the wagon. Finally, he tore his eyes from Frask, and when our gazes locked, the pain in his was almost unbearable. Not caring what the guards would do, I vaulted onto the wagon and stuck my hands through the bars. Raav’s face hardened for a moment, but then he sank to the floor, kneeling opposite me. Clasping me by the forearms, his eyes searched mine.

“Lilik,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t care,” I said. “They can’t do this to you.”

From the edge of the quayside street, a rotten pear sailed into Raav’s cage. It landed beside him, splattering.

Raav didn’t even glance at it. “The traders don’t have a choice. It’s this or the Ulstats win.”

“Of course they have a choice.”

Rough hands fell on my shoulders, pulling me back. My arms slipped through Raav’s hands, our fingers touching for a last instant before the guards yanked me away. As they carried me off, I thrashed and struggled, desperate to get back to him.

The guards set me in front of Trader Yiltak, who looked down with disappointment. “I thought you might be a help to us,” she said, before gesturing toward the city center with her chin. “Just go, and leave trader business to those with the self-control to conduct it.”

As I stood in front of her, I met her glare. “If you’re an example of trader virtue, I’m not interested in meeting your standards.”

Chapter Nineteen

THE MORNING PASSED, and all I could think about was Raav, caged. I haunted the quay, out of sight but close enough to smell the rotten food and other refuse plastering the wagon. My chest panged when I remembered the stoic set of Raav’s shoulders. Two dozen guards surrounded the prisoners—I had no hope of getting close now, and was grateful I’d had a chance before. Just before noon, a servant from one of the trader Houses brought food for the prisoners.

As the sun passed its zenith, I finally tore myself away and went home to tell Da and Jaret what had happened. On the way, I visited a cobbler who had a room for rent above her shop, a place for me to stay while organizing my gutter army. We agreed on a price, and I handed over the coin in exchange for a key—the presence of an actual lock sold me on the place. When I returned to the quay, Raav had been given shoes. Maybe a guard had taken pity on him where Trader Yiltak hadn’t.

For the time being, the trader ploy seemed to have worked. The Ulstat ships had withdrawn from the harbor, once against standing off the coast at a distance that prevented trader vessels from coming and going while remaining out of firing range of our city. The small Ulstat heir stared from his cage with wide, frightened eyes. Despite his relation to Mieshk, I felt sorry for him. A pair of rat carcasses had been thrown into his cage, along with the rotten food and soiled rags. Unlike the Ovintaks, who cleared the refuse from their areas, the boy seemed afraid to touch anything. Judging by his ornate clothing, filthy now, he’d probably never seen such things. But also, I suspect he was afraid to protest for fear things would get worse.

As the sun descended toward the western horizon, I made a single pass in front of the wagon. Stopping long enough to catch Raav’s eye, I nodded at him. I’d get him out of this. I had to. Chewing his lip—the only weakness he’d shown all day—he returned my nod. In front of him, a guard laid a hand on his cudgel. I took the hint and hurried away.

The first resistance meeting was supposed to be at dusk. With just an hour or two left to prepare, I hurried home. Da and Jaret needed to know what I planned, plus I wanted to take Jet’s advice about moving the meeting. Detouring through the barracks strip, I found Jet standing watch.

“Above the stilts. On the path to the graveyard,” I said.

He nodded understanding. “I’ll tell them.”

I carried the same news to Nan, and finally hurried into the itinerant camp in search of my mother. She wasn’t around, so I left word with the woman whose tent was pitched beside Mother’s jewelcrafting bench. The woman assured me she’d pass the message faithfully. Still, I chose to be vague with my words and hoped my mother would understand.

Finally, I rushed home, jacket pulled tight against the late afternoon cool—the heat wave had continued to ease. In the street in front of my home, a pair of small children played with a ball made of cork. Not very round, the ball bounced in wild directions, causing squeals and sudden chases. Unfortunately, my appearance distracted them, and the ball slipped between bars in the sewer grates. Abrupt wails followed.

“Wait,” I said, hurrying inside. I snatched a small doll from the corner where my old playthings collected dust, and presented it to the older child, a girl. She sniffled and grinned, tears abruptly forgotten. The children scampered off.

“Growing up, I see,” Da said with a wink as I stepped back inside.

“I should have gotten rid of the stuff long ago.” In truth, I was still reluctant to say goodbye to much of it. So many of my things reminded me of years past when Paono and I played together in the streets. Pretty much like the children I’d just seen. But it was time to focus on the future. “We need to move, Da.”

His brow knit. “What?”

Jaret wasn’t at home, which was probably just as well. After suggesting Da sit, I pulled out a chair opposite him and told him my plan.

Da shook his head, slowly. “Why you? Why does my little girl need to be the one to set the traders straight?”

“Because there’s no one else. And it has to happen. Listen, I have money.” As I spoke, I dug a toe under the cot where I’d shoved the last coin pouch, pulling it free. “We won’t give up this place—how could we? But I want you to take a room near the city center. One of the blocks near the courthouse and prison. I’ve found a room above a shop on the edge of the slums.”

“I won’t do it, Lilik. I won’t be separated from you just because you’re worried about my safety.”

I shook my head. “It’s not just your safety, Da. It’s Jaret’s too.”

My father leaned forward, cupping his lower face with his hand. When he exhaled, his breath whistled against his thumb.

Abruptly, he straightened, pounding fists against the table. “All right, Lilik. But you need to make me one promise.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t tell Jaret what you’re doing. You’re seventeen. I can’t decide your life for you. But your brother is still a child, no matter what he thinks. I’ll make up some explanation. Until this is over, I want you to stay clear of him. For his sake.”

My eyes fell to my lap. It made sense, even if I didn’t like the thought. “Okay, Da, I will.”

Uncinching the coin pouch’s draw string, I pulled out a handful of silver jits. Da’s eyes widened as I slid them toward him—that much silver was more than he earned in half a year.

“I’d rather have you safe than take this money,” he said softly.

“I know, Da. But I promise you I’m doing what I believe is best.”

“I suppose I just have to trust you then,” he said.

“I’ll be back late tonight to gather my things. If you can, take Jaret to the evening market. By tomorrow evening, it’ll be best if none of us come back here until I send word.”

Da didn’t answer. I grabbed the leather backpack Mieshk had given me and dropped the coin pouch inside. I laid a hand on Tyrak’s hilt, assuring myself with his presence, then gave one last glance around my childhood home before stepping into the darkening street.

Beyond the stilts, the trail along Istanik’s border turned to traverse the hill and intersect the graveyard path. As I headed for the site of the meeting, I hitched my backpack up on my shoulders—thinking of the coins within, I’d tied a spare strap around my waist for extra protection against thieves. The sun had set, leaving the sky a bruised color. From this vantage, Istanik was a blanket of patchwork lights. With each district lit a distinctive color, it was easy to see how the territory was divided. Home to just two dozen or so Houses, the trader district was nearly as large as the entire gutter slum, where ten thousand people lived.

The sight made me glad Jet had suggested I move the meeting. The view could only aid my cause.

At a clearing where the trail widened into a trampled circle of packed earth, I stopped. It was early still—I’d planned to arrive first. But a twinge of worry pinched beneath my breastbone. What if no one came?

As night crept across the island, pooling first in the hollows and folds of the terrain, then creeping through alleys too far from the light-bearers to keep the dark at bay, a sick unease settled into my gut.

“Lilik.” Mother spoke softly, slipping into the clearing from the direction of the stilts. A man and a woman followed her, clad in patched clothing and wearing cautious expressions.

I flashed them a smile. “Thanks for coming.”

Shortly after, Jet entered with a single man in tow. He nodded, lips thinned, at my questioning look. The single follower was the best he could do. I bit the inside of my cheek as two more people, the flinty-eyed leatherworker I’d seen with Nan and another woman strode into the space. The gathered group shuffled in mild discomfort, regarding each other with veiled suspicion.

I gave the group a curt nod, pretending I hadn’t expected more than the small handful of people who’d come to the meeting.

“I sent a man to watch the shore, Councilor,” Jet said.

I raised my eyebrows at the title. It was better than Nightcaller, at least. Thinking about it, I realized that it fit. Each of the trader families sent someone to their Council. Time for us to demand entry, too. And I was the first representative.

“Good. I’ll find you tomorrow,” I said. “We’ll know from his report whether word of our meeting has been leaked to the traders.”

As I spoke, I scanned the small group, searching for nervous fidgets or guilty expressions. But aside from the discomfort of having come here, an act that would surely bring the traders’ wrath if we were discovered, none seemed concerned about the beach spy. That, at least, was good news.

“I assume you were given a brief explanation about why we’re here,” I said. “We can’t bow down before the Trader Council anymore.”

Aside from my mother and Jet, my words were greeted with skeptical glances. Unwilling to give up, I casually pulled up my sleeves to expose my glowing scars. Though not as bright as on Ioene, I knew the sight would have an effect, if only to remind them that I’d taken on a trader before—and won.

The leatherworker’s mouth twisted before she spoke. “Some of us have been meeting about this for years. What’s to say we should follow you all of a sudden?”

I stared at her, an emotionless glance that—I hoped—would show I wouldn’t be easily intimidated. “Seems simple to me. What have you accomplished in all those years?”

The woman snarled, and I wondered whether I was pushing too hard. But I couldn’t back down, not if I wanted to convince these people to follow me.

“Listen,” I said, “I understand why you were cautious. No one wants to see gutterborn hurt or killed. But this is about more than overthrowing the traders now. The situation is urgent. We can’t afford to watch and wait any longer.”

Still bristling, the woman shifted her weight onto her other hip, thrusting out her chin. “That may be a fair assessment of our efforts, but you still haven’t explained why we should change course now. What’s so urgent that we should risk ourselves while the traders fight amongst themselves?”

“We must return to Ioene and defeat Mieshk Ulstat—something that isn’t going to happen with the Trader Council in power. If we don’t stop her, nothing else will matter.”

“And why, exactly, is that?”

“Because she’s close to destroying Kiriilti civilization. All of it. She’s uncovered hidden powers that will destroy Ioene and send disaster to our shores.”

“And you know this because . . . ?”

I scanned the group. “Trader Yiltak asked me a similar question. What evidence do I have? Why is Ioene more important than fighting off the Waikert? Or the Ulstats? Or for that matter, why should we do anything at all?”

The leatherworker shrugged as if agreeing with my assessment. But I’d captured the others’ interest. Though the ghost-gray light of dusk was fading, I glimpsed curiosity on their faces.

“You’ve heard much of what happened on Ioene. Mieshk Ulstat mutinied. Those of us who made it home were fortunate to survive. Maybe you even heard that I am a channeler. But nothing else, right?”

A few people shrugged and nodded.

Standing tall, I continued. “Well, there’s a lot more. For a time, I held the memories of a girl who lived one thousand years ago. Zyri was on Ioene the last time someone like Mieshk rose to power. Through her eyes, I saw the end of her world. And if we don’t stop Mieshk, I’ll have to watch it all over again.

“Our port cities will fall first, smashed beneath waves as tall as mountains. Darkness will come and go. Crops will fail. The last cataclysm still echoes, rippling through time. The Vanished told me that storm season and the erratic start and end of the long-night are caused by those ripples. One thousand years after the disaster, it still affects the area around Ioene.”

“But that’s Ioene,” one of my mother’s Outer Isle friends said.

I nodded. “True. We don’t feel it here anymore, but that’s because the last cataclysm has had centuries to fade. Or rather, it was fading. Not anymore. The swell that smashed your village is just the beginning of a new cycle.”

“If all that’s actually true,” the leatherworker said, “what are a bunch of gutterborn agitators supposed to do about it? Overthrow the Trader Council, commandeer their ships and soldiers, and sail off into the dark? What about the Waikert? Some of us have family in the city.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “More or less. I know it will be difficult. But I also know that we have no other choice.”

“And you really think we should follow you,” she returned. “A gutterborn teenager.”

Be yourself, Tyrak advised. If you pretend, you’ll lose them all the same.

“I understand your reluctance,” I said. “What am I besides another gutterborn girl who wants things to be different? The truth is, I don’t know how to fight—though I’m learning. I need advice on tactics, organization—most everything, really. But I have done something that none of you can claim.”

The leatherworker rolled her eyes. “You sailed on the Nocturnai—”

“I’ve died.” I paused to let that sink in. “I know exactly what it feels like. You think seawater in the lungs would be cold, but it’s not. It burns like molten metal in every cranny of your chest. And the terror. You try to swim, but you’re coughing and sucking in more water and your arms and legs just thrash. And all the while, the ocean drags you deeper and deeper. It crushes you, and somehow that’s a relief because you just want it to be over.”

Silence followed my words. The small cluster of people shifted before me. A tear slipped down my cheek as I mourned again for Zyri, and I didn’t wipe it away.

“You ask why I’m qualified to lead you. That’s why. I’m terrified of dying again. I know exactly how the end of my life will feel. I know the risks of taking on the Trader Council. I know what I’d be asking gutterborn to do. And I’m asking it anyway because the other choice is total eradication.

“You can choose to walk away,” I said. “Go back to your secret meetings and your waiting. But I won’t give up. I’ll find others. But I’m asking you to stay. Advise me. Teach me what you know. And together, maybe we can save the Kiriilt Islands.”

One of the Outer Islanders who had come with my mother had sidled toward the edge of the clearing. A crunch of feet on gravel told me when she left. Ignoring it, I fixed my eyes on the others.

I scanned the group. “Questions?”

“The Waikert?” asked the man who’d come with Jet.

“In Zyri’s time, even the poorest of the Vanished filled their homes with magical objects we’d consider priceless treasures. Our nightforged weapons have helped us hold off the sea tribes. The magic we’ll learn once we retake and heal the island will help us annihilate them.”

In my time, we used scrying globes to see distant places, Tyrak said. Clothing that let our fighters blend into their surroundings. Not that we needed many fighters given our other advantages.

I nodded at his words. “Some of you have seen Zyri’s Promise. She sails many times faster than our sleekest ships. That’s just the first example. In the Vanished times, the leaders used magical devices to look through their enemies’ walls. Armor that allowed the soldiers to hide in plain sight.”

“And what if we . . . heal the island, only to find that most of that magic is gone?” Jet’s man asked.

“Then we still have Ashkalan. If we save Ioene, gutterborn can leave their shanties and stilt houses and live protected by walls of polished stone. It would be years before the Waikert found us there, if ever.”

In the following silence, the group shifted as if thinking.

“Listen,” I said, “even if Mieshk never manages to gather enough power to create the cataclysm, even if the traders and the Ulstats fight it out without harming the gutterborn, the Waikert will return eventually. And after the Nocturnai failed, we don’t have the weapons to throw them back. We simply can’t sit by anymore. Not if we want to survive.”

Abruptly, the leatherworker smirked. She pulled a throwing knife from her belt and spun it in her hand. I narrowly avoided flinching.

“I like you,” she said, pointing the knife at me. “Like you enough to give you a chance, even.”

As if loosed by the woman’s words, heads began nodding.

“About time someone stepped up to change things,” Jet’s man said.

“So what’s next?” the leatherworker asked.

I tried not to let my relief show. Better to have them believe I’d had nothing but confidence that I’d convince them. “I need you to spread the word. Quietly. We’ll meet again in a few days. In the meantime, I welcome suggestions. Jet will continue building up the gutter wardens to defend against the mercenaries—and the traders if necessary. We’ll secure our boundaries and go from there. I’ll be by tomorrow with some . . . resources.”

The big man nodded assent. Though my trip through the barracks strip on the evening of our first meeting had been a dumb idea, I was glad for it now.

Still, the group milled in the clearing. After a moment, Mother shuffled over. “Go ahead and dismiss us,” she said quietly.

I felt the blush heat my cheeks. “That’s all,” I said.

The small group broke up, vanishing into the shadows that cloaked the trail. Soon, only my mother and I were left.

“I’m proud of you, Lilik,” she said.

“Do you think they’ll return?”

“Honestly? Jet’s man and the woman with the knife will. But the others? I think so, but I can’t be sure.”

I sighed. “Regardless, I meant it when I said that I won’t give up. This is the only way. If we don’t return to Ioene, we’re all doomed.”

“You say that, Lilik, but are you sure? You talk about this cataclysm, but what if it never happens? The storm season will come to Ioene and solve the issue of Mieshk, with or without us.”

I glared at her, furious. “That’s the same sort of thinking that’s left us at the mercy of the traders and the Waikert and just wishing things were better. I’m done with that, Mother. Done.”

I didn’t mention Paono. There was no point; if my mother couldn’t have stayed loyal to her own family, her own flesh and blood, how could she possibly understand my desire to rescue my friend.

She sighed, an infuriating sound in the dark. “You’re sure you won’t come with me? We could bring your da, too, and Jaret.”

“How can you even ask that?” I spat, my voice turning shrill.

“I’m sorry, Lilik. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t try. I can’t remain much longer—the voices are just too strong.”

I blinked. “Voices?”

She turned away from me. Silhouetted by the lights of Istanik, she cut a defeated figure, her shoulders slumped in humiliation.

“Don’t you think I’d have stayed if I could? I would have done anything to remain with you and Jaret. With your father. But I’m weak. There’s something about Istanik—about any city, really. I hear them shrieking at me, all the time. The longer I’m here, the worse it gets.”

I stepped toward her, shocked. “What do they say, Mother?”

Watching her in profile now, I saw the anguish on her face, painted in the faint glow from the city below. “Nothing I can make sense of. They cry for help. Beg. Laugh. Moan. It’s—” She turned to look at me. “When you were little, I heard what sounded like a small child drowning, men and women yelling and the crash of the surf. It terrified me. I thought the voices were telling me to hurt you. What if I lost control? Or rather, what if the voices gained control?”

“Has it always been that way for you?” I asked. My mind was racing. Mother came from the Outer Isles, the closest of the Kiriilt Islands to Ioene. If any of the Vanished had escaped the cataclysm—other than the coven of Mavek’s Hands who had been banished a few years before—they’d likely have landed on Outer Isle shores.

She sighed. “I wish I could claim it started after you were born—after all, what mother would knowingly bring a child into the world when her grasp on sanity was tenuous. But in the Outer Isles, it had happened so infrequently. I’d convinced myself it was my imagination. Then I met your da. He brought me home to Istanik after our wedding, and that’s when it started.”

“Does anything else happen to you? Or is it just the voices”

She cast me a melancholy smile. “Actually, Lilik, you’ve made me feel better about one thing.” When she clasped my wrist, I jumped, startled by the contact. Mother pushed my sleeve up to my elbow and ran gentle fingers down my forearm. “These.”

“You have scars like these?”

She shook her head. “Not anymore. Many, many years ago, when I was very little, there was a strange storm in the Outer Isles. Well, not a storm exactly. It was during the darkest time of the year, and for about a week, there were strange lights in the northern sky. Like curtains of blue-green rain.”

“The aurora,” I said.

She shrugged. “None of us knew what was happening. That week, I slipped in a tide pool and cut my palm on a group of barnacles. I wasn’t supposed to be outside—my parents weren’t as strict as Istanikers, but they knew better than to let a young child out alone at night. So I couldn’t tell them and ask for help with bandaging. Instead, I wrapped my hand in a rag I stole from the neighbor’s laundry line and went to sleep. In the morning, my hand looked like your arms do.

I lifted her hand, eager for a glimpse, but saw nothing.

“I was terrified that I was sick—you know how children are. But I couldn’t tell anyone without admitting I’d been out. I hid my hand from my parents for two whole years, if you can believe it. The scars faded eventually, and I’d almost decided it was part of my imagination, or just another sign of my mental instability.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. It was obvious to me that Mother was a channeler, just like me. I’d likely inherited the talent from her. In a way, it made me feel closer to her. But the pain of her abandonment still stood between us, a hurt so entrenched that I didn’t know if I’d ever forgive her.

Still, regardless of what I felt for her, I shouldn’t let her continue through life thinking the voices were a sign of her weakness. It simply wasn’t fair.

“How much have you heard about my time on Ioene?” I asked.

She looked at me, confused. “You were chosen as a nightcaller, but your ship sank in an eruption. You led the others home.”

“That’s it?”

“More or less.”

“Follow me, Mother. I have something to show you.”

“I don’t know what to say, Lilik.”

Mother and I stood in the graveyard together. I’d been thinking of returning—as Tyrak had said when I was in the prison with Miva, I was a channeler. It was my duty to offer comfort to the souls of the dead. My ancestors were here, many of them lost and confused and hurting. I could offer solace if I could handle their grief.

“You didn’t know. How could you?”

She lowered herself to the ground, taking a seat amongst tufts of grass that grew wild over the cemetery. After the rainy season, there would be flowers here, too, many from seeds of bouquets left by mourning friends and families of the dead.

As I watched her come to grips with her talent—with the history that had caused her so much grief over the years—I opened myself to the voices. Only a crack, because in truth, I wasn’t strong enough. On Ioene, I’d learned to shut out the Vanished when my anger over Peldin’s casual attitude toward Heiklet’s death had forced me to push him away. My mother had no experience with the voices at all, and in fact had probably been wide open to them all her life. I’d decided to bring her to the graveyard to prove my point. By connecting the greatest congregation of voices to the place we buried our dead, she was much more likely to believe she was hearing the words of spirits rather than the mad ravings of her own mind.

Still, I couldn’t imagine sitting here under a full barrage from the anguished spirits who haunted their graves. My mother was stronger than she thought.

“And it’s like this everywhere? Across the whole world?” she asked.

“I don’t know. The Kiriilti are descended, at least in part, from the Vanished. That seems as good an explanation as any.”

“And you and I come from a line of channelers.”

“In the last days of the cataclysm, many ships sailed from Ioene. At least one must have reached the Islands.”

The gibbous moon had risen, casting a silvery glow across the graveyard. Long shadows stretched from the bases of tombstones. Striding forward, I opened myself farther, allowing more contact with the spirits. Their hurt felt like scalding water against my mind, like the crack of whips against my skin. Wincing, I projected my thoughts.

I’m here—we’re here, I said simply. You’re not alone anymore.

As I’d formed the thoughts, a similar transformation worked in my heart. I wasn’t alone anymore, either. For all her failings, my mother was here. She needed me, and in many ways, I needed her. Knowing what she’d been through, I could accept her as she was.

Eventually, I might even be able to forgive her.

“Mother . . . I mean, Mum?” I asked.

Lifted to the moonlight, her face held so much hope at hearing me call her that, I nearly lost my voice in the emotions rising from my chest.

“I’m planning to rent a room. Above a cobbler’s. Da needs to keep Jaret safe and out of this, so I’ve asked him to stay elsewhere for the time being. But where I’m planning to go . . . there’d be space for a jewelcrafter’s bench.”

Tears fell over her arched cheekbones as she nodded.

“I’d love to, Lilik.”

