Legacy of the Lost Mage: Jaeth's Eye
Date: 2014-09-02 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Fiction; dragons; High Fantasy; Epic Fantasy; Adult; Science Fiction Fantasy
Description: Sume Kaggawa promised her father a dragon. Abandoned by an older brother who dreamed of grand adventures, she is the only hope left for a family fallen on hard times. A deal with a shadowy mage traps her in a conspiracy between greedy merchants and forgotten kings. For the chance to revive her family name and be everything her brother could never be, Sume must sign away her life and freedom--or forever doom her bloodline to failure. Meanwhile, the mercenary Kefier finds himself chased down by former associates after a botched job leaves his friend dead. Already once branded a murderer, he cros
Publisher: Liam's Vigil Publishing Co

Jaeth's Eye

Legacy of the Lost Mage

K.S. Villoso

Liam's Vigil Publishing Co.

Copyright © 2015 K.S. Villoso

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Winter

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Spring

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Interlude

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Summer

Interlude

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Interlude

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Interlude

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Fall

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Interlude

Chapter Eight

Praise For Author

Books In This Series

Winter

Chapter One

For as long as she could remember, Sume wanted to see dragons. Not the large, ground-crawling lizards all over the west, or the false-basilisks that infested the waterways in the east across the sea. Not even the human-sized wyverns that would cover the mountains of the north like bees. No—she wanted to see an actual flying, fire-breathing dragon the way every child of Jin-Sayeng did and claim it for herself. She would capture it and bring it back home.

“And what would you do with a dragon?” her father, the merchant, asked.

“I would save the kingdom.”

Amusement flickered in her father’s eyes. He had been young, then, just in his thirties, with deep black hair and a beard he kept proudly trimmed, a fit, trim body, and perpetual laughter at the edge of his lips. “From what?”

She couldn’t remember the answer. Surely as a child she would not have known the hardships that could befall a nation at the wake of its king’s death. Perhaps she was merely parroting what everyone else took as the truth. When their ancestors rode dragons, they were prosperous. When they had dragons, no other nation would dare cross their path, and they lived without fear of war or invasion. And so what was missing, what did they need more than anything in the world?

“Dragons,” she said, out of nowhere. She stared at the clear blue sky, her eyes squinting. Sunlight streamed through the clouds, but she couldn’t see a single shadow cross the horizon.

The woman who met her at the docks grimaced. “You really are an island girl.” She said it in a way that told Sume she didn’t mean it as a compliment.

Sume turned to Errena with a frown. “You don’t believe in dragons?” she asked. “But you live so close to the grasslands. You know the legend—how the dragons razed all the wilderness up there so that everything became flat and the only thing that grows is the wild grass and rice and—”

“Of course we believe in dragons,” Errena huffed. “But we also don’t expect to just see them in the sky.”

“Why not?”

Errena turned her head to the side. “Why not,” she began, before rubbing the back of her head. “You need to drop the strange questions, Sumi.”

“Sume.”

“Sume,” Errena repeated, clicking her tongue. “You’re in the mainland now. Fuyyu is not the biggest city out there, but it’s big enough to swallow someone like you whole. The sooner you blend in, the better.” She sniffed Sume before wrinkling her nose, as if the stench of the fish and coconuts of her island of Akki clung to her. “And believe me,” she quickly added, “you’re going to want to blend in.”

Sume tightened her grip on her bag. She couldn’t see why asking about dragons was such a strange thing. They were in the mainland of Jin-Sayeng, the land of dragons. Although a true fire-breather hadn’t been seen for decades, dragons were supposed to be in their blood. They even called their king Dragonlord.

“Look,” Errena continued, her voice growing lighter as they strode down the dark, damp streets. “You can stare at the sky all you want, but I hate to break it to you. You’re never going to see dragons. Do you know how many tourists we get down here? How many supposed dragon-hunters we’ve had to fish out of the wilds or throw in jail for causing trouble? People think there're dragons wherever there’s wilderness and tall, jagged mountains about, and in Jin-Sayeng that’s either way to the northeast or all the way down here. So—”

They reached a small, nondescript building leading straight to a narrow alley.

“So if I were you,” she said, with a sheepish smile, “I’d not stir up suspicions that way. Mistress Iamme agreed to hire you sight unseen, and the last thing she needs is her seamstresses sticking their nose into places where they don’t belong. I should know—I’ve gotten my fair share of scoldings that way.”

“All right,” Sume replied.

Errena paused. “I mean…” She gave a quick burst of laughter. “Why are you so interested in them, anyway? You’re way too old for those childish fancies.”

Sume gave her best smile. “Because I promised my father I’d bring one home,” she declared.

Her memories of home—of Akki, that tiny island to the south—have blurred in her mind so much she wasn’t always sure where one ended and the other began. But some details have lingered over the years, like a lighthouse on a dark horizon. A cloudy sky in early morning grey, tinged with the shadows of ravens and gulls on the lookout for their next meal. Foamy waves, falling apart on the rocks in an explosion of salt-stench and sea-slime. Eddies forming in the black sand, spat out a thousand years ago by the volcano, some say, or crushed from boulders trampled by dragons, others insist.

She remembered the winters the most. Winter in Akki didn’t have the same meaning as it did up north. Unlike in the mainland, wintry winds did not come bearing snow, blocking front doors and forcing families around a hearth for a season. Instead, it came once or twice in the form of strong gales that seemed to carry the world’s weight of water in its clouds, hurricanes that threatened to uproot an entire year’s work in an afternoon. And then it was gone, like a mother’s anger or a lover’s tantrum, leaving behind only a touch of dampness in the air, which brought a slight chill on people’s bones.

Winter in Akki continued to the beat of a goddess who rewarded toil with the chance for more toil. Sakku of the Seas, also known as Sakku of the Wind in some villages, was not the kindest deity, but she was fair, and in that island—that often-harsh, unrelenting island in the southwest of the once-mighty nation of Jin-Sayeng—fair was enough. If the fisherfolk braved the rolling waters, she drove fish to their nets; if the farmers in the hills woke to plant rice on the butchered fields left in the typhoons’ wake, they would yield harvest. Never so much that they could put on airs like the fish traders of Sutan or the rice merchants of the Sougen, but enough to put foods in their families’ stomachs. Enough to last another day. It was why Akki had never needed a warlord, why the prominent families made their names simply by sticking their nose to the dirt and plodding along. If Akki had banners, they would be decorated with plough oxen; her colours would be mud brown, and her talisman a mixture of sweat and grime.

It was winter, of course, when she left

“I should be the one going,” Goran said the night before she left on the ship. His fingers shook as he spoke—years of drinking and cracking his head on the pavement nearly every night had taken its toll, and every little movement brought him pain. “Your mother’s dead, and your brother…swallowed up by the continent…I’m the father. It’s my responsibility to take care of my family.”

“Father,” Hana said, stirring the cup of porridge and broth for their meal. “Don’t get yourself worked up.”

“I’m the father,” Goran repeated. He placed his hand on Sume’s. His breath was free of alcohol fumes. It struck her as strange. She was so used to smelling them on him.

“You didn’t drink tonight,” she observed.

“I wanted to remember,” he said, placing a hand on her face. “I don’t want to forget you.”

She laughed. “You won’t forget me. I’m your favourite child.” She used to declare it out loud when her brother was around; in his absence, the joke seemed to have lost all of its potency.

But he simply stared at her, teary-eyed, as if he barely heard her at all. “I will forget,” he whispered. “When the drink is in me and all I see is haze—”

“Then stop drinking,” Hana declared curtly.

“Look at your brother’s wife,” he said, the earnest look on his face turning into a scowl. “She bears him a son and suddenly she thinks she’s the head of the family.”

Hana stepped forward to snatch the porridge bowl from his hands. “Aren’t I?” she asked.

“My daughter is the one leaving to put food in your bellies—”

“Because your son hasn’t sent money in over a year,” Hana snapped. She ladled porridge into the bowl so violently it nearly spilled on Goran’s lap. Sume thought she was doing it on purpose—she half-expected her to throw the whole thing, steam and all, right into her father’s face. “If I didn’t have to take care of his infant son and ungrateful father, I’d have gone myself a long time ago.”

“Go now, then,” Goran sneered.

“And take the boy with me? Or leave him for you and your daughter to take care of? You’ll call me a neglectful mother, either way. Face it, Goro Kaggawa—you’re never going to let me win.”

“Please, Father, Sister,” Sume broke in. “Let’s not fight before I leave. These hours are all we’ve got left.” She glanced at her nephew, who was sitting quietly in the corner, pretending to read. But she could see him simply going over the same page, hoping to be anywhere but in that common room with them. This wasn’t the first time her father and sister-in-law had been at each others’ throats, and she suspected they’d be doing it more often in the days to come. “Come here, Dai,” she said, extending her hand. “Tell me what you’d like me to bring home to you. A doll to play with? I remember how you used to love dolls.”

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m too old for dolls now.”

“How about…a sword?”

Dai’s eyes widened. “A real one?” he half-whispered, as if it was too much for him to say out loud.

“Please,” Hana said. “A sword is expensive, and he’s much too young.”

“Wooden swords are cheap,” Goran said listlessly.

“I’m going to bring you a real sword you can use when you’re old enough to be a man,” she said, smoothing down Dai’s hair. “What do you think? A true royal’s sword, with a carved wooden hilt—”

She heard Goran give a harsh exhale before looking away.

“—just like the one your grandfather used to have,” Sume finished.

“The one my father took away with him?” Dai asked.

“Perhaps that same one.”

“I doubt you’ll find him out there,” Goran said in a low voice. “If he’s so close, he would have come home already. He won’t come home. He’s either forgotten us, or he’s dead.”

Hana finally slammed a bowl down on the countertop. It broke in two.

“And you, sister,” Sume continued, turning her gaze to Hana, who didn’t even bother to clean up the shards of clay and had turned to stirring the porridge on the stove. “I’ll bring you a silk gown, like the one Mother had that we sold with the house to pay our debts. It would look so beautiful on you. What do you think?”

“I think your head is in the clouds,” Hana said. “You’ve listened to far too many tales when you were little, and now I’m convinced you might just be too young to be going out on your own. What do you know of living amongst strangers, Sume? We don’t know anyone in the city, and if people hear you speak, they’ll think you simple. I do, and I’ve watched you grow.”

Sume ignored her. “And as for you, Papa,” she continued, placing a hand on her father’s shoulder. “I’m going to bring you home a dragon.”

Her whole family fell silent for a moment. All she could hear were the crickets outside, singing a symphony into the night sky. She thought they were going to be angry with her. But then Goran clutched his sides and began to laugh so hard tears fell from the corner of his eyes. “Truly,” he said, after he’d caught his breath. “The things you say…”

“Remember when I was little? I told you I wanted to find a dragon.”

“And I told you what for?”

“Whoever brings the first dragon to the king will surely bring their family good fortune for the rest of their days,” Sume said. “You know Prince Rysaran refuses to be crowned unless he rides a dragon. Both of his sisters stepped down from the succession, making him heir to the Dragonthrone. And yet even though he has been eligible for it for years, he has yet to accept the claim. Imagine, Papa—to be in the king’s good graces again…”

Her father’s laughter turned to sobbing.

“There, now, Sume, you’ve upset him,” Hana admonished. “He’ll be impossible for the next week.”

But Sume didn’t think he was upset. She thought he looked happy, in spite of the tears. Proud. She hadn’t seen him look like that in years.

Getting settled in the city of Fuyyu didn’t take long. She had a single bag with all her worldly possessions inside, none of which held any value whatsoever. Clothes. A hairpin. A cloak. “You come from a merchant family?” Errena asked, eyes nearly bulging out of her head as Sume unceremoniously shoved her things under the narrow bed in their shared room. “I thought merchants were rich.”

“They try to be,” Sume replied.

“And I suppose yours failed,” Errena said. She paused. “I’m sorry—I know that’s rude, but—”

“No, it’s all right.” Sume shrugged. “It’s true. My family just wasn’t all that good at it, once all is said and done. We lost our ship to a storm a few years back, and creditors took the rest. My brother Oji left for the mainland to find work, hoping, at the very least, that he can earn enough to buy our house back.”

“Is he here, in Fuyyu?”

“No. He went west, to the Kag.”

Errena looked surprised. “Did he…did he join the mercenaries?”

Sume nodded.

“Almost every young man out here wants to go west for that,” Errena said. “It’s despicable. No offense to your brother, of course, but…there are better ways to find money than in signing up for servitude to rich men who obey no laws. The Kag is chaotic, dirty, full of ill-bred men who only see Jinsein women as whores and Jinsein men as cheap sources of labour. Almost half the men I know who went there as mercenaries have died. They paint such a pretty picture over the riches and glory they can find, but they’re all lies.”

“Mmm,” Sume simply replied.

Errena stared at her. “Your brother isn’t—”

“Oh, no,” Sume said, smiling. “My brother is alive. He sends us money. He just…he’s just been distracted the last few months. It’s why I came out here to be a seamstress. Just to help out, you know, and maybe find word on what my brother has been up to.”

“Right. You came here for that, and to find dragons.” Errena didn’t sound all that convinced. Sume knew she probably thought her an airhead, a girl who needed to dream less and grow up faster. She didn’t exactly disagree, but…

It was hard to wrap yourself up in doom and gloom on such a bright day. Leaving her island home suddenly made her world feel ten times bigger, and in her heart, that meant ten times the possibilities. Maybe out there, she could find what would make her family right once and for all. Then Oji could come home, Father would stop drinking and no longer argue with Hana, and Dai would grow up with a family who only knew how to be happy with each other. Errena left her alone to get settled, and she took the chance to return to the streets so she could get a better feel for the place. She didn’t know how much longer she would have. She figured once she started working, the days would just blur together, and she might as well get some sightseeing while she could.

She had already seen as much of the docks as she wanted to—as a child of the seaside town of Akki in the island of the same name, the sound of waves and seagulls was about all she knew. So she went further inland, past the bridge to the handful of towers surrounding the city center. The first thing she found was the library. Her father had told her about it in the past, with a kind of cowed reverence. “A library,” he’d explained gently, “is a place where you can borrow books for free.”

She stared back as if he had just told her you could scoop gold out of the streets. “How?”

“What do you mean, how? You pick any book you want, or two, or three—”

“Any book I want?”

“Then you have to show them your town census and—”

“For free, Papa?”

He paused, staring at her with a measure of—well, she didn’t quite understand it back then, but now she was distinctly aware it was pity. Pity. Her father was a learned man who had travelled often in his youth—a man who knew every corner of Jin-Sayeng as intimately as the back of his hand. And yet here was his daughter, who had never left the island. “We’ve hidden you away, my dear,” he whispered, almost to himself. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Someday, we’ll go, you and me and Oji and Mama. I’ll show you things you can’t even imagine.”

Too late now, she thought, staring at the domed building with its faded green rooftops. Whoever ran Fuyyu—an official assigned by the Dragonthrone, if she recalled, and not a warlord—didn’t seem to care all that much about outward appearances. Chips of flaking paint were falling all the way down to the gutters, most of which seemed to have congealed around the edges of the pipes.

She took a deep breath. “Well,” she said. “I’m still here, and I’ve got promises to keep.” Puffing her chest up, she strode all the way through the doors. She was surprised that they let her in. The library looked so nice, and even the attendant was dressed impeccably in silk and gold-threaded belts. She, on the other hand, was indistinguishable from any of the village girls, all clothed in yellowing linen and stinking slightly of fish. The attendant told her she couldn’t borrow anything until she’d filed the proper paperwork with the city, but she could read the books right there, if she wanted to.

She found the aisle about dragons all to herself and then stood there, unable to decide where to start. There were aisles upon aisles of books. She shouldn’t be surprised—Jin-Sayeng was the land of dragons, and even though it wasn’t anymore, surely many would have written about them in centuries. She glanced at the only other person in the vicinity—a man sitting on a desk near the railing, bent over one book while a pile sat within easy reach. He was reading up on dragons, too. He looked Kag—the sparse hair on his head was tinged with yellow, his skin was very white, and his eyes seemed blue under the light. His nose looked like a wedge, rising out of his wrinkled face like a broken edge of a cliff.

“An aficionado, I see,” she said, in Kag.

The man looked up. “Of dragons?” he asked. He sniffed. “Does anyone else come to this blasted land for anything else?”

“The seaside, the mountains, perhaps the food—”

“—which I’ve slowly been starving on the past few weeks,” he said impatiently. He scowled at her.

“What a rude thing to say.”

“It’s ruder to offer a man rice three times a day and expect him to not keel over from sugar-sickness.” He turned to face her, as if to regard her for the first time. “Fascinating. I didn’t think many Jinseins speak Kag.” His own speech was accented—perhaps even more so than hers.

“You’re in the west,” she pointed out. “Nearly everyone here speaks Kag. It’s not that strange.”

“I’ve been here for weeks, girl. Most of you mangle the language into something incoherent.”

She thought it was an odd thing to say, coming from a man who seemed just as careless with the way he spoke. “Well,” she said, after an awkward moment. “I should leave you to read on your own. I’ve got my own reading to do.”

“Anything in particular?” he asked, his voice changing slightly. There was now a touch of curiosity on it.

“I was going to pull a random book out of the shelf, and—”

He slapped the table with his palms with such speed that it startled her. “Perfect. You can start by helping me.”