Chapter Twenty

THE FOLLOWING DAY, I visited a blacksmith and commissioned a few, simple short swords plus bucklers for the other hand. The smith showed discretion, asking no questions. But he seemed to grasp my purpose, and made some suggestions. Light ringmail vests would fit easily under Istaniker tunics. And the fletcher down the alley had a good price on arrows.

After jotting the estimates on a scrap of paper, I hurried to my rented room and counted out the coin. Mother was away for the day, collecting supplies—and probably spending some time adjusting to my revelations. I was glad. Even though I’d asked her to stay with me, I wasn’t ready to show her the coin pouch I’d stashed in the rafters. The last few months had made me wary. Distrustful, even.

Someday, you’ll have peace, Tyrak said, as if reading my thoughts.

Do you think so? Over the last few days, I’d started to doubt that. The situation made me sad, but at least it hadn’t ruined my determination.

If I can do anything for you, I hope it’s that, he said.

As I laid my hand on the dagger’s hilt, I felt him extend beyond the weapon’s bounds, once again materializing behind me as he’d done at the fountain. His arms were warm along mine, hands wrapping my own. I could almost feel his breath on the crown of my head.

A lesson? I asked. I’d expected to hurry down to deliver the coin to Jet so that he could work directly with the smith.

Tyrak guided me into a quick shuffle. I felt his chest flex as he offered subtle clues.

Do they teach you to dance in the Kiriilt Islands? he asked.

“Not like this,” I whispered.

It’s not so different from fighting. You can think of your adversary as a partner. When you engage, it’s all about the rhythm of the clash. The give and take. And dancing can be as much a contest as a sword fight is, a trial to see how well-matched you are.

Pulling the dagger from its sheath, I traced the blade with a finger. As badly as I wanted to be swept up by him, carried through his dance as he called it, I couldn’t allow myself.

“Tyrak,” I said, voice choked. “I’m not Zyri.”

My chest ached at the admission, because truly, in that moment, I wished I were.

Silence followed, his body losing the fluidity with which he’d guided me. His touch on my wrists and against the backs of my legs became practical. An instructor nudging a pupil.

No, you aren’t her, he said. But she’s part of you. Zyri and I will never be reunited. At best, I may be able to speak to her through you. Sometimes I think . . . wouldn’t it be better to have part of her than nothing at all? And then I realize, maybe it’s not just Zyri that I want.

I swallowed. Hard. Abruptly, memories of Tyrak filled my heart. His breath on my neck, hands buried in my hair, tugging my head back while he kissed the line of my jaw.

Of Zyri’s jaw, I reminded myself.

My head was spinning. I couldn’t do this.

Desperate to escape the room, I staggered for the door and threw it open, remembering only at the last minute to dash back to my bed and scoop up the coins. Duty. As long as I focused on that, I could keep hold of myself.

A wobbly staircase led from the ground up to the rickety balcony outside my rented room. Hurrying down it, I headed for the barracks strip.

All the while, I felt Tyrak with me.

Chapter Twenty-One

TWO DAYS LATER, Mother and I spread the word among our sparse contacts. Another resistance meeting, this time at the edge of the itinerant tents—though there’d been no sighting of House guards at the beach, we felt the precaution of determining a location just prior to the meeting was still wise. As dusk fell, she and I arrived with a few minutes to spare.

Jet joined us first, and with him came almost a dozen men. He’d sent me an update via a messenger, claiming he’d done better recruiting this time, but I hadn’t expected quite so many. Three of his wardens were armed with the swords and bucklers I’d supplied. The others carried their own weapons. Nodding at him, I made a mental note of the additional coin I’d want to deliver the following day, enough to order more weapons from the first blacksmith, plus extra to help Jet find another capable smith. We’d need multiple people working on outfitting our troops if the resistance kept growing.

I kept my face even as more people filtered into the small clearing—we’d chosen a copse of trees between the nearest farm and the trampled area of the tents. But inside, I felt a flare of hope. I wanted to fall on my knees in relief. But I couldn’t let them know I’d worried I would fail.

The crowd in the clearing swelled to at least twenty-five, and it wasn’t yet time to start. I hid my smile when the Outer Islander who’d slipped away from the first meeting stalked into the clearing with a group of her fellow refugees. As the crowd grew, I revised my estimate on costs yet again. Between paying for weapons and the rent on the new rooms for my family, the first coin pouch would be flat within a day. I’d need to fetch another from a stash outside the city.

The leatherworker from the first meeting approached me.

“All right, Councilor Boket. We’re giving you a chance. It’s time you prove your worth.”

I swallowed as she walked away. Though I had no intent of letting her down, of course I had my doubts. I couldn’t let them show, though. As the final stragglers slipped into the clearing, I hopped onto a stump. The size of the crowd and the gathering shadows kept me from seeing all the faces. My heart thumped when I considered how easy it would be for a trader spy to blend in.

“Thank you for coming,” I said. “We’ll keep this short, because a gathering this size will draw attention. First of all, I’d like Jet to give a report on the barracks situation.”

My general joined me. Head and shoulders taller than I was, he needed no stump to command attention.

“Thanks to the Councilor and the weapons she supplied, we’ve had few harassment incidents. But we’ve had some troubling news. One of my men saw a House guardsman chased from the barracks for attempting to order the soldiers into action against the Ulstats.”

At the thought, my heart sped. It seemed Mareti had been right about the soldiers refusing orders. It wasn’t that surprising, but it was a problem. If the traders couldn’t control their mercenaries, things would only get worse for the gutterborn.

Some of the others didn’t seem to grasp the implications. Near the back of the crowd, a few people cheered.

Clearly unused to speaking in front of a crowd, Jet straightened his shoulders. I sensed he was getting ready to deliver a scolding, and quickly stepped in before he embarrassed anyone.

“And we should follow their example. No more trader rule. Soon, we will have organized enough wardens that we can stop paying the defense tax without fear. For now, though, I believe Jet has some concerns regarding this new development.”

Jet cleared his throat. “Yes, well, here’s the worry. Until about ten days ago, the Ulstats were the second-largest contributor to soldier stipends. With their House now opposing the Trader Council, the soldiers’ pay will be severely reduced. Some will be forced to find work elsewhere. That’s the problem with mercenary soldiers. They work for whomever can pay them. So right now, most of them are sitting around getting drunk and waiting to see who wins. They’re bored, knee-deep in liquor bottles, and refusing to listen to the people who brought them here. Not a good situation for their neighbors.”

A murmur traveled the crowd. I nodded at Jet, who stepped away and rejoined the audience.

“To start, we’ll be increasing our defense in the barracks strip and along the boundary with the central district. Jet is in charge of recruitment. The extra security is bound to be noticed. We may expect some light retaliation from the traders.”

“I’ve put out word with a few trusted city guardsmen,” Jet added. “If it comes to it, I think most of them will choose us over the Council.”

“Questions?” I asked.

Half a dozen people spoke at once.

“When are you taking us to the volcano?” someone asked, louder than the others.

In response, the others quieted. I wondered how many in the group had been wondering the same thing. Had I said something to give the impression that we’d be able to settle Ioene immediately?

I chewed my lip, considering. “No one can live there now. The first step is defeating Mieshk Ulstat. I’ll bring a group of men and women who are ready to fight, but no more than we need to assure victory. The Vanished say will be able to heal the island afterward, make it like it was during their time.”

“So after you heal it, you’ll take us?” the same man asked. “I want to get my family away from the traders for good.”

“Well, freedom from the traders is something I’m promising, even here in Istanik. Actually, I can’t promise it because I can’t be sure we’ll win. But I won’t give up either. They’ll have to kill me to end the resistance. And yes, once it’s safe, I’ll lead anyone there who wants to go.”

Faint grumblings rose from the crowd, but only a couple people left the clearing. Watching them go, I knew I’d taken a risk. Someone would report this to the Trader Council, likely in hopes of a reward. My heart thudded hard, but I’d known the risks from the beginning. Chin raised, I stared at the remaining gutterborn.

“Anything else?”

Silence followed.

“Good,” I said. “Now, as glad as I am that you’re here, I don’t believe we can meet like this again. We’re too visible in a group this large. Before we leave, I need you to nominate leaders. We’ll meet daily; your leaders will bring you word of our progress and plans. And I hope you’ll also send suggestions back to me.”

Though I was prepared to select people—the leatherworker was among those I’d picked out from the crowd, I found there was no need. Immediately following my words, people clustered together, putting forth names and suggestions. Within just a few minutes, half a dozen representatives stood before me. But the biggest surprise was a face I thought I’d never see again.

Moanet Yiltak.

After the crowd dispersed, only Mother, Moanet, and I remained in the copse of trees. I whirled on her.

“You told me you were sailing away.”

She raised a single eyebrow, ever the trader despite the commoner garb she now wore. “If you’d been in my situation, would you have told the truth? I knew nothing about you other than you’d had the guts to undertake the nightcaller trial. And the . . . short-sightedness to lie when you failed.”

“But what are you doing here?” I asked.

She glanced at my mother, then back over the itinerant camp. “Might we talk elsewhere?”

“Yes, fine.” I stepped out, headed back for the slums. Once we’d passed through the camp, she hurried to walk abreast with me. In the wan green light from the light-bearers’ lanterns, I cast surreptitious glances in her direction. Though her hair wasn’t as expertly cut as it had been when she’d lived as the heir to the most powerful trader House in the Kiriilt Islands, the time away from her mother had only accentuated her beauty. From what I could gather, she’d spent the last months living in the gutter slums. The difficult conditions had etched themselves onto her features, lending a hardness that might have diminished others’ looks but only added to hers.

Mother followed a few steps behind. I considered explaining the situation, but decided to wait until we were somewhere private. Not that I counted the small room above the tailor’s as actual privacy. If anything, the walls—and floor—were thinner than in most buildings. The cobbler worked late most nights. It would be hard to ignore voices filtering down from her rental room.

Though, I shouldn’t call it her rental room—like all gutterborn, she couldn’t actually own property. Because she had a business establishment in the building, the defense tax collectors came to her for the lien payment.

In any case, a closed door and drawn curtains would allow her to speak without worry she’d be seen.

When we reached the derelict stairway that led to my room, I expected Moanet to balk. But she took the steps first, mounting the stairs as if they were the marble flight leading to the front doors of House Yiltak. Before I followed her, I leaned to my mother’s ear.

“Moanet Yiltak,” I whispered. “I’ll tell you more later.”

Moanet waited on the balcony while I fiddled with the lock. The door swung open with a light squeak, something I had no desire to fix now that I’d made myself of interest to the trader guardsmen. As the other two followed me into the room, I lit the simple lamp—no colored oil here—shut and barred the door.

“I can’t offer you melted chocolate,” I said. “Would you like tea?”

Her smile had a hint of wistfulness. “Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

Mother, to her credit, asked no questions. The room had two cots—by leaving the family home, I’d earned myself an upgrade from the bedding spread on the floor—a simple table, and only two chairs. Mother laid down on her cot to give us the table. As Moanet pulled out a chair, I kindled the small fire in the hearth and swung the teakettle into the flames.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you the truth,” Moanet said.

I shrugged. “I’m no stranger to deceit. A few months ago, I’d have been offended, but not now.”

“Ioene was more of an adventure than you’d anticipated,” she said, blandly.

“A bit.”

“When I heard the Nocturnai had returned, I actually went to the quay. As you can imagine, I don’t often leave the slums. I saw you. Your ship. It’s beautiful.”

“Where did your family get the figurine?” I asked.

She quirked her mouth, a strange expression. “My mother wouldn’t tell me, actually. Apparently, Yiltak heirs learn the story after the Nocturnai, but never before.” She shrugged. “I found out anyway.”

After everything I’d learned of Moanet, that didn’t surprise me. “And?”

“It goes almost all the way back to the first Nocturnai. One of my ancestors found it in a sort of shrine that was buried by lava soon after. There was quite a lot of intrigue surrounding the incident. A few suspicious deaths.”

I grimaced.

“Yes, I know. Typical trader. We haven’t changed much over the years.”

“Is that why you . . . left?”

“What I said about eloping was true. But obviously I didn’t leave the Islands, or even Istanik.”

“Your husband’s a commoner?”

“Gutterborn, yes. He cleans stables.”

The teakettle whistled. I grabbed a hook and pulled the arm from the fire, then wrapped a towel around the handle before lifting it and pouring a measure into three mugs. Unlike Nan, I had no silver diffuser. Instead, I pinched a generous measure of loose leaves into each cup. By now, Moanet was likely used to straining her tea through her teeth.

“You must have made quite a few friends to be chosen as a representative,” I said. “Who knows about you?”

“About my parentage, you mean?”

I nodded.

“My husband. You. And . . .” She glanced at the cot.

“My mother. She recently came back from the Outer Isles. You can trust her—she doesn’t know enough people to let your secret out.”

Moanet nodded. “I’d trust her regardless.”

“So you invented a history?”

Moanet grinned—she seemed genuinely happy with her situation. “Inkirri Stonek, come to Istanik from Orteshk Island.” She mimed a little bow. “I was apprenticed to a bird-keeper there, raising fishing gulls to drive the schools into the nets, but the birds took ill. My master wasn’t able to support my training. I’m learning scribing now—I’ve heard I’m a quick study.”

I smiled when she winked. Of course she’d learn quickly. Most likely, Moanet’s only difficulty was disguising her skill while pretending to advance in lettering. While I was one of the lucky gutterborn to receive teaching in reading and writing—thanks to my obsession with the Nocturnai logs and the hours I spent begging Da to spend precious coin for lessons—very few gutterborn had more than basic ability to write numbers for sums and to sign their names. Moanet, on the other hand, had been groomed from birth to head a trader House.

“It doesn’t bother you, everything you left?” I was genuinely curious. After my recent glimpses into trader life, I wondered how anyone could manage to give it up.

“Not once I understood who suffered for it.”

As I wrapped my hand around my chipped mug, I looked her in the eye. I’d trusted her twice, and both had ended in problems for me. But seeing her dressed in gutter garb, not bothered by the relative squalor in which I lived, I realized I’d gladly trust her again.

“So you plan to unseat your mother,” I said.

She shrugged. “She’s not so bad, as far as traders go. If not for the Council, I suspect she’d be willing to consider new ideas. But when I heard you were leading a rebellion—”

“Resistance. Ideally, no one gets hurt.”

“Whatever you call it, the traders will see nothing short of an uprising to be suppressed.”

“I’m hoping they’re too distracted by the Ulstats to organize against us.”

From her cot, Mother chimed in: “Right now, though, all they need to do is eliminate the leader.”

“She has a point,” Moanet said. “Anyway, if all you need are a few ships and fighters, why not leave Istanik altogether? You’d have to be able to recruit from somewhere.”

“I thought about it. But Raav is here. My family, too.”

“Raav . . . I heard about you two. But I think there’s more to it. I think you actually care about changing things here.”

“I do.”

“Enough that you didn’t actually make Ioene the first priority. Maybe you needed to make sure the Kiriilt Islands were worth saving before you sailed into the dark to be a hero.”

A sideways glance at my mother showed her amusement at Moanet’s words. I felt exposed under the former trader’s keen gaze, and dropped my eyes to the table as I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest as protection.

“Whatever the reason, this is the path I chose,” I said, knowing it was a weak response.

“We all make choices. Some are just more difficult than others,” she said quietly. I knew she was thinking of everything she abandoned when she eloped.

“I agree with you about your mother,” I said. “She seemed willing to consider what I had to say about Ioene. But with the new situation . . . What happens if you have to choose between fighting House Yiltak or betraying the gutterborn?”

Moanet’s eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t that be clear based on where I am?”

“I need to hear you say it,” I said. “Too many people are depending on me.”

“Fine. Yes. If I have to fight my mother, I will. But you’re missing an advantage, Lilik. When the time comes, you should use me. I’m one of the few things House Yiltak and the Council will never expect. Anyway, if we win this thing, the rules about commoners and traders won’t matter anymore. I can have it all. My House and my love.”

“Your House won’t be the same after this. Everyone will bear the burden of defending the Islands. There won’t be a Trader Council dictating Kiriilti laws.”

She shrugged a single shoulder. “I gave it away once. I’m not afraid to lose what I no longer have.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

AS THE ULSTAT siege dragged on, everyone in the city grew restless, eager to quarrel as a means to diffuse the constant, simmering fear of the cannons. Five days after I reunited with Moanet, a squad of drunken barracks soldiers pushed into the slum, pounding on doors and demanding cash, favors, or just to laugh at the expense of the poor. More than one boy thought he’d defend his family and came away with bruises.

Jet’s wardens responded, sending the soldiers back with heavy injuries. In less than an hour, a cadre of House guard marched on the slums, demanding Jet’s fighters disarm and desist. A sword slash to the face of the Council sergeant sent them scurrying.

That night, House guards accompanied the light-bearers. With speaking horns raised, they declared a curfew. Any commoner seen in the streets more than an hour after dark would be locked in the prison.

My people refused. Standing on the balcony, I watched as they flooded the streets, a sea of heads beneath the glow of the moon and the light-bearers’ lanterns.

A runner brought word to my home. Within the first hours of the night, the traders had arrested fifty gutterborn. Patrols sent by the Council were pulling people at random from the crowd, battering any resisters, then dragging them off to a holding area outside the prison. Meanwhile, the gutterborn chanted and raised torches and continued to mass. Small squads of elite guardsmen had been spotted asking for my whereabouts—apparently, the Council had decided the easiest way to disable the resistance was to eliminate its figurehead. Jet and the rest of my leadership advised me to stay inside. They said they’d come to me.

But I wouldn’t hide, not while my people were risking arrest in defense of our cause. I snatched a cloak from the pile at the foot of my bed, tucked my head into the hood, and hurried to fountain square.

The water had been turned off and pooled, motionless, at the base. Was this an attempt by the traders to take away our pride since they couldn’t control our actions? I could only guess. But the dry tiers of carved granite gave me an idea. With a running leap, I snatched the rim of the lowest one, pulled up and threw a leg over. The other tiers were an easy reach, and within minutes I stood on the top of the fountain.

I threw off my cloak, pulled up the sleeves of my jacket, and showed the crowd my scars.

A hush settled over the mob as people noticed me, pointing and whispering. After a moment, those closest took up a cheer. I gave them a moment, not because I wanted the adulation, but because I knew they needed the chance to celebrate. After more than a hundred years, we were taking our city, island, and nation back.

“No more defense tax,” I yelled.

“No more defense tax!” they echoed.

“We choose our own leaders!”

“We choose our own leaders!”

“No more barracks army!”

“No more barracks army!”

One by one, I cried out our changes, and the gathered crowd echoed them. After, I patted the air, calling for quiet. Stillness crept over the crowd, and they watched me, rapt.

I slid Tyrak from his sheath and held the dagger aloft.

“I’m holding a nightforged weapon,” I called. “With it, I can defend myself, repel an attacker, even take a life.” Slowly and deliberately, I replaced the blade in its sheath. “I am prepared to do what I must to protect those I love. But using my weapon on someone will always be my last resort. Over the next few days, your nominated leaders and I will be attempting to speak with the Trader Council. We will present our demands and ask for a peaceable resolution. I see you, eager and ready to fight. With our numbers, we could take the city by force. We could swarm the Ulstat warships. But I’m asking for your patience. Return to your homes now, as a gesture of respect to the old order. Keep the curfew. If the collectors come, bar your doors against them, but do not fight unless you have no other choice. You will hear from me soon. The resistance will not be stopped. Have faith and remain strong.”

A roar erupted from the crowd. Though a few, mostly young men, showed anger at the idea of delaying action, the older people in the crowd laid restraining hands on their shoulders.

You did well, Tyrak said.

I hope so. I am still afraid that people will get hurt.

Not as many as if you did nothing.

I nodded agreement. The crowd had begun to disperse, and as I crouched to begin climbing down from the fountain, I heard the clang of steel from the far side of the square.

A dozen Yiltak House guards burst from one alley, while a contingent from a mid-level House, the Majkuts, marched from another side street, swords bared. Growling, they swung at nearby commoners, not aiming to hit, but slicing flesh all the same. People shrieked and chaos erupted. From the rear of the Majkut contingent, an arrow streaked across the square, whizzing by my ear with a hiss. My heart leaped in my chest. As I jumped down to the lower tier, the archer reloaded. The next arrow glanced off the stone less than a hand’s span from my neck.

Chapter Twenty-Three

ACROSS FOUNTAIN SQUARE, blades slashed at helpless citizens. A baker defended herself with a rolling pin, catching the thrust of a sword on its wooden roller. The guard wielding the sword snarled and yanked his weapon free, then sent the flat of the blade into her shoulder. She dropped the pin, crying out until a fist smashed her jaw and she crumpled.

Torches fell to the damp cobbles, sputtering and dying. As more and more people flooded the square, pushing the light-bearers into alleys and around corners, darkness fell over the area. Grunts and screams and roars of anger rolled through the air, echoing off buildings. More gutterborn fell beneath swords and cudgels, others stumbled and went down in the chaos of the melee.

In the pool beneath the fountain, a boy not much older than twelve lay bleeding from a slash to his thigh. He looked up at me with dazed eyes as I crouched, trying to use the low rim of the exposed fountain tier as a shield against more arrows.

It was all happening so fast. As my hand whipped to Tyrak’s hilt, I spotted a group of Jet’s wardens forcing their way into the square. Voice booming, Jet ordered the defenseless gutterborn away from the fighting. Guarded by the swords of his wardens, he stooped to help a wounded woman to her feet before handing her off to a fleeing pair of commoners.

Swords flashed as the wardens formed up in the space left by retreating citizens. The House guards outnumbered the wardens at least three to one. I shook my head at the odds. No matter how well Jet’s men fought, it wouldn’t be enough.

I pulled Tyrak free and bunched my legs to stand.

No, he said. Wait. Listen.

From behind came the sound of organized footfalls. Mercenaries? More House guards? I sidled around the fountain to get a glimpse. My breath caught when I saw a contingent of city guardsmen near the entrance to the square.

Which side were they on? Jet had mentioned allies among the city guard, but had he succeeded in turning the whole force against the Council?

When the city guardsmen stepped into the open square, the small skirmishes along the front lines of the opposing forces halted. Jet’s wardens backed off a few paces to protect their flank from the newcomers. The leader of the Yiltak contingent grinned, teeth shining in the glow from one of the abandoned torches that still burned.

In the sudden stillness, his gaze arrowed to mine.

“Nightcaller Boket,” he called. “My employer has been looking for you.”

Though I knew I risked exposing myself to the archer who’d nearly skewered me twice, I stood tall.

“It’s Councilor Boket,” I responded. “And I’d be glad to speak with Trader Yiltak and the other trader representatives as soon as is convenient. With the rescinding of the defense bargain, there are many details to work out.”

Jet caught my eye, and with a subtle shake of his head, tried to caution me. I pretended I couldn’t see him in the dimness.

“Your people are going to start dying unless you surrender,” the Yiltak guard said.

I wished I knew where the city guard stood. Hoping for a clue, I glanced at the men and women near the front of their group. Unfortunately, I couldn’t discern anything besides a readiness to fight.

Beneath me, the boy with the injured leg whimpered. Most of the unarmed gutterborn had retreated, and those who could still stand watched from the alleys. Surveying Jet’s forces, I estimated about twenty men and women had come with him. During our last meeting, he’d informed me that he’d recruited and armed over two hundred. But we had a long border with the barracks to defend. After the problems with the mercenaries today, Jet would have left most of his fighters to defend the lower edge of our district. They probably had no idea what was happening in fountain square. Was there any way I could get a signal to them? Could they arrive in time to change the odds here?

And why was I considering letting this fight go on? Hadn’t I just told the gutterborn that we would only fight if given no other options?

“So if I surrender, you’ll let everyone go home?” I asked, playing for time while I thought.

“Don’t do it,” one of Jet’s men called. Jet silenced him with a sharp gesture. Meanwhile, I strained my ears for the sound of someone—anyone—coming to our aid.

“Depends on how quickly you make up your mind,” the Yiltak man called. “And how sincere your apology is.”

I glanced down at the cobbles, wondering how to get down from my perch. I really didn’t want to turn my back on the House guards.

The leader of the Yiltak men slapped the flat of his sword against a hardened leather bracer covering his forearm. “I’m giving you another minute. After that, people start—”

A shriek echoed off the buildings surrounding the square, cutting the man short. Down on the cobbles, guardsmen and wardens all spun, seeking the source of the noise. Eyes glinting in the dimness, I caught sudden motion as Nan’s leatherworker burst from the edge of the square, a disorganized mass of commoners following. Raising fire pokers and hatchets used for splitting kindling, leather punches and kitchen knives, they fell on the House guards.

Finally, the city guard acted, shoving into the flank of the Majkut House force.

As chaos gripped the square, I sagged back against the fountain’s pillar. I’d been moments from surrender, having decided it would be better than letting my people face these odds.

My gaze locked with the injured boy’s. The fountain’s pool was dark around his body, stained by his lifeblood.

What if he died tonight? It would be my fault. My choice.

Tyrak, this can’t happen now. Even if we win, it won’t be a victory.

I know, Lilik.

I can’t stop it.

You can.

How?

Jump, he said.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“WHAT?” I SAID aloud, eying the square.

Jump, Lilik! Tyrak said, his voice urgent.

I stared at the fighting below. The drop from the fountain was at least the height of two men. If I leaped, I’d likely break something.

I can’t!

With a whoosh, Tyrak entered my mind. He filled my thoughts with the surety that I could leap and live.

Open yourself, he commanded in a tone I’d never heard. Jump.

Without thinking, I opened myself to the world of the nightstrands, bunched my legs, and leaped from the fountain.

The air around me warmed, buoying me as if I’d slid into a bath of hot water. On instinct, I went limp. As I fell toward the crowd, I felt a tugging at my scars. At first a sting, then a slicing burn, and moments later a searing pain like my nerves were being torn from my skin.

From the knobs on my spine, the scars crisscrossing my arms and palms, a force held me aloft, arms spread. Floating above the crowd, I spun slowly. It was both agony and ecstasy.

Beneath me, mouths opened. Eyes went wide, glinting in the night air. The House guards retreated, stumbling into one another. After a few heartbeats more, I lowered to the ground, alighting in a cleared area of cobblestones.

The pain ceased and Tyrak withdrew. My knees buckled and I fell to a crouch. Quickly, the crowd surged forward. Someone dropped a cloak over me, while others helped me to my feet.

“Everyone!” I yelled. “Leave! This! Place!”

The House guards scattered, vanishing into the dark of the slums. I had no doubt they’d regroup. I could only hope the gutterborn would be gone by then.

“This is not the time!” I called as Jet’s fighters surrounded me, shielding me from any potential attacks. “Go to your homes. Don’t give them the excuse.”

Moving in tight formation, the gutterborn wardens escorted me from the square. In their midst, I stumbled, exhausted from my . . . from whatever that was.

What happened, Tyrak? I don’t understand.

The spirits within Istanik are lost. Confused. But you are a channeler. If enough of them touch you, they can move you.

You spoke to them?

I have no way to contact them. They felt your need and they answered. My guess is they had little understanding why they came or what they did. It was instinct.

My escorts had guided me into a narrow alley. At the head of our group, a wide-shouldered man pushed aside a throng of onlookers.

“You heard the Councilor. Back to your homes,” he growled.

From behind, I heard a few shouts as at least a handful of House guards rallied. Moments later, my defenders turned, ready to fend off any attempts at my capture.

Before they could stop me, I cut to the side and ran. These people had done enough. I wouldn’t let them stand against House guardsmen.

“Jet,” I yelled once I was out of reach, “get them out of here. Melt away and fight another time.” Before I turned a corner, I saw him nod. Already, the wardens farthest from the guardsmen had started to break off, fleeing into the dark.

Alleys wound through the slums, a warren of tunnels through the night. When I spotted the glow from a light-bearer’s pole, I turned aside. Fortunately, years of egg deliveries meant I knew the district like I knew my father’s face. My roundabout route took three times what a direct path would have, but I arrived home safely.

Mother threw open the door when she heard my feet on the landing.

“Lilik,” she hissed. “Hurry.”

She snatched my elbow, tugging me inside. The glare of the lanterns blinded me, and I blinked against the light.

“I’m fine, Mum,” I said, pulling my arm away.

“Lilik. Thank the tides!”

I whirled at the sound of Captain Altak’s voice.

“You’re back!” I cried. “How did you find me?”

As my eyes adjusted, unease settled over me. The captain’s face was drawn, deep lines etched alongside his mouth.

“Your location isn’t a big secret amongst the gutterborn, Lilik. You ought to move more often. And yes, unfortunately, I’m back. Zyri’s Promise is in a small anchorage half a day’s ride along the coast. Lilik, there’s a problem.”

“What? What is it?”

“It’s Nyralit. We put in at Tuuk for resupply and to recruit reinforcements against the Ulstats. Unfortunately, Mieshk’s family had been there first. Our shore party was attacked. Gaff is hurt, a sword to the belly—he’ll live, I think. We thought we were dead until the raiders grabbed Nyralit. They ran off with her and left us bleeding. I had to decide between going after them—and taking more casualties—or getting Gaff back to a healer.”

While he spoke, Captain Altak’s hands trembled. I could only imagine how he felt, after being forced to abandon his beloved.

“But why?” I asked.

“We heard rumors, but I suspect you can figure it out without me telling you.”

“Ioene,” I said. “Mieshk and Avilet are the only nightcallers remaining on the island. If the Ulstats want to build a full coven, they’ll need more. And Nyralit could train them.”

“That’s my suspicion as well. But there’s another implication—we’ve been distracted by the Ulstat presence here, and haven’t even thought about Ioene. If they get there before us, they’ll only strengthen Mieshk’s hold.”

“Why do they think Nyralit would help them?”

He shrugged. “Why do the Ulstats do anything?”

“If we got ships around their blockade here, could we stop them at Ioene? Do they have the strength to fight in both places?”

The captain planted his boots shoulder-width before his chair and leaned his elbows onto his knees. “Doesn’t really matter. All they need is one ship carrying nightcallers. It’s not soldiers that give her strength. It’s nightstrands.”

Rot. He was right.

“We have much to figure out,” the captain said. “But I did have a spot of good news for you.”

“Oh?” I wasn’t particularly convinced. Having just gained enough leverage that a return to Ioene seemed possible within the next few weeks, now it seemed I needed to solve the problem within days if I wanted any hope of beating the Ulstats to the island.

Captain Altak rotated and kicked the leg of the cot I’d been sleeping in. From underneath, a messy head of hair appeared, followed by narrow shoulders. When the boy looked up, he gave a wide grin.

“Geren!” I said. I whirled on the captain. “Where did you find him?”

“Skink here was living it up on the north shore of Orteshk Island. Apparently, after we set him free from the Evaeni, he landed in a small colony of shepherds and was quite persuasive when they sent a shipment of wool south to the Outer Isles. He’d been wandering from place to place using that grin of his to work his way back toward Istanik.”

Geren had squirmed the rest of the way from beneath the bed—collecting not a small measure of dust in the process—and sat on his heels grinning. “My mum was furious, but then I told her I knew Nightcaller Boket.”

I ruffled the boy’s hair. Yes, the news was nearly good enough to lift my despair over Nyralit’s abduction. Geren had stowed away on the Evaeni, and the Nocturnai leadership had had no choice but to sentence him to execution. The night before his death, the boy had been freed. Unbeknownst to me, that had been the leaders’ plan all along. After giving him a rowboat and directions to the nearest island, they’d left him behind. I’d hoped but never quite believed that he’d make it to land alive.

“Well, tell your mother that Nightcaller Boket thinks you should help with extra chores for the next ten years to make up for worrying her so badly.”

In response, Geren stuck his tongue out at me.

“I’m off to rest, Lilik,” Captain Altak said. “Let’s meet tomorrow. And try to do better staying out of sight.”

With that, he rose heavily from his chair and stomped to the door. Nyralit’s disappearance weighed on him, that much was obvious.

“We’ll get her back, Captain,” I said as he slipped outside, Geren on his heels.

The big man simply shrugged. “I hope you’re right, Lilik.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

IN THE MORNING, Mother and I organized our things in preparation to move. It seemed like we’d just arrived here, but I trusted Captain Altak’s advice. I needed to be hard to find if I wanted to stay out of the Council’s hands.

“That dagger of yours . . .” Mother said.

“Yes?”

“It’s nightforged.”

“Captain Altak gave it to me.”

She cocked her head. “Sometimes I have the sense that you’re speaking to it. I feel like if I could just concentrate hard enough, I could hear what you’re saying. Maybe even talk to it, too.”

I blushed, instantly embarrassed at the idea of my mother listening in on me and Tyrak. I didn’t respond right away. What would Tyrak want me to say? Would it bother him to have the whole history with me and Zyri out in the open?

You should tell her, he said.

Are you sure you can’t hear all my thoughts?

“There!” Mother said. “I just felt it again. You’re talking to it.”

“I can—I mean, I am. It’s because I have an . . . affinity for it.”

She folded a blouse, hand-embroidered and decorated with shells from an Outer Isles beach, and set it into her small trunk. “What does that mean?”

“Well . . . the Vanished had a practice of allowing spirits who were tempted by the fire to bond with a family heirloom. Descendants and anyone close to the person when they were alive could sense the vitality, even if they couldn’t speak directly to the soul within the object.”

“But you can. Are you a descendant of whoever’s—” She gestured at the dagger. “—in there?”

I shook my head. This was hard to describe. “When I was on Ioene, one of the nightstrands offered her memories to me. The soul in the dagger was her lover. His name is Tyrak.”

Mother’s brows raised. “I see.”

“Almost anyone who owns a nightforged object forms a sort of bond with it. My memories of Zyri strengthen ours, I’m sure. But I think my channeling talent gives Tyrak and me a stronger connection. He called it a shadowbond once.” I paused for a moment. “Have you ever sensed anything from a nightcrafted object?”

Her smile was amused. “You think I’ve ever had a chance to own something like that?”

I pulled my backpack off a nail on the wall and pulled open the drawstring. Unlike Mother, I had no proper trunk for my possessions. But a backpack was easier to move, anyway. “No, I guess not.”

“We have legends in the Outer Isles about rare objects with such beauty or craftsmanship they gained their own souls, gifts from the aether. Some sort of mixed up stories passed down from the Vanished, I bet. I wonder why no one ever realized what nightforging actually did. Until you, of course.”

“It’s not like I realized it either. The Vanished had to tell me.”

I stuffed the cloak I’d been given last night into the bottom of the pack. The edge of the coin pouch peeked from the rafters where I’d stashed it. At this point, there seemed little point in hiding it from Mother. She’d be with me until this was over. Anyway, she didn’t know about the other caches. I’d already emptied the pouches from three of them, but had eight left. Climbing onto my cot, I stretched up and pulled it down.

If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. “One of the stories is about a necklace. Your pendant reminds me of it.”

I hadn’t thought of Paono’s pendant in a long time, aside from the vague awareness of it settled against my breastbone. I wore it under my shirts to keep it hidden; Mother must have noticed it when I was changing clothes.

“Because it was a sea opal?” I asked.

“The swirling colors. Your necklace is nightforged, too, right?”

I nodded. “But I can’t speak with it.”

“Well, in the story, an Outer Islander found the necklace washed ashore—funny how so many legends begin that way. She wore it, and after a time felt as if the necklace had taken a part of her soul. Not because she was lacking, but because when she put it on, she felt more alive.

“At first, her husband believed her story about finding the necklace, but after a while, when she refused to take it off, he became jealous. He forced her to remove it and threw it into the waves. The woman was so sad after that she wouldn’t eat, hardly slept. Finally, the husband dove into the sea to look for it. The necklace was gone, the woman died of grief, and the husband vowed he’d never give up until he found and destroyed the necklace.

“Well, what he didn’t know is that a little girl from the village was like you. She’d found the necklace, and could hear it speaking to her. The spirit inside the pendant grieved for its previous owner and feared for the girl’s safety. It begged the girl to find a way to free it so that no one else would suffer the first woman’s fate. It took many years—the girl kept it hidden this whole time—but finally she found a priestess who claimed she could set the spirit free.

“The legend goes on and on, but eventually the girl and priestess sailed far into the northern sea. After weeks, they made landfall on shores of fire. There the priestess was able to remove the spirit, who kissed the girl one time on the forehead before vanishing. After that, the necklace was a simple, dull blue. The girl wore it in her wedding, and the husband of the dead woman didn’t even recognize it. But when the girl’s first child was born, sick and unlikely to live, the girl went to the sea and cried. A storm blew up, and the next day a flower lay on the sand. Thinking it beautiful, the girl brought it to her infant daughter, who immediately strengthened from the perfume. Always, she felt this was a gift of gratitude from her necklace spirit, and she wore the pendant until the day she died.”

While she’d spoken, my hand had wandered to Tyrak’s hilt. A shore of fire. Objects with spirits within. Could the legend truly have come all the way down from the Vanished? Peldin had said that the binding of soul to object was permanent, but if I could somehow free Tyrak and the others I could undo the horrors we’d caused with centuries of Nocturnais.

What do you think? I asked Tyrak.

You shouldn’t get your hopes up. We had many similar legends in my time, but no one ever separated a bound soul from their object.

“Well,” Mother said, “I thought you might want to hear the story. I know you regret what we’ve done to the nightstrands. Maybe we’ll find a way to fix it someday.”

“I’d like that, Mother.”

As I folded my spare tunic and stuffed it into the backpack, a knock came at the door. I hurried to the window and peered out a crack between the curtains, my hand upon the thick piece of wood we used to bar the door.

A woman I didn’t recognize stood on the landing. She wore a simple cloak, unadorned clothing, and scuffed boots, but something in her bearing suggested she moved in more trader circles than gutter slums.

Letting the curtain fall back into place, I slid to the other window which overlooked the alley. Aside from a couple of pigeons pecking through a small heap of apple cores and onion tops, the cobblestones were empty; if the woman had brought others with her, they weren’t showing themselves.

Footfalls shook the small landing as the woman moved to the curtained window. “Message for you,” she said, holding an envelope up to the glass. I nudged the stained fabric of the drape aside and read the lettering.

To: Lilik Boket, Prime Councilor, gutter district

From: Olev Ulstat, Prime Trader, House Ulstat

At the sight of his name, my lip twitched. “Not interested,” I said through the door.

The woman’s shadow retreated from the window. “I think you will be.”

A solid thunk shook the door, and I jumped back, hand falling on Tyrak’s hilt. Moments later, however, the woman left, her footfalls shaking the splintering staircase. In the silence that followed, Mother and I stared at one another.

I shrugged and opened the door. The morning sun glinted off the nightforged blade of the boot knife the woman had used to pin the letter to the wood. Mother’s eyes widened at the gesture. Trader Ulstat clearly wanted to prove something by using a nightforged weapon where a simple hammer and bootnail would have worked to fasten paper to wood.

After slipping the new nightforged blade into my satchel—I had an idea of what I might do with it—I read the message aloud to my mother.

Councilor Boket,

House Ulstat requests a meeting. A skiff will bring you to the Ulstat flagship. Arrive at the seaward aspect of the northern harbor guardstone at midday. After the discussion, you will be returned to shore, your safety guaranteed by trader honor.

Signed,

Olev Ulstat

Chapter Twenty-Six

IN FOUNTAIN SQUARE, I thought I’d saved the gutter district from any more damage by stopping the fighting. I was wrong.

I learned the news as soon as I descended the staircase and looked around. Even though the brawl in fountain square was largest of the fights, nowhere in the slums had escaped damage. If anything, the spots where House guardsmen had tried to intimidate handfuls of gutterborn had fared worse. Belongings were strewn in the streets, yanked from homes by Council guards. In a few places, the traders’ fighters had tried to light fires. Thankfully, the gutterborn had managed to chase them off and smother the flames.

But the devastation didn’t hurt nearly as much as the news one of Jet’s runners brought from the barracks strip. There, the wardens had endured half a dozen different clashes with the mercenaries. Two men had died. For me.

Mother followed me as I walked slowly through the slums, bound for the strip. The search for a new place to stay could wait.

On an alley near Nan’s cottage, broken glass glittered on the cobbles, like stars fallen in the night. Two doors out of the half-dozen opening onto the narrow street had been broken down, hinges ripped from the walls. Inside, families sat around breakfast tables. When I caught a mother’s eye, I expected blame, anger. Instead I saw determination.

“We’re no worse off than when the collectors come,” she called out the door. “Doors can be mended.”

I tried to take heart from her encouragement, but the sight of her young son crawling on a floor where House guards had stomped booted feet and threatened innocent people with nightforged weapons wouldn’t leave my mind. I’d started this battle. If we didn’t win, the blame for the gutter downfall would be mine alone.

“What are you going to do about the Ulstat meeting?” Mother asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to lose the opportunity to talk with them. It’s important to know your enemy.”

But you’d be an idiot to let them take you aboard one of their ships, Tyrak said.

I cleared my throat. “But I’d be an idiot to get in their boat.”

Sounds like something I’d say.

“You’re doing it again, right?” Mother asked. “I feel like I was so close to hearing this time.”

Hello, Lilik’s mother!

“Her name’s Maajidi.” I squeezed the dagger hilt.

“Do you think it’s possible?” she asked.

I shrugged. “We’re . . . family. The affinity probably extends to you.”

Family. Even though I’d forgiven her—mostly, anyway—for abandoning us, I still found the word hard to say. She might be my mother, but I just couldn’t put her in the same category as Da and Jaret. I suspected it would probably always be that way. But seeing the way her face lit when I called her my family, I hoped I could manage to love her someday. At least a little. No matter what wrongs she’d done before, she was doing her utmost to make up for them.

We turned the corner onto the street that ran closest to Nan’s, and I sighed in relief. Her cottage was unharmed, the door securely closed, drapes drawn over unbroken windows. A small curl of smoke drifted from the chimney. Ordinarily, I would stop to check on her. But not until I finished delivering my condolences.

“Do you know the way?” Mother asked.

“Jet said a man will meet me at the edge of the strip.”

I thought about what Jet’s messenger had told me regarding the lost wardens. They’d been trapped in a scuffle against both mercenaries and House guards. One had died on the street, and the other had succumbed overnight despite the healers’ attempts to save him. Both men had been husbands. One left two children behind.

Mother’s face was somber, her voice low. “The collectors kill more people than anyone admits. They go too far trying to extract the tax. When someone is reported as missing, we all know what really happened.”

I shook my head. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but it doesn’t change anything. If not for me, Aronek Kanit and Bur Troanevi would have woken up alive this morning. Maybe the tax collectors would have killed them another day, another year. But last night was on me. I can’t make it better, but I can take responsibility.”

She sighed. “I shouldn’t try to make you feel better with empty reassurances. It’s hard for a mother to see her child hurting. But I’m proud of you, Lilik. So proud.”

As am I. You are . . . Well, you know how I feel, Tyrak said.

I nodded. I knew what both of them felt about me. And down inside, even if I had moments of doubt, I believed I could live up to their respect. But that didn’t change the task that lay ahead. Jaw clenched, I put one foot in front of the other.

At the street marking the edge of the strip, I spotted one of Jet’s men two corners down. He noticed me and came at a brisk walk.

“Councilor.” He seemed unsure whether to bow, salute, or simply shake hands.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I said. “Which one is first?”

“Aronek Kanit’s wife. She’s close.”

The warden turned on his heels and led off into the barracks strip. After a few hundred paces, he headed up a dark stairwell and knocked at the door for a second-story room.

The dead man’s wife answered, face tear-streaked. When she spotted me, she slammed the door.

Guilt slapped me like a breaking wave. I’d at least hoped for the chance to tell her how much her husband’s bravery meant to everyone. But I wasn’t the bereaved one here. I closed my eyes while I controlled my emotions, remembering how I’d felt on Ioene when Peldin spoke to me after Heiklet’s death. How much angrier would I have felt if she’d been my sister rather than a close friend?

I dropped my walls, reaching for the dead man’s spirit. Hello? Arokek? Only silence answered my thought. Maybe I could try again later, after his wife had a chance to grieve in peace. Swinging my backpack off a shoulder, I pulled out the first of two packets of coins I’d quickly bundled and left it in front of her door.

“I’m deeply sorry,” I called through the door. The money wouldn’t bring back her husband, but it would make things easier for a while.

Swallowing, I turned to the warden. “And the other?”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to deliver your regrets to the family? It might be easier.”

“It’s not about easy,” I said. “They need to know the sacrifices mean something.”

You sure that’s the whole explanation? Tyrak asked. You aren’t just punishing yourself as a way to get rid of your guilt? Because it doesn’t work that way.

I considered his words. Though he hadn’t accused me outright, the hidden meaning was there. Was I martyring myself, thinking that could absolve me for decisions that ended in the men’s deaths?

No, I said. I need to do this because I’m their leader. I don’t expect thanks or forgiveness, but I hope someday the families will look back and realize their loved ones died for something worthwhile. For someone who understood the sacrifices she was asking for.

As we descended the stairs, Tyrak slipped from the dagger and surrounded me, briefly, with the sense of his body. Warm and steady, he walked within and around me, before retreating to the bounds of the dagger.

I’m here for you, he said.

Outside, the alley was quiet. Unlike the other parts of the slums where the damage was limited to homes and possessions, the barracks strip had lost people. I felt eyes on me while I followed the warden deeper into the neighborhood but kept my spine straight. Things would probably get much worse before they got better.