“I’m sorry—what do you mean?”

He pointed at the books in front of him. “I can’t read your infernal language, and most of these texts are in Jinsein. I assume you can read, of course?”

“Of course, but—”

“I’ll pay. What’s the going rate for translators these days?”

She wasn’t sure why he thought she would know. “I have a job already—” she tried again.

“You can work around that, can’t you?” he demanded. He pulled out three books from the pile. “I specifically need to know what’s in these. I don’t see why you’d still refuse, girl—you look like you need the money.”

Sume swallowed. He wasn’t incorrect. If she’d learned anything in her island home, it was that opportunities are as rare as dragons, and if they fell in your lap, you weren’t supposed to say no.

She glanced at the books. They were all accounts by various writers on dragon-sightings over the past century—books she would have been reading, anyway. She didn’t like the man’s arrogance, but she could swallow pride as easily as she could swallow a handful of rice, and getting paid could make up for the rest.

“Where do you want me to start?” she asked.

Chapter Two

The stranger, Sume later learned, wasn’t Kag at all, but Dageian.

It made no difference to her. His money was sound and his arrogance she wrote off as a quirk that didn’t really affect her, one way or another. Most men were arrogant in some way, and almost no woman ever hit her teens without having brushed against one if not outright deal with them. More importantly, his interests aligned with hers. He was looking for a dragon, too.

He never explicitly told her, of course. He saw that she could communicate with him and could read well and left it there. He never even gave her his name. She only saw it scribbled in one of his notebooks much later on, where he’d signed a note with Kastor. She tried calling him that one day, and was greeted with the resounding snap of a book being slammed shut.

“Keep your nose out of my business,” the man said. He got up, grabbed his cloak, and stormed down the stairs as if her curiosity were highly offensive. Perhaps it was. She didn’t know much about how people from other parts of the world went about their business.

“Why do you let him treat you like that?” a voice asked.

Sume turned around. A man was perusing the aisles with an amused, somewhat pensive look on his face.

“He’s a foreigner,” Sume said.

“And that’s excuse enough for him to be rude?” The young man walked down to join her, hands on his back. He was Jinsein, with long black hair tied around the nape of his neck. He gestured at the chair next to her. “May I…?”

“Go ahead,” she said.

The young man slumped down and bowed. “Ing Vahn,” he greeted.

She returned the gesture. “Sume Kaggawa.”

“Sume—I say if we let foreigners get away with whatever they want within our borders, it’s a signal for them to do more.” He tapped his chin. “Say…invade.”

“Just because he’s Dageian doesn’t mean he’s scouting the premises.”

“What makes you say that?”

Sume closed her mouth. She really wasn’t sure, if it came to that.

“You’re young,” Ing Vahn said, “so I think you can be forgiven for a little naivety.”

“I’m sixteen,” Sume countered. “And you don’t seem that much older than me yourself.”

“Then it’s about time you learned how small things can signal bigger intentions.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Like your friendliness towards me?”

He laughed. “I’m more interested in the books you’re reading. You don’t seriously think you’re going to find a helpful anecdote or two in there? Every dragon sighting will be years too late, and I can tell you right now—every dragon hunter in this century would have gone and checked already. There are no dragons in Jin-Sayeng anymore.”

“And you’d know this how?”

“Dragons hold power in these lands,” Ing Vahn said, growing serious. “It has nothing to do with the beast itself. A beast—just one beast—is so easily killed. But whoever possesses a dragon in these lands would have the people’s ear. They’ll see him as anointed, a speaker for the gods, even. And so if there were one to be found, you would have heard about it by now. If a single forest or mountain so much as even had a single sighting of a beast, you would see people flocking to it in droves. If your employer was serious, he’d go back home. Any dragons left in this continent would be further up north, and he certainly sounds like someone who could get around the empire without fear. He’s a Dageian citizen, isn’t he? Only people from Dageis go on like that—walking without fear, pretending the whole world recognizes their superiority.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” Sume replied. “He hasn’t even told me he’s looking for a dragon, specifically. But these…accounts, these sightings…it’s all he’s interested in.”

The young man frowned. “Really. I told you they’re useless. Look at this…” He jabbed an entry with his thumb. “Written well over forty years ago. Dragons don’t live that long.”

“Don’t they?”

“Well, not out in the wild, anyway. They succumb to everything wild beasts do: sickness, starvation, other predators…”

“What could kill a dragon?”

Ing Vahn crossed his arms. “Other dragons. And especially when they’re little—just about anything. See, that’s the other thing about most of these sightings—they’re not on true fire-breathers, like the ones in the stories. These are pathetic, half-starved lizards, and I’m willing to guess every single sighting in this century alone involves hybrids or other creatures. Look at this one—” He flicked to another entry. “Ah! An account from a cart-driver who brought something up north in a box no bigger than an infant.”

“An egg, then?”

He extended his arms in full. “Dragon eggs are this big.”

“You’ve seen them?”

“I’ve read about them. Whatever this creature is…can’t be a dragon.”

Sume paused before scribbling the account down.

“What are you doing?” Ing Vahn asked.

“He asked me to keep an eye out for strange accounts, like this one,” she said. “Mark them, he said.”

“Interesting. Maybe he’s not looking for a dragon. Care to ask him?”

She smiled. “You’ve seen his mood swings. I’d rather not.”

But Ing Vahn’s words were a spark of doubt she wasn’t sure she needed. Sume couldn’t get it out of her mind as she returned to her daily routine. Life as a seamstress was unglamorous: they made shirts one after another until their fingers grew bone-weary, grabbed a bite to eat before they keeled over in exhaustion, and then they woke up the next morning to repeat the same thing. The mystery of her benefactor was a stark contrast to the mind-numbing work, and it was all she had left to look forward to.

After another evening spent in the library, marking five other entries, all involving mysterious creatures trafficked in and out and through Jin-Sayeng in the last few decades, she decided she wouldn’t leave it to chance. As was his habit, he usually left her to finish up in the last hour or so of daylight while he went off on his business. This time, instead of staying until the library was closed, she put the books away and followed him.

She walked right into Ing Vahn on the street.

“What—” he began.

She placed a finger on her lips before drawing him aside.

The young man glanced in the distance, where Kastor’s silhouette was visible right at the first bend. “Ah,” he said, realization dawning on him. “I see.”

“You put it in my head,” she countered.

“I’m not judging,” he said. “But let me go with you. It may not be safe.”

“Why wouldn’t it be? For all we know, he’s going back to his inn.”

“But that isn’t the way to the inn,” Ing Vahn said. “And you know that, don’t you? You’ve seen him depart through the window the last few days.”

“I see him meet people sometimes. I don’t know who they are, but…”

They fell silent as they tailed the old man through the streets. She felt a frisson of excitement in her veins and willed it to go down. This wasn’t her. She knew if the old man discovered what she was doing, he would be furious. Whatever he was busy with was none of her business. She was just a seamstress from an island hardly anybody knew existed. She wasn’t supposed to be sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.

And yet…

What would you do with a dragon, little one?

I would save the kingdom. I would—

“Kaggawa,” Ing Vahn whispered out of nowhere. “You said you were from the island of Akki.”

She glanced at him. “What about it?”

“Are you of any relation to Goran Kaggawa, by any chance?”

She paused before nodding. “Yes.”

“Goran Kaggawa, of the Seven Shadows?”

Another pause. “He’s my father.”

His eyes, which seemed perpetually narrowed and unexpressive, suddenly widened. “I’m in the presence of a legend…” he began.

She furrowed her brow. “Me? I wasn’t even born yet. It’s my father you’ll have to talk to. His adventures in his youth…were long behind him when I was born.” A legend. It was hard to compare to the memory of the man in her head. The ill-tempered drunk, the one whose last threads of patience had been worn down by time. She knew Old Goro was important once, but she’d long stopped being impressed by it.

“I heard he retired. Married his lady love. He stole her away from a royal family, and she dared turn against one of the oldest clans in Jin-Sayeng for the chance to settle down with a peasant. A peasant, who defied a king!”

She gave a small sound under her breath.

“You don’t…seem happy about it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Your father,” he continued with an awe of reverence. “He was part of the uprising that gave rise to the merchant cast, the alon gar. Before that, all trade had to go under the warlords’ noses, which you can imagine made for an extremely unjust system for the common man. Your father started a revolution—”

“He didn’t start it,” Sume said, her eyes still on Kastor’s silhouette from afar. “He just fell in with the right group of friends. He was the youngest of them. Hardly knew what he was doing, what he was fighting for. Like many young men, all he wanted was to do something with his life.”

“And he did. He changed the world as we know it.”

She refrained from saying he didn’t, really. She knew it would sound…ignorant. She knew little of the outside world and what happened all those years past. What she did know was irrefutable, but difficult to talk about. Her father’s bankruptcy. Her mother’s death by her own hand. Shame and scandal dogging a family that was revered in history books, or so she’d come to learn as she grew older. It was what filled her brother Oji with bitterness, the sword that eventually cut him loose from them to seek his own fortune in the hopes he could outrun their father’s mistakes. He was convinced he could—the bar was too low.

“Ah,” Ing Vahn continued, snapping his fingers as if coming to a realization. “That’s why you want to find a dragon.”

“Hush.”

“You’d bring glory to your father’s name, restore Kaggawa to Jin-Sayeng’s eye. Because he disappeared, you know, and—”

She placed a hand on his arm, and he fell silent. Kastor was talking to someone.

They inched along the side of the wall, hoping the shadows would hide them as they drew closer. They could hear an argument.

“You want to know if I’ve transported anything strange to the Kag?” an old woman demanded. “Have you been asking every cart-driver in the blasted city? We transport strange things all the time. It’s none of our business. We get paid, we deliver the goods, that’s it.”

“It’s the Dragonthrone’s business if they find out these creatures you’ve been delivering were magical. You’re forbidden from engaging with magic.” There was a note of authority on Kastor’s voice, as always. This was a man who expected people to give him what he wanted, just because he wanted it. A man born to lead and thought nothing about it. There were very few men like that in Akki. Those with even a fraction of courage to face the unfamiliar had all left, like her brother Oji.

But the old woman had dealt with men like him before, too. She just laughed. “You’re in the forgotten west,” she said. “The Dragonthrone doesn’t give a flying fuck. How could it? We have no king!”

“I’ve heard otherwise.”

“That mite of a boy who refuses to be crowned because he doesn’t have a dragon is no king. What is this obsession you all have with these creatures? They’re nothing but beasts.”

“It’s not just dragons I’m interested in,” Kastor said. “In fact, the creatures can rot in hell for all I care. But I care about what people will do to get their hands on such things. I care, mostly, about magic. None of you louts know what to do about magic in this part of the continent and your ignorance can be the death of us all.”

“And you would know, being a high and mighty Dageian and all?” the woman sighed. “If it will get you to leave me alone, then I’ll give you this. The Boarshind company: they’re the people you should be seeking. Up to the lawless west you’ll find them. They’ve contracted drivers all across these parts for many of those, more often the last few months. If you’re looking for strange shipments, they’re the ones you want to talk to. I’ve been told they’ve been transporting what sounded like livestock for years. The funny part is they’ve got no pastures. Maybe they needed the meat to feed something.” She spat. “That’s all I can give you. Good day, sir.” She shoved past him without another word.

Sume held her breath as silence followed.

“The lawless west,” she heard Ing Vahn say under his breath.

They heard a movement. She turned to run and realized too late that Kastor had already seen them. He crossed his arms as he stared at them from the street, his face glowering.

Running would make her out to be a coward. As far as she knew, she’d done nothing wrong. She walked up to him with her head held high.

“You think I pay you to spy on me?” Kastor demanded.

“You never said I shouldn’t,” Sume replied. She pointed where the woman had gone. “All of that…” she began.

“Has nothing to do with you,” he said curtly. “I’ll have to cut this arrangement short. I think I’ve had enough of your services.”

“My brother is a mercenary of the Boarshind,” Sume continued.

Kastor glared at her. “So?”

“We…we haven’t heard from him in a long time. If anything’s happened out west, I want to know. Does this have anything to do with your search for dragons? What do the mercenaries have to do with dragons?”

“I don’t give two shits about your personal matters.” He fiddled with something in his belt before flinging it in her direction. It was a purse. “We’re done. If you’re smart, you’ll stay away from all of this. Dragons are bad news. Take it from someone who’s heard it all.” Drawing his hood over his head, he turned around and disappeared in the shadows.

Sume watched and stared at the street as Ing Vahn came up to pick up the purse. He pressed it in her hands. She wrapped her icy fingers around it before turning to him. “You know,” she said, with a note of thoughtfulness, “I don’t think he ever asked for my name once. It was always you, girl!”

“Sume Kaggawa, Goran Kaggawa’s daughter,” Ing Vahn said with a note of reverence. “He had no idea.”

“It means nothing.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“He saw a mere girl and brushed her off as a nobody because it’s the truth. Goran Kaggawa is a shadow of what he had been, and his children inherited nothing but the wind. The other seamstresses are right. I’m no dragon-hunter. I’m just a girl who went out here so her family wouldn’t starve to death. What am I, in the grand scheme of things?”

Ing Vahn placed a hand on her shoulder. “Alive,” he answered softly.

And then, without stopping to explain to her why or what for, he left her to follow Kastor.

Spring

Chapter One

All Kefier knew of stories came tinged with the memory of his mother’s smooth, unbroken voice. A shame, he had been told more often than once. Books, his brother would tell him, were better. Books contained stories their mother’s imagination could never touch: stories of heroes larger than life, who toppled down beasts the size of houses and whole cities and regimes. There was no snapping Enosh out of his daydreams whenever the topic came up. Was it just the talk of heroes that did that to him? He had wanted to tell Enosh, more often than not, that he wasn’t one.

Kefier certainly wasn’t. He didn’t long for the sort of stories his brother did. He just missed his mother’s voice.

“That’s a very long explanation from someone who didn’t look like he cracked the damn thing open,” the shopkeeper told him, peering over his frosted glasses with a glare. “I’m still charging you for the full week.”

“I tried to read it,” Kefier said, tapping the leather-bound tome with what he hoped sounded like a resigned sigh.

“And?”

“I told you—”

“Three days,” the shopkeeper said.

“I had it a day!”

“I’m not running a charity here.”

Grumbling, Kefier reached into his pocket, pulling out a silver coin.

The old man picked it up, blew on it, before tucking it out of sight. “Don’t feel too bad,” he said as he returned the book to the small shelf at the back of his shop. “You’re a mercenary. I don’t usually get the bulk of my business from you lot.”

“Oji reads,” Kefier blurted out.

“That he does,” the old man said. He blinked. “Oji, eh? The Jin! Well, perhaps one mercenary, then. I hear he’s leaving Cairntown, going back home! Finally gotten sick of this old place. Not a moment too soon, eh? If the piss-filled water doesn’t get you, the whorehouse crabs will.”

“He’s probably read your entire shelf,” Kefier said, trying to change the conversation.

The old man smiled. “That’s not much of an accomplishment. There’s not a lot on there.”

Perhaps that was true, but thinking about all those books and the words one after another made Kefier ill. Bad enough that they blurred on the page when he looked at them—now they were blurring in his head. “Well, thank you, anyway,” Kefier said. “Maybe I’ll be back.”

“It’s a big world,” the old man suggested. “More than books can ever contain.” It was touching how he was still trying to make him feel better. Kefier didn’t think he needed to. It wasn’t his failure to read the book—borrowed hastily the night before, when he snuck out of the inn under the pretense of running an errand—that bothered him. He had failed to read books all his life, as his brother Enosh would have eagerly pointed out.

No. His biggest anxiety stood at the end of the road, waving at him with a grin that looked plastered on. Oji—friend, benefactor, protector, or whatever the hell the men called him. Oji, who had saved him from a fate worse than death seven years ago, and whom he needed to learn to live without soon. It shouldn’t have to be this hard. He wasn’t a boy anymore.

“Oji,” Kefier greeted.

Oji glanced at him. “You looked like you came from the book lender’s shop.”

“I passed by,” Kefier said, glancing away. “I thought they had pictures of naked ladies.”

“If you want to read anything, you know I’ve got a tab,” Oji helpfully piped up. “We might as well use it up before we leave town for good.”

Kefier shrugged. “Not interested.”

“I told you, Kef. All you have to do is practice. If you can read signs, you can read anything. Look, once we have the time, I can help you out again. I know you—”

“I don’t really want to talk about it, Oji.”

Oji gave a small chuckle, the sort that told Kefier he didn’t really take him seriously. He never did. That never used to bother him, either. Funny how the last few days had turned everything awry. One moment he thought of himself as nothing more than Oji’s right-hand man and the next…they were making plans to return to Oji’s homeland of Jin-Sayeng. Well—Oji was, fully convinced he was speaking for the both of them. Kefier hadn’t tried to correct him.

“What will you the miss most about Cairntown?” Oji asked as they took the road leading out of town.

“I don’t know,” Kefier answered truthfully.

“Come on. Lisa, I suppose.”

He scratched the back of his ear, wondering if he could work up the courage to tell Oji what was really on his mind. Oji. Good luck, but we have to part ways. It felt like a rotten thing to tell someone who had given you nothing but kindness the past few years—a rotten way to dismiss someone who had saved your life.

He pushed the thought away and focused on not stumbling on the road.