“Is Jet down here?” I asked. While we were moving through the streets, I’d come up with an idea for responding to the Ulstats. The proposed time for me to meet with them was fast approaching—the sun would reach its high point within a couple hours. I couldn’t allow them to take me hostage, but I could still keep a dialog open.

“He hasn’t left the post since last night. We are hoping he’ll accept relief soon. Maybe you can convince him.”

I nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

The children of the second man who’d died for my cause were playing on the front stoop. By the look of them, the family hadn’t had much to eat over the last few years. The older, a girl, carried herself like someone who was six or seven, but she was the size of a four-year-old. Her younger brother had arms no bigger around than Tyrak’s hilt. Playing some sort of game with a rag and a handful of stones, the children scarcely looked up at me when I climbed the step.

They don’t know yet, Tyrak said. I’m almost certain of it.

His theory made sense. The children would learn what had happened to their father, but it wouldn’t be an easy conversation. Beside the door, a window was shuttered against the morning. Unlike some areas of the slums, few of the buildings in the strip had glassed windows. Shutters kept out the weather, and unfortunately, the light.

As I tapped lightly on the door, the shutter cracked. A pale face showed in the gap. Moments later, the shutter closed. No one came to the door.

“Mum’s tired this morning,” the girl said. “She doesn’t want us to bother her.”

Swallowing, I crouched down in front of the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Eshali.” She picked up the rag and dropped it over another rock. “These rocks are people. This one is hiding from the soldiers,” she explained. “But the others are brave.”

“They’re all brave,” I said. “Just like you. Would you do me a favor, Eshali? Can you tiptoe inside and put this somewhere your mum will find it when she’s feeling better? You’ll be much quieter than me.” I pulled the other coin packet free and set it at the little girl’s feet.

“Okay, after this game. Towsil!” she screeched, snatching a rock from her brother, who’d plucked it from the playing area and was preparing to throw it across the alley. “That’s Mister Fells!”

“I’d be really grateful if you’d take that in soon,” I said, lowering my voice to a whisper. “It’s an important mission.”

Her eyes brightened as she sprang up to head inside. “Like Da does. He protects us.”

As hard as I tried to remain strong, I couldn’t pretend any longer. Looking at the little girl who’d just lost her da for me, I felt the abrupt urge to be sick. “Yes, like your da,” I said, my voice cracking.

It’s okay, Lilik. You did well.

With a nod to Mother—she understood; her eyes were full of tears—I hurried away from the scene. At the next cross street, I turned hard away from the sight of the children and finally staggered to a wall. My breath came in quick, stabbing inhalations. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I said.

Her arms wrapped me, awkward but warm all the same. “Shh. You can. You will.”

Having followed at a respectful distance, the warden waited silently while I collected myself. By the time I looked at him, a shell of ice encased my heart. It would protect me for a little while, but one wrong move and it would shatter.

“I’m ready to see Jet,” I said.

With a quick bow, the man set off in the lead. The chief warden of the strip wasn’t far; we crossed no more than half a dozen streets before reaching his post. Until recently, I hadn’t realized how small the neighborhood actually was. Most likely, everyone here knew the men who’d been killed.

“You need to let someone else take over for a few hours,” I said as soon as I was in earshot.

Jet’s face was set in hard lines. “I couldn’t walk away until I knew things would be quiet this morning.”

“I don’t want to have to order you.”

The big man smirked. “From anyone else half my height, I wouldn’t consider anything they said an order.”

“But since I’m the one who’s asking . . .”

“Unfortunately, I’m not sure who to get to stand in my place,” Jet hedged.

“I got it, Chief,” our escort quickly volunteered. “Slept from midnight until dawn.”

“I see I’m thoroughly outnumbered,” Jet said with a sigh. “Only the most bullheaded commander ignores the advice of his people.” He looked at me. “And his leader.”

Stiffly, he heaved himself from the stool. When he stretched, his back cracked loud enough to hear from five paces away.

“I’ll walk with you,” I said.

His brows raised. “You want to make sure I don’t sneak back to my post?”

I shrugged. “And I need your help with something.”

“All right, Councilor, it’s a deal.”

I hadn’t thought to ask where Jet lived, but I’d assumed it was somewhere within the strip. When he led Mother and I across the street which marked the unofficial boundary of the neighborhood, I paused, confused.

He glanced at me over his shoulder. “I figured you’d peg me for a strip resident.”

“Only because I found you defending the area.”

“Someone had to step in. I had a selfish interest too. If the soldiers had free reign over the strip, what would stop them from roving farther uphill?”

“Good point.”

“Lilik, about this coming evening,” Jet said. “I sent word through the slums asking people to abide by the curfew. We need more time to prepare defenses before we provoke the Council again.”

“You think they’ll listen?”

He turned and cast me a grin. “Of course. I told them Councilor Boket had ordered it.”

I couldn’t help the little ember of pride that flared when he said it. I’d given him permission to put my name on any decisions he made regarding the warden, but I didn’t think he’d find my approval so important that he’d use it to add weight to his commands.

After another few minutes’ walk, we arrived at a door, iron-bound with hinges that wouldn’t give nearly as easily as the kicked-in doors near Nan’s home. Scanning the front of the building, I noticed sliding panes in the windows rather than the standard fixed framing—on hot days, they could be opened to let the breeze through. A small, potted plant stood beside the door.

Jet pulled a key from his pocket and shoved it into the lock. Another sign that he had more resources than most gutterborn. I wondered about his history.

He satisfied my curiosity as he twisted the doorknob. “My father was a soldier,” he said. “Hired from a filthy port city on the west coast of Reknarish when he was twenty. In addition to his fee for fighting the traders’ wars, he made plenty gambling in the holds of their warships.”

“Reknarish. I’ve never met anyone from that far away.” I’d only heard rumors of the place, a continent so big it took months to sail just one coast.

“You look Kiriilti, though,” Mother said.

“My mother was. Da gave up fighting when they got married. He taught me about war because he thought I should know how to protect myself. And the family he hoped I’d have one day. That part hasn’t been easy to come by, of course.”

“You aren’t married?” I said.

He shrugged. “The right woman hasn’t decided to give me a chance yet.”

I glanced at the single red bud on the plant beside the door. So the flower pot was his? Jet was full of surprises. As for the soldier father, at least I knew where he’d learned tactics. When he fought the mercenaries, did that mean he was battling his father’s friends? Their sons?

“Are your parents alive?” I asked.

Jet shook his head, his expression abruptly sober. “Waikert,” he said simply. Nudging the door opened, he gestured for us to go in first.

“I shouldn’t,” I said, glancing at the sun. “Not much time. But that’s why I wanted to talk to you. I got a message from the Ulstats. They asked me to meet them aboard their flagship. I plan to refuse, but I’d like to suggest an alternative.”

At the mention of House Ulstat, Jet’s face had darkened. He cast a suspicious glance toward the harbor area. “You’re best off avoiding them clean,” he said.

“I’m not so sure. I’m thinking we meet on neutral ground. I’ll demand they send an actual Ulstat. Each of us will be allowed a single adviser plus five armed guards who will stand off at twenty paces.”

Jet balled his hands into fists. “Absolutely not!”

“We can’t give up the chance to get information.”

“Then send me, Lilik. You can’t expose yourself.”

I shook my head. “You have to lead the fighters—they’re lost without you. I’m nothing but a figurehead when it comes to taking back our homes and city.”

“Don’t do this. It’s—”

“I’m going, Jet. I just wanted you to know.”

Standing on his stoop, Jet glared down at me. “I’ll pick the guards then.”

“You can pick three. The other two will come from House Korpit. I plan to take Mareti as my adviser.”

He shook his head, incredulous. “I don’t see why you bothered to tell me this, then.”

“Because you’re my general. And I’m hoping one of your men can take a note describing my terms to the skiff that the Ulstats will send.”

“At least you haven’t decided to do that yourself, too.” He stared at the sky and muttered, “Fool girl.”

In my mind, Tyrak chuckled. This commander of yours has a talent for bluster. But he approves of your plan even if he doesn’t feel he can condone it.

I don’t know about that, Tyrak, I said.

Oh, trust me. Right now, Jet and I share a bond that would be hard for you to understand. More than anything, we want to protect you, but we can’t because to do so, we’d have to control you. Might as well try to contain a typhoon. Best we can do is hold on.

“So you’ll have someone take the letter?” I asked.

Rolling his eyes, Jet nodded. “As you say, Councilor.”

“Good. And Jet? One more thing . . .”

He glanced at me, a brow raised in question.

“I don’t want any arguments about this,” I said.

As I stuck my hand in my backpack and pulled out the nightforged boot knife the Ulstat messenger had left, Jet’s eyes widened.

“I assume you have a suitable holster?”

He stared at the weapon, speechless. Soldier for a father or not, I doubted he’d had a chance to see a nightforged blade up close.

“It’s a little small for a general’s weapon, but will you keep it? For luck?” I asked.

Clapping a hand on my shoulder—I tried not to stagger under his strength—Jet nodded. “Again, as you say, Councilor.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

WHEREAS THE GUTTER slum petered out into the itinerant camp, which in turn faded at the edge of the closest inland farm, the trader district backed up to a steep slope. Nearly sheer in places, the rugged ridgeline wrapped the east side of the harbor and peaked at a flat-topped overlook informally called Trader’s Promontory. The official name, Deviki’s Demise, coined long ago to memorialize one of the early Islanders who had accidentally fallen from the precipice, seemed too morbid for most. In either case, I’d given both names when I sent my message back to House Ulstat. Jet had suggested the location. By picking the highest spot around, I was assured that House Ulstat would have a much more difficult time surprising me.

Nonetheless, I’d sent Jet’s three wardens ahead to watch the area for signs of treachery. I’d requested we meet in the late afternoon, not so close to sunset as to leave me and Mareti exposed after dark, but late enough that the growing shadows would give us some cover as we moved through the trader district and onto the narrow path that switchbacked up to the ridgetop.

“Aren’t you scared?” Mareti asked as we trekked. She’d chosen two of her most loyal House guard to accompany us. No doubt her father would hear of the outing, but if Mareti was worried about his reaction, she hadn’t shown it. The upcoming discussion with the Ulstats, however, had her gaze flitting nervously over the terrain.

“Of course I am,” I said. “But at this point, I feel like it’s been months since I could relax. The fear is more of a dull ache than a sharp pain now.”

She nodded. “Well, I’m glad you asked me to come.”

“Of course. I trust you.”

“I still don’t understand why. I’m a trader.”

I considered this for a moment. “At first, it was because Raav did. But then I got to know you and found that he was right. Plus, I know you care about him. If we don’t find a way to deal with the Ulstats, Trader Yiltak will execute him. I knew you would want to be here.”

“I do,” she said, breathing easily. Though she had the same slight build as Katrikki, the climb hadn’t winded her at all. I wondered what she did in her free time.

“Plus,” I said, “I’d wager coin the Ulstats will send Frask. I specifically asked that someone from House Ulstat meet with me, but I doubt they’ll abide. You know Frask. I thought that could be useful.”

“Makes sense,” she said, eyes on the trail ahead. “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

We fell into a quiet rhythm, ascending the trail at a cautious but quick pace. With the unrest in the city, we couldn’t afford to spend time admiring the view.

“You’re right when you say I care for Raav,” Mareti said at the next switchback. “I wish I could stop, though. He doesn’t want me.”

My cheeks warmed. “I didn’t mean it that way,” I said as I rounded the turn to fall in behind her again. To our right, the hill fell away, rock outcroppings peppered with the occasional, scrubby tree. A pebble shot from beneath my foot and sailed over the drop, bounced once, and then fell through empty air. I shuddered at the thought of slipping. “Only that you’re a kind person, and your history with Raav makes him important to you.”

“I know what you meant. But I needed to admit how I feel. If you’re going to trust me, you have a right to my honesty.”

As she spoke, I glimpsed her face in profile. With the ocean as a backdrop, she could have been the subject of a painting worth hanging in a trader’s finest receiving chamber.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

Ahead, her lead guardsman clambered up the final step onto the ridgetop trail. Wary-eyed, he studied the final distance before the Promontory. The low afternoon sun hung behind the wide platform of the meeting spot, hiding details in its glare. With no way to survey the spot before we closed the distance, we’d have to trust that the men I’d sent ahead had secured the area.

Once we drew within shouting distance, I spotted the Ulstat group clustered at the far side of the platform, but I didn’t see my other three guardsmen. My heart thudded until the silhouettes I’d mistaken for rocky hoodoos on the ridgetop stood and turned. “Councilor Boket,” one called, both a greeting and an acknowledgment of the situation. Hand on his sword, the man stepped to face his partners with the trail between them.

Grateful for the reception, I nodded as I passed, Mareti on my heels. As soon as her House guards saw who we’d come to meet, I heard a startled cry—they hadn’t known. A sharp glance from the trader silenced the outburst. When I glanced back, her guards were standing at rigid attention.

“Lilik Boket, queen of the gutter horde.”

Still blinded by the sun, I couldn’t pick out features on the man who’d spoken, but neither did I recognize the voice. They hadn’t sent Frask after all, or if they had, he wasn’t doing the speaking.

Sidestepping, I adjusted so that the sun was to my side. The man drew closer, attempting to edge around and regain advantage. Mareti, to her credit, noticed the maneuvering and placed herself so that he had no path to get the sun at his back once again. She kept her back stiff, her head high as she glared at him.

“And you are?” I asked, taking care to keep my voice even. The man wore fine clothing, nothing particularly ornate, but the leather patches on the forearms of his jacket and the crisp folds in his trousers spoke of money. If I were to guess, he was a high-level clerk within House Ulstat.

His mouth turned up in an amused sneer. “Care to announce me?” he said to his companion, a small man who reminded me, strangely, of a spider.

With a furtive nod, the other man simpered then spoke. “It is my honor to introduce Olev Ulstat, Prime Trader to House Ulstat, father of Mieshk Ulstat, sole ruler of the island of Ioene.”

I couldn’t help it; I flinched at the mention of Ioene. Clearly expecting the reaction, Trader Ulstat smiled, an oily expression that conveyed no friendliness.

“We disagree on many things already,” I said.

Trader Ulstat cocked his head. “Yes, well, that’s to be expected at first. But I’ve found that people generally come around to my point of view.”

“What do you want?” I asked, shifting my weight onto my other hip.

“Straight to the matter. I like that.”

The man spread his feet and crossed his arms over his chest, a pose I gathered was supposed to look intimidating. Taller than me by a head and shoulders, he lifted his chin in order to look down his nose at me. Unwilling to let him gain advantage by this, I glared and pushed back my sleeves. When my fingers brushed my scars, flickers of last night’s pain surged in my memory. But I would do it again if I had to, lift myself from the ground. I wondered if Trader Ulstat had heard what had happened in the square.

“I’m waiting,” I responded.

“All right.” Painted by the side light from the sinking sun, Trader Ulstat’s face was a sinister, shadow-lined red. I could see where Mieshk got her stark appearance. “I propose an alliance.”

I laughed out loud.

“No?” he asked. “Well, consider this: I’ve been in talks with the soldiers, both those stationed in the barracks and many of the squads afield. They’ve agreed to support me against the Council, leaving no one for Istanik’s defense but the House guardsmen and the few city guards who are stupid enough to remain loyal.”

“Conflict between traders doesn’t concern me,” I said with a shrug.

“But it will. You see, when I take over the city, I plan to appoint a new governor to manage Stanik Island in my stead. Frask Ovintak has already exhausted his usefulness. Therefore, I’d like that person to be you.”

Beside me, Mareti stiffened. I sidled over to reassure her. I would not betray my friends by allying with the Ulstats, no matter the reward.

“All I care about right now is removing your daughter from Ioene before she obliterates the island. Can you help me with that?”

At the comment, a flicker of emotion registered on his face. I’d hit a sensitive topic. But Trader Ulstat quickly covered his reaction.

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

“Then we’re done here. We go our separate ways, I let you sort out your arguments with the Council, and after that’s over I collect what I need from the wreckage and sail for Ioene.”

Beside Trader Ulstat, his adviser simpered once again, a weasely giggle. He nudged his patron and stepped aside. At the far edge of the overlook, the Ulstat guardsmen parted to grant a view down the approach trail they’d taken to reach the Promontory. Much like the path leading from the trader district, the narrow trail behind the Ulstat party dropped steeply, disappearing over the edge where the slope plunged to the sea.

Trader Ulstat remained where he was, the grin on his face stopping just short of a leer.

“Come on, Mareti, we can leave,” I said.

“A moment, Lilik,” Trader Ulstat said. “If you’ll just glance down the trail, I believe you’ll spot something which might change your mind.”

Sighing, I marched to the gap opened by his guards. Looking over the water, I expected to see another half-dozen ships. An additional show of strength intended to convince me the only hope lay in alliance with the Ulstats. But aside from the ships already floating near the harbor mouth, I saw only the distant lines of waves moving through the strait between Stanik and the timber-producing island, Averntok. Hazed by mist now glowing with the red of approaching sunset, Averntok’s silhouette was just a hint on the horizon.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to point out,” I said.

“Look at the trail. I’ve followed your instructions precisely—from that, you should gather that I’m an honorable man. Only five men plus an adviser. The remainder of my party was forced to remain behind on the pathway.”

Squinting, I peered down the ridgeline. Against the dark backdrop of the rocky hill, I hadn’t noticed the other figures, but now that they were pointed out, the cluster of guards were obvious. Standing at rigid attention, they ringed a pair of . . . captives?

“What is this?” I asked.

Turning, Trader Ulstat cupped his hands around his mouth and called down the hill. “Kindly part so that our friend can have a better look.”

In response, the Ulstat guardsmen withdrew, nudging the captives forward.

My breath caught as my heart plummeted into my gut. If not for the wide shoulders on one and the sling holding a broken arm on the smaller figure, I might not have recognized them from this distance. Despite myself a cry of dismay escaped my lips.

“No response?” Trader Ulstat asked. “You moved your family to a separate dwelling to protect them. That was smart. But it wasn’t quite enough, was it? Don’t worry, your da and brother will be safe with me. All you need to do is aide me against the Council. Ally with me, help me capture the city, and I’ll release them to you. If, in the process, you manage to convince me of your loyalty, I may still consider the governorship. Though I admit, you’d need to be tremendously convincing.”

“They have nothing to do with this!” I spat.

Trader Ulstat stepped beside me, grinning sideways as if we were co-conspirators in a grand plot. “You should know by now that innocence is no protection where trader politics are concerned. My son, as you know, is currently held by the Council. And what were his crimes before their raiding party wrenched him from his home? Learning his letters and training his puppy? So please don’t expect to sway me with any ridiculous argument about who should or should not be used to gain advantage.”

Fists clenched, I stared at my family. From this distance, I couldn’t see their faces, but I could imagine their expressions all the same. Because of me, they were prisoners of the Ulstats.

“I won’t let you do this,” I said.

“It seems I already have, young Boket.”

Behind me, Mareti laid a calming hand on my shoulder. “There’s nothing else we can do here,” she said softly.

“I’ll fix this!” I yelled to my family. At the sound of my voice, Jaret started forward, only to be roughly restrained by the Ulstat guards.

“We should go,” Mareti said, more firmly this time.

Teeth gritted, I nodded. “Some things are unforgivable, Trader Ulstat. You’ll regret this.”

The man shrugged, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. “We attack at dawn. I advise you to consider your options carefully in the coming hours.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

IN THE SMALL garden behind Nan’s cottage, a gravel area provided space to move without crushing her vegetables. The moon was high overhead, silvering the surroundings. With Tyrak clutched in my right hand, I moved through the motions he’d taught me. Strike and leap free before the enemy counters. Feint left, slash right. Duck and roll, spring up with the dagger to the gut.

Good, Tyrak said. You’re a fast learner.

I’m imagining Trader Ulstat on the sharp end of the blade.

As I moved through the exercises, sweat coating my skin, breath rushing in and out of my lungs, I fought to control my rage. If I could, I’d swim to the Ulstat flagship, climb the ladder hand over hand, and shove my weapon through the man’s heart. He had my family. He couldn’t be allowed to live.

You do them no good if you lose control, Tyrak offered.

“I know,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

“What?” Mother asked. Seated on a stone bench, she watched me practice with keen eyes.

Staggering to a stop, I turned, chest heaving, and stared at her. “Aren’t you at least a little worried about them?”

She’d said little since I’d told her about Da and Jaret’s abduction. After descending from the ridge, I’d hurried back to the room above the cobbler’s—we hadn’t had time to find other accommodations yet—where I’d related everything that happened. Soon after, I’d sent a message to the gutter leadership explaining the situation and calling for a meeting an hour after moonrise.

Mother seemed lost in thought. With anger simmering so high in my system, I could scarcely stand to look at her calm face, the simple interest she showed in my training.

“Well?” I said.

Abruptly, her gaze dropped. “Of course I am, Lilik. I’m terrified. Think what you want about me, but Jaret is still my baby. Your father is the man I loved enough to marry. That I love still, if I’m honest with myself. But I was weak once. I ran away when you needed me. So now, I must be strong for you. You don’t need someone else to worry about. I am here to support you, and I can indulge my own emotions later.”

At her words, I realized I’d been holding Tyrak poised as if to strike at the air. I dropped my hand to my side and exhaled. “I’m sorry, Mum. It’s just . . . I feel responsible.”

Hands planted to either side of her hips, she nodded, her face set. “I know. It’s not your fault, but I won’t try to convince you of that. But you will free them, Lilik. I believe that.”

“Yeah, except to free them, I’d have to betray everyone else by allying with the Ulstats.”

“There has to be another way,” she said.

“Well, I could join with the Council. Revoke our demands for undoing the defense bargain. But what kind of leader would I be if I abandoned a cause as soon as our enemies made it personal?”

At once, the strength left my legs, and I joined her on the bench. “I don’t know what to do. There’s no good answer. It makes me want to choose nothing, but that’s the most cowardly decision of all.”

A wisp of hair had escaped the complicated knot Mother used to secure her locks. Blowing it clear of her face, she shrugged. “I don’t know Lilik. I don’t know what’s best. But you’ll figure it out.”

Glancing at the moon, I sighed. “They’ll be here soon. We’d better go inside.”

When we entered Nan’s small cottage, a couple of the leaders of the resistance had already entered. Soon after, the remainder filed in, along with Captain Altak, Mareti and Katrikki Korpit, and two more traders around our age, a boy and a girl. I didn’t recognize them specifically and could only guess their Houses, but that didn’t matter. The important thing was they’d come to show their support. Not all traders were morally bankrupt.

Tonight, a single lantern burned upon the kitchen table. Only Nan sat; the single armchair beside her rocker stood empty. I figured the others had probably left the seat for me. I chose to stand; this was not a situation to discuss in comfort.

“Thank you for coming,” I said once everyone had taken a spot along the wall. “You received the details from the messengers I sent, right?”

Nods confirmed the answer.

“Are you sure they’ll attack tomorrow?” a woman asked, her face lined with worry. The wife of a fisherman, she ran a side business collecting herbs from the steep hillsides behind Istanik. If I remembered correctly, she had three small children at home. Her husband had been away for two months, only recently returned, which had allowed her the freedom to join the resistance.

“I’m not sure of anything an Ulstat says,” I responded, “but the safest course is to assume he was telling the truth.”

“I don’t see much choice but to strike first,” said Nan’s leatherworking friend. When she’d entered the room, I’d finally asked her name. As Aryulki spoke, she pulled a throwing knife from her belt and slotted it into another holster. A nervous habit. “We can send oyster divers. Best swimmers on Stanik Island. Swarm the ships, light the black powder. They’ll sink before they have a chance to begin the attack.”

And by doing so, they’d take my family to the bottom of the ocean. When I’d sent the messengers, I hadn’t told anyone but Nan and Captain Altak about Da and Jaret. It wouldn’t be fair to my leadership.

“Anyone else?” I asked, hoping someone—anyone—would have a different plan.

Jet detached from the wall. “It might work, but I have to ask . . . Why should we fight the Council’s battle for them? I say we protect our boundaries, wait for the traders to wear each other down.”

“What about the soldiers?” I said. “Trader Ulstat claims they’ve promised him their loyalty. If it’s true, we can expect heavy attacks from the barracks. Working with the House and city guards, we might stand against them. But otherwise . . .”

Jet clasped his chin, running a thumb over his stubble as he considered.

“So the choices are to either eliminate the Ulstats before dawn, or ally with the Council and hope we succeed?” Aryulki snarled as she spoke.

I showed my palms. “There aren’t any good answers. It’s why I’ve brought you here.”

From behind Captain Altak, Geren stepped forward. “Let me go, Councilor. I’m sneaky, you remember. I can get aboard the ships. The captain told me about your family—”

Captain Altak silenced him with a heavy hand on the shoulder, but it was too late.

Jet’s brows raised. “What’s this?”

My nostrils flared when I sighed. “Trader Ulstat took my da and brother. They’re aboard one of the ships. Probably the flagship.”

The gathering erupted in angry voices, and I held my hands out, pressing for quiet.

“Then there’s no choice,” Jet said. “We get men aboard the ships, fight through the holds until we find and free your family, and go for the powder kegs.”

I shook my head. “We can’t. You know that as well as I do. There’s no hope we’d succeed without losing people. I can’t ask anyone to sacrifice themselves just because the captives happen to be my father and brother.”

More noise followed, traders and gutterborn both vying to be heard. Geren, his voice lost in the hubbub, climbed atop Nan’s cot and yelled. “Send me, Lilik! I’ll find ‘em.”

I looked at the boy, tenderness filling my chest. “I can’t, Skink. You know that.”

He glowered at me, fists clenched. “You’re not my mother.”

“But she’d say the same thing.”

Face red, the boy stomped on Nan’s mattress. When Captain Altak noticed, he stepped forward and lifted the boy by the shoulders, setting him back on the battered floorboards.

Until she stepped forward, I hadn’t noticed Moanet Yiltak among the group. I’d sent her a message regarding the meeting, but had warned her there would be traders in attendance. I hadn’t expected her to come. As it was, her face hid deep in the hood of her cloak. Together with the shadows at the edge of the room and her choice to position herself to the side of the other traders rather than opposite them, they didn’t appear to have noticed her.

“In any case, we can’t count on sinking the Ulstat fleet,” she said. “The powder might blow holes in the hulls, but it might not. Damaging to the decking will make the ships harder to sail, but that’s all. Our best choice is to stand firm. Defend the barracks strip and wait out the first attacks.”

I chewed my lip, considering. If we neglected to protect the other edges of the gutter district and focused all our efforts on the strip, maybe we could keep the mercenaries at bay. Maybe I’d been too pessimistic.

“We can manage it if we throw up barricades,” Jet said. “Put archers on those, station fighters at choke points. We’ll evacuate the neighborhood to be safe. Once the Ulstats move, we’ll have a better idea what we need to do. Including making a plan to get the Councilor’s family safe.”

I nodded, though I knew his words were empty. Without asking other gutterborn to risk their lives, I had no way to save Da and Jaret. But what other choice did I have?

“All right. It’s settled.” As I spoke, the ice around my heart thickened.

“Councilor?” Mareti asked. “I’m terribly sorry about your family, but we can’t forget there are other captives.”

My jaw clenched. No, I couldn’t forget that. When the Ulstats began pummeling the waterfront with more iron balls, Raav would have little chance of surviving.

“I’ll do it,” Katrikki said.

My brow knit. “Do what?”

“The guards will listen to me. I’ll claim I need to retrieve the prisoners on order of the Council.”

“Your da will disown you!” one of the other traders said.

Katrikki smirked at her. “What did you think would happen when we started sneaking into the slums to meet with the gutterb—sorry, the commoners?”

The girl stared, mouth agape. I wondered if she’d only come for the adventure. A story to tell her heirs someday. At the thought, I felt a surge of dismay. By letting the new traders join our meeting, I’d exposed my leaders to retribution by the Council.

After a moment, the girl’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not stupid, Katrikki. I know what this means. But if you march up there, your da will know which side you’re on. Don’t you think it’s better to stay hidden?”

My held breath left my lungs in a gust. A quick glance around the room told me that few, if any, of the others had noticed my nervousness. My eyes landed on Moanet, who was watching the exchange between traders with avid interest.

“It’s too late for that now, unless we want to let Raav die,” Katrikki said.

Mareti grabbed her sister’s hand. “She’s right. I’ll go with her. If we leave now, we’ll catch the guards unaware. They won’t expect trader heirs to be out—and worse, beyond the boundaries of the trader district—after dark. It will work in our favor, I think.”

I nodded. “Go. And get the Ulstat boy, too. I don’t want a child to die, and if we hold him hostage, we have leverage with the Ulstats.” With my eyes, I tried to convey my gratitude. As with Da and Jaret, I couldn’t let my personal feelings about Raav get in the way of our plans, but Katriiki had suggested a perfect solution.

“Where will you go, Councilor?” Jet asked. “We need a guard on you at all times.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Not tonight. We’ll need everyone who is able down at the edge of the barracks strip. I’ll be there with you, ready to fight.”

Jet opened his mouth as if to protest.

The roar of the cannon obliterated his words. Moments later, the island shuddered under the blow.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

OUTSIDE WAS DARKNESS, noise, fire, screams.

Flames lit the sky above the harbor, the color of Ioene’s wrath, of blood, of rage.

Racing beside Jet and my mother, I wanted to tear at my hair, scream the anger from my lungs. Instead, I yelled to rally support. Jet knocked on doors of gutterborn sworn to our cause. Half-clothed, men and women stumbled from their homes, pulling on armor, strapping battered weapons to their bodies.

“The strip! We stand there!” Jet yelled.

Feet pounding the cobblestones, we ran to the defense of the only homes we knew. Overhead, the smoke from the quay veiled the moon, the glow from the blazes bloodying its light.

The attack was supposed to come at dawn, I thought stupidly. Of course. Olev Ulstat told me that precisely so that I’d be caught unawares. If I’d decided to take my news to the Council, they’d have been struck flat-footed as well. Why hadn’t I realized he’d do this?

Like a flock of spooked birds, my army was a scattered mess, pelting helter-skelter through the streets. At the border with the barracks, we stopped. Jet leaped atop a stool and roared at his sergeants. “Get these people organized!”

Nodding, jaws set, the squad leaders grabbed men and women, planted them in a defensive line along the boundary of the slums—no time for barricades now. Behind, those few men and women who owned ranged weapons dragged out stools and barrels to stand atop. Armed with bows, cross-bows, throwing daggers, and slings, they scanned the shadows for enemies. As ready as we could be, the gutterborn waited for the soldiers.

Another salvo from the cannon erupted from the direction of the harbor. The cannon balls whistled as they sailed for Istanik. Tremors shook the earth when the heavy spheres collided with the quay. Behind me, a lantern fell from its bracket. Lamp oil spilled and a tongue of flame raced for the splintered timber of the wall. Frantic, I whipped off my jacket and beat at the flames.

“Here, let me,” a gutterborn fighter ran over, bucket clutched in his hand. He doused the flame, then spread a wet cloak over the top.

“Councilor,” another of my fighters yelled over the roar of the blazes on the quay. “Get to safety.”

Shaking my head, I pulled Tyrak free. At one point, I might have retreated to keep myself safe. Not anymore. Now it was time to fight. Each of us.

I peered into the barracks. Within the dark rows of buildings, shadows moved. Soldiers, preparing for action. I rolled Tyrak’s hilt in my hand. If they came this way, I’d be ready.

Glancing to my left, I glimpsed the very end of the quay. Even from here, I could see the gaping holes, whole sections of the carefully-mortared stone obliterated. A ship heeled sharply, fixed by a single mooring line to a pillar that had once been part of the wharf. As I stared, fire hissed and steam billowed. The ship’s mast leaned over the quay and the street beyond. As the vessel sank, the mast came down on the remains of the quay, splintering under the weight.

I couldn’t see the wagon or the prisoners’ cages. But with so much damage to stonework that had stood for centuries, how could a flimsy wood platform possibly survive? What good would the narrow iron bars of a cage be for captives exposed to a hail of cannon balls that weighed as much as a human child?

Bile rose in my throat. I wanted to sprint for the quay. If there was a chance that he was still alive, I owed it to Raav to try to save him. I should never have left his life in the hands of others.

What good do you think you’d do? Lilik, I know how this hurts, but you have to trust the Korpits.

But what if . . . what if he’s gone already? Tyrak, I don’t know if I can handle this. Da, Jaret, now Raav.

You must go on. Lilik . . . this is hard for me to talk about. I felt Zyri’s pain when she lost me. It was liquid anguish poured into her body. Even now . . . His voice cracked as he spoke. No matter how I feel, I hope for your sake that he is alive. No one should have to hurt like she did.

I swallowed, hating myself for the image that arose. With Raav gone, at least I’d have Tyrak for comfort. I imagined him holding me like he did Zyri. But to even think of that disrespected her memory. Tyrak was hers, not mine.

As if in answer to my questions about Raav, I spotted Katrikki’s ice-blonde hair flying as she sprinted along the street in search of me. I jumped out and nearly tackled her in my desperation for news.

“And?”

Katrikki shook her head.

My knees buckled.

“Wait, no—” Katrikki caught me before I collapsed. “—he’s alive. They moved the prisoners immediately after the first round of cannon fire. Or rather . . . they moved Raav and the Ulstat boy. They were afraid the Ulstats might manage to free them in the chaos at the waterfront.”

“Praviili?”

“A metal shard. Debris. Through her throat.”

I swallowed hard. I had no reason to love Raav’s mother, but her death hurt all the same. If Raav survived the night, he’d be devastated.

“You couldn’t free him, though?”

She shook her head. “They built a gallows, Lilik. Trader Yiltak is waiting until dawn. She wants Frask and the Ulstats to see their loved ones die.” Katrikki made a face. “Not that I expect it will have much effect on Frask.”

I clenched my jaw. There was time, but not much.

From farther down the street, I heard the sound of steel clashing. Grunts and shrieks echoed. The soldiers were coming.

“We’ll talk later,” I said to Katrikki. “For now, get somewhere safe.”

I turned to face the oncoming soldiers as she ran off.

The nearest group of mercenaries emerged from half a block away, striding from a gap between buildings.

“Ready!” I yelled, only to be immediately shouldered aside by my own army.

“Hey!” I hurried forward as a throwing dagger streaked across the street, skewering the throat of an oncoming soldier. Heartened, the gutter wardens leaped on the attackers. I sidestepped, seeking an opening.

Wait.

And let them stand alone?

Yes. Wait.

I bounced on my toes, frustrated, as our soldiers engaged the Ulstat mercenaries. Enjoying the combat, the mercenaries grinned and roared, fighting with the confidence of years of experience. A woman screamed when a short sword bit into her arm, opening a gash to the bone. She fell back, eyes wide, as her weapon, a wood-handled kitchen knife, fell from her hand.

Her attacker followed, teeth bared, eyes gleaming.

Now. Tyrak said.

I sprang, a shriek on my lips. My strike arrowed toward the man, only to glance off the leather spaulders he wore over his shoulders. Overbalancing, I stumbled forward, nearly colliding with a pair of men grappling hand to hand. Behind, I heard the mercenary laugh.

Anger rushed to my face and my limbs seized. My first fight, and I’d missed my mark—his heart—by the length of my arm. The reality of my situation sank in. These were hardened combatants, while I was nothing but a gutterborn novice. I raised my weapon arm. My hand shook.

Sliding around me like warm water, Tyrak was there. He grasped my wrist, steadying my hand. At a nudge from his thumb, I adjusted my grip on the weapon. His feet bracketed mine. A shift of his hips suggested I step to the side. Suddenly nimble, as if dancing in his arms, I shuffled left. The soldier sprang, his sword coming down in a high arc that slashed nothing but air. Sparks flew from the cobbles when the sword tip gashed the street.

Good, Tyrak whispered in my ear. His voice was like a hot wind. Now counter.

Crouching for the attack, I readied my strike. At the last instant, Tyrak scooped me from beneath to add height to my leap. I flew through the air and brought my dagger down on the man’s back. Left of the spine, slotted between the ribs.

A wet gasp, and he fell to his knees, fumbling the sword up in a pathetic attempt at defense.

He’s done. Now, look for your next threat.

The woman with the slashed arm had managed to crawl out of the street and now huddled on the doorstep of the nearest building. Her hand wrapped the arm, blood welling from between her fingers. If she didn’t stop the bleeding, she wouldn’t survive.

“Go!” I yelled. “Bind the arm. Tight! Healers will meet you at fountain square.”

The whoosh of metal through the air alerted me just in time. As I danced backward, the sword slash narrowly missed the front of my throat. Eyes locking the new attacker’s, I curled my lip. He simply smiled in response, glancing left and right as if to suggest I do the same.

Despite myself, I surveyed the rest of the scene as I quick-stepped back. Horror-struck, I stopped breathing.

On the cobbles before me lay the man I’d stabbed. Beside him, two more bodies piled: gutterborn. The only fighters left standing were me and the mercenaries. Sick to my stomach, I raised my blade.

“Fall back!” From down the street, I heard Jet’s cry. Blocked by my attackers—they were attempting to circle me now—I couldn’t see how well we’d fared, but it couldn’t be good. Not with Jet calling for retreat. Backing away, I glanced at the doorway. The woman had vanished.

You can’t win this one, Tyrak said.

Nodding, I trotted backward, assuring myself I was out of range, before sprinting from the street. From behind, I heard Jet barking more orders.

“Door to door! Get everyone from their homes. Property doesn’t matter, but lives do!”

Following Jet’s cry, I thought I heard one of my attackers laugh. Risking a glance back, I nearly tripped. Rather than giving chase, they stood at the mouth of the street, watching me go. One strode to the front wall of a building along the side street and pulled down a lantern. Pulling the glass chimney off the flame, he threw the lamp. Oil sprayed from the base, igniting as it contacted the wick. Within moments, the wall was ablaze, hungry fire gobbling the ancient timbers.

Helpless, I turned. As I sprinted for fountain square, I pounded on doors, screamed up at windows. Behind me, the slums burned.

Gutterborn massed in fountain square, a sea of wounded, scared, and homeless. Their shocked looks conveyed bewilderment, horror.

Chewing my lip, I marched to the fountain, in shock as well. As we’d descended on the barracks strip, I’d imagined we’d stood a chance. No matter the odds, I’d imagined our determination would win out. The mercenaries would have no reason to fight an organized force. Not when the rest of the city lay ripe for pillaging. But they’d come, and my wardens had died.

By unspoken agreement, the area immediately surrounding the fountain had been left empty. I stood in the cleared area, waiting. As if pushed through a sieve, the leaders of my resistance entered the deserted circle, one by one. Jet’s face was a mask of sorrow and regret.

“Can we go inland?” I asked.

Jet sighed, a heavy exhalation that expressed defeat as surely as anything could. “I don’t know, Lilik. I don’t know where we’ll be safe now.”

“Oh, rot and reap. Are you really so easy to beat? It’s no wonder we’ve kept you down so long.”

Moanet’s imperious tone was unmistakable. I couldn’t control my emotions any longer. I whirled on her, hand dropping to my dagger.

“Now wait,” she said, refusing to back away. “You’re smarter than this, Lilik. Setbacks happen. Does that mean you just give up? Or do you try something else?”

“You call lost lives a setback? What is wrong with you?” I snapped.

She stared me down. “You might not like it, Lilik, but war means death. Either you can let their sacrifice be for nothing, or you can make a hard decision.”

“Oh?” I snarled.

“Wouldn’t it be better to ally with the Council than run and hide inland until the Ulstats hunt you down?”

She might be right, but I wouldn’t admit it. Not now when people lay dead on the street because of a trader war.

“Lilik,” Mother said. I hadn’t seen her approach, but I stiffened when she laid a hand on my shoulder. “This is not the time to be stubborn. Listen to her.”

With a violent shrug, I threw her hand off me. “And what, go back to the defense tax?”

Moanet’s eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t have to go like that. Let me negotiate for you—if my life as a Yiltak taught me anything, it’s how to bargain. Look, you don’t have many options. Are you going to let your pride matter more than the lives of people who trusted you?”

As if in response to her words, silence filled the square. I didn’t think anyone but our small group had heard the exchange, but my followers sensed it all the same.

“Set up the meeting,” I said at last. “I’ll be there.”

Chapter Thirty

WHITE SHOWED AROUND the edges of the traders’ eyes. Facing them over the speaker’s podium in their precious Council Hall, I felt a wave of disgust. For fifteen decades, the prime traders and the heirs of the Houses had met here, deliberating over the future of all Kiriilti. They’d built fortunes while the gutterborn struggled to pay taxes to support the trader armies. And after all of that, we were no safer than the day the defense bargain was struck.

Less safe, in fact. Because for all the trader effort to guard our shores and straits from Waikert attacks, they’d utterly failed to protect us from their own ranks. After the reign of the monster-heir, House Ulstat ought to have been cast out from the Council. Returned to commoner status with their assets seized or better, exiled from the Kiriilt Islands entirely. These people had let this threat come to us, and now I was forced to ask for compromise with them.

The shame of joining forces with them burned in my chest. But I stared them down for the gutterborn who depended on me. For Raav and Da and Jaret.

“You’ll free Raav Ovintak,” I said, gaze locked on Trader Yiltak. “Trader Ovintak is dead, Frask a traitor. Raav is the rightful heir to his House. And you’ll hand the Ulstat boy over to me.”

In response to my final statement, half the traders stood, shouting in protest.

Moanet’s mother’s lips thinned. She pinned me with her glare. After Moanet had returned from Trader Council Hall with news that my presence was immediately requested, I hadn’t had a chance to ask what had passed between mother and daughter. It shouldn’t have been my concern, but by joining my resistance, Moanet had risked both her new identity with her common husband and any chance she’d had to reconcile with her mother. For Moanet’s sake, I hoped she’d negotiated well.

“Raav Ovintak is the only leverage we have against his brother,” Trader Yiltak said.

“Even if you managed to turn Frask aside with this . . . threat,” I said, working to put a sneer into my voice, “it would do no good. Frask has no power with the Ulstats. Olev Ulstat told me himself.”

A wave of astonished gasps traveled the seats. Good. I’d purposefully told Moanet to say nothing of my meeting with the Ulstats, as I planned to use the story to knock the traders off balance.

While her peers whispered and stared, Trader Yiltak simply stared at me. “A well-placed disclosure, Lilik.”

“It’s Councilor Boket, first representative of the city commoners,” I returned.

“As you wish, Councilor. Now, what else do you care to announce? Where is Trader Ulstat?”

“On his flagship, I assume. We spoke before sunset.”

“And he claimed that Frask had no sway with him?”

“I believe he plans to cast him loose immediately following his taking of Istanik. Probably via execution.”

“By your statement, am I to believe you think the Ulstats will succeed despite our defenses?”

I laid my hands on the speaker’s podium and leaned forward. “Without me, you have no chance.”

In the back row of seats, a large man stood. “I refuse to listen to this from a gutterborn. It’s insulting.”

Trader Yiltak whirled on him. “Trader Vaskilt. I assume you have a counter-proposal? The mercenaries have turned, half our ships in port have sunk, and it won’t be long before Ulstat sends in his elite guard. So what would you suggest?”

Bristling, the man pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. “Our guardsmen are more than capable of throwing a few mercenaries back into the ocean we pulled them out of.”

Shaking her head as if saddened, Trader Yiltak allowed her gaze to travel the rest of the Council. “Anyone else have something to add?”

A few traders shook their heads, but most remained silent.

“The truth is neither the Council nor the gutterborn can defeat the Ulstats,” I said. “Not with the mercenaries on their side and the cannons battering the city. And especially not when we’re fighting each other. But together, we stand a chance.”

After a long moment, Heiklet’s grandfather, Trader Srukolk, stood. “We failed to predict any of the Ulstat actions. As far as I’m concerned, it’s time we listened to someone else.”

“As it happens, I agree,” Trader Yiltak said. “And so I propose a vote. Free Raav Ovintak and restore his household under his name. In exchange Lilik Boket—excuse me, Councilor Boket—will bring her soldiers to join the House guardsmen.”

I cleared my throat and stepped around the speaking podium. “That’s only half of my first demand. As I’m sure you recall, the Ulstat boy will be released to me. Furthermore—”

Also stepping around the rail in front of her seat, Trader Yiltak faced me across five paces of polished marble tile. “I won’t give you that, Lilik. But it’s not because I doubt your integrity or resolve. Put simply, the traders have better access to secure positions. With you, the boy might die at the hands of an angry mob. In the prison or Council Hall or—frankly—inside any trader home, he’ll be safe.”

“Safe?” I said.

She nodded. “Do you think I’m a monster? Kidnapping him was the worst I could tolerate. The rest is just a bluff. Why do you think we moved the prisoners the moment the cannons fired? Ulstat might be willing to sacrifice his ten-year-old son, but I’m not.”

“I need leverage,” I said, knowing I couldn’t win this point, but unwilling to concede so soon.

“But, Councilor, if we’re joining forces in this, why does it matter who holds the boy?”

If it had been just Moanet’s mother and I in the hall, I might have admitted the truth about my family’s abduction. But I would not allow these men and women to know what was at stake for me, personally. The knowledge would only give them power over me. Recognizing my lack of solid ground, I shook my head in dismissal.