Kefier had seen Oji look like he wanted to rip off Algat’s head before, but this was the first time he saw him try. He lunged and ended up tackling his friend to the floor.

“This is ridiculous!” Oji’s cheeks and ears were turning a bright red. On most occasions, Kefier would have laughed, but the news had caught him equally off-guard. He had expected to be packing Oji’s things and listen to him waving goodbye to the stuffed boar’s head in the main hall by now.

“You signed a contract,” Algat grumbled, leaning on his desk with his elbows. He spat out the chunk of sugar cane he had been chewing on and reached under his desk to pull out a collection of parchments. “This is our standard contract agreement for all new workers on board. If you can’t read, I’ll happily do it for you. Upon termination or resignation, a worker is entitled to the balance on his pay only after the completion of one last assignment, to be given at the Boarshind’s discretion. You would have signed at this part, right here.” He jabbed at the parchment with his finger and bit off another piece of sugar cane. “In blood, I might add. In the Kag, matters like this are taken seriously.”

“The Kag? We’re in the middle of a garbage heap, you prick. You really think this is the Kag?” Oji dragged Kefier all the way to the edge of the desk before slamming his fists on the surface. “I want to go home. Home. Do you understand? Or maybe you wouldn’t know, not having a proper home to go to. You stupid ass! My sister’s waiting for me. I have a wife I haven’t seen in seven years, flies rot your soul.”

“You’ll see them again once you’ve delivered that package,” Algat replied. “And I might add, Odi—”

“Oji,” he hissed.

Algat’s eyebrows crinkled. “Right. Your grasp of our language has improved over the last few years. Which whore was responsible for that? Was it Lisa, over at Comfrey’s?”

Oji’s face tightened. “This isn’t over.”

“It could be. I dare you to walk out of here, Kaggawa. You’ve been here seven years. Surely you have some coin to spare?”

“Let’s go, Oji,” Kefier whispered. “He’s just trying to make you angry.”

“Maybe I want him to. Give me a reason to stick a sword up his backside.” Oji snorted. “How do you want that, Algat? Seven years—no wonder I don’t want to stay a day later!”

“Have it your way,” Algat said. He threw the sugar cane behind him and pulled out a sword about five fingers wide. The smile on his face—the one he’d been carrying since Oji started raising his voice—was gone. He pointed at Kefier. “I won’t hesitate to cut you down either, short nose. Get out of the way.”

“He’s just mad. Let him be, Algat, please,” Kefier said. He turned to Oji. “Calm down. You won’t be able to get back to your wife like this.”

“If she still wants a penniless whoremonger,” Algat sneered.

Oji pulled out his own sword. He stared at Algat, but instead of rushing forward, his arms dropped to his side. He looked worn out, like a man who had just lost a battle before the first blow was even struck. “I’m not going to bother,” he murmured. “Let’s get out of here, Kef, before I do something I regret.” He patted Kefier’s head and strode out of the room.

“Don’t forget your package.” Algat returned to his desk.

Kefier picked up the box and heard parchment and coin rustle inside. He started to say something.

Algat rubbed his ears. “What’s that? You’re talking to me?”

“Yes.”

The grin returned to Algat’s face. Kefier tucked the package under his arm and approached the desk. “Maybe you could let him go.” His eyes darted to the window for a moment. “I’ll do this job and the next couple for free if you do that.”

“I’m sorry, am I hearing you right? You’re not going with him?”

Kefier hesitated. He had never spoken like this to Algat before, but it was too late to back out now. “I’ll work here longer if that’s what it takes.” He took a deep breath. “He really wants to see his family. He got a letter from his sister a few weeks ago. His wife’s ill. Nothing serious, but he’s realized he’s had enough of this life.”

“And what about you, short nose? Do you think the same way?”

He sounded genuinely curious, which was unlike him. That made Kefier hesitate. He shrugged. “I was thinking to just go with him a bit. Help him get settled. But what would I do there? I wouldn’t know anyone. I’d be bored off my ass. I don’t know. I just want to do right by my friend.”

“You always do, don’t you?” Algat smirked. Kefier waited for him to explain what he meant, but Algat returned to his business-like drawl. “That’s all well and good, short nose, but I suppose you’re not aware that you don’t have a contract of your own? You’re here under Kaggawa’s name. If he leaves, your work with us is finished.”

Kefier opened his mouth. Algat sighed. “You’re pathetic. You didn’t know? How old are you again?”

Somehow, he found his voice. “It’s my nineteenth year.”

“Already! I could’ve sworn you were much younger the last time I checked.”

He shook his head. “What do you mean I don’t get a contract of my own? You’ve been paying me for years!”

“You’ve been here about as long as Kaggawa, if I’m not mistaken. A bit less. Only a boy. I don’t blame you for not knowing, but we can’t give contracts out to escapees.” Algat scratched his chin. “We’ve got standards, kid. We wouldn’t get Dageian clients otherwise. Consider yourself Kaggawa’s hire. If we’re done with him, we’re done with you.”

Kefier felt the heat rush into his face. Up until that moment, Oji’s decision had been a joke—something to talk about on a nice summer evening years from now when they speak of good old Oji. He tried to read into what Algat wasn’t saying, but he didn’t know the man well enough. He ended up standing there, blinking at the light and feeling stupid.

Algat leaned forward. “If you want to hear my advice, then here it is: finish this job. What’s another? Finish it, get your pay, and follow your friend home. Jin-Sayeng folk don’t take kindly to strangers, but I’ve heard you speaking the language with him. In my unschooled opinion, you sound almost native. You should fit in there about as well as you fit in here.”

“But if I want to stay...” he started.

“Maybe if someone else wants to sign you in under their name. Try asking them, but I doubt it. Hard enough to let them overlook the fact when we started paying you.” He propped his feet up on the table. “Look, lad, I don’t mind you underfoot. You don’t talk very much or cause trouble, which is a lot more than I can say for some of these Agartes-forsaken monkeys. If you can figure out a way for us to keep you without a lot of hassle, you have my blessings. Now, if you’ll leave me to my afternoon snack?”

Oji was outside with Rokarsh when he stepped out in the hall. From the look on Rok’s face, the big man was equally infuriated, but hardly surprised. “You remember what Algat did to poor Shange? Last job, sent him out to work for a month on those mines. You know the ones belonging to Yn Garr, down south? Entire operation collapsed over his head and he never got to come home after that. At least you just get to do a simple enough delivery.” Rok glanced at Kefier by the shadows and waved to him with a meaty arm. “Come and join us, pup.”

“Kefier will be fine,” Oji said, rolling his eyes. “He likes the mountains. It’ll take us a day or so at least. Would you take this job if it was on the list?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rok murmured, rubbing his barrel-sized belly. “I don’t do well on travel rations.” He glanced at Kefier. “You don’t look half as skinny these days as you used to, pup. You looking forward to this?”

Kefier didn’t reply. He was still thinking about Algat’s words and wondered if Rok would sign those papers for him. He had always been a straight fellow, Rok. Foul-mouthed, but equally kind-hearted. He put the thought in the back of his mind and followed the men out into the courtyard. He stopped by the gates, his eyes tracing the cobblestone and the jagged iron fence. The hot breeze pressed against his smooth cheek. The memory of the first time he had walked up this path returned to him. He had been beside Oji then, too, and he suddenly realized that he had actually never gone up here alone. He glanced at his dimple-faced friend and felt repulsed by his presence—he suddenly wanted, more than anything else, to do something on his own. To start and finish a job by himself, like the other men did.

“I’ll take care of the supplies, Oji,” he said out loud. Oji and Rok stopped and stared at him. He tried to smile. “I haven’t used up my credit at the store yet. We’ll need supplies for tomorrow.” He nodded for Oji. “I’ll meet you at Blue-dog’s.”

“Will you be fine?” Oji looked concerned. “I can ask Aden—”

“Shit, Oji,” he snapped. “I’ve done this before. You don’t need to have someone babysitting me all the time.”

“All right.” Oji’s brow furrowed for a moment, but only a moment. Ever unaware of troubles other than his own, he wrapped an arm around big Rok’s shoulder and laughed with him all the way to the tavern, or so Kefier presumed.

The bells of the single chapel in Cairntown were ringing by the time Kefier got to the market. Even after so many years, the vibrations still reminded him of the Dageian mages’ morning rituals and he had to stop to calm himself. Even after seven years of freedom, that filthy blanket he had spent as a Dageian mage-thrall seemed all but impossible to shake off. He closed his eyes, waiting for the last bell to toll as he attempted to calm himself with questions. Did the priest who rang them twice each day cared at all about the conversation they had last summer? Nobody in Kago believed in Yohak like they used to. Who did he ring the bells for? Why do it at all? The old man had given him a long-winded reply; he couldn’t remember a word of it, but he would never forget that look on his face. You don’t see hope on people’s faces often—not around here.

When it was silent and he could feel himself breathe again, he approached the cluster of shops around the moss-covered statue of Agartes. A pimply faced boy waved at him from the window of their store. “Good riddance to Cairntown, is it?” the boy asked, leaning over the rails.

Kefier cracked a smile. “Oji passed by, I guess.”

The boy nodded. “Him and the whole pack. They about consumed a whole bucket of pork skewers. Jin-Sayeng. Are you serious? I know that’s his home, but what would you do there? Work on a fishing boat or something?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged and handed the boy a piece of parchment. “Here’s the list. A fishing boat doesn’t sound too bad.”

“A fishing boat is a poor substitute for what you do here.” The boy handed the parchment over to his sister and returned to the window. “Won’t you miss the fighting and the adventures?”

“I don’t know that word. Adventures.” He clicked his tongue. Kagtar was still a strange language to him and the young people always talked too fast. Jinan was a lot easier on his tongue. It was closer to his own native tongue, less weighty.

“I mean the interesting places you go to.”

“My last job, we helped put up beams for a farmhouse they were building next town.” Kefier wiped a bead of sweat off his face. “Then the one before, tseh. We hammered in some nails, for a fence. But that was in a star-apple orchard so I didn’t mind.”

“But once in a while, they send you someplace exciting, right?” The boy’s eyes flickered. “I’m going to try my luck next year. Aden says you will need more people soon because of Inigar. Ingur? I think that’s his name. The rich Hafed.”

“Yn Garr. And why? You’re only fourteen summers next year, if I remember correctly.”

The boy snorted. “They say you were that age when you first joined.”

Joined, he thought, scratching his cheek. He had been no better than a dog who was allowed to tag along. A spot near the fire and a warm blanket were the best he could’ve hoped for in years. They didn’t even start paying him until recently. He noticed Gaven, Algat’s right hand, coming up to the window with the usual scowl on his face. Kefier immediately took two steps behind.

“Two packs of pipe weed,” Gaven said to the boy, slipping a few coins through the window rails. “Fresh ones, mind. Not the moldy stuff from the bottom of your cupboard like the one you gave me last time.”

“I don’t know what you mean, mister. All our goods are fresh.” The boy wrapped the packs in brown paper. “Your supplies will be ready soon,” he added, glancing at Kefier.

Gaven seemed to notice him for the first time. The scowl deepened. “Don’t screw this one up. I’m sick of cleaning after your messes.”

“Are you joining Oji’s party tonight?” Kefier could tell when Gaven was baiting him and the last thing he needed right now was an argument—even if it was the same old, one-sided screaming he usually got from this man. He placed his elbow against the window railing, pretending to look past Agartes’s statue.

Gaven snorted, his face assuming that expression that went beyond the scowl and said, distinctly, I smell a dead rat. “Maybe, maybe not. Are you carrying the puke bucket tonight?”

Kefier pretended to grin. “I think there’ll be a fair share of that on the floor.” When Gaven didn’t reply, he quickly added, “You should go. Oji’s farewell and all. He’ll want you there.”

Gaven continued to ignore him. There was a grey-bearded man walking up to them from the distance and he made a big show of waving in the air. “Thiar!” he whistled.

The old faction officer crossed the square and grinned at both of them. “I see you’ve got the night off too, Gaven. How did that Muiju job go? I heard the client paid a generous tip. That’s the way it should be, Gaven—keep them happy and we’ll always have enough money for Baeddan’s smokes. Kefier, my boy.” He reached out and grabbed Kefier’s hand. Kefier was too taken aback to pull away. The old man shook it vigorously. “We will miss you. Oh, but you will enjoy your time in Jin-Sayeng. I’m green with envy. They have culture there, don’t you know? The sort of thing this place sorely lacks.”

“We’ll talk later, Thiar,” Gaven said. He purposely bumped into Kefier before walking away.

Kefier rubbed his shoulder and sighed. “Thiar, is it true that the faction can’t sign me on my own? I wanted to work extra jobs so Oji doesn’t have to go on this one. Wilderness travel doesn’t sit well with him.”

“Going to complain till your ears drop off, is he? I’ve been around men like that. An orange, please,” he told the boy who had reappeared with Kefier’s pack. Thiar whistled. “That looks heavy. You’re heading to Hartmur? Two, three days out in the bush?”

“Yes. Thiar, about what I said—”

“Algat told you that, didn’t he?” Thiar accepted a dilapidated-looking orange and started peeling it. “There’s some truth to that, but he didn’t tell you the whole of it. You can just as easily fake some paperwork and sign it under a Kag name.”

“You can do that for me?”

Thiar coughed. “Hold on, there. I didn’t say I could do it. You’d need—well. Let me think about it for a moment.” He popped a piece of orange into his mouth. “You already talked to Algat, you see. He’s the guy to talk to about stuff like that. And the fact that he didn’t tell you—”

“I know he doesn’t like me. That’s all right. Is there any way I can prove myself to him? More than I already have?”

Thiar smiled, his teeth showing. “Well, my boy, you and Oji have been on the donkey end of things. You’ve been given jobs anyone with half a brain could do. And as well as you may have done those, it’s not enough.”

“But Algat never trusted us with anything harder.”

“Doesn’t like foreigners, that one. Well, my boy, what a pickle, eh? Can’t advance without proving yourself, can’t prove yourself at all. Hold on a moment. You, give me my money back, I’ve had squirrel nuts that tasted better than this.”

“They’re not in season, n’uncle,” the boy murmured, pouting. But he handed the coin back.

Thiar looked through the coin before pocketing it. “Where was I? Right. Proving yourself. As it happens—well, better if I showed you. Come with me.” He walked a few paces.

“Watch my stuff,” Kefier told the boy, before hurrying after Thiar. “Where are we going?”

“Not far,” Thiar said, smiling.

They took the long, winding road north of Cairntown, towards the abandoned quarry which gave the city its name. Kefier knew it as nothing more than a garbage dump and a place where cheap men occasionally brought even cheaper women to have sex with. It was still mid-afternoon, and the heat brought along with it a stench that reminded Kefier of carrion. He hesitated at the foot of the downhill slope.

Thiar noticed his reluctance and folded his arms. “I don’t know what you’re implying. If you were with Officer Ro, you can start doubting now, but I happen to like women. Ask Mim Comfrey.” He grinned, showing crooked teeth. “It’s not far. I have to show you or you won’t understand.”

“I chopped up a guy with this dull sword once,” Kefier murmured. “Just so you know.”

“Good. Watch your step or you’ll stab yourself tripping on boulders.”

Dust had caked around Kefier’s boots by the time they reached the edge of the cavern. The stench was so ripe now that Kefier felt it clinging to the back of his mouth. He covered his face with his hand and tried to breathe through it.

“Look,” Thiar said, pointing. Thick, black sludge dripped from the ceiling. “It’s ah—a type of mineral one of our clients wants to harvest.”

Kefier squinted at Thiar, wondering if the man took whiskey with his morning coffee. He knew that the fast-paced Kagtar often contained phrases he couldn’t understand, but he also knew that bullshit came in all shapes and sizes. He paused, trying to find the right combination of words that wouldn’t sound downright insulting, and ended up blurting out, “Who are you trying to fool? It looks like blood. It smells like death. Who would harvest that?”

Thiar looked thoughtful for a moment. “That it does,” he conceded. “But, well, when you dry it up properly, it forms into these ore-like clumps. Our client tells us they’re valuable—they burn a hundred times longer than coal. But difficult to transport. We need men to help bring them to Gaspar.”

A thick glob dripped near Kefier’s shoe. He jumped back and saw a steaming hole where his foot had been. “As you can see,” Thiar continued. “The material is volatile. Some years ago, we tried bottling them up in containers and they ate right through them, through the crates, and into the ship’s hull. Ended up causing a wreck a few miles south of Cael. Now, the client has given us a better method to handle them, but we need men we can trust to make sure this gets where it needs to go. The pay is very good—more than what you make in half a year, just for this one job.”

“If that’s the case, why haven’t the men started bidding on this one?” He knew most of the recent jobs that had gone out and who had taken what. None ever mentioned a cavern outside Cairntown or the transportation of “minerals”.

Thiar looked like he expected the question. He looked like he was even glad Kefier had asked. “Tell me how you feel right now. Do you want to vomit?”

“It’s unpleasant, but it just smells like dead bodies to me,” Kefier said. “Why?”

“There,” Thiar laughed. “You’ve answered your own question. The smell is more than what most men can take. Only a few have signed up for it. The rest couldn’t take the stench when I took them here. Keeled over and blew their guts out. Wouldn’t even take more money when we offered it.” He looked smug.

“We’ve never heard of this job before.”

“You haven’t? Or Oji didn’t tell you?” Thiar winked. “From what I understand, you can’t read very well.”