“All right, point conceded. Free Raav now, and I agree to continue negotiating.”

With half her mouth drawn up in an expression of amused respect, Trader Yiltak nodded at a pair of her guardsmen. “See to it that Raav—I mean Trader Ovintak is fetched to the Council Hall without delay.”

As the air left my lungs, a coolness filled my chest. Relief. If I managed nothing else today, I’d saved Raav. As for Da and Jaret, that would come. I had to think of something. Had to.

“Would you care for refreshment while we wait?” Trader Yiltak asked in a voice just short of mocking.

“I don’t feel it’s appropriate to enjoy tea while people are dying in the streets,” I said. Instead, I stalked to the wall and leaned against it.

Likely, no more than five minutes passed, but the wait felt like an hour. In their rows of chairs, traders leaned heads together, whispering. As much as I wanted to continue discussions—outside, commoner families were fleeing the mercenaries while the slums burned—I knew that patience would win me ground. Since the second barrage of cannon fire, no major attack had come from the sea. Maybe the ships were out of black powder, but I suspected Olev Ulstat was waiting for dawn to survey the damage. Perhaps he even hoped for a surrender.

In either case, I was heartened by the lack of booms and crashes. Before leaving fountain square, I’d instructed the commoners to flee for the trader district. The mercenaries would think twice about plunging into the stronghold of the House guards. Or so I hoped.

When the front doors to the trader hall burst open, slamming against the heavy stone of the walls, my breath caught. Despite myself, I stood on tiptoes for a better look. Expecting the guardsmen to proceed him, I had to swallow my heart when I spied Raav marching down the hall like a wind-lashed storm. Eyes flashing, face dark, there was none of the gentleness that I knew from him. His eyes traveled the hall, passing over me without stopping.

Even though I knew this was on purpose—he wouldn’t forget me so easily—my chest ached at his complete disregard. I wanted to dash forward, run my hands over him to make sure he was really, truly, whole. But I stayed where I was, allowing the wall to prop up my sagging confidence.

Raav marched straight for the speaker’s podium. Stepping up to it, filthy from his time in the cell, eyes hollow from hunger and the loss of his mother, he still managed to present an image more striking than any trader in the hall. I could scarcely breathe.

At my side, I felt Tyrak as a slow pulse of melancholy. As I laid my hand upon the hilt, a habit formed over the past few days, my mind reeled back to Ioene during Zyri’s time. Tyrak and Raav had similar features, the dark eyes, strong cheekbones. I remembered the feel of Tyrak under my hands, each muscle tensing as my finger passed over it. And Raav, the few kisses we’d shared. His full lips on mine, the warm taste of him.

I’m sorry, Lilik, Tyrak said. None of this is fair to you.

Biting the inside of my cheek to clear my head—was I really this stupid, to be thinking of these young men while the city burned and my family awaited death, or was it just the lack of sleep creeping over me—I pulled a deep breath into my lungs.

We have to decide how to go forward, Tyrak. But not tonight. Tonight, just be with me.

I’ll be with you as long as you want me, he countered.

“We will deal with my recompense later,” Raav said, his beautiful voice reduced to a growl from the smoke outside Council Hall. “For now, I wish to hear how you plan to correct this mess you’ve made.”

Trader Yiltak stood from her chair. “Thank you for joining us, Trader Ovintak. We were about to begin discussions with Councilor Boket regarding our shared defense of the city.”

As if noticing me for the first time, Raav turned. “A commoner. Interesting.”

“You can forget the charade, Trader Ovintak. Your relationship with her is no secret. If not for Lilik, you’d still be up on the gallows.”

Raav rolled his shoulders and unconsciously brought a hand to the side of his neck. Remembering the feel of the rope? Had they gone so far as to put the noose around his neck?

“Whatever may have passed between us is not relevant at this time,” Raav said smoothly. “But if you say this young woman is critical to our defense, I agree to cede the floor.”

It was all I could do to keep the confusion from my face. Raav’s delivery was so convincing, I couldn’t help but believe his minimizing of our relationship. What did it mean? Given the recent events, was he genuinely concerned about what the Council thought? Or maybe his time locked up had given him space to reflect. I never claimed to be a good match for him. Had he finally realized it? Or had the realization come when they named him prime trader? A younger son might be forgiven for having a fling with a gutterborn, but not the heir, and certainly not the prime.

Trader Yiltak rolled her eyes and gestured to a seat in the second row. Raav’s mother’s former chair, if I recalled correctly.

Moving like a prowling cat, Raav stalked to his seat and sat with an ease that I was sure belied the stiffness he must feel after being caged for multiple days. When I stepped to the podium, he regarded me with the same, imperious interest that the other traders gave me.

I felt shredded inside.

“Trader Ovintak,” I said with a nod of greeting. If this was how he wanted it, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting my hurt show. “Pleased to see you with your heart still beating. Now—” My eyes scanned the seats. “—for the remaining conditions we’ll need met before joining our strength to yours. Foremost, we demand the defense bargain be rescinded.”

Once again, the traders leaped from their seats, voices and fists raised. Both Raav and Trader Yiltak remained sitting. I felt Raav’s gaze on me like the sun focused through a lens. Hot and uncomfortable, yet indifferent to the pain it caused. Would it be so hard to just thank me for having him freed?

I yelled to be heard over the din. “Once again, commoners will own their homes. No trader shall take coin from us again. Unless it’s a business arrangement, of course.”

“But how will we afford our army? Our navies?” someone yelled.

“And why should we believe the gutterborn army will add anything to our defense?” another trader called.

Cocking my head in a gesture I hoped was both arrogant and impatient, I waited for the voices to settle.

“First of all, we can discuss future arrangements for the defense of the Islands when we’re not under attack, don’t you think? Second, I am certain you’ll find our assistance valuable. Tell me, did you have a plan to contend with the mercenaries and the Ulstat warships both? Other than hanging Trader Ovintak, I mean.”

No one had an answer for that, so I quickly continued: “Once I have a commitment from you regarding the defense tax, I’ll go ahead and outline my plan to save Istanik.”

As if I were in no particular hurry to receive an answer, I yawned and stared at the Trader Council. When no one responded, choosing instead to sit in shocked silence, I raised a single finger.

“Also, as first Councilor to the gutter hordes, I should convey our last demand. No more Trader Council. Rather, Stanik Island shall be run by representatives chosen from among the entire population. And not only the citizens of Istanik, but the inland settlements as well.”

Finally finished, I stepped away from the podium and returned to my spot on the wall. The traders would argue. I expected this. But they’d give in, sooner or later. Sooner, if the Ulstats started throwing iron balls into the city again. Leaning back against one of the velvet wall hangings, I settled in to wait.

Chapter Thirty-One

DAWN CAME AS a graying of the smoke and ash that blanketed the city. As the rising sun lifted breezes from the sea, sparks swirled in the air over smoldering husks of buildings. From the makeshift hospital erected in the halls and offices of the courthouse, spilling out onto the front steps and, for those least critically injured, into courthouse square, came the moans of the wounded and burned, the occasional sob of grief when a loved one couldn’t be saved.

It was a grim-faced gathering that stood before me, clustered in the center of the square. At my side stood Jet and the leader of the Council’s guardsmen. Individual House guard leaders hung a pace back, lending support without stealing from my authority.

“Does anyone not understand their responsibility?” I called, and when no one raised a hand, continued. “Good. We can expect Zyri’s Promise within the hour. Once she begins to harry the Ulstat fleet, the skiffs will launch. I’ll be near the quay to observe.”

And maybe, to pay tribute to my family, sacrificed so that the rest of us might remain free. At the thought, I nearly broke down. Nodding a dismissal, I ducked my head before anyone could spot my welling tears.

“We’ll get them,” Jet said to me as we marched away together.

I shrugged. “I wish I could be as hopeful as you are.”

“Your mother’s friends are wilier than they let on. Who knows how many Waikert attacks they’ve repelled with no help from any of us. They’ll find your da.”

“I still don’t feel right about the risk.”

“Moanet had it right. War means death. The raiders want to do this. Your family is innocent. It’s a fair arrangement.”

Though most of the skiffs intended to dart between the ships, attacking with flasks of oil and blazing arrows, two of the small boats held bands of Outer Isle raiders. Beginning with the flagship, the plan was to board while the Ulstat deckhands and fighters were distracted by Zyri’s Promise and the smaller vessels. Killing only when necessary, they were to move through the holds in search of my family. And if they happened to encounter Olev Ulstat or Frask Ovintak, they’d consider it a bonus. As for the other skiffs, those aboard had instructions to only cause enough fire to damage the sails and keep the deckhands busy. Until the runners brought a message to the flame-keepers at the harbor guardstones, that is. Once my family was safe, the guardstones would burn a brilliant blue, triggering a rain of fiery arrows that would put the Ulstat fleet on the bottom of the ocean.

Or so we hoped.

Beside me, Tyrak said nothing, but he projected a sort of resolve I hadn’t felt from him before. Where he’d been uncertain both about me and about the outcome of our battle, now he exuded determination.

I’d known the waterfront would be destroyed, pocked with holes, sections fallen into the sea. But my imagination couldn’t match the reality of the Ulstat cannons. Where ancient stonework had long provided deep-water moorings for twenty trader vessels, all that remained now was a rubble-strewn slope, the occasional tower of mortared stone attesting to the wide, flat expanse that once fronted the harbor. Half the ships had sunk, lifting nothing but masts above the surface of the water. Of the remainder, at least half listed far enough that I doubted even the most skilled shipwright could repair them. Only four trader vessels were still fully afloat, and the scorch marks and holes in their decks showed that they hadn’t escaped unscathed.

“Well, there’s four,” Jet said. “Plus Zyri’s Promise. It’s enough, right?”

“For Ioene?” I asked, surprised he’d even spared a thought for my mission to return.

He nodded.

“I’d hoped for six. But we have to try with whatever we can muster.”

“Not all the ships were in harbor. Traders keep most of their vessels working the sea lanes at any point in time.”

I shrugged. “Who knows when the rest will be back. I doubt I’ll convince them to support me anyway. Even if the Council disbands as they’ve promised—and I’m not convinced it will actually be that easy—I’d need to win the approval of representatives from all over the island. There’s so little time . . .”

“You’re just tired, Councilor,” Jet said. “It makes you doubt yourself. But think about what you’ve accomplished already. More than a century of trader oppression gone.”

“Like I said, I doubt it will be that easy.”

Despite my words, though, Jet’s encouragement heartened me. Added to my worry for Da and Jaret and my simmering fear for Paono, Raav’s abandonment stung. He could have sought me out after the meeting and reassured me it was nothing but an act, but he hadn’t.

Swinging my arms wide to stretch the knots in my back, I squinted over the slowly lightening harbor. “Look,” I said, pointing. “Zyri’s Promise.”

Immediately after hearing that my meeting with the Council was happening, Captain Altak had hired a horse and ridden hard for the small anchorage where he’d left his ship. Though we hadn’t known at the time whether my negotiations would be successful, he planned to sail near enough to be ready. Shortly after the meeting, I’d sent Geren to the ocean beach with a flag. Captain Altak was to watch for the signal. When Zyri’s Promise scooted through the harbor mouth, strafing the closest Ulstat vessel and launching three arrows into its sails, I knew Geren had done his job. A huge relief. If something had happened to the boy, I would never have been able to forgive myself for using him.

“Looks like I’m off. Good luck, Lilik,” Jet said as he trotted away toward the boat ramp beyond the quay. There, a dozen skiffs had been drawn up on to shore. Not long after Jet left me, the first of the vessels slipped down the packed clay of the ramp, sliding into the water. Ten men and women waded into the shallows and climbed aboard, taking up the oars.

Hidden by the deep shadows at the edge of the water, the boats gathered into a loose pack. I couldn’t hear Jet’s barked order, but he must have given one. Almost as if guided by a single oarsman with a hundred arms, the boats sped into the deeper water of the harbor, turning for the Ulstat fleet. I watched a few minutes more as Zyri’s Promise darted back and forth between the ponderous warships. Meanwhile, skiffs skimmed the outer edges of the Ulstat armada like sheepdogs herding the flock. Every few seconds, an arrow blazed against the sky gone pink with the coming dawn.

Somewhere out there, the boats holding Mother’s Outer Isle friends would be pulling alongside the flagship. Men would climb any lines the ship’s captain had been foolish enough to leave over the side, or failing that, they’d toss darts trailing light threads of silk over the ship’s bowsprit. Thus draped, the silk thread would be used to pull a heavier rope over. One man would remain in the ship to anchor the line while the others clambered up to the bow and over the rail.

As much as I wished to remain on the ruins of the waterfront, I knew it would do Da and Jaret no good. Their lives were in the hands of others now. People needed me here on shore.

Turning reluctantly from the water, I set off at a trot for courthouse square. In the intervening hour since I’d stood in its center and explained plans for the defense of the city, many people with minor injuries had been treated and sent home. Those who still had homes, that is.

I ducked out the edge of the square, heading into the slums. During the late hours of the night, the soldiers had burned their way haphazardly through the district. Eventually, though, they appeared to have grown bored of their ravaging and returned to the barracks. That or Olev Ulstat had given the order to retreat, perhaps to organize a more orderly advance through the city after sunrise.

Either way, the deserted slums held an eerie quiet, as if even the rats held their breath. Detouring around blocks where fires still smoldered, I made my way to fountain square to check with the defenders. To the House guards’ credit, those who had been assigned to defend commoner neighborhoods offered no complaint. Instead, the leader, a guard from House Rutevieshk, a middling Istaniker trader family, greeted me with a nod that looked almost respectful.

“We’ve got about half the streets along the barracks strip blocked off,” he said. “Barring more surprises, we should be able to hold the line there. A handful of your fighters know more about soldiering than they let on. I’ve assigned them control of individual squads. My guardsmen don’t like taking orders from gutterborn, but they’re more used to cracking commoner skulls than fighting seasoned soldiers. It’s a chance for them to learn, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Good work,” I said.

“Did Trader Ovintak find you?” he asked. “He came looking for you after he secured his household.”

A spark of hope lit in my chest—maybe he hadn’t decided to break contact after all. Gritting my teeth, I doused the emotion. He’d had plenty of chances to reassure me, and he’d neglected every one.

“Said he had questions about the defense of the trader district,” the guardsman offered.

Just as I’d thought. Now that he was prime trader for House Ovintak, he cared more for protecting his sprawling home than for me. Well, I’d never expected anything else. Not really.

“Thank you, guardsman.”

“I’ll send a runner every half-hour,” he said.

Though I felt my place was at fountain square, I’d reluctantly accepted Jet’s advice to move my command to the courthouse. Not only was it central to the city, it showed that the traders and gutterborn were unified in the defense rather than agreeing to combine forces for as short a time as possible.

Hurrying through the streets, I took a wide arc to check on Nan. Like the others—if she hadn’t been too stubborn, that is—she would have hurried to the trader district during the night. But I expected her back by now. Aside from her disdain for the traders, the smoke outside would only irritate her cough.

Laying eyes on her snug little home—she was indeed, back, if I were to judge by the open curtains and the lamps burning inside—I wanted nothing more than to go in and take comfort in her company. But I forced myself to hurry past; later, once we finished the Ulstats, I’d bring her the news.

As I approached courthouse square, I held my breath. From the open area, I’d be able to see the guardstones. Hoping for the blue that would indicate my father and brother’s safety, my throat closed down over my despair when I saw the cheery yellow fires echoing the rising sun.

Da and Jaret were still hostage. If they hadn’t been freed by midmorning, I’d be unable to delay.

I’d be forced to give the order to sink the fleet.

“There you are,” Raav said. Freshly cleaned and dressed in clothing that only accentuated his looks, he strode toward me, eyes unreadable.

Over the course of the last hour, I’d asked for a low platform to be erected in the center of courthouse square. I didn’t know where the battle would go next, but I could be sure this calm wouldn’t last. When the fighting resumed, I wanted to be able to see what was happening. More importantly, I wanted people to be able to find me. After dispatching the skiffs, Jet had returned to assist me. At Raav’s approach, the big man stepped close, ready to defend me. Amongst the traders, my actions and demands were unpopular at best. Without me to demand the gutter rights following the end of the conflict, I imagined many traders envisioned a return to the old hierarchy.

“Here I am,” I said, careful to keep my tone even. “I hear you wanted to discuss the defense of the trader district.”

Raav’s jaw clenched and released. Otherwise, he projected nothing but utter, calm indifference. “There are guardsmen on the streets entering the district from the city center, but none defending the boundary with the hills and Promontory.”

“Ulstat’s strengths are the cannon and the mercenaries,” Jet said. “Neither of those threats will come from the hills.”

“Which is exactly what Frask will tell Olev we’ll expect,” Raav said, unruffled by Jet’s argument. “We must prepare for attack from that side.”

As much as it hurt to face Raav and speak as if we were nothing but allies in the defense of the city, I met his eyes. “We only have so many—”

“Councilor,” Jet said, cutting me off with a hand laid on my shoulder.

“What?” I said more sharply than I intended.

“Look.” He pointed into the uppermost fringe of the slums where the stilts clung to the steep hillside. “The light-bearers. It’s possible Trader Ovintak has a valid concern.”

As I stood, blinking, I realized what he was pointing at. After a long night filled with fire and blood, I’d grown accustomed to the color red. But the alarm had been canceled around dawn, to better prepare us for the day to come. So why were the lamps in the stilts burning a deep, threatening red?

Moments later, a man burst into the square, chest heaving, clothing scorched and torn.

“Councilor!” he yelled.

I leaped from the platform and ran to his side. Raav and Jet followed close at my heels.

“What is it?” I asked, dropping into a crouch to put my face level with the man’s. Winded, he stood with hands on his knees while his breath wheezed in and out of his lungs.

“Attack,” he managed.

“Frask and his rotted soul,” Raav cursed. “I thought it would be from the Promontory, but I should have considered . . . the stilts are much easier to approach in secret.”

“No wonder it’s been so quiet,” Jet said.

Wide-eyed, the man stared at Raav and Jet as if perplexed by their words. After a moment, comprehension dawned, obvious in the man’s face. He shook his head.

“Not Ulstat,” he said. “Waikert.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

“ROT,” JET SAID, summing up our situation. As the messenger collapsed to the cobbles, I stared at the hill where the stilt homes teetered over unstable slopes. One by one, fires leaped from rooftops, like a flood of flame dropping into the city. Shortly after, the sound of distant screaming filtered into courthouse square.

“Councilor!” Another runner, this time from the direction of the harbor.

Together, Jet and I whirled on him. “What is it?”

“Ships. Off the southern point. At least two dozen bearing down on the Ulstats.”

When I locked eyes with Jet, he nodded. “I’ll take the inland front. Head for the harbor.”

I took off at a sprint, only barely registering Raav’s call as my pumping legs carried me out of the square. “Lilik! Wait, I’ll help.”

I ignored him. If he was really concerned about something besides the trader district, he could have offered help much earlier.

Unfortunately, Raav’s legs were longer than mine. By the time I reached the remnants of the quay, he’d drawn alongside me.

“Tides,” he whispered.

Already, the Waikert scows swarmed the Ulstat fleet. Outnumbered, Ulstat captains were attempting to bring their vessels around to flee for the open water of the strait. Upon their decks, small fires already smoldered, the result of our archers. As I watched, horror-struck, a Waikert’s iron-clad bowsprit speared one of the Ulstat ships broadside, sending it heeling hard away from the blow. Oars shot from the sides of the scow and dug at the sea, perfectly synchronized. The Waikert ship reversed, abandoning its impaled enemy, and the Ulstat ship quickly listed the other direction, taking on water too fast for even the best bilge pump to remove.

Within minutes, it would sink.

“My family,” I whispered.

When Raav touched my forearm, I jerked away. I didn’t want his charity right now. Whirling, I ran for the boat ramp.

Though many of our skiffs remained near the harbor mouth, bravely scooting beneath the massive prows of the Waikert ships, firing blazing arrows up and over the rails and taking heavy fire in response, two had returned. I recognized one of the skiffs that had ferried the Outer Isles raiders to the flagship. Three of the seats were empty, the fighters lost, I assumed. Sliding on the slick clay, I scanned the faces of the oarsmen for some hint on my family’s fate.

“They weren’t aboard, Councilor,” said a man from the bow. “We saw the Waikert and returned for further instructions.”

“You’re sure?”

Grim-faced, the man nodded. “We scoured the flagship’s holds and decks top to bottom. Left them with no more than a handful of sailors.”

“You lost three,” I said, more a statement than a question.

“They knew what their assignment meant,” he said gently. “No one from the Outer Isles fights without understanding the consequences. They went gladly.”

“Did you see Olev Ulstat? Frask?”

The man shook his head. “But there was a dinghy lowered from the stern as we neared the fleet. I suspect Trader Ulstat and his hostages were aboard.”

Relief mingled with worry in my chest. The man was probably right. Which meant my family would survive even if the Waikert sank all the Ulstat vessels. But it also meant I had no idea where to look for them next.

“Councilor? Your orders?”

Torn from my thoughts, I scanned the harbor. “I need you to go back out there,” I said. “The fastest route to the guardstones is by boat. Tell the flame-keepers to burn the alarm. After that, do what you can to bring back our skiffs. This is not our fight right now. Send the sergeants to courthouse square afterward.”

As I ran back to the city center, I scanned the hills. The entire stilt district was ablaze, and flames nibbled opposite side of Istanik as well, marking the Waikert advance into the trader district. After leaving Raav on the quay, I’d expected him to return to his home. Instead, I found him and Jet conferring with Trader Yiltak upon my makeshift platform. As I updated them on the situation from the harbor, more runners came in from the outskirts, blood flowing freely from wounds.

“Jet?” I asked.

“It’s bad,” he said, coughing in the smoke that swirled down from the hills. “Losing fighters fast. We’re attempting to hold lines at the areas under heaviest attack, but we keep falling back. We don’t have the training to fight the Waikert.”

“The mercenaries?” With the Ulstats under Waikert attack, I hoped they might turn yet again and fight on our side.

He shook his head. “Scattered. Last I saw, half a dozen bands were heading into the farmlands.”

“Rot.”

“We need to think about abandoning the city,” Trader Yiltak said.

“How?” Raav asked.

Before anyone could answer, a shriek pierced the square. A woman ran from an alley, her young child bouncing on her hip. Behind, a pair of savages snarled, bare feet slapping the ground. The savages wielded iron-spiked clubs, wore a patchwork collection of metal and leather armor on bodies otherwise clothed only by scattered scraps of hide. Their faces were blackened to better move unseen in the darkness. Streaked where sweat had cut white lines through the paint, the sea tribesmen looked more animal than human.

With a roar, Jet leaped from the platform and ran to intercept. I pulled Tyrak free and followed, seeing nothing but the snarling faces of the enemy.

A heartbeat later, Tyrak’s spirit leaped from the blade to meld with me. As we sprang upon the trailing savage, Tyrak’s heart beat with mine, a steady, killing throb. As one, we landed a fist on the savage’s cheek as our dagger struck under the ribcage, piercing the hard membrane between the man’s diaphragm and lungs. The sea tribesman coughed but stayed upright, turning on me with a wicked grin. Blood surged from his throat as he yelled his war cry and countered, the heavy club swinging hard at my head.

I ducked, felt the spike catch a strand of hair and rip it from my ponytail. As I crouched, I yanked the dagger from the man’s flesh. The savage overbalanced, momentum of his swing pulling his arm across his body and exposing his back to a strike. Blood on the dagger hilt loosened my grip; I tried to exploit the opening and failed, nearly fumbling my weapon.

A couple panicked steps brought me out of range of the man’s next swing. Dagger raised, I circled, watching him for weakness. Given time, the punctured lung would kill him. Blood streamed from the wound, slicking his side, belt, thigh. Beneath his feet, the cobbles were smeared.

Still, he kept his feet.

Blinking the sweat from my eyes, I swallowed. The savage’s lip curled, exposing yellow teeth with blood pooling around his gums. A strand of red saliva drooled from the corner of his mouth. Shuddering, I retreated another step. The sea tribesman didn’t care whether he lived or died. Only destruction mattered. How could I fight against that?

Abruptly, Tyrak was there, stepping forward again, filling my chest with calm. I felt him within me, behind me. He both guided my arms and supported them, his hand wrapping mine around the blood-slicked dagger hilt.

Together, we’re strong enough for this, he whispered in my ear.

Circling right, I kept my eye on the savage’s hips and shoulders. Any attack would initiate from his trunk. An instant before he jumped forward, swinging his club overhead in a massive arc, I saw him tense for the leap. As soon as he left the ground, I darted to the side. The club slammed the cobbles where I’d been standing, ejecting chips of stone that skittered across the square. Whirling, I stepped in, aimed a stab at his kidneys, felt the knife cut deep.

The man roared and fell to a knee.

Using my momentum from the strike, guided by Tyrak’s graceful nudges, I rolled across his back, coming up facing him with weapon raised. Scuttling with one hand on the ground, the savage tried to move clear of my next strike. Slashing at his neck, I opened a cut below his ear, a finger-width deep, but missed the artery that would end his life.

Drawing on a bestial force, the sea tribesman yelled through gritted teeth and rose to his feet. Fists clenched, he attempted to raise his club but lacked the strength. Dropping the weapon, he roared and charged, barreling into me. Together, we fell to the cobbles, his face a hand’s width from mine, blood pouring from his mouth onto my neck. Struggling, I tried to throw him, but he weight twice what I did. Grimacing, he pushed off, laid a knee into my gut, and cocked back his fist.

Open! Now! Tyrak shouted.

I threw down my walls, not just opening myself to the strands, but pulling them toward me. At once, pain erupted from my scars, a searing cold I could scarcely handle without blacking out. Strength flooded my body, and I threw off the savage, sending him ten paces through the air before he landed in a heap, skidding across the ground in a pool of his own blood.

Climbing to my feet, the pain a shrieking part of me, I stomped toward him. The sea tribesman wormed away, but it was no use. With a final yell, I slammed the dagger into his throat, drawing it across the windpipe and the throbbing arteries. With a gurgle, the man finally died, and I collapsed to the cobblestones beside him, struggling against the darkness to get my barriers back up before I drowned in the hurt.

Faces gathered above me. Raav, Jet, Moanet and her mother. My mother.

Voices filled my head. Confusion and hurt, fear and cries for help.

The people around me were speaking, but their words didn’t match the clamor in my mind.

I tried to sit up, fell back under a wave of dizziness. Patting the ground with my palms, I realized I’d been moved back to the platform.

Courthouse square. Smoke filled the sky above the city, and the sun was a red stain in the sky.

“The Waikert?” I whispered.

Raav spoke, but I couldn’t understand the response. Not with so many people talking at once.

But they weren’t. I turned my head side to side, spotted the body of the savage I’d killed. A loose crowd of Istanikers filled the square, and others stood at the mouths of streets and alleys that emptied into the open space, ushering more bedraggled survivors in. But the crowd was largely silent. Wide-eyed in their terror.

The noise was coming from my own mind. Or rather, from the spirits speaking within it.

Stop! I screamed into the aether.

Abruptly, the sound pinched off, leaving me in peace.

Coughing in relief, I laid back for a moment.

Lilik? The voice wasn’t Tyrak’s. I clenched my fists while struggling remember the name. Dreven. Miva’s husband.

I hear you, I said. I’m listening. Everyone, you’re lost and scared. But if you all speak at once, I cannot understand you. Worse, you’ll drive me mad. Let Dreven speak for you.

I watched the smoke swirl above while ashes drifted down to land on my face. Around me, people shuffled and mourned and spoke in hushed voices about their regrets.

Lilik, we don’t understand what’s happening, Dreven said. There are so many joining us all at once. So many newly dead.

It’s the Waikert, I said. We may all die before sunset.

At once, my head was filled with a pained roar.

Stop! Please! I can’t understand you!

The noise once again quieted, leaving only Dreven. Miva, too? he asked softly.

We’ll try to stand here, but it won’t last. If we can’t evacuate the city, yes. Miva, too.

A mix of emotions from the strands flooded my mind. Grief. Despair. Incredulity.

You can’t fight? Dreven asked.

We aren’t strong enough.

But—

Lilik . . . Tyrak cut in. Ask them.

Ask them what?

It can’t be worse than what they’ve already endured. Especially if the weapons belong to descendants. And maybe your mother’s legend does mean there’s a way to undo the binding.

I coughed, aghast at the suggestion. You want me to ask them to be nightforged?

Briefly, Tyrak embraced me, phantom arms wrapping me. We have this, he said. In some ways, it’s better than being a bodiless spirit. Others might find a similar bond.

Finally, words from my physical surroundings intruded.

“Lilik?” Raav asked, his brow knit in concern. I looked away, refusing to accept his kindness until I understood his intentions. Noticing my recovery, Mother hurried over.

“What happened?” she asked. “The voices . . .?”

“I asked them to speak one at a time. Did it help you?”

With a swallow, she nodded. Once again, I marveled at her ability to withstand the torrent of voices and emotions raging through the aether. I vowed to tell her how much her strength inspired me—if we survived the day, that is.

“Tyrak has an idea,” I said softly.

As I spoke, the others drew closer. Around ten people crouched near me on the low platform, while in the square, Istanikers gathered in small knots, embracing and casting terrified glances at the entrances where guardsmen and wardens continued to gesture people forward from the alleys.

I looked at Moanet. “How much do you know of nightcalling? I realize you weren’t trained as part of the Nocturnai . . .”

Her lips quirked in a smile. “I know many things.”

Dreven? I asked.

I’ve been listening.

How much do you understand?

You wish to join us with weapons. Of course we agree.

Not until you know all the consequences. The binding may be forever. You’ll be trapped, forced to remain within the item. Unless your owner has an ability like mine, you may never speak to another soul. Ever.

But our children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren won’t die today.

I can’t even guarantee that. But you’d give us a chance.

Tell us what to do, Dreven said.

Chapter Thirty-Three

AN HOUR LATER, the square was so full I couldn’t see the cobblestones through the masses of people below. At each entrance to the square, gutter soldiers and House guardsmen formed a defensive wall. In addition, Trader Yiltak had ordered Council Hall filled with those unable to defend themselves. Commoners and traders alike sheltered inside the hall and courthouse walls, the outer doors locked and barred.

Having abandoned the rest of the city to the Waikert, we would make our stand here. Either the plan would succeed, or we’d die together.

From the edges of the square came the constant howl of the savages. They attacked in waves, beating at our soldiers only to fall back unpredictably.

The air smelled like blood and fire, but we were holding. If we could continue holding for an hour or two more, it might be enough.

Beside me, Mother sat on a stool, eyes closed, attempting to follow my instructions to focus her inner voice. To either side of her, Katrikki and Moanet stood in the calling trance, sensing and guiding the nightstrands.

In addition to the trader girls I knew, two others had offered to help, sisters from House Rutevieshk. Both had passed the nightcaller trial for the Nocturnai, and with an explanation from Katrikki were managing to guide the strands, if more slowly than Moanet and Katrikki. Sweat beaded on all our brows as we focused on the strands.

In front of the platform, Istanikers formed two rough queues, most carrying makeshift or rusted weapons. Butchers wielded stained cleavers and carpenters their hammers. In front of my mother, an elderly woman offered a pair of knitting needles to the nightcallers. Farther down the line in front of me, I spotted a fishing spear gun that reminded me, uncomfortably, of the long, brutal night on Ioene.

The next person in my line ascended the platform. Distracted, I hadn’t noticed her waiting. Mareti Korpit held out a delicate saber, the hand-guard worked with half a dozen gemstones. An ornamental piece.

Nodding, I accepted the blade and held it before the nightcallers.

As I opened my mind to the spirits, I glanced at Mareti’s face. Despite the ordeal of the past day, she retained her grace. I smiled at her and she returned the expression.

A suitable vessel. The speaker entered my mind with the arrogance that only a trader could possess.

Trader Korpit, I said. It was an easy guess, seeing as any ancestor of Mareti’s would likely have claimed—or at least desired—the title.

Grandfather to the current prime, he affirmed.

Please allow the nightcaller to guide you to your vessel, I said, keeping the smirk from my lips. I wondered how long Mareti would put up with her weapon’s attitude before she foisted it off on another Korpit.

Though I couldn’t see the strands as a nightcaller would, I felt the binding as a sudden absence. Mareti’s ancestor vanished from the aether, winking out like a pinched candle. But unlike the death of a flame, his spirit would continue.

I handed Mareti the sword. “It’s done,” I said. “Stay safe, Mareti.”

In truth, I doubted she’d find herself close to the fighting. If her father didn’t see to that, her House guardsmen would. But if something happened, I was glad to know she had a nightforged weapon on hand. It would help her defend herself.

As the next woman advanced, presenting me a whip used in training horses, I wondered whether this plan had any hope of success. Unlike Tyrak, who drew on decades of battle experience to add to his tactical advice, these newly nightforged weapons would give a different, lesser sort of advantage. Because of the bond with the wielder, they’d sense the owner’s intent and help guide the execution. Arrows would fly where they were aimed, and swords would strike the intended target. But it would still be up to the fighter to know where to hit.

I’m here, the spirit said, interrupting my thoughts.

Do you wish to say anything? I asked. Though my main duty was helping with the nightforging, I was still a channeler. I wouldn’t deny the spirits a chance to speak, no matter the blood-thirsty hordes battering our defenses.

Tell her . . . tell her I think of her always. She is my heart and my soul. Even so, I want her to remarry if she finds love. She deserves it, and my heart is big enough to accept them both.

Swallowing, I conveyed the message. The woman’s eyes teared as she ran a finger along the braided leather of the whip. At the sight, I wondered how I would feel if I were married and lost my beloved. Could I ever accept someone else?

More than that, I wondered how the Vanished channelers handled their duties without being overwhelmed by the grief.

How did they manage in your time, Tyrak? I asked.

Think of it like this. You aren’t a channel for sadness. You allow reunion. Healing. And remember, in my time, the channelers were always available. Death was less final, because we never had to let go completely.

At his words, I thought of Heiklet’s passing. Hadn’t I felt similarly? I’d grieved that she was gone, but I’d also known that Peldin and the rest of the Vanished were there to receive her. Someday, I knew, I’d be able to speak to her again. She wasn’t truly gone. Just changed.

When I felt the sudden absence of the horse-trainer’s husband, I handed the whip back to her. Lip trembling, she accepted it and moved aside.

Inhaling, I looked at the line in front of me. At my gesture of invitation, a child no older than ten clambered up. Face puffy and tear-streaked, he stared at me with wide eyes and a trembling lip. In his hand, he held a small pen knife.

“Can you put my Mam in here?” he asked. “She . . . the Waikert man killed her last night.”

Chin thrust out in false bravado, he waited for my answer. It took me a long few seconds to be able to speak without crying.

“Is your da here?” I asked.

Solemn, he shook his head. “He drowned in the ocean when I was a baby.”

My chest was a cavern of remorse for the child. Holding out my hand, I led him forward. “Would you sit here with me? I need a brave boy like you to help.”

“You will put her in, right?”

Chewing my lip, I nodded. “I’ll do my very, very best.”

When the mother came, my mind filled with a sort of pain I had never imagined.

Katal! she cried, her spirit lashing back and forth against my thoughts.

Willing myself to expand, I tried to encompass her. To hold and comfort her. It could never be enough, but it was all I could offer.

Speak to him through me, I said at last. It won’t bring you back, but it will give you both peace.

Though the line stretched to the far side of the square and the Waikert battered our defenses—ten of their bodies piled in the streets for every one of our soldiers that fell, an endless, inexhaustible horde—there was nothing in the world for me but the boy and his mother. For a couple long minutes, I spoke for them, to them. Finally, Jet laid a hand on my shoulder.

“The nightforged weapons are shoring our defense. But it won’t last. We have to complete this before their ships finish with the Ulstats and turn on the city.”

I’m sorry, I said to the mother. You’ll still be together when you enter his knife, but it will be different. It’s time to say goodbye.

He has no one, she pleaded. What will happen to him?

He won’t be alone, I promised. I’ll keep him beside me as long as it takes to find him a place where he can belong.

And the Waikert?

No one will lay a hand on your son while I still breathe.

Tell him I love him. I’ll always love him.

I will.

For a moment, I felt her anguish war with her sense of duty.

I’m ready, she said at last.

I nodded at the younger of the Rutevieshk nightcallers. Eyes focused on the visual manifestation of the mother’s spirit, the caller reached a gentle hand, cradling the spirit against her flesh. With a nudge, she urged the soul into the boy’s pen knife.

The mother’s spirit vanished from my heart.

Laying a hand on Katal’s head, I leaned down and spoke into his ear. “You are the bravest person I have ever met.”

Equaled only by you, Lilik, Tyrak said.

Shoulders set, I looked at the remaining line of would-be soldiers, careworn and frightened, clutching pathetic weapons to their chests. We might not be an army of hardened mercenaries, but we were stronger than we—and the Waikert—realized.

Istanik would meet this threat.

Nodding, I motioned the next person forward. As the sun reached its zenith and sank toward the western horizon, we nightforged the city.

When shouts from the harbor announced the beaching of the Waikert scows, and the savage, ululating war cries echoed off the courthouse facade, we were ready.

Chapter Thirty-Four

WE CALLED THE hours that followed the nightstorm. Armed with garden hoes and candle sticks, boning knives and leather punches, Istanikers marched into the crashing waves of the Waikert hordes. Where one man or woman fell, another replaced the fighter within an instant. Chanting the verses learned aboard fishing vessels, crying out the names of loved ones lost to Waikert clubs, or simply advancing in stony silence, gutterborn and trader fought side by side.

As the landward masses pushed back the savages, men and women clambered into skiffs and took up the oars, bound for the Waikert scows.

All night, the fighting raged. Though fire and the blood, I stood on Council Hall stairs, defending the locked doors. Katal and the other children huddled inside. I’d made a promise to Katal’s mother, and I planned to keep it until my dying breath. With me to rally around, the Council guards made sure that not one Waikert set foot on those stairs.

Runners brought me updates from Jet, from Trader Yiltak who’d taken command of the force moving through the trader district. When dawn paled the eastern sky and the fires no longer blazed so high that I was reminded of the towering crown of Ioene, I finally let myself believe we could win.

The sun rose, and men and women began staggering back to the square. As parents congregated outside Trader Council Hall, waiting for the chance to be reunited with their children, I wondered how many of the boys and girls within would find themselves orphaned like Katal. More than a few. Standing atop the stairs, I closed my eyes and made a silent vow. From now on, no Istaniker orphan would be alone. I would open a home for them. I would call it Paono’s Haven, in honor of my friend who’d lost his own parents to Waikert savagery so many years ago.

Finally, the reports came in. The Waikert were beaten, their ships taken. Less than a hundred sea tribesmen had surrendered. Lacking escape from the island, the remaining survivors had either taken their own lives or fled in small bands into the heart of Stanik. There was much work to do, eradicating the roving savages—and, for that matter, the mercenary deserters—but the battle was won.

Tonight, we would sleep together in the square, under a rotating guard.

Tomorrow, we would begin rebuilding.

Heart heavy at the losses, but resolute in the knowledge that we would build a new city from the ruins of the old, I ordered the Council Hall doors opened. A runner sent to Nan’s home came back with news that she was still alive, and had weathered the attack inside her home with the windows boarded. I cringed at the thought of her breathing all the smoke, especially with the cough, but I knew that Nan was strong. If the city had been filled with people like her, we would have won with determination alone.

Sagging back onto my stool, I thought of Da and Jaret. If the Outer Islanders were correct, they’d been taken from the Ulstat ship before the Waikert attacked. If not, they’d died with seawater in their lungs.

Tentatively, I extended my inner senses, feeling for their spirits in the aether.

Only silence echoed my call.

Chapter Thirty-Five

UNDER THE MIDDAY sun, the city smelled of baking blood. Working with buckets and scrub brushes and watched over by squads of fighters, gutterborn and traders worked together to wash away the stains. Rumors filtered through the crowds that the outlets of the sewers, grates set into bluffs overlooking the southern ocean beaches, ran red. On the former site of the itinerant camp—at the first Waikert warcry, those still encamped had quickly torn down their tents and fled for the inner city—Waikert bodies were piled and burned. The Kiriilti dead were carted and carried to the cemetery where graves waited, dug by those few adults who still had the strength after the night of fighting.

After about an hour’s nap mid-morning, I’d resumed standing atop the platform, ready to deliver answers or offer help where needed.

I’d just finished a lunch of hard biscuits and dried apples when Frask was dragged into the square.

Hands bound, eyes flashing, he marched between six of his former House guards. Seeing him captured, my heart leaped. After the initial assessments of our situation, Jet and Raav had discreetly offered to send out bands of searchers to seek Trader Ulstat and my family. Though not the prize I’d hoped for, Frask’s continued existence this side of death hinted that the others had not been aboard the sinking ships.

Frask sneered when they dragged him before me. “Lilik Boket. From commoner to commander. Astonishing what Istanikers will allow in order to save their pathetic lives.”

Raav, who’d been across the square helping the healers treat the injured, stiffened at the sound of his brother’s voice. Within a few heartbeats, he stood beside me, fist ready to smash his brother’s face.

“Wait,” I said. “I need information first.”

Though he seemed to seethe at the delay, Raav clenched his jaw and stepped back.

“I hope you understand that the city will demand your execution,” I said, staring Frask in the eye. “I’m inclined to plead for a quick death. Provided you help me.”

At that, Frask smiled, a twisting of the lips that looked anything but pleasant. “Isn’t that interesting. You think you’re the one with the power here.”

I made a point of looking around the square and shrugging. “Last I noticed, the army answers to me.”

“And if you care what happens to your family, you’ll ask these men to unhand me.”

My mother’s intake of breath gave her away. Refusing to look at her, I remained still. “I’m not convinced that’s in my interest.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “How good is your eyesight?”

“Good enough to see a rotten snake standing in front of me.”

“Look at the Promontory.”

Though I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, thoughts of my father and brother pulled my eyes to the ridgeline. Though difficult to tell from here, it looked as if a small group of people clustered on the Promontory. After a moment, motion confirmed it.

“I wonder,” Frask said. “Do you really think I was captured? I’m sure my former guardsmen here think they got the best of me, but you can ask my brother if he really believes I’d be so stupid as to wander through the trader district in full daylight.”

“Depends on whether there were whores or liquor involved,” Raav snarled.

Frask shrugged. “Your men thought I was attempting to break into our home. Collect a keepsake or two, maybe. The truth is, I had a hard time actually catching their attention.”

“Why don’t you get to the point, Frask,” I said.

“It’s simple. As you may have guessed, two of the people on the Promontory are your dear brother and father. The guardsmen are treating them well, for now. Though last I heard, your brother complained of a fear of heights. And I’m afraid the man holding him over the drop doesn’t have the strength to keep his grip indefinitely.”

For all I knew, Frask was bluffing about his capture. But he wasn’t lying about the group standing on the Promontory. Frask might be lying about who was up there, but then again, could I afford to ignore the chance to find Da and Jaret? Olev Ulstat might indeed be threatening to throw them over the brink.

“Trader Ulstat told me you were no longer useful. Why should I believe he sent you to deliver this so-called message?”

“Perhaps he reconsidered. You can’t deny the genius of my plan to bring you to him.”

Mother stepped closer to my side. “What does Trader Ulstat want?”

Shrugging free from the guards—as we’d spoken their grips had relaxed—Frask drew himself up. “It’s simple. Given the outcome of his previous meeting with Lilik, he wasn’t inclined toward further negotiations. However, he admits the Waikert attack put him in a difficult position. Enough that he’s willing to resume the conversation.”

“I will not make a deal with that man,” I said.

“Whether or not you come to terms is unimportant to me,” Frask said. “But if you want your family to survive, I suggest you come with me. Alone.”

Eyes narrowed, I considered. There had to be some way to outmaneuver both Frask and the Ulstat prime.

As if in answer, a distant shout caught my attention. Long and low, rising to an incoherent shriek, the yell was followed by a series of thumps. Squinting, I spotted the falling body. Dislodged by the impacts, rocks clattered down. Every thud of the body felt like my own bones were breaking.

“Da,” I whispered.

Frask laughed, a disgusting sound. “No. Just a demonstration.”

Furious, I nodded at the guards. All six stepped back. I glanced at my mother, who laid a protective arm around Katal’s shoulders. Her eyes told me all I needed to know. If something happened to me, she’d look after the orphan boy. She’d abandoned children once. It wouldn’t happen again.

“Forgive me if I don’t feel like freeing your wrists,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Don’t let him walk behind you, Tyrak said as we stepped onto the narrow path that gained the ridge.

“Don’t worry,” I said aloud. “I have no intent of taking my eyes off him.”

Upon hearing me speak, apparently to no one, Frask stiffened. Good. I wanted him nervous.

“So, Frask, what are you expecting after this? The Ulstats are finished. After we rebuild here, I have no doubt that Istanikers will set their sights on Araok. The Trader Council is disbanded as a governing entity. Raav is prime trader for your former House. Oh . . . did you know your mother was killed? It’s your fault, of course.”

As I mentioned Praviili, my thoughts turned to Raav. Maybe the loss of his mother explained his coldness. Regardless of the relationship he had with her, he had to be hurting. Terribly. Maybe the indifference he wore wasn’t directed at me, but rather a mask he put on in order to face the world.