Kefier flushed. “That makes no difference. The other men—”

“I’m only joking, my boy. Joking! Can’t you tell? So, enlighten me. Does this not look like an easy job? What say you about delaying your trip to Jin-Sayeng? I’ll arrange for your papers and when this job is done we can talk about extending your stay with the faction. In no time you can see yourself with some farmland off the coast or near Muiju, if that’s your fancy.”

Kefier flushed. He had heard that the faction jobs varied depending on your rank, but what Thiar was saying was beyond his wildest dreams. “How much are we talking about for this job alone?” He tried hard not to let the excitement show in his voice.

“I told you, didn’t I? Ah, you want the real number. Of course. It’s about, oh, a couple thou of ril.”

Kefier swallowed. He was not given to dreaming, but even someone like him could not control the rush of visions of what could be. Some farmland, Thiar said—you could get them for a few hundred ril in some places, if you were willing to fight for them. It felt strange to think about having something—a home, maybe even a family, someday? Lisa had told him, once, that if she could get a man who could offer those kinds of things she would pack in a heartbeat. He was not very familiar with women’s humour, but she sounded serious.

He looked at Thiar and slowly nodded. A grin spread across Thiar’s face. “Start off with this letter.” He reached into his robe and handed Kefier a sealed envelope. “Once you and Oji have delivered your package to the foreman at Hartmur, ask him for directions to the Sangut mineshaft. There is a box we use for drop-offs—our client is very secretive. You’ll see it a few feet into the entrance. Deliver the letter and we can proceed.”

Kefier glanced at the letter. The seal was black and outlined with a wolf’s head. “That’s it?”

“A start. Show us you can be trusted,” Thiar said. He patted Kefier’s shoulder. “Now, don’t you have a drinking party to catch up to? The sun will set, soon. You don’t want to be here when it gets dark.”

Kefier looked back at the cavern and swallowed. “Why not?” he asked, watching the ooze bubble and pop.

“Oh.” Thiar smiled. “It’s just easy to trip. That’s all. Talk to me when you get back, son, and we’ll discuss the rest of your paperwork. And son, don’t tell anyone about this. With what this job is worth, the last thing we want is every Boarshind rank-and-file thinking they can bid for it. It’s not that kind of job, Kefier. Remember that.”

Chapter Two

It was a very long walk back to Cairntown. The dry heat drummed over Kefier’s eyelids and made him so drowsy that every once in a while he would stop to check that he hadn’t dropped the letter. He felt like a boy who had just been entrusted with his father’s sword. A contract of his own, a chance to do work few others were entrusted with! The more he thought about it, the more eager he was to get started. By the time he got to Cairntown, he was grinning from ear-to-ear.

He took their supplies back to Mim Comfrey’s, the inn he and Oji usually stayed at. Everyone was too busy with their afternoon chores to talk to him, but he saw Lisa putting up clothes to dry out in the courtyard and gazed at her from the window.

“Why am I here? You naïve boy. I’m just sitting around, biting my fingernails and hoping someday a man with enough balls will come and offer me a life away from all of this. Now shut up and go to sleep.”

Of course, he couldn’t tell her anything now, but he imagined her dark, freckled face smiling at the news and felt himself blush. Before he got too carried away by his daydreams, he turned and changed into a fresh shirt. He folded his old one and some of Oji’s dirty laundry from the floor and stacked them near the dresser to make them easier for her later.

The sun had set when he got to Blue-dog’s tavern. Before he could walk in, he could tell that half the men—including Oji—were already drunk. Too many mugs and ribald songs were in the air and some of the women had bared their breasts. One was even riding a man while pretending to sit on his lap in the corner.

Kefier went straight to the largest table. Oji caught sight of him and waved his hand. “Oi, Kefier!” he yelled. Despite being red-faced and drunk as shit, he looked boyish as ever. “Get started! Throw him some ale, Rok.”

“Piss on ale. Have a man’s drink, pup!” Rok laughed. He filled a small glass with brandy and shoved it into Kefier’s hands. “One, two...!”

Kefier inhaled the drink and slammed the empty glass on the table. Some of the men cheered and Oji grinned. “You’re doing much better than that first time,” he said, his eyes crinkling. “You remember, Rok? He threw up so much.”

“You idiots forced it down my throat,” Kefier grumbled. He grabbed a stool and pushed himself in between Rok and Oji. From across the table, he saw Gaven glaring at him. He smiled back and took another shot of brandy. “Give us a song, Oji,” he added, his words slurring.

“Ah, amaha,” Oji said, squeezing the buttocks of the girl on his lap. The girl squealed and nuzzled her nose against the sparse hairs on his chest. “This is a Jin-Sayeng love song, ever so popular in my hometown of Akki.” He swirled his mug on the table and began to sing.

Oji had a pleasant voice, actually, one that might have been worth listening to on another day. It was the kind that grumbled a little and he could reach high notes if he set his mind to it. Tonight, of course, he didn’t. He sang painfully and excruciatingly, making the entire tavern howl with laughter.

But of course, they would. It was gibberish to them. Only Kefier in that entire room heard the tremble in his voice when he sang, over the course of the river, to my home, to you, to you, to you…

He took a mug of ale and a loaf of garlic-pepper bread, just as Rokarsh slapped a meaty palm on his shoulder. He cringed before smiling. “Turning dust mites into little city folk again, are we?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You look serious tonight. Constipated?” Rok grinned. “Or are you thinking of that job again? You’re going tomorrow whether you like it or not, so no sense worrying about it all night. Think about how wonderful it would be to walk out of all of this. Jin-Sayeng is a beautiful country, Kef, no matter what you think of Oji.”

“Come with us, Rok,” Oji broke in, his curls glistening with sweat. “There’s nothing like the harbour in Akki. Nothing, by Gebuth or Agartes or whatever it is you folks here swear by. The starsh jusht glishen over the water, you know?”

“Ah, well, you make me wish I did,” Rok sighed, winking at Kefier.

“Damn Gaven, you said you’d go with us. What was that bit about business first? Fucking snob.” Oji threw Gaven a hateful glance. “I tell you, ever since you became Algat’s right hand you were never the same. You used to know how to have fun.”

“And you used to know how to talk without butchering your words,” Gaven snorted. “Agartes fucking hell, Oji, save some ale for the other patrons.”

“They can...” Oji started, glancing around. He hiccupped. “Bucket. Where’s the bucket?”

“Oy, I see Oji and his pet!” Aden burst into the tavern with his arms wide open. The girl on Oji’s lap squealed and immediately left him to wrap her arms around Aden’s waist. Oji rolled his eyes and then, on an entirely unrelated note, vomited a little on the floor.

“I’d be jealous, but the fop just clearly pays them more,” Rok said, waving at Aden.

The fair-faced Aden—who was pure Kag on his mother’s side—slumped into an empty chair. “So, last job,” he said, winking. “I told you that was the protocol.”

“I blame Kefier.” Oji burped and wrapped his arm around Kefier’s neck. “I’m telling you, my boy, all you need to do is let the old man have it. Just that one little tap of your perky ass. Don’t even need to take your pants off.” He pushed Kefier away and grew sombre. “Honestly, I’m just looking forward to having all of this behind me. My wife and sister make the best lami noodles that side of Jin-Sayeng. I’m going to get so fat!” He glanced at the girl. “Come back to me, woman. We’re not done yet.”

“She likes me better, Jin.” Aden gave a smug grin.

“I can see that,” Oji huffed. “Well, I know someone I’m not taking to Akki. I have a sister, you know.”

“I know, and if she looked anything like you, I wouldn’t touch her.”

“And I wouldn’t let you! Urgh, damn mug…keeps moving…”

Kefier pulled it away from him. “Think you’ve drunk enough, Oji.”

“To hell I have. Those bastards making me work tomorrow. We gotta catch a cart across the border when we get back. That’s inshane.”

“We’ve had worse,” Rok snarled. “Remember that time in Cael? Fifteen days’ marching, four waves of bandits.”

“More like four badly armed men,” Kefier murmured.

“Piss off, boy. I’m telling this story. Four waves of bandits,” Rok continued. “And only half pay? I don’t even know why we try!”

“We did uh, allow that one fellow to kill him, remember?” Aden grinned. “Very hard to get pay out of a client when he’s expired. At least his family was sympathetic.”

“Piss on your attempt. A contract’s a contract. The idiot fed us oatmeal and bran mush for five days. If we hadn’t been so damn exhausted and hungry, we wouldn’t have neglected to inform him that a pointy stick was making its way to his brain. Don’t forget all that traipsing around in the mud, what for I don’t know, but my damned feet were itching for weeks.”

“Was that why that one guy nearly beheaded you with a shovel, Rok?” Kefier asked. He pretended to poke at the roasted chicken with a fork.

“You try to kick a cat with itchy feet,” Rok snarled. “See if you can laugh at my shovel story some more.”

“Why are you idiots complaining? I was the one who had to explain to Baeddan why that job went as badly as it did,” Gaven broke in. “I should have saved the trouble and flat out told him how effectively you all botched it. Itchy feet, honestly.” He shook his head. Aden sniggered and made a circle with his fingers, pretending it was a tight butthole.

“You have to admit we’ve had some fun times,” Oji said with a sigh. He smiled and wrapped an arm around Kefier’s shoulder. “But we’re done, boys. Me and my brother here are off to better pastures. In a week, we’ll be sunning our toes on the beautiful shores of Akki, gawking at beautiful maids and drinking plum wine to your health. Gods know,” he added, the smile turning into a sad one. “Seven years isn’t a joke.”

He said it again later, half-asleep and leaning against Kefier as they walked out on the street. Kefier watched his face twitch and wondered what it would be like to long for a family. What does it feel like, he thought, to know that there are people who would greet your return with arms wide open? To know that you are missed, no matter how long you’ve been away? Oji had taught him words in Jinan that were meant as a response to the statement, welcome home. His friend had been so insistent that Kefier learn those words that even now, so many years later, he knew them still, although he had never uttered them in his life.

Oji never really showed his feelings openly, of course, not to those hard, embittered men they worked with. To them, a family that didn’t leech off your pay and buy goats behind your back was a fantasy worth laughing at. You old softie, they’d say if a guy made the mistake of mentioning marriage or, God forbid, children, either drink some more or get into that grave while it’s early. It was a common rumour that the men who believed their families gave them strength and steadied the blow of their swords were usually the ones who died first. You weren’t really allowed to think of anything else if you wanted to live. “One foot forward, never back”—that was something Algat always said before a particularly dangerous job. If you think there’s some place else you’d rather be, then we’d rather not have you with us.

Kefier knew, but could never really understand, how conflicted Oji was when it came to his family. Perhaps it came from having spent so many years being laughed at by the men anyway, but he thought that Oji was overreacting. Was what he was going into so bad that he needed to bring a reminder of his old life with him? His friend had never asked if he wanted to go to Akki at all; he had simply assumed that Kefier would follow wherever he went.

Oji began to snore. A beggar at the street corner awakened to the sound, stared at them, and went back to sleep.

Kefier shifted Oji’s weight to his other shoulder and looked up. The roofs of Cairntown didn’t shimmer as Oji said the harbour in Akki did, but he supposed he could imagine it now. The sound of waves, the smell of salt-air. Just thinking about it made the hair on his arms stand on end. But he knew that was not the life for him. Once, perhaps...if Oji had not taken him here...

Oji murmured something unintelligible. They had reached the doorstep of Mim Comfrey’s inn. Mim Comfrey herself was out on the yard, and she reached out to help.

“This is pathetic,” Comfrey said, her hooped earrings jingling as she shook her head. “The way you men celebrate. One would think a few nice words and a lemon pie ought to be enough.”

“A lemon pie sounds lovely,” Kefier replied. “It’s over now, anyway. Soon he’ll be on his way home.”

“Aren’t you coming along?”

Kefier said nothing and shook Oji again to wake him. The man didn’t stir.

“I don’t mean to pry, of course.” Comfrey took a candle from the nearest table and called for one of the girls to help. “It’s just that I don’t really see you staying here on your own after he’s gone.”

That irritated Kefier. Why not? He almost said it out loud, but years of experience had taught him to hold his temper. He wiped his face instead. “He wants me to go with him. And I want to go, I think. It sounds like my kind of place. I’d like to see the sea again. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night thinking I can hear waves and it turns out it’s just someone upending last night’s chamber pot across the street.” He laughed nervously.

Comfrey pursed her lips together. “So why do you look like you want to stay here?”

“He’s got a family there.” Kefier glanced at her. “It doesn’t seem right at all, does it? For me to intrude like that? It’s his family.”

“He took you in. I imagine he would be more than happy to do the same for you in his home.”

“I don’t know if I want to leave the other guys.”

“Grown attached to that surly lot, have you?” Comfrey snorted. “You can find better friends. I should know.”

“They like me. I think.” Kefier glanced at the girl who just walked in with a bucket and a towel. “I’m used to them.”

Comfrey wrung her hands together. “Here, here, let me get his shirt off, and rub his back like that. Poor man should know better than to overdo it. He’ll be sick tomorrow, you know. You better go up to your room and stop worrying over things you can’t control. I’ll take care of him tonight. Agartes! The things you children make me go through. You’re mighty lucky I’m fond of you and this Jin here, or I’d have dumped you out on the streets before nightfall.”

Moonlight slid through the shutters and over the cobbled streets of the city as he got into his room. He sat at the edge of the bed and stripped his boots. His feet were blotchy from standing around in the cold all day and he rubbed them.

“You’re being a little bitch,” Lisa said, walking in without knocking. She was carrying fresh sheets and unceremoniously pushed Kefier off the bed without warning. “If you don’t want to go, then don’t. Agartes, men these days.” She gave him an angry look. “At least you get the option of walking out of here. Look at this dump. Can I dress up as Kefier and get a free ride to Jin-Sayeng? No? Too much breasts?” She furiously started ripping the old blankets off the mattress.

“I could help you.” He tried to reach for her arm, but she yanked it away before he could even touch her.

“Oh, now don’t start a pity party for me now, you stupid boy.” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “I know I have problems, but they’re mine to mind. I’m saying go, or don’t go. If you’re worried about what Oji will think, don’t.” Her voice softened a little. “That man loves you more than you can ever know. More than you deserve, sometimes. Now, please stop making this room smell like a pig sty. We do have other clientele.”

“Lisa, I—”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I’m not sleeping with you tonight either.”

Kefier flushed. “I wasn’t saying that!”

She narrowed her eyes. “Right. Well, I’m off to start on breakfast. Again. That’s the kind of real problem normal people worry about, you see.” She walked out, stepped on the cat on her way down the stairs, and cursed for all the night to hear.

“Marry you. You?” A pause, and then, “Okay. But I want a home, Kefier, and chickens. When Go-an married Jarn he made her live at his uncle’s. None of that for me. Next summer—”

“Wake up, Kefier.” He opened his eyes and lunged for the dagger he kept by his hip. In that same instance, he saw Oji peering over him while keeping a respectful distance. There were pockets of sunlight on his dimpled face. “It’s me. Oji. Just me.”

Kefier took a deep breath. “Where are we?”

Oji smiled. “First morning on the Hartmur trailhead. We’re in Kago. Finishing up a job—our last job—for the Boarshind mercenaries.” He paused. “You awake now?”

“Give me a moment,” he said. He tucked the dagger back into its hilt and felt his heartbeat slow down. He glanced back at Oji, who continued to wait. The way that man could understand, without ever needing an explanation, sent a chill through his bones. He didn’t really deserve a friend like that, did he? “Are we leaving now?”

“No. Not yet. I haven’t made breakfast.” Oji scratched his head and smiled. “Get up. Look at this.” He strode towards the edge of the cliff and scrambled up a rock. “Don’t go back to sleep.”

Kefier kicked off his sleeping sack and followed Oji’s gaze. In the distance, the sun was rising over Cairntown in a spray of orange light that masked the usual cloud of dust that surrounded the city. “Now isn’t that just wonderful,” Oji murmured. The look on his face reminded Kefier of a child’s.

“As wonderful as a pile of shit sprinkled with gold dust. Who are you fooling, Oji? You love this place.”

Oji’s shoulders drooped down, and he laughed. “I do, don’t I?” He threw his head back. “I should have gone home sooner. I hated Cairntown when I first came. There was a dead cat on the street—a terrible omen, you know? And the first man I met spat on me. I didn’t even know that to get a bath in that rotten place you had to pay more than for a night with a woman. I was so upset I tried to swim in the lake.”

Kefier glanced at the brown shape of Lake Ugoa behind the town and had to grin. On rainy days, rivers of sewage drained straight into the lake. “Somebody stopped you, I’m guessing, or you wouldn’t be alive to tell the tale.”

“Somebody stopped me all right—or what used to be somebody. I didn’t want to get too acquainted with that body floating face-down in front of me.” Oji took a deep breath and tucked his knees underneath his chin. “The guy was part of the faction, too. Got into a fight behind the alley at Blue-dog’s, ran the wrong way and into a knife. Rok knew him.”

“Rok knows everyone in every alley in Cairntown.”

Oji smiled. They fell silent. Kefier felt the air getting warmer and returned to fold his sleeping sack and work on the fire. Oji continued to sit on the rock bare-footed, humming an Akki song, “Home away from home...”

Kefier paused from scratching at the ashes and looked back at his friend. “Hey, Oji.”

“Hmm?”

He hesitated and started blowing into the ashes. Embers jumped to life. When they started glowing, he tore a piece of bark and slowly fed the growing fire. Oji came up to him and peered at his handiwork. “Kef? What’s wrong?”

Kefier looked into the blaze and allowed the smoke to sting the corners of his eyes. He had avoided trying to discuss it the past few weeks, but it was suddenly very difficult not to say it out now. “You don’t have work in Akki. Isn’t it a lot better for your family if you stay here? Algat’s right, too—you don’t have much coin to spare. If you go back, it wouldn’t do your family any good. Won’t you just be another mouth to feed?”

Kefier felt his face turn red in the silence that followed. “Never you mind,” he started to say, but Oji shook his head.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” Oji scratched the back of his head, looking embarrassed. “Believe me, Kef, it’s better if we leave. I thought by now I’d be helping guard estates over in Hafod or be helping out on one of the faction ships. The biggest job I ever did was that one in Dageis and…” He peered into Kefier’s face and laughed. “Maybe that’s why. I bungled that one up real bad. It was worth it, though.” He ruffled Kefier’s hair.

Kefier slapped his hand away. “Stop doing that. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“So you say, little brother.”

“I’m not your brother either.” Oji looked away, and Kefier took a deep breath and tried to change his tone. “Listen to me, Oji. There might be a job that’ll get us on their right side again.”

“I’m not interested, Kef.” Oji smiled. “I like Cairntown, but I’m tired of it all. I just want to go home. And don’t you worry because I know you’ll love it there. There’s plenty of pretty girls I can get my wife to introduce to you. An Akki woman is worth a fortune, my friend, believe me.”

“Lisa...”

“Is a whore.” Oji placed a hand on his shoulder and he had to struggle not to strike him. “I’m sorry, Kef, but that’s the truth. I know you’re in love with her. You know that necklace you gave her, the one you were wondering if she liked or not because you never saw her wear it? Mim Comfrey told me she sold it for coin. That’s how it is with these women. Hell, that’s how it is over here with everyone. Do you understand why that’s exactly the reason I want to leave?”

They didn’t talk again for a while. They boiled and ate their oatmeal mush in silence, covered the fire, and shouldered their packs before noon, heading higher up the trail. The section was rougher than yesterday’s, with boulders that needed scrambling and narrow ledges with rotting handholds. The only sign that others had been through the trail recently were the pieces of red flagging tied to branches along the way.

By lunch time, they reached a small ridge, framed by giant trees with roots that seemed to have a life of their own. Oji opened their pack and found the dried beef and cheese sandwiches they made at the inn yesterday. He handed one to Kefier. Kefier took it and left him to scramble higher up the ridge and eat alone.

Later in the afternoon, they reached a fork off the side of the cliff. A dilapidated signpost in the middle marked the direction of the trapper’s cabin on the right. The Sangut mines were to the left. “I’ve heard of that place,” Oji said, the first words either of them had uttered in hours. “Haunted or so. Part of it collapsed a few years back and trapped about a dozen miners.”

“You know those mining companies like to feed people rumours to keep them out,” Kefier murmured.

Oji grinned. “Got you talking to me again, didn’t it?”

Kefier ignored him and peered through the brush at the rest of the trail. “Better hand me that package,” he said. “And wait here. That’s very rough going ahead.”

“Good.” Oji dropped to the ground and began stripping his socks off. He had gotten his boots from someone else and they always rubbed the wrong way. He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at Kefier. “Don’t take too long.”

A landslide had obliterated most of the trail to the trapper’s cabin. Kefier carefully marked each step and still had to crawl over the rocks to prevent himself from toppling over the edge. He doubted the legitimacy of their assignment; who, in their right mind, would require a package delivered so far away? He was tempted to throw the box over the cliff, job be damned and all, walk back to Cairntown, and shake Algat until his teeth rattled.

The barking dog woke him from his thoughts. He had reached the end of the trail and saw the cabin, a string of smoke rising from the chimney. A spotted mutt with floppy ears appeared and pretended to charge him.

“Hooey, Wulf,” a man whistled. He waved at Kefier. “Looks like you’ve come far. I’m guessing you brought me something.”

Kefier handed him the package. “Regards from the Boarshind.”

The man smiled through the corner of his mouth. “Good! I was thinking they’d forgotten.” He peered into the box. “Compass, map—ah, coin! Obviously.”

“You live here?”

The man snorted. “You take me for a hermit? No, thank goodness. I’m surveying up this area for Yn Garr Industries. They want to build ah—a tunnel here, or something.” He lifted the compass to his eye and grinned. “This is wonderful. Excellent workmanship. Help me spread the map out here, my lad.”

The map was a dirty yellow in colour, with brown lines etched permanently into the fabric. Kefier had never seen one before and stared at it in fascination. “You can tell where we are from that?” he asked, at length.

The man smiled underneath his thick moustache. “We’re here,” he said, pointing at a dark mass in the middle. He traced his finger up. “That’s Gaspar. And over here, is the country of Jin-Sayeng. Now you know why they call Kago the armpit?” He sniggered at his own humour.

“Where’s Gorent?”

The man pointed to the corner. Kefier blinked. “That’s so far away.” He gazed at the shapes. They were vaguely familiar; he had seen books with the islands drawn on the pages before. A moment of homesickness came over him.

“Very far,” the old man agreed. He chewed on his pipe. “Will you take some coffee with me?”

Kefier shook his head. “I need to head up to Sangut mines after this. Probably something to do with that tunnel you mentioned.”

“Indeed.” The man accompanied him as far as the first boulder. “Do take care. They haven’t cleared that place since it was last used. The land might be unstable.”

Oji was still massaging his feet when he returned to the fork. His friend’s face broke into a wide smile. “There you are! What took you so long? Did you see a ghost?”

“There was an Yn Garr man up there.” Kefier paused, tightening the strap around his belly. He looked away from Oji. “He—ah, told me to head on to Sangut mines to check on something for the report. Can you wait here for me?”

“I’m tired of waiting,” Oji said. He jumped up and started lacing his boots. “I’ll go with you. An Yn Garr man, huh? Was it that Ylir fellow, that Gasparian who dresses like he was Hafed? I’ll tell you what, Kefier, I’ll make it up to you the moment we cross the border. Fuyyu’s got this establishment with crazy beautiful women. You’ll forget Lisa the moment you lay eyes on them.”

Kefier didn’t know what to say to him without getting angry, so he kept quiet. They trudged up a path that was well-graded compared to the trail earlier that day. Sections of the gravel appeared freshly laid. Sometime before the sun started to set, the trees became scarce—thin and tall, the few of them rose like spires in the distance. Wooden columns marked the entrance of the mine, not far from the talus pile at the foot of the mountain.

They stopped at the foot of the tunnel. A deep, musty scent was filling the air, and Kefier had the sudden impression that he had stuck his head inside a used coffin. He felt Oji shuffling behind him. “What are we supposed to be doing here?” his friend asked. His voice sounded strange.

“Just checking up on something,” Kefier replied hollowly. He patted the letter in his shirt pocket and trudged into the darkness. He heard Oji call his name, but he ignored it. There was something shining in the distance—probably the drop-off box. He didn’t stop to wonder why a box would shine in the dark. He kept on walking, ignoring the sensation of his skin crawling.

Something moved in the distance. A shadow, at first—and then, when he blinked, a hunched figure with a single eye. It stared at him.

You... The hissing voice rang inside his ear and deep into his brain. His knees felt like water. What are you doing here? I thought you were dead. Go away. Go away!

The figure lunged at him. Kefier drew his sword and screamed.

What do you mean it wasn’t your fault?

Kefier saw the achingly blue sky over the cliff edge and smelled the sting of salt in the air.

What do you mean you didn’t mean for it to happen?

He heard the tide crashing against rock. In the distance, the seagulls screamed.

You jealous brat. You wanted it done. Get out of my head—NO! You left him for dead. You killed him. You couldn’t bear for him to have all he had and so...

No, you get out. You won’t bother me again. LEAVE!

Heat pounded into his head and lungs. His head cleared, and he found himself crawling along the side of the tunnel, heading back to the light. Something gripped his ankle, and he kicked at it.

“Kefier…” Oji gasped, white-faced.

He looked down, horrified, and grabbed his friend by the shoulders. He hauled him out and stumbled under the dark sky, the moon casting faint shadows on their skin. Kefier could not remember being in the tunnel for so long. He lowered Oji to the ground and felt something wet on his shirt. The familiar smell of blood crept up his nostrils.

“Fuck, Oji. What was that?” he asked, forcing himself to laugh. He dropped on all fours and crawled next to his friend. “I swear, the guys won’t believe it when we tell them...”

Kefier stopped, noticing the bruises on Oji’s face and his shallow breathing. He touched his friend’s arm. Only then did he realize that his side was drenched in blood. The gaping wound in Oji’s belly grinned up at him.

He was still so young, barely past boyhood, and his hands shook. He didn’t know what to look at or what he was expected to do. He had never seen wounds that deep before and didn’t know if he was supposed to close it, or talk to his friend, or run down the mountain and call for help. It was Oji who spoke first. “Don’t be scared, Kefier,” he said, his voice as calm as a bubbling stream. He smiled. He was almost always smiling, Kefier realized in a moment of panic. “We’re going home, aren’t we? Should’ve done it sooner, but it’s not too late yet.”

“Save your strength, Oji. I’m going to get the Yn Garr man to help us get you down.”

“Should’ve turned back the moment I got here,” Oji murmured, oblivious. “Didn’t need this at all. Thought I did.” He was gazing up at the sky, his eyes searching the stars. He seemed to focus on one and smiled. “Funny, that.” Kefier waited a few moments before starting to ask what he meant and realized that Oji wasn’t moving anymore.

Kefier slumped back and stared. There were no tears in his eyes. There was, however, blood on his hands, his shirt, and the unsheathed sword on the ground beside him.

Chapter Three

Oji used to find it amusing how easy it was to rouse Kefier’s anger. “All it takes is someone farting in the wrong direction,” he’d tell the others, “and he’ll sit and sulk for days. And you wouldn’t even know what for.”

The rest of them found it hard to believe because Kefier tended towards easy-going most days. He grinned a lot. Allowed the rest of them to make fun of him with very little protest. But Oji, unlike everyone else, knew where it was coming from. He alone had seen Kefier when he was a boy, beaten half to death by his Dageian master; he was the one who had dripped water into the listless child’s mouth while he lay on the ground with his head bleeding and bruised. “Why do you do it?” had been Oji’s first words to him. “Why do you keep trying to run away? You know he’ll only catch and beat you more.”

Kefier remembered getting up at his words, swaying slightly on thin legs. He had yet to come into the solid, lanky form of his adult self, and back then, it looked like he could be broken across a knee. But he wasn’t broken—he gazed up at Oji with a look of defiance, daring the stranger to touch him, to hurt him more. Oji used to tell him that he was convinced if he’d pushed his luck, Kefier would’ve attacked him. “You were like the remnants of a blazing fire,” Oji—who was convinced he could’ve been a poet—liked to say. “Embers that could burn. That’s why I saved you, you know. You reminded me of myself.”

“Right,” Kefier always responded. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

Oji would grin back. Once in a while, he looked like he was tempted to clasp Kefier on the shoulder before thinking the better of it. He alone knew how Kefier coped from the years he spent in Dageis—that his easy nature and grins deflected further torment, hid a soul that still hadn’t fully recovered from whatever hellish pit he had spent in the past. He alone knew that one step too far would cause Kefier to lash out.

He alone knew…

So why, of all people…

The events in Hartmur disoriented him. He couldn’t remember much of it except the confusion and the feel of a hand on him while that disembodied voice flared up in his head. Beyond that…

You should’ve left me to rot in those gutters. Oji had a family waiting for him. A wife. A sister, Sume. He would read Kefier their letters. Sume sometimes even asked about him like she cared, like Kefier’s well-being was actually a cause of concern for a young woman who had her own troubles to deal with. He was needed—Kefier wasn’t. No one would miss Kefier. Even Arlisa, Ab help him. Lisa… A whore, Oji had said. Ab help him—it was impossible to get the man’s voice out of his head. He always had to get involved, didn’t he? He should’ve learned to stay out of it!

Somehow, he made it back to Cairntown.

He couldn’t remember much of the journey, either. One foot after the other, stumbling along the path like a dead man. Less dead than the other, though. Sometimes Oji’s voice mixed with the other and it was impossible to tell which was which. And you always ruined it, didn’t you? You always made a mess of things. Sometimes it even sounded like his brother.

Rok found him lingering on the edge of town, half-mumbling to himself. His eyes widened at the sight of the big man, as if he was stepping out from a dream. It was his first foray back into the life he shared with Oji without his friend and suddenly, it felt all too real. His stomach turned. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to run away and throw himself off a cliff.

“What’s the matter?” Rok asked. He glanced around. “Where the fucking hell is Oji? Kefier—” He took a step towards him.

Kefier backed away.

“Easy,” Rok said. “It’s me.”

“I know it’s you,” Kefier said. His voice sounded strange. He wondered if it was Rok he was really talking to, or if he was trying to convince himself. He didn’t know anymore. He wiped his mouth.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Rok replied, brows knotted.

“Oji…”

Ab, even saying the name hurt. But the look on his face must’ve been enough, because a shadow darkened Rok’s face. “Agartes,” the man grumbled. “Oh, my heart. I’m sorry, Kefier. What happened?”

He stared at the ground. “An accident,” he mumbled.

“And the body?”

“I left it. I couldn’t—”

“I understand. Oh, fuck. Gaven isn’t going to like this. Kefier—” He spread his hands out. “Come back to town with me, Kefier. Comfrey will take care of you. It doesn’t look like you’ve eaten in days. Will you let me help you back?”

Ab. Even Rok remembered. Why didn’t Oji? They always made fun of the Jinsein for being a fool whose head was always in the clouds, but did he have to go and be foolish at the worst possible time? The thoughts felt like a blow to his head. They held his nerves at bay, though, and he nodded. Rok reached out to grab his arm and hoist him over his shoulders.

“Not Comfrey’s,” Kefier said when they neared the gates. “I don’t…I don’t know if I can handle telling them yet.”

“I’ve uhh…got a girl in town. I’m sure she won’t mind having you over.”

“A girl?” Kefier grumbled. “Since when?”

“Few weeks.”

“You never told us.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. They’d all say I’d gone soft. But got you talking again, hey?”

“Got to talk about something.”

“I suppose so.” They reached a narrow alley, one that smelled like urine and dead cats—which wasn’t that much different from the other alleys in the wretched town. In the wake of Oji’s death, Kefier saw it with new eyes for the first time. When he had been a boy, Cairntown had felt like salvation. The garbage meant no mages to clean them up—no mages meant this wasn’t a place where he would be dragged back in chains to await a new master. Algat had used the word escapee like it was the worst thing in the world to flee for your freedom. Like you were doomed to a wretched life because you were foolish enough to have been caught by the Dageians in the first place.

It occurred to him now that that feeling of salvation didn’t rest solely on the town’s shoulders, but on Oji. It was Oji who saved him. Without Oji, he’d be dead. But the words had lost their effect over the years, and now, in light of everything that had happened, he detested the very thought. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for what Oji had done for him. But the last thing he needed was to lose a brother again, to be reminded of how everything that was thrusted into his hands turned to dust.

Rok’s woman worked at the tannery and would be gone all day. Kefier allowed himself to sink in the corner of the one-room house while Rok threw him a wet towel to clean himself with. After Kefier wiped as much of the dirt (and dried blood, but he tried not to think of that) away, Rok handed him a loaf of bread. He grumbled his thanks and tore into it. It was stale and tasted like dirt.

“It’s Thiar’s fault,” he said, once the bread was all gone.

Rokarsh looked at him curiously. “What’s he got to do with this?”

Kefier stared at the floor.

“You’ve got to speak up, pup. If there’s something foul happening up the chain of command…”

Kefier turned to him slowly. “What do you mean?”

Rok glanced away, falling silent.

“Rok.” He reached out to grab his arm. Kefier was not the skinny boy he had been, but even after his growth spurt, he felt like a dwarf beside the man. Rok gave a soft grimace.

“It’s just rumours. Thiar’s been picking men for a super-sensitive job and about half, maybe more, aren’t cut out for it.” Rok scratched his stubbled jaw. “Here’s the thing. The men who don’t make the cut—they don’t come back. Who just leaves because they didn’t get a job?”

“And the ones who do?”

“They’re under contract with Yn Garr Industries now. Hired until at least the end of the year. Last I heard from them, too.” He gave Kefier a scrutinizing look. “You were working for Thiar, weren’t you?”

“He gave me a botched job,” he said in a low voice.

“Explain, Kefier.”

He got up. “I have to go back. I have to talk to Thiar.”

“You’re not even well. Kefier—”

Rok didn’t try to stop him as he stumbled back into the alley, the door clattering behind him. He sucked in his breath and felt for his sword. He noticed that he had two, that one was still sticky with blood. He drew the other one and held it up against the sun.

His own eyes stared back at him against the glint of the sword, blue as the sea.

The mention of Yn Garr Industries made Kefier see red. Thiar had assured him it was a simple enough job to put him in the Boarshind’s good graces. A start, he’d promised. Why not just tell him the company was involved in the first place?