Either way, I owed him the chance to explain. After everything we’d been through, he deserved that much.

At the next switchback, Frask and I briefly faced one another. He smiled falsely, and I glared. Though Raav and his brother had similar features, on Raav they were beautiful. Frask’s face was nothing but cruel. I stifled the impulse to spit on him.

As we gained the ridgetop, I hesitated, thinking I’d heard something below. A glance down showed nothing of interest. Rocky outcrops hid much of the trail from sight, and I wondered briefly whether someone was following. Not wanting to give them away by paying too much attention, I quickly turned my eyes to the trail ahead.

“Lead on,” I said, my voice flat.

“Whatever you say, Councilor.”

As we approached the flattened area of the Promontory, I opened my mind. Where before, the voices of our ancestors had been an incoherent babble, now I heard organized discussion. Musings about the future.

Dreven? I asked.

Yes?

Do you remember lifting me? Giving me strength?

Lilik, Tyrak cut in. I wasn’t entirely honest with you.

What? My toe caught on a rock embedded in the packed earth of the trail, and I stumbled.

I told you it was just the strands because I thought it would be easier for you to visualize. But it’s more complicated.

What then?

The strands provide power, but the ability to join them together comes from you. When you open yourself fully, your own spirit expands beyond your body. Because of the magic the aurora worked on your scars, you can tap into the fire—the compressed vitality—that fills your living form and use it to channel the energy present in the aether. With practice, you can learn to wield that force with precision. As long as there are nightstrands nearby to tap into, you can be unstoppable. And the strands can affect the physical world in a way they’ve hungered for since death.

Stopping, I pressed my fingers to my temples. First channeling to communicate, and now this?

But I’m not a life-channeler.

No. Paono also reaches out of himself, but only to speak with others. He has no capacity for channeling the power in the aether for physical tasks.

So basically, I can become ten times stronger by squeezing my spirit out through my scars?

Yes, but you felt the consequences. Too much, and you tatter. It takes time to recover.

“Are you coming?” Frask asked. He’d drawn ahead by around ten paces, and now faced me with an annoyed expression on his face.

“When I’m ready,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Can I do it now? After yesterday?

I don’t know, Lilik. Push too hard, and you might expand too far for your heart to anchor your spirit. But I don’t think you need to be any more than ordinary Lilik to win this.

Right. Just ordinary Lilik against Olev Ulstat and however many men he had guarding him. At least Frask’s hands were still bound. However pathetic, it was an advantage.

Yawning as if bored by the situation, I resumed marching. With a twitch of his lip, Frask turned and continued on.

Whatever other untruths Frask had offered in his life, he hadn’t been lying about my family. Though not dangling over the drop, my brother might as well have been. A guard who probably weighed as much as a horse had Jaret by the shoulders, holding him in an iron grip just a pace from the drop. One shove, and my brother would be gone. Da’s situation was better, but not by much. With a guard on either side and a rope binding his ankles, he would be helpless if Olev Ulstat gave the order to send him to his death.

Sauntering onto the platform, I shoved my hands into my pockets to keep them from trembling. Frask, having delivered me as promised, took a seat on a flat boulder where the trail opened onto the Promontory.

“Welcome back, Councilor Boket,” said Trader Ulstat, his tone somehow both a mockery and pitch-perfect in its courtesy.

“Let’s just skip to the part where you tell me what you want,” I said, narrowly avoiding another glance at my brother.

“Well, first of all, I could use some help getting off this island. As you can see—” He swept his arm out toward the harbor and sea. “—my fleet is rather diminished.”

I’d thought that all the Ulstat ships had been sunk, but from this vantage, I spotted a single, small trading vessel tucked into a harbor on the northern coast. If I were to guess, it was the same anchorage Captain Altak had hidden Zyri’s Promise in when the Ulstats first attacked.

“Looks to me like you have a boat,” I said.

“Indeed. And a dear friend of yours is aboard. Mistress Nyralit, I believe you call her? She’ll be glad to see you.”

“Whatever you might believe, I’m not going with you.”

At my words, Trader Ulstat’s smile melted. He snapped his fingers. The guard holding Jaret shoved my brother to within half a step of the drop. Jaret screamed, his voice cracking.

Though my heart sledged against my ribs, I stood motionless.

“You won’t give away your leverage so easily,” I said.

At that, Trader Ulstat laughed. “Clever, aren’t you. No, I’ll be needing at least one of these two in the months to come. How else will I keep your stubbornness leashed.”

I knew he wanted me to ask what he intended. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“So we’re at an impasse.”

Trader Ulstat snorted. Only the slightest flick of his eyes gave him away. Gravel crunched behind me, and I spun.

Too late.

Hands clamped my arms, and a filthy rag wrapped my face, shoving between my lips. As the Ulstat guards lifted me from the ground, I kicked and squirmed and opened myself wide to the aether. My scars burned. Faded.

Why can’t I expand, Tyrak?

Silence followed my words.

Tyrak?

My eyes shot to the empty sheath on my belt.

“Looking for this?” Olev Ulstat asked, accepting my dagger from one of the guards. The man must have slipped it free while I struggled. But why couldn’t I open myself? Was I too tired? Too tattered?

A loud yell came from the trail along with sound of running feet. Without releasing their grip on me, the Ulstat guards turned to face the new threat.

As soon as we made eye contact, I knew I’d been wrong. Raav still cared for me. It was obvious in his burning eyes, the intense rage on his face. Rushing forward, he slammed his brother, knocking Frask backward.

Hands bound, Frask yelped. He toppled, feet kicking, and rolled off the boulder. For an instant, he teetered on the narrow ledge above the drop, but momentum sent him over. He screamed halfway down to the city, before a particularly sharp outcrop silenced him forever.

For a moment, Raav stood frozen, his face shocked.

“Ah!” Trader Ulstat said. “This just gets better and better. Grab him if you don’t mind.”

Though he dropped into a fighting crouch, Raav didn’t stand a chance against the four men who advanced on him. Within minutes, he was bound hand and foot, with only a new set of cuts and bruises to show for his effort.

Trader Ulstat ordered us lined up atop the platform. Lip curled in a sneer, he surveyed us as if he were examining samples of ore from his mines.

“I had hoped to acquire your assistance in reaching my ship,” he said, “but it won’t be so difficult. The dinghy that brought me ashore will get us there, just in less comfort than we might hope.”

He paced back and forth as he spoke. When the man met my eye, I tried to shout, but the gag swallowed my words.

“In case you’re hoping for rescue, I should let you know that I’m not an idiot. When I sent for my schooner, I specifically requested a cadre of men and women who could blend well with your Istaniker gutterborn. I’m sure those who aren’t perched in ambush over the approaches to our current location are well entrenched in your little army, Councilor Boket. Congratulations on being the first commander to soundly defeat the Waikert, by the way. Unfortunately, soon enough, my agents will begin the process of undermining your city’s rebirth. Not that you’ll be there to see it, of course.”

Though I just glared at him, he pretended to interpret it as a question.

“Oh? Yes, I’ll tell you our destination. Ioene, of course. We’ll join with the remainder of my forces on Araok and continue shortly after.”

At that, he showed his teeth and turned for the trail. Shoved by the guards and captive along with almost everyone who mattered to me, I had no choice but to follow.

Ioene.

As I walked, I began laying plans to turn this to my advantage.

Some might have considered the situation a failure, but I’d saved the city and destroyed the defense bargain. And as for the Ulstats, I wasn’t beaten yet. Starting with just a handful of desperate gutterborn, I’d managed to build an army strong enough to succeed where the Trader Council had failed for more than a century. Surely I could handle one last trader House, especially one so recently defeated. And to look at it a different way, hadn’t I been fighting this whole time for ships and soldiers I could take to Ioene? Trader Ulstat had just said we were headed for the island. Sure, I’d need to steal the ships—and my dagger—out from under him. Probably turn his most loyal House guards against him. But I’d faced bigger challenges.

As I tramped down the trail, I keep my head high. When Trader Ulstat caught my eye, I grinned. He blinked, confused.

I shrugged. He’d understand soon enough.

Winning was just a matter of perspective.

Dear Reader,

Thanks so much for reading Shadowbound! I feel so fortunate to get to share my stories, and with your support, I can keep doing it. If you enjoyed the story, I’d love it if you left a review. Even a sentence or two helps so much!

Next up, continue on with Lilik’s adventures in Duskwoven, available now. I’ve also included Duskwoven’s first chapter at the end of this volume.

To keep up to date with my latest releases and for the occasional free fiction, visit www.CarrieSummers.com and sign up for my email list. I’d love to hear from you!

Thanks again and all best,

Carrie

Acknowledgements

Once again, I’m deeply indebted to many people for their support and help creating this book. My readers, David Forrest, Mary Anne Tarr, Anna Mahlin, and Frances Silversmith, give me fantastic feedback. Thank you to Anna Genoese for the quick and expert editing and to Amalia Chitulescu for the mind-blowing cover.

And last, thanks to my friends and family for their unconditional love and support.

Duskwoven

Book Three

Shattering of the Nocturnai

Carrie Summers

Chapter One

Tossed by the violent rocking of the hull, the lantern threw wild shadows over the damp wall of my cell. It was night; though the Ulstat schooner was seaworthy, gaps between the upper planks of the wall allowed moonlight past. Frothing waves sprayed seawater through the same gaps. In the first few hours of our journey, I’d tried to scoot away to stay dry. It had done no good. My leg iron kept me shackled too close to the wall to escape the splashing. Trying only caused the cuff to chafe.

A sudden, savage wave sent me lurching across the cabin. My chain snapped tight, the cuff trenching into the skin of my ankle, cutting flesh and bruising bone. The groan of the hull covered my shriek as I tried desperately to worm back toward the wall before the next wave smacked us. Huddled in a ball, my hand around the iron cuff as if I could keep it from hurting me again, I whimpered and waited, sprayed every few seconds by seawater.

Time stretched out, each crash of a wave and moan of the hull beating against my strength. When the cruel rocking finally quieted, I held my breath, afraid it would just start back up. Moments later, my door flew open, slamming against the wall.

A guardsman for House Ulstat stood in the entry, face locked in a permanent snarl. A scar slashed across his cheek, creating a line from his lip to the outer corner of his eye where his beard didn’t grow. The scar itself was black, probably due to coal dust and a poor job cleaning out the original wound.

“Ilaraok harbor?” I asked, forcing strength into my words.

The man grunted. Did that mean yes? No?

“You’re going to unchain me at least, right?” As I held up my foot, I noticed the line of blood dripping down my ankle. I wished I were on Ioene where the power of the aurora would heal the gash overnight. As it was, I’d have to convince Trader Ulstat that I’d be no use to him with gangrene rotting my foot off. He must need me. Otherwise, why go to the trouble of keeping me alive?

The guard didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled a heavy keychain from his pocket and fitted one of the keys into the lock at the wall. After unfastening my chain from the ship, he draped it over his shoulder and started out the door, clearly expecting me to follow. I didn’t hesitate; there'd come a time to fight, but it wasn’t now. Not with my family and Raav locked in the hold with me. According to what Olev Ulstat had said during our capture, Mistress Nyralit was here, too. I needed a better understanding of the situation before I made a move.

I followed the guard into the ship’s central aisle, grimacing when he gave an extra tug that ground the iron cuff into my wound. Another Ulstat guardsman shouldered out of the adjacent cabin with Raav in tow. Unlike my single shackle, they’d put Raav’s wrists in irons as well as cuffing one of his ankles. In the two days since we’d sailed away from Stanik Island, casting off from the hidden anchorage in the dark of night, Raav’s bruises had darkened. His upper lip was swollen, and a livid scrape showed through the knee of his torn trousers.

I wanted to run to him but remained where I was, standing obediently behind my guard. Raav’s eyes met mine, sending rays of warmth through me. I stared back, trying without speaking to say how sorry I was about his family. About all this. Frask had died at Raav’s hand, whether Raav had intended it or not. Regardless of his brother’s cruelty, Raav had to be drowning in guilt over that. He’d lost his mother in the battle for Istanik, too. But he stood with his shoulders straight, defiant in the face of the Ulstat guards.

“Hurry up about it,” the guard who led me called. “Trader Ulstat wants us up and out in minutes. Ship needs to get round the north point.”

Grumbles followed the words, emanating from a pair of cabins between us and the forward ladder. After a moment, a door swung open, and a guard stepped out leading my family on a single chain. Da’s hands were cuffed like Raav’s, but they’d left Jaret’s free. Finally, a last guard appeared, pulling Nyralit’s chain. When the former strandmistress looked over her shoulder and caught my eye, she cried in dismay.

“We’re okay,” I called. “We’ll be okay.” I wanted to say more, but if I started talking about escape, the guards might decide to do a better job locking me up.

My reassurance didn’t seem to help Nyralit. Already bedraggled, her flowing silks tattered and her hair a tangled mess, she bowed her head in defeat. I clenched my fists behind my back. I’d need to speak with her in private. Soon. I could really use her help in getting out of this. Having her feeling beaten would do no good.

Now that we’d all been fetched from our cells, my guard jerked my chain. I squelched a cry of pain, but only barely. Hoping to avoid another jerk, I followed so close on the man’s heels that he cast an annoyed look over his shoulder.

After two days in the hold, my knees shook when we were dragged up the ladder. Once on deck, I could see the severe lines of Araok Island blotting the stars ahead. Above, a handful of clouds scudded across a gibbous moon. But otherwise, stars glittered above. Clearly, no imminent storm threatened. Which meant that the huge waves were either due to distant weather, or worse, they were signs that Mieshk’s power was growing faster than I’d feared.

Our ship had darted into a bay, bringing the reprieve from the large waves on the open strait. But unlike the harbor near Ilaraok, the island’s main city, the shore wrapping the bay was unsettled.

So why had we stopped here?

Moments later, a handful of crew dashed across the decks, followed by the stark figure of Olev Ulstat. The trader glared at our huddled group, reserving a particularly long glance for me. I curled my lip at him. As if to punish me, he reached for his belt and pulled out my dagger.

Immediately, I reached for Tyrak with my inner sense.

Tyrak?

Lilik! Thank the tides! Are you okay? I can barely hear you.

When Trader Ulstat ran a finger across the blade, I could feel Tyrak’s revulsion. I felt violated, too, as if it were me that Olev Ulstat touched without permission.

I’ll get you back. I promise. I shoved my thoughts hard in Tyrak’s direction, as much in frustration at seeing him held by the Ulstat prime as to make sure the idea reached him.

I have no doubt in that, Tyrak responded.

“Come on, people!” Trader Ulstat called to his crew. “If we’re not in the water immediately, you’ll be left aboard with the . . . Volunteers.”

Volunteers? I caught Raav’s eye, and he shrugged.

At a nod from Trader Ulstat, my captor yanked my chain, sending a fresh shiver of pain up my leg from the cuff. How were Da and Raav’s wrists faring? Better than my ankle, I hoped. As the guards dragged us toward the aft deck of the ship, I spotted crewmen at work swinging the ship’s dinghy out over the water. As soon as we neared, Trader Ulstat instructed his men to open a section of the rail so we could climb in.

I went first, sending the boat into a wild swing when I overbalanced. A jerk on my chain combined with a dive toward a bench kept me from flying over the other side.

“Perhaps the rest of your companions can be more cautious when boarding,” Trader Ulstat commented.

I glared at him.

Once our party of captives and guards were seated in the vessel, Trader Ulstat climbed aboard. He nodded at the nearest crewman who jumped to the winch and began lowering us to the surface of the water.

“As soon as we’re ashore, those who didn’t volunteer may swim,” the trader announced. “The others—you know your job. Wait until she draws alongside. It has to be close.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Trader Ulstat shrugged. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

When my guard released my chain to take up the oars, I considered jumping overboard and swimming for freedom. But with a length of heavy metal links locked to my ankle, I wouldn’t make it far. So I slouched in my seat and attempted to look untroubled.

In truth, I was starving and the inside of my mouth felt like a clamshell left cracked open under the hot sun. My tongue was a shriveled piece of meat left to dry up and wither. Since departing Stanik Island, Olev Ulstat hadn’t bothered to give us food, and we’d had just one drink.

I wouldn’t let him see that it had weakened me though.

When the bottom of the boat rasped against the sand of the beach, Trader Ulstat jumped from the bow and grabbed a line knotted through an eyebolt. He held the vessel in place while the guards disembarked and then half-lifted, half-dragged us from the boat. As we waded ashore, the salty water stung the gash on my ankle. Trader Ulstat scanned the beach until he spotted the silvery wood of a long-dead tree, fallen from the sparse pine forest behind, or maybe carried on storm seas in some distant past.

Trader Ulstat took a seat on the trunk and gestured at the guards. After dragging us to the log, one of the men pulled more locks from a heavy canvas sack and fastened the ends of our chains together. Next, he looped a free end around one of the standing trees and locked it. I suspected that by working together we could uproot the tree—Araok’s soil was thin and rocky, the trees weak. But with four guards hovering, that wouldn’t do much good.

“Sit,” said Trader Ulstat. “We have a while to wait.”

I knew he wanted us to ask about his plans again. Instead, I stepped over a loop of chain and took a seat next to Nyralit. She scooted close, both taking comfort and providing warmth. As we waited, around ten men from the ship swam to shore and waded onto the sand. In the bay, the schooner’s remaining crew raised the sail.

“The beach here reminds me a little of Ioene,” Nyralit commented. “Especially with the darkness.”

Jaret scooted closer, eager for a tale. During my time back in Istanik, I'd had few chances to tell him about the better parts of the Nocturnai—I’d been too focused on other things.

“Before Mieshk, at least,” she added. “Who knows what island is like now.”

At that, Raav nodded. Wrists still locked in the cuffs, he’d chosen to remain standing. Probably because it allowed him to defy Trader Ulstat in a small way.

“She’s as mad as the monster-heir,” he muttered, no doubt trying to provoke Trader Ulstat into acting rashly. From this point on, we needed to be constantly looking for advantages.

If Raav’s comment riled the prime of House Ulstat, the man didn’t show it. Eyes on the bay, he tugged up the legs of his trousers and took a seat at the end of the log.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Whatever she’s done is temporary. As soon as we eradicate her, we’ll heal the island. Make it like it was during Vanished times.”

Finally, Trader Ulstat stiffened. I smirked.

Like a ghost, the schooner tacked and headed from the bay. Once or twice, the sound of creaking rigging drifted over our beach. More often, any noise from the outer bay was lost in the nearby lapping of wavelets against the sand, and from behind, the rustle of small animals in the dry forest undergrowth. Gathered in a small group, the guards kept watch on both the beach and the forest behind us. Though the trees were sparse, the woods were one of the few places on Araok Island where someone could hide; most of the landscape was dark stone and bare soil, pocked with mine openings and quarries.

As the schooner moved into the main strait, the sails snapped with the increased wind and rolling swell. Upon the deck, someone lit a torch and stood at the bow.

“Not long now,” Trader Ulstat said. “I think we were quick enough in our little side trip.”

“You okay, Lilik?” Da asked. It was the first time he’d spoken since we waded ashore. I wondered what he was thinking. Did he feel like he’d failed to protect me? Ridiculous, of course, since it was my fault he’d been captured in the first place. But that wouldn’t stop him from trying to take responsibility.

“I’ll be better once we see House Ulstat obliterated. Shouldn’t be long.”

Da sighed in response, out of words for me.

“This isn’t your fault, Da,” I said. “I just wish I’d done a better job keeping you and Jaret away from everything.”

“You did what you could,” he responded. “It was your idea to split us up. I should have taken your warnings more seriously. Been more careful.”

“There,” Trader Ulstat said, standing. He pointed toward the strait. In the wan moonlight, the sails of the schooner were pale ghosts against the dark sea. I wasn’t sure what the trader was indicating until Nyralit gasped.

“I don’t see,” Jaret said.

“There.” Nyralit pointed.

Out on the dark strait, the shimmering colors on the mainsail of Zyri’s Promise danced over the waves. I couldn't make out the details of the image sketched on the glowing, nightwoven cloth; she was too far away. But there was no doubt about the ship’s identity. Sleek as a hunting shark, she sped forward and darted back and forth, light from her sail glinting off the water.

Captain Altak was gaining on the Ulstat schooner, matching her tack for tack while managing a careful distance between the vessels. In the darkness, he wouldn’t want to misjudge.

“We spotted him near midnight,” Trader Ulstat said. “We didn’t have much time, but fortunately I have intimate knowledge of the Araokan coastline. Unlike your captain.”

I understood now. Fearing we’d be rescued, the trader had slipped into the bay and unloaded us. Not a bad plan. But he had to realize that Captain Altak would catch the schooner soon enough. Especially after Trader Ulstat had ordered most of the crew off the ship, the remaining sailors would have no chance in actual combat. Whether Captain Altak had readied his harpoons or whether he planned to use grapples and board the other vessel, the schooner was doomed. No doubt the captain would take a prisoner and get the story of our whereabouts from them.

Trader Ulstat was watching me, a keen look in his eyes.

“Don’t think I haven’t considered the odds,” he commented. “This isn’t about a shipboard battle.”

At the next tack, torches flared to life on the decks of Zyri’s Promise. Outlined by fire, the ship accelerated, doubling her speed in a matter of moments. Built by the Vanished and pulled by a nightwoven sail, the ship could sail at ten times the speed, maybe more, of the schooner. Most likely, Captain Altak had left port a full day after we sailed from Stanik Island. It hadn’t been hard to guess our destination.

Barreling across the strait, Zyri’s Promise arrowed for the schooner only to whip around at the last moment, drawing broadsides to her and matching her pace. Our friends planned to board, probably having decided it would be safer than harpooning a ship that had prisoners aboard.

After a couple minutes, the ships were locked together, grapples binding them rail to rail. I watched, hand over my mouth as they sailed on. Moments later, I gasped when dark shapes leaped from the rail of the schooner, opposite Zyri’s Promise and probably invisible to her crew.

Were they fleeing? No. A cold weight settled into my stomach as I realized that this must’ve been planned.

Maintaining the tack, the ships passed out of sight, their silhouettes hidden behind a jut of land forming one arm of the bay. I waited, breath held, for the next tack. Watched, unblinking, for the glimmering sail of Zyri’s Promise to emerge once again in plain view at the center of the strait.

Instead, a flash of light stabbed the back of my eyes. I cried out as flame leaped for the heavens, the initial fireball towering three times the height of a ship. The sound of exploding black powder pummeled us a few heartbeats later, knocking the breath from my body, leaving my ears ringing.

And finally, the heat washed us as the conflagration lowered to a steady blaze, a cloud of smoke with a red underbelly billowing up to block the starlight.

“Well,” said Trader Ulstat, “at least you know they tried to rescue you.”

Click here to grab the book and continue the story. -Carrie