The survey foreman working for Yn Garr Industries should’ve been the first telltale sign. But his presence by itself meant nothing. Yn Garr Industries had projects throughout the lower part of the continent, and they had the resources to be the first to set up base in uncharted territories. Some of the men had explained to him once that they did a bit of everything. They started out building roads and mines to export Caelian stone, but lately they had expanded to other endeavours. The owner, Gorrhen yn Garr, owned part of the Boarshind company and regularly made use of their mercenaries for various jobs. If only Thiar had told him this was a job from Yn Garr Industries, then perhaps it would’ve been easy enough for him to admit that the fault was his.

If only…if only…

The words made a steady rhythm in his head until they were all he could hear. He could feel the rest of his thoughts falling away, his entire body growing numb with anger. Anger was all he had. He was afraid that if he let go of it, other feelings would surface. Grief. Pain. Regret.

Anger he could do. Better to keep it that way.

He made his way through the streets like a man with a purpose, clutching Oji’s sword like his life depended on it. And perhaps it did; perhaps if he let go, he would lose sight of what he was about to do, which would leave him with nothing. Dogs who used to scamper down at the sight of him, confident that he would bring them scraps, now fled at the manner with which he walked. A few lingered several paces away, barking at him like he was a stranger. It would’ve hurt if he had allowed himself to feel.

“Kefier!” someone called out to him from one of the taverns. He ignored the call.

The road back to the Boarshind felt longer than it used to. How many times had he travelled it without Oji? No, he checked himself. Don’t think about that now. He dug his nails into the sword’s hilt. The inside of his mouth still tasted like dirt. At the compound, he saw one of the guards staring at him oddly, and he spat to the side.

“Thiar in there?” he asked.

“Taking his evening tea like always,” the guard said. “Back from your job at last, I take it. Mountain air must’ve been good. Better than this stench, anyway. Where’s Oji?”

Kefier turned away, his head swimming. The man, to his credit, said nothing else. Kefier was friendly with many of the mercenaries, but beyond Oji’s friends, most of the relationships ran surface-deep. Let him think Kefier was a snob—they’d already thought the worst of him when he first arrived. Let them hate him, even. There was nothing left of him worth saving.

Thiar was sitting down to his meal in his chambers when Kefier arrived. He blinked as Kefier thundered through his door without knocking. “My boy…” he began.

“I’m not your boy,” Kefier hissed.

Thiar pushed himself away from his desk. “Would you like to join me? It looks like you’ve had a rough journey. How was Hartmur?”

“You know full well how Hartmur was.”

Thiar blinked, his eyes watery. “I’m not sure I know what you’re saying. Did you deliver the letter all right?”

“I did,” Kefier said.

Thiar stared at him without replying at first. Eventually, he got up. “And?”

“What do you mean and? You bastard. There was something foul in that cave.”

He watched Thiar’s face as he said that. Not a flicker of surprise on his wrinkled face, though his jaw did move a little as he ground his teeth together and a vein popped on one side of his head. “Something,” the old man finally said. “Describe it to me.”

The question took Kefier aback. “Why?”

“I want to know if you’ve truly done what I asked or you’re making things up.”

“You son of a bitch,” he hissed.

“What did you see, Kefier?”

The gravity in the old man’s voice shook him. He blinked. The memory…felt like a raw wound. His mind flashed back to their journey to the mountains, but beyond that, he could feel his insides crumble at the faintest attempt. He saw Thiar appraising him and felt a flush of shame.

Thiar looked at the sword in his hand for the first time. “What did you see?” he repeated.

“An eye,” Kefier managed around a tongue that felt like it was made of lead. That taste again. Was he licking the road as he travelled south?

“An eye? That sounds odd. On the ground?”

“It had legs…” And now, hearing him say it, he suddenly wasn’t sure anymore. What had he seen?

“Sit, Kefier,” Thiar said. “You’re tired. Have some water.” He picked up a cup from his desk and motioned for Kefier to take the chair.

Unsure, he slumped down and took the water. He took a sip. It tasted like mud. The anger ebbed.

“What you saw was real,” Thiar began. “Your mind hasn’t been playing tricks on you. I told you it was the beginning. Few people can see the thing and live to—well, to come back as you are. Sane, and of sound mind.”

“I don’t think I’m either of those things,” he murmured.

Thiar smiled. “You’re frightened. That’s understandable.”

“That creature,” he repeated. “What’s it doing there? Why do you want to test me against it?”

Thiar’s eyes darted away for a moment before resting back on him. He smiled, his cheeks deepening. “Would you like something to eat?”

“You’re keeping things from me, old man. You—”

“I’m playing it safe for the sake of our client.” Thiar coughed into his hand before slumping on the edge of his bed. “It’s not like there’s much I can tell you myself, either. I know that being able to see the creature, and then live to tell the tale, is of primary importance. I know that being able to withstand its effects…”

“This doesn’t tell me anything!”

“It shouldn’t,” Thiar said, his voice rising a little. The smile fell from his face. “You and I both—we’re mercenaries, Kefier. We get paid to do things and not ask questions. Those dead children—”

Kefier’s eyes widened. “What dead children?”

“In the cave,” Thiar began. He hesitated, like a man who had unwittingly walked into a trap. But he seemed to recover just as fast. “You didn’t see?”

“It smelled like death. I didn’t…”

“You didn’t travel all the way to the end?”

“No.”

“But you saw the thing, nearer the surface? Did it climb out to see you? Interesting. I’ve been told it likes to taunt the men, but…”

The anger returned, hotter than before. “What are you going on about, old man?” Kefier snapped. “You’re using us. That’s not right. All these secrets—”

“I told you,” Thiar replied. “We’re mercenaries. What do we care about why our client wants the things he wants?”

“This client. Is it Ylir yn Garr?”

“That fop? Agartes, no. It’s someone a lot more important,” Thiar said.

“Rok told me—”

“He told you wrong. Kefier, son—you have to pick the right people to believe.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you?”

“Why not? Your desire is to get paid, to be recognized as a true Boarshind mercenary, was it not? And you passed the test. You’re here now. You—” He reached out to touch Kefier’s shoulder.

Oji’s sword slid into his belly as easily as a hot knife through butter.

Tears appeared in the corner of Thiar’s eyes as he stared back at him in disbelief.

“You son of a bitch,” Kefier managed. “You set us up. All of us. Oji’s dead because of you!” He pulled the sword, kicking Thiar’s body away. He stared at the crumpled form, at the blood leaking on the ground underneath.

I killed him, Oji. I’ve avenged you. Oji… But the words in his head were as hazy as everything else had been. The taste of dirt remained in his mouth as the old man died before him. He wondered if he would be doomed to it for all of time.

Chapter Four

The rain came as Kefier fled the courtyard. With its caress, the stench of blood dissipated, replaced by soft earth and loam, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just left behind the same death he had been trying to flee from all his life.

And what did you think following mercenaries around was going to do?

He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his head and focused on it to drown out the whirlwind of the last few moments. Thiar’s death scream, the chaos as the other mercenaries discovered what he had done. His fight to escape. Rokarsh appearing at the end of the hall as he cut the others down like a wild animal, foaming at the mouth, incomprehensible. He couldn’t remember. He hoped the rain would wash it all away.

He found himself standing at the back door to Comfrey’s inn. He took a moment to stop and catch his breath.

“Kefier,” a voice called out.

Arlisa. Lisa. He was having recalling even her name. He turned around, and he didn’t know why, but there must’ve been something on his face that took her aback.

“I didn’t realize you were back! How did the job go? I must’ve missed Oji’s party, and…Kefier? Are you all right? What happened?”

He didn’t answer. He was hoping not having to answer would erase whatever he had left behind. She took him by the hand. Wordlessly, he followed her inside and down into her own room, a cramped, dark place behind the stairs. He had never seen it before. She pushed him onto a stool so she could take off his muddy shirt.

Kefier hesitated before reaching for her. Not because he thought he owned her like he knew the other men would insist—he hadn’t paid for tonight, and he could still remember the sting of Oji’s words about how he was nothing to her—but because he needed the warmth of someone who wasn’t dead or trying to kill him. He was fully expecting her to slap him and throw him out. He deserved no less.

But somehow, he was allowed to crawl into her bed. She placed his hands on her waist as she undid the laces of her dress and bent down to kiss his neck. The taste and scent of her flooded his senses, and for a few, blessed minutes, he almost forgot everything. Almost. When it was over, he fell asleep and dreamt of blood and running through the darkness and calling for Oji until his voice grew hoarse.

He sat up with a start.

“Oji’s dead, I suppose,” Lisa said, handing him clean clothes.

He swallowed before nodding. “How long was I asleep?”

“An hour.”

“Too long.” He wiped his face. “They’re after me. I shouldn’t—I would have led them straight to you. Why aren’t they here yet?”

“They came by,” Lisa said. “They checked the upper rooms and left. Said only that they were going to kill you. Mim Comfrey chased them away. Didn’t want them bothering the clientele.”

Hands shaking, he pushed himself out of the bed to get dressed.

“They won’t be back for a while,” she continued. “You should get more rest.” But she didn’t stop him.

“I’ve fucked this up beyond reason.” His voice felt gravelly. Maybe he had been screaming, and she was just too polite to say.

She gave the smile of someone who had heard this story already.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t…the things I promised you once…”

“That one was on the house.” She cocked her head to the side. “I don’t need you to save me, Kefier. You’re the one in trouble. What did you do, anyway?”

“I killed Thiar,” he murmured.

She hardly blinked. “I see.”

“You won’t ask why?”

“I’m sure you had your reasons for striking down the kindest, most harmless man in the Boarshind.”

“You’re not helping me here.”

“I didn’t know it was my job to help you at all.”

He swallowed.

She left the room abruptly, not even really looking at him. She returned moments later with a bag which she shoved into his hands. He peered into it and realized it was food, enough for a day or two on the road. “You need to run,” she said.

“Where should I go?”

“I don’t know. You’re not my responsibility, Kefier.”

“Oji’s family…they have to know about this. His sister, Sume—”

She frowned. “You’ve told me about her. She wrote you those letters. Doesn’t mean you suddenly owe her anything. Why worry about them at a time like this? Run until you can’t anymore. They mean it. They will kill you, and you can’t fight them. Not all of them. You’ll have to kill them one by one and…you’re not that kind of man, Kefier. This isn’t the life for you. You’re not ruthless, or cold. You’re not like them at all.”

He crumpled the leather into his fists. “Then what kind of man am I?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “If that’s a question you even need an answer to in order to survive, then I guess you’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

Without another word, Lisa opened the door, all but saying goodbye to him. He stared at her hard face, trying to recall how he had convinced himself she loved him, that she would at least consider whatever paltry offer he could give her. He had been a fool. Those last few hours, the food in his hands—it was all done out of pity. She pitied him the way Oji did.

He strode out of the inn and back into the grey streets. The sky was still dark, cloud-filled, though the rain had stopped. He hadn’t gone very far when he saw torches and heard voices calling after him. Holding the bag over his shoulder, he took off.

They cornered him in one of the alleys. He could tell from the way they stood there, expecting him to stop and surrender, that they wanted him alive. What they mustn’t have expected was for him to quickly draw his sword and slam straight into the nearest man, the blade at his throat before he could utter a moan.

You’re not ruthless, or cold…

He dropped the man, still alive, and turned. Ran.

Someone hit him. He crashed to the ground and rolled over. A man lifted a club and brought it down on him. It fell on his hip. He thought the bone had shattered and screamed. But he got up, his leg threatening to fall apart, and deflected the next attack long enough to begin running again. It felt as if the only thing holding him up was the wind.

He reached a dead end, cold sweat pouring from his skin. His entire body strained against the urge to collapse. He turned.

A man came at him, unarmed. Kefier roared. There was a pounding in his head that was sounding like the distant swelling of the sea, like waves crashing against rock. He struck him with his fist and then his elbow; as the man lurched forward, he drew his sword and stabbed him in the throat.

The man stared back, his face a mask of confusion. The dying often did that.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something. Blood poured out instead. He fell like an autumn leaf, collapsing to the ground in a fragile heap of red and brown. Kefier gazed at the body, wide-eyed. He saw shadows in the distance and ran again.

You’re not that kind of man. Then was he simply a product of this life? He felt nothing after that kill, which seemed to make it all the worse—that he could take and not even know what for. To survive, maybe; but he had been surviving all these years as second nature. If killing was part of that, so be it. The woman he thought he loved had just thrown him away, discarded like that morning’s chamberpot. And now…

He found his way on the road leading out of town. There, a young man stood beside a horse. A merchant, it looked like—face smooth and shaven, skin tanned from the sun. He drew up as Kefir approached. “A word, my friend,” he called, reining his horse around. He was Jinsein, a touch of accent on his Kagtar. “How are things in Cairntown?”

Kefier glanced down. His hands were coated in caked blood, as was the sword. The merchant didn’t seem to notice. He set his hat sideways, waiting for an answer.

“Cairntown is a city of whores and thieves,” Kefier said. The man blinked. He grit his teeth and pointed at the silhouette of the city. “What makes you think you’ll survive there?”

“I heard that since the trades opened between Jin-Sayeng and the Kag…”

“Get off your horse.”

“Excuse me?”

He drew the sword as if it was the heaviest thing in the world. “I told you, didn’t I? A city of thieves. Get off that horse.”

The merchant reached for his own sword. Kefir roared and grabbed his arm, pulling him to the ground. The horse nickered and shied—he grabbed the reins in time, then turned back to the man.

“Mercy,” the man gasped.

“Remember what I told you,” Kefier murmured. He watched the man’s face flicker before he swung into the saddle. His senses reeled, and for a moment he wasn’t sure if he was going through with this after all. But the man started screaming, and Kefier tugged at the reins and kicked the horse into a run. His head felt heavy, as if mud had been slapped all over his face.

This, he thought, is what Oji gave his life for.

A sob forced its way out of his throat, followed by the first tears he had ever shed for his friend. Hot, angry tears. They poured down his face as he remembered the first time he had met Oji, back when he was a boy and he thought his life was over. Soft eyes, an outstretched hand that sought only to help, not curled into a fist to hurt, a voice that soothed troubles away. He had nothing to gain and everything to lose, and yet he gave Kefier a kindness that Kefier never repaid. And now there was no way to repay it ever again.

As the grief redoubled its efforts to tear him apart, he turned on the southern road, towards Jin-Sayeng.

Seven years in Oji’s company had given Kefier the privilege of being fluent enough in Jinan to get by. He knew it was strange the moment he passed the border and people stared at him when he tried to converse with them. But he soon realized it was the mere novelty of a foreigner speaking that startled them. He was allowed in these lands. Was allowed now, in any case. He sold the horse as soon as he arrived in the city of Fuyyu and didn’t think he was cheated. He found an inn by the docks and secured a bedroom. He had enough coin to live on for a few weeks, if he was smart.

That first morning, the sky was as dismal as when he had left Cairntown. He headed to the kitchens and sat at the edge of the long table. A wiry cook eyed him warily before dumping a bowl of rice porridge in front of him. The porridge was soupy, more water than rice. The man beside him lifted his head and waved irritably at the cook’s back.

“Give him something good. He paid for the night, didn’t he? That looks like it’s from the bottom of the pot.”

“If it’s from the bottom of the pot, it’ll be all black now, wouldn’t it?” the cook sneered.

“Just because he’s a foreigner…”

“I didn’t even notice.”

“Now that’s a damn lie, and you know it,” the man said. “Give the man his money’s worth.”

The cook swore under his breath, but a moment later he returned with a ladleful of pork and an egg, which he dumped unceremoniously into Kefier’s bowl. He glanced at the guest, who grinned.

“Where are you from?” the man asked.

“The Kag,” Kefier mumbled between bites. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“But where—”

“Does it matter?”

“I’m just curious,” the man said. “You speak Jinan really well.”

“My friend taught me.” Kefier was surprised at how easily he could say that.

“Are you visiting him?”

He scratched his cheek. “Not him. Someone else.”

“And where does someone else live?”

“Over the sea,” Kefier said.

“Ah,” the man said. “Akki. I should’ve known. The way you talk! I’m from Akki, too. Couldn’t you tell? Such a beautiful island. Blue sky, golden at dawn. I’ve been gone three years, working out in the city here and sending money to my old mother back home. But bless Akki—I miss it there. There’s nothing like coming home. The blood boils for adventure, but the old heart longs for home. And the mountains! We have a farm out of the town, and it’s just beautiful—fresh air, with the right hint of cherry blossom and sea…”

The man paused long enough to drain his soup bowl. Kefier glanced around, trying to find a way out of the conversation. He didn’t like where it was going. The man looked nothing like Oji, but his words…

“Who’re you visiting?” The inevitable question. “Maybe I know him.”

He pushed his bowl away and got up. “I have to go. Thank you.” He strode out of the room, the sword at his belt growing heavier.

Kefier went down to the docks to watch the fishermen bring in that morning’s catch, the icy wind whipping his hair and face. He could see a faint dark outline in the distance. Akki, perhaps? Why didn’t he want to go again? Yesterday’s arguments felt like a speck of sand on the beach. Nothing, after all. Nothing. He should’ve agreed from the beginning.

“How much to board a ship to Akki?” he asked the fishermen.

They named a price that was worth all the coin in his pocket if he didn’t stay another day. He could be in Akki in a day, maybe two.

He saw the man who had talked to him earlier in the kitchens, a young girl of ten or twelve beside him. She looked enough like him to be his daughter. She gazed up at Kefier, wide-eyed.

“He’s from the Kag,” her father said before she could say anything.

“No, he’s not,” the young girl commented. “He’s not a Kag.”

“I’m from Gorent,” Kefier finally replied, hoping that would be enough to get them to leave him alone.

But she came up to grab his hand and look at him closely. Discomfort flooded him. “How interesting!” she exclaimed. “Where are you going? Or are you going to stay in Fuyyu?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“His friend is from Akki,” the girl’s father said.

She clapped her hands. “A friend! A lover?”

“Lala—”

“She’s not a lover,” Kefier said.

The girl’s eyes widened. “But you’re hoping it could be more, maybe. Have you met her yet?”

“No.”

“But you’ve talked. You must have. Who is she?”

He didn’t know why, but he murmured, “Sume Kaggawa,” before losing all of his courage. He had heard of giants among men who had gone against mountain beasts barehanded and come out alive. He didn’t know how true those stories were. The mercenaries, quick to spot naivety, had always made things taller than they were, if they were at all, those nights when they used to sit by a fire in the middle of the wilderness, with nothing but the flames and their voices in the piercing darkness.

Staring at this girl now, whose eyes had widened at the sound of the name, he would have given anything to have even a fraction of that courage that had driven those men, fictional or not. It didn’t help that he couldn’t close his eyes and force his way through this, the way he did when he was in the middle of a battle, and they would call him brave and reckless. But bravery was one thing, and his was only fuelled by fear and a desire to end things as quickly as he could.

“It’s Sume, Papa,” the girl said, turning to her father. “He’s going to visit Sume!”

“I heard,” the man replied. “You’re in luck, then! We’re neighbours in Akki. But that must mean, if you’re from the Kag—then you must be her brother Oji’s friend!”

“The Gorenten from her letters!” The girl was beaming. “She’s told me so much about you! Is it true? Did Brother Oji really find you in the mage-lands in Dageis? She said you once told her—”

The fear won. He fled before they could say anything more.

Chapter Five

Calm winds brought a steady stream of ships safely to shore. At the wake of dawn, workers stood on the docks, unloading goods for further transport or sale at the marketplace. The scents of fish, sweat, and spices were ripe in the air. A man stood with his white buttocks exposed, mounting a prostitute against a wall.

Up north, where the dirty harbour ended, devout followers lined up to pray at the temple of Sakku. A priestess stood at the entrance, holding up a large sack for the obligatory donation of twenty aekich, which was a number preferred by the sea-dragon goddess, or so it was suggested by the holy texts of Kibouri. Nobody seemed to notice or care that she dipped her hand in the bag once in a while and back into her own pocket. Priestesses of Sakku were not to be questioned, having gone through sacred rituals to become holy servants of the goddess; those that failed were often put to death, thrown into the open sea as a sacrifice. The healthy population of fishes at such sites was a testament to the goddess’ powers.

A young man with a fuzzy moustache stood outside the gates to the temple, crying, “News from Shirrokaru! News from the Dragonlord’s nest!” and clearly enjoying the attention. He held a piece of parchment with the Fuyyu governor’s seal in his hands.

“News from the Dragonlord’s nails, you mean,” Errena scoffed as they left the vicinity of the temple and entered the long, dark alley that led to the Kag marketplace. “Do they take us for fools? We’ve not seen Rysaran since I was a little girl. Sume, make sure you have your coin with you before you go in. I’ve heard rumours about what these Kag witches will do if you don’t pay them.”

Sume patted her pocket and smiled. “I’ve got it right here. What else should I do, Ren? Do I need to turn around three times and stamp my foot while praying to the frog-god to watch my eternal soul?”

Errena frowned. “Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“No, Ren, I appreciate your concern. Really, I do.” She touched Errena’s arm and smiled. The last few months had warmed the woman up to her, and she knew now the cautious front was nothing but a front. “This won’t be long.” She lifted the star-patterned curtain and ducked under the low doorway.

The first thing that hit her was the smell of the perfume, which reminded her of jasmine, cinnamon, and smoke combined. The Kag at the far end of the room was a woman. She was dark-skinned, with black hair and eyelids resembling a Jinsein’s—a far cry from what Sume thought Kags looked like. Her eyes were purple, with a hint of red around the edges. It was probably an enchantment. She looked at Sume and pointed at the pool of water permanently etched on the floor.

“Hana Kaggawa in Akki,” Sume stammered, uncertain. The woman clicked her tongue and handed her a small envelope. Sume looked at it and then remembered that she had to put a piece of Hana’s hair inside. She clumsily reached into her pocket, nearly spilling her coins, and stuffed a few strands before sealing the envelope. She dropped it over the middle of the pool and watched as it sank underneath two floating candles.

“So you asked,” the woman said at last. Her voice was raspy. Sume could smell her breath from where she stood. She wove her fingers through the air. The candles flickered.

“What’s this?” a voice called from deep inside the pool.

Sume clapped her hands and leaned over the stone fencing that marked the edge. “It’s me, sister! Sume! I found someone to contact you.”

“A Kag?” Hana’s face appeared in the pool’s reflection. It was frowning. “Didn’t I tell you not to mess with this foreign witchery? I swear, Sume, when I get my hands on you, I’ll—!”

“Don’t get mad, Hana. I only did it because I miss you all. See—don’t twist your face like that. You’ll be old before your time.”

“I already am, no thanks to you.” Hana shook her head. “How are you over there? Those seamstresses treating you all right?”

“They’re wonderful, Hana. Errena, you know—the woman who helped me get the job? She’s waiting outside for me right now. How’s Dai? Is he off somewhere no good again?” She couldn’t help but smile, even before she heard Hana’s irritated reply.

“That boy ran out on me, as usual. I told him specifically to be here by sundown and it’s been an hour since. I’m told that the neighbours down the road will be slaughtering a goat. No doubt he and his friends think that’s fine entertainment.”

“You said yourself, Hana! A boy! What do you expect? I remember Oji…” She ran a hand over her eyes and was silent for a moment. She had been trying to find ways to contact him since her encounter with the Dageian. All she had discovered since then was that her misplaced concerns were unfounded. There were no reports of monsters or dragons or anything of that sort, certainly not where the mercenaries were concerned; if her brother wasn’t sending money, something else must have happened to him. People were adamant that more likely than not, he’d just decided to forget them. It happened in those parts all the time. Mercenary pay wasn’t enough to sustain a family, or two. “Likely he’s gone and married a Kag woman and had light-skinned babies on his own. Forget about him like he’s forgotten about you.”

Sume pushed those thoughts away. “How’s Father?”

“What do you want me to tell you?” Hana sounded exhausted. “You leaving won’t make him change overnight. I gave him some money from the coin you sent so he didn’t have to go asking me every afternoon. Spent it all on one night if you can believe it. I found him face-down in the pig trough the next morning.”

“Is he—”

“Oh dear, I wouldn’t tell you all this if he weren’t all right. Still, I’m afraid one of these days they’ll find him drowned in the docks or a bucket of piss. I’ve asked the neighbours to keep an eye on him. Right now he’s over at Bora’s, helping him build a crib for the new baby they’re about to have over there. That should keep him out of trouble for a few days.”

“You’ve got thirty seconds to finish your affairs or pay double,” the Kag broke in.

Sume sighed. “I’ll talk to you again when I have money next time, Hana.”

“Don’t! I know Father’s had this mirror since forever, but I don’t want you getting involved in this Kag business. What if the guards catch you? Send me a letter next time.” Her eyes softened. “I miss you, sister.”

“I miss you too. Give my kisses to Father and Dai.”

Hana gave a small sound in the back of her throat. “I hope you’re not foolishly chasing after the thing you told Father. If anything happened to you over such a stupid thing—”

“Me, chase after dragons?” she asked, with a furtive grin. “Don’t be absurd, Hana.”

She gave a small scoff.

Sume turned to the witch, who waved. The pool rippled with her movement and Hana’s face disappeared from the surface. Sume pulled the coins from the purse and dropped them, one by one, on the table in the corner. The Kag stared at her, unblinking.

Errena was waiting for her with a cloak when she left the room. “What was it like?” she immediately asked. “I heard you talking, but that was it.”

“It’s like she was in front of me, Ren,” Sume replied, smiling. “I feel light-headed, though. It must be the scents the Kag was using.”

“Let’s get out of here before the guards catch wind of us. Dear Sakku—I still can’t believe I actually took you all the way out here.” She sounded excited. “Do you mean that you actually have one of these enchanted objects in your home? Where did you get it?”

“A Kag gifted it to my father a long time ago, when he was a merchant.” Sume glanced out into the night and shivered slightly. “He had told the man how lonely he was, missing us out there in foreign lands, and he told my father how to use it. You leave it at home and then a witch skilled in that sort of sorcery could find—I don’t know, he used the words sniff out, I think? But this is the first time we ever used it. You see, that was the last time my father went out to sea. He lost much of his business after a Kag cheated him and then...” She threw her hands up and laughed.

Errena shook her head. “I don’t know how you can be so comfortable around this whole business, Sume. The weather working of the priestesses is one thing, but I’ve heard that in the Kag they have these rituals, like using human blood and slaughtering children. Don’t you know they breed with animals over there? They have cat-people walking around the woods and Sakku knows what else.”

“Oh Errena, you read too many dime novels. The ka-eng and the kusyani are different tribes.”

Errena shuddered. “I don’t care. I’d hate to see the day they let those over the border. I think I’ll scream.” She hooked her arm around Sume’s and pointed. “I see that town crier again. He is a comely young man, don’t you think, Sume? You should meet him. At your age, you don’t get nearly enough callers. It’s no fun being an old maid. I should know.”

“Good evening, ladies,” the town crier said, dipping his head at them and brandishing a smile. “Is it not too late for such lovely women to be out and about at this hour?”

“We were just browsing the Kag market,” Errena said without batting an eye. “Any important news from the royal cities? Not that it makes a difference to us,” she added, giving Sume a knowing glance.

The young man tugged at his collar and smiled at them. “Well. News has it that Rysaran is holding a ball, inviting all the most prestigious names in—hey, you!” A dark-skinned Kag limping by froze at the sound of his voice. The town crier stomped towards him. “Yes, I’m talking to you. What are you doing here? You need to stay on your side of the city.”

The Kag glanced up, blinking underneath his tangled mass of copper-brown hair. “I’m sorry?” he asked in deeply accented Jinan.

“You heard me,” the town crier said. He stopped and pushed him. The Kag was thin and easily toppled backwards. “Those statues there, you see? That marks the Kag side of town. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Your country opened trade to the Kag years ago. I don’t recall anyone setting up borders, let alone inside a town.”

“I don’t know if you know after so long mingling with this weak-bellied Fuyyu folk, but what the royals say and what they think is different. When you’re in front of a royal, bred and born, you kneel!” He lifted his fist.

The Kag held out his hands. “I’ll leave,” he said. Sume noticed that it wasn’t just his accent that made his Jinan strange—the way he rolled the words wasn’t the way they spoke in Fuyyu. He limped back the way he’d come from. The town crier spit on the ground and kicked dirt into the air.

On the way back to the seamstresses’ apartment, Sume found she couldn’t get the Kag out of her head. The dirt on his frayed clothes and his ragged beard...what did someone have to do to get into such a state? Akki was a small town and so even a man like her father, who drank and gambled his nights away, always had a family to clean up after him. Even if he didn’t have a family, the neighbours usually tried, too. Fuyyu was such a big place, full of people, but not for the first time, she felt a pang of loneliness. If she was home right now at this hour, she could be kneeling in front of a candle with Hana and Dai, listening to the crickets outside the window. Or she could be next door, singing with Bora’s wife and her sisters while Dai tried to catch fireflies out on the street.

She was still thinking of her family up into the next day when they paid the temple a visit. Here, row upon row of people sat cross-legged on the polished wooden floor, offering obeisance to the sea-god. A young boy, head shaved and tattooed, carried incense past them. He reminded her of Dai, right up to the scowl that seemed permanently etched on his face. She had always wondered about that; his father, in contrast, smiled even on occasions that didn’t warrant it. He had even smiled at a funeral, once—an incident not easily forgotten in the collective memories of Akki folk.

The bell rang from the altar. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the floor.

It was very hard to repeat a prayer that had gone unanswered for far too many years. Sume mouthed the familiar words and felt her heart leap. She struggled to control the tears—she couldn’t risk crying in front of the seamstresses, who were often incapable of stopping themselves from asking questions. Sea-god, she mouthed. Watch my family as you travel on your celestial path. Mark their spirits with your blessings.

“And find my brother Oji for me,” she added, whispering.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, telling her their time was up. They left the temple. Saina paused long enough to buy each of them a small necklace with a polished sea-pebble as a pendant from one of the vendors.

“When Sakku made the seas—” the vendor began.

“The dancing’s about to start!” Errena exclaimed, grabbing Sume by the waist and spinning her around. “We’ll find you a beau, Sume. Or two. Or three!”

“Your head is full of dreams, you old hag,” Adara said.

“Well, Sume is young, and pretty enough.”

“Enough?” Sume coughed. For the first time since that morning, she laughed aloud.

The dances were held in the empty square in front of the governor’s mansion, and right next to the marketplace. Sume did not know the steps, but a graceful young man by the name of Tetsung took her hand and willingly showed her. One, two, three, turn. Pivot, pivot, step back. She found the rhythm much like a dance she knew back home and took to it like a fish to water.

“My father brings in our grain every year just for this day,” Tetsung said, after they had thoroughly exhausted themselves. “This is my first time here.”

“But you dance so well!”

“You really think so?” He gave a bashful grin. “My brother taught me the steps. It was embarrassing, but he told me it would be worth it. And he’s right!”

“How long are you staying in the city?”

“Two days. What a pity. I would love to see more of it.” He glanced up at her and then, out of impulse, touched her cheek.

She burned red hot and started looking for her companions. There was no sign of them. The last time she had seen Errena, she was dancing with her own partner, and Adara and Saina had made themselves scarce. She looked back at the smooth-faced young man beside her and smiled. “Can you walk me home?”

“Already?”

“I’d like to get some work done while there’s still daylight.” It was partly true. She got paid for every shirt she finished, and her family needed the money back home. But the hopeful look on Tetsung’s face made her hesitate. “You’ve two days in the city. Maybe you can visit me.”

That seemed to cheer him up. Hand-in-hand, they left the square.

The street where Sume lived was wide enough for only two people to pass through, and barely even. Clotheslines and dirty laundry blocked the view of the sky. It differed vastly from the clean, almost pristine view from the square, and Tetsung seemed perplexed. When a man collapsed in front of them, he jumped and pushed Sume behind him.

“He looks dangerous,” he gasped.

“He looks dead.” Sume pulled away and recognized their neighbour, the local drunk. Was she still thinking of that Kag from last night? What was it about his gaze that cut so deep?

“Thank you, Tetsung,” she said when they reached the door. As an afterthought, she kissed his cheek. It was only polite, but he left with a smile that took over his face.

She returned upstairs. She found Adara in one of the workrooms on the second floor, bent over a pile of shirts. The woman glanced up at her and nodded in greeting. She smiled back and knelt down to join her.

“Have you heard from your brother yet?” Adara asked while they worked. “You said you were going to send letters.”

Sume looked up and sighed. “I did. There’s been no response. I haven’t received anything from the place where he usually stays at, either.”

“I tell you what, the letters probably got stuck somewhere. There’s too much happening around us for my liking. The prince gone all these years, and that war way north—Sakku knows. I won’t be surprised if they just dump letters in the river straight from the post.”

“I guess so,” Sume whispered. “But it’s been so long.” She glanced down at her needlework and saw damp spots in the fabric. Stubbornly, she scraped away at them, but more tears fell.

“He’ll turn up, just wait and see. Why, my father once disappeared for two years and I almost wish he didn’t show up again, but what can you do? It happens when they’re broke, girl—can’t send money, womenfolk and babes crying for food. Men don’t like to admit failure like that.”

Sume nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Adara that her brother wrote almost every month since he’d left, when she was no more than a child and they forced her tiny hands off his shirt so he could board the ship. Hello, little dove, his first letter had said, the paper covered with inky thumbprints. Hana had read it by candlelight in the dark. I think this place will drive me crazy. The men are very loud and I have a rat for a bed-mate. And then later, at the end, I am so sorry that I had to leave, little one…

She had cried for him every night, over and over again. Would wake up from some nightmare, of hideous beasts and nymphs and bad memories twisting themselves around her like snakes, and call for him until her voice was hoarse. Hana would hold her and try to sing to her, but she had lived all her life with her brother at her side and she had not been ready to give him up.

Now, of course, she was too old. At sixteen, girls got married, gave birth, carried households on their shoulders. Hana was younger when she’d married Oji—the thought of that alone was often enough to give her strength for another day. She wondered where they were now, if she was hanging around the agan-soaked mirror waiting for Sume to reach her again, because she knew—she must know that Sume was going to try again no matter what she said. Could she be stitching Dai’s robe after another schoolyard fight? The boy was entirely too troublesome for his age. And Dai—well, he was probably sleeping, and if he wasn’t, he ought to be.

She fell asleep against the wall, a crumpled shirt on her lap. She saw Oji in her dreams as she often did these months past. He was smiling sadly at her, even though she couldn’t remember him ever smiling like that when they were growing up. The last sentence in his last letter to her had said, You’ll soon be very surprised, my sweet. Just wait and see. It didn’t seem that long ago anymore.

It was not yet dawn when she awoke. The candle had melted and someone had draped a blanket over her while she slept. She went downstairs and found everyone asleep in the dormitory. The silence overwhelmed her. Out of impulse, she stepped out into the dark street and began the long walk to the harbour.

The sea stretched out like an enormous blanket, shimmering in shades of blue and grey in the thick fog. Sitting on the sandy shore some distance off the busy docks, she pretended she was in Akki. The empty platform that obliterated the view of the city to her right was now a palm tree, and the palm tree to her left was the lighthouse. On the road above her, a cart passed by, carrying rice cakes. It made the wrong sound, but that was fine. If you squinted hard enough, if you made everything around you disappear in place of what was in your head, even long-lost brothers could be sitting beside you, reassuring you he was home forever and ever.

She started. A man was walking towards her, limping. She groped around for a rock.

“Don’t come out here alone next time,” the man suddenly murmured. “It’s too dark and nobody will know if something happens to you.”

“I know that,” she said, trying very hard to sound as angry as she could.

“If you did, that’s even stupider of you.”

“That’s extremely rude of you.”

“Be thankful this is the kind of rude you get, and not the kind of rude that goes up your skirt.”

She fingered the rock and considered throwing it. In the distance, faint traces of bright orange coloured the sea. The fog was dispersing.

“I’m sorry,” the man muttered. “I saw you and thought—well, I suppose you think you can take care of yourself. I’ll leave you alone, now.”

“Suppose? Think? Am I so uncertain these days?” She saw him turn towards her and suddenly recognized the Kag the town-crier had harassed. His haggard face was darker than when she saw it yesterday. It was marred with shapes, and she couldn’t tell if they were bruises or mere patches of shadow. “Then I suppose I should be thankful for your courtesy.”

He shrugged.

“I’m going now. Will you be all right?”

“Yes.” She paused. “If you’re looking for Akki, you’d have to wait till dark to know where. If you know exactly where the star Kiba is, then that’s where Akki is right now, at this time of the year.”

He looked surprised. She grinned. “Your manner of speaking. You learned Jinan from Akki, didn’t you? Then you must know the saying: Wherever an Akkian stands, he can look under Kiba and be one step closer to home. Now if you waited long enough, that advice won’t be accurate, so you’d have to pester the ship captains yourself for the proper maps. Of course, if you were nicer to me, I’d tell you.”

“I’d take my chances with the captains.” A seagull passed over them. He glanced back at the sea and his expression softened. The sun was slowly rising. Under the grey light, she confirmed that the marks on his face were indeed bruises. There were also bruises along his lean arms and shoulders.

“Do you want something to eat?” she asked, all in one breath.

He wanted to shake his head, she saw. But she also saw the hunger on his sunken face. She had seen it on Dai often enough. The thought of the boy moved her. He would have been too proud to accept, too. Tentatively, she gestured to him, and hurried away so he wouldn’t have the chance to refuse.

She took him to one of the open-curtained eateries near the docks—nothing more than a small stall, with room for three or four people. For five aekich you had enough for a cup of fish soup and a bowl of steaming hot rice covered with boiled chicken and a spicy sauce. The man cupped the bowl in his hands and stared at the food for a long time. Feeling a little embarrassed for him, she turned away and focused on eating.

“I’ll pay you back,” he said when he finished. The vendor, his back turned to them, snorted.

Sume smiled. “No need to. You could use this newfound energy of yours and find work.”

She meant it as a joke, but he clearly took offence to it. He turned away and slurped the last of his soup, his brow deeply furrowed. “I’ve got work. How do you think I’ve lived this long? People here aren’t very charitable to foreigners.”

“We’re in Jin-Sayeng. What do you expect? The prophet says—”

“Of course, of course. You step on shit you trip on it, that kind of deal.”

She blushed. “I’ve never heard it put that way before.”

“Your prophet also said blind people shouldn’t own monkeys.”

“Where did you hear this nonsense?” She laughed. The vendor rolled his eyes, and she ordered another bowl to keep him quiet.

“Kibouri’s teachings aren’t as crammed down here as you thought they are,” the man continued, accepting the second bowl with a hopeful smile. “I’ve heard them elsewhere. Comrades quoting them in the barns and laughing about it.”

“What would they be doing in barns?”

“Why, that’s where you go to fu—” He stopped, looking somewhat embarrassed. “Feed horses. And stuff.” He crammed a spoon down his throat.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. When they opened trades, it wasn’t just our grain and figs that got out. Some of these philosophies, too. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that one though. Monkeys. Huh.” She tapped her foot absently against the stall. “What are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He grunted. “I mind,” he murmured.

She decided not to press him. The sun was climbing higher up the sky and she needed to get back to work. She smiled warmly at him. “Any time you need my help,” she said. “Go to Mistress Iamme. The seamstress. I’m Sume. Sakku watch you!”

She skipped down the street and waved to him. It felt as if he was an old friend. She was so far now that she could not see his face.

It was only when she’d returned to the workroom that she realized she’d forgotten to ask his own name in return.

Chapter Six

The week following Sakku’s Day was called many names, depending on who you talked to. To the priestesses, it was The Four Days of Cleansing as they walked the length of town with incense and prayers to rid the streets of last year’s filth and degradation. The locals called it holidays, as most took the time to close their businesses and journey back to their hometowns.

The brazenly honest and witty Kags—merchants, shop owners, prostitutes, and all—called it the hole-in-the-pocket. A few brave ones would try their luck all the way out in Yu-Yan, where the summer festival followed Sakku’s Day, but that was deeper into dragon territory and was seen as foolhardy by most. The royals were less tolerant of the Kags after centuries of isolation. Pointing out that it was the king himself who opened Jin-Sayeng’s borders was the same as inviting a royal to run a sword through you. Sume could still recall her father’s drawn-out wail that day he realized no one in the mainland will buy out the shipful of Kag goods he had spent all his money on. There was just no winning some battles.

That was a long time ago, though, and Sume, who was raised by a man who idolized the Kags and all they stood for, had no qualms in stepping into her sandals and going out into the streets during The Blessed Four. There was no work, anyway—most of the seamstresses had gone home to their families and the workshop was closed. Tetsung met her around the alleyway, having received a hastily scribbled note from her the night before. He was wearing a bright blue tunic and had tied his hair in a tight knot above his neck.

“You look nice,” she said, tipping her head in greeting. “What’s the occasion?”

He blushed a deep red and mumbled, “Let’s just go.”

Apart from the line of priestesses and the occasional gawking passer-by, the streets were vacant. Sume found the emptiness exciting. She had lived in a bustling town her whole life, always surrounded by other people. Even when you slept back home, you could hear the neighbour’s snores through the bamboo-weaved wall. The Four Days After Sakku’s in Akki was different in that there were even more people there than usual; young men and women who had gone off to search for their fortunes in the mainland would be back to share a few meals and laughter with their folks.

Oji, of course, never visited. When she was younger, she would wait for him out by the docks and watch the ships come one by one until the kind old man at the lighthouse would go down and tell her that no more were expected. He would write later, tell her he was sorry, but he was finishing a job or he had sent all of last season’s money and couldn’t afford a vacation just right now. She had stopped waiting these last few years, though she still saw the letters and Hana’s face assuming that strange expression by candlelight, a look that seemed to hover between breaking down and I couldn’t care less.

“What are you thinking about?” Tetsung asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” Sume said at first. And then she glanced at him. “Have you ever heard of the Seven Shadows?”

“I’m from a family of merchants. Of course I have. They’re the group of merchants who helped spearhead Jin-Sayeng into a new future. Heroes, all of them.”

“Mmm,” she replied. “My brother idolized them. Wanted to go off and have adventures and change the world like they did. My father loved to tell us these stories…” She trailed off, not wanting to add because he was one of them. She didn’t really like talking about the Seven Shadows, knowing how the story ended. Having made himself a merchant at last, the youngest Goran left to marry the royal’s daughter he fell in love with, lost all his fortune and his wife, and became the town drunk.

“Every boy and girl our age looked up to them. Didn’t you?”

She didn’t answer. Silence, it seemed, disconcerted him. “Sume,” he managed. “Don’t you enjoy being with me? I thought...”

Sume patted his hand and smiled. She glanced around the street. They had just reached the Kag area near the docks, and half a dozen shop owners were looking at them expectantly. She broke into a grin and grabbed Tetsung’s hand. “I was thinking we could start off with a meal, and then you’ll take me shopping.”

“I’ll take you shopping?” he asked, aghast.

“It’s strange to walk with girls without taking them shopping, Tetsung. Your mother should have told you that. There!” She clapped her hands and pointed at an open eatery where the smell of smoke and roasting meat was coming from. She dragged him by the arm down the street and picked a bench where you could see the sea. There was only a handful of other people there: a Kag couple, a peddler, and a bony old man who grinned up at her when she glanced past him.

A woman came by with the menu and a smile on her face. “Thank Agartes,” she said, flinging her yellow hair behind her. “As if business isn’t tough enough these days. Why, look at you two.” She tapped her chest. “Reminds me of when I was your age. Ah, those were the days! What would you like to have? Our special today is crab, squash, and mussels in a sea of coconut milk, an Akki specialty.”

“Oh!” Sume exclaimed, clapping her hands. She threw Tetsung a glance. Tetsung sighed and nodded. “And two glasses of rose wine. Don’t give me that shocked look, Tetsung, you need rose wine with crab. Didn’t your mother tell you anything? Honestly...” She threw the Kag woman a smile. “Men, huh?” She said the last part in Kagtar, so Tetsung wouldn’t understand. The woman laughed and left them to grab their orders.

Tetsung scratched the sparse hairs on his lip before reaching back to rub the top-knot on his head. “Have you written to your family? You said you would.”

“I wanted to try using a talk-through mirror,” she mumbled under her breath.

Tetsung’s face turned red. “You want to try what? Sume, didn’t your mother tell you not to mess with that Kag witchery? What if someone heard and told the priestesses, or the guards!”

“Lower your voice!” Sume whispered. “Sakku in a rat’s nest, Tetsung, you’re surrounded by Kags. Look, it’s not a big deal. I did it once already, and I didn’t sprout horns or anything.”

“The sisters don’t say it happens overnight,” Tetsung mumbled. “Probably years and years later. It’s a warning, don’t you know? When the Kags brought their evil magics with them Jin-Sayeng became such a mess.”

“I told you, lower your voice. Sakku, you men, I swear.” She gave an exasperated sigh and tapped his hand. “Why is it any different from what the priestesses do, you tell me that? They chant all this nonsense to clean water and make crops grow and whatnot. I once saw one who visited Akki, she sang and this bed of flowers just opened up and rose from the ground in front of her. Everybody clapped. If a Kag did that, I think she’d be stoned.”

Tetsung dropped his eyes down so he wouldn’t have to look at her while he spoke. “That’s different. You know how it is here. When babes are born with Sakku’s touch you give them to the priestesses. It’s not even a question of you don’t want to, Sakku blesses us with these people to bring prosperity to Jin-Sayeng. They don’t use it for profit. In the Kag, you can do whatever you want. Charging money so lonely souls can talk to their families?”

“You make it sound like such a bad thing.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be, if they didn’t ask money for these services. Or use it for their own good. I was listening to the crier the other day, and he said they found a hut full of dead children in the Kag. Somewhere near Cael City. Drained of blood. They think it’s a ritual of some sort. That’s too close to Dageian arts for me, don’t you think? They’ve got these magic-borne beasts and whatnot stalking through the Kag. Is that what you really want for Jin-Sayeng, Sume? To have to wait till daylight to travel and scare your children silly before they go to bed?”

She sighed. “If you put it that way, I suppose not.”

Tetsung gave her a strained smile. “I have nothing against the Kags, Sume. They bring in good trade. We need that now more than ever. But there’s too much of a good thing and if we embrace everything they do, then we’ll lose out on what makes us Jinsein. Like having the damn decency not to nab children in the dark and sell them to the dark gods.”

Sume was relieved when their conversation was interrupted by their food. A steaming bowl of cream-coloured stew was laid out in front of them, followed by a pot of rice and two plates. There was also a complementary plate of steamed ferns on a bed of noodles. Sume glanced at the server to thank him and recognized the face as the Kag from several mornings ago.

He seemed to remember her, too, and looked noticeably startled at the sight of her. She grabbed his wrist before he could run off with the tray. “I didn’t know you work here! Imagine running into you again. I have something for you. Hold on.” He started to slink back, and she tugged at his shirt. “Don’t go anywhere. Look at this man, Tetsung, he thinks I’m going to bite his head off.”

“You do have that look sometimes,” Tetsung admitted with a grin.

She gave him a mock glare and started searching through her purse. “Here,” she said, pulling out a small piece of leather. She shoved it into his hands. “It’s a star map. I got it from one of the Akkian captains the other day. We got to talking about stars, and it turns out what I told you wasn’t very accurate. He’s got a dozen of these and gave me one. See, you can figure out the time of the year and where the stars would be. Now you can always find them and even tell the whole Akkian ballad of Kiba if you choose.”

“The Akkian ballad of Kiba?” Tetsung asked. He sounded amused. “Mind telling me about that one?”

“Why, sure.” She glanced at the Kag. “But first, you have to join us. You don’t have a lot of customers and surely I can convince your boss to give you a few moments. You don’t mind, do you, Tetsung?”

Tetsung frowned, but he said, “I guess not.”

She yanked the Kag to the seat before he could refuse. “Kiba. Right. Well, if you look at the sky, it’s the star that forms the beak of what you mainlanders call the Smiling Swan. In Akki, that’s Kiba, who was once a man until the goddess put him there as punishment after he saw her bathing naked in the sea. She must have been very unattractive.”

Sume drew back and told that whole story from the start, even though she noticed that the Kag wasn’t looking at her. His mind seemed to be on something else entirely. She thought that maybe he was uncomfortable around Tetsung, or maybe it was because he was supposed to be working, but she noticed something else—a slight flicker in the corner of his eye, as if he was trying very hard not to cry. That unsettled her. Eventually, she let her voice trail off and watched as he fidgeted in his seat.

“I talk too much,” she said with a laugh. “You should tell me your name and why you talk Jinan like an Akkian. Can’t you hear it, Tetsung? The way he rolls his rs.”

Tetsung shrugged. “Probably learned it off an Akkian. Am I right?”

The Kag nodded slowly. “I have to get back to work.”

“But you haven’t eaten!” Sume exclaimed. “You must try this food. Especially if you’ve never been in Akki.”

“Crab gives me hives. I have to go now,” he stated flatly. He dropped his head and pulled away from them.

“Where were we, Sume?” Tetsung asked. He grabbed her hand and smiled. Sume turned back to him, but she couldn’t get the Kag out of her head. She cornered the eatery’s owner after Tetsung had paid their tab.

“Your man there,” she said, having left the outhouse and catching the woman wiping plates in the open kitchen.

The woman glanced up. “Has he done anything?”

“No, nothing like that. I just wanted to know if he had a name. We’ve met before and he wouldn’t say.”

“Ke-if, he calls himself,” the woman said. “Not a Kag. Not quite sure where he’s from, exactly, but I’ve spotted Dageian tattoos on him so he must have been a mage-thrall. You don’t really have rules about those here in Jin-Sayeng, so I figured he wasn’t a bad hire. Does his work all right, keeps out of trouble. If he steps out of line, you’ll tell me, right? I’d rather deal with it than with your guards first. You know how things are.”

Sume promised she would keep quiet and turned back. The appearance of Tetsung on the path surprised her. “You seem pretty interested in the Kag,” he said, his arms crossed.

She started to explain that she found the sound of his speech soothing, the way she did with every Akkian she’d met on the mainland. She had been there for months and the loneliness was a wave that swelled the moment she opened her eyes each morning. But she looked at Tetsung’s worried face and realized he wouldn’t understand. How was a mainlander supposed to know that in Akki, each clan had a unique way of speaking—that there were not one, but fifteen words for “now”? The sounds of each were so close together that they were easy enough to understand by everyone, but an Akkian could tell.

And this man, Ke-if, spoke now like she did, rolling the last syllable upward. Only the Seytans, the Angjar, and the Kaggawans—families from the north-east part of the island—spoke like that. Hana used to make fun of some of their words, too, because they were too sing-song and it made Oji sound like a poet.

How could a foreigner from Sakku-knows-where suddenly start speaking like one of her clan?

After that, it seemed as if Sume saw him everywhere. At the docks, while visiting Captain Naj, she saw him helping load down one of the ships and called out to him from deck. Hearing his name from her made him freeze in his tracks, nearly dropping the barrel he was carrying. She waved at him and would have gone down to talk, except Naj, ever the downer, tapped her shoulder and began explaining to her the different ways to salt fish.

She also saw him at the market with Errena or whenever she would join Tetsung for dinner. These times, she didn’t talk to him, but she tried to meet his face and smile. The one time she didn’t, because Tetsung was too busy trying to grab her hand while grinning silly at her, she caught him staring back at her. That frightened her. She wondered if there was more to these coincidences than she figured and if his silence had nothing to do with shyness.

One evening, while leaning out of the kitchen window, she caught sight of him in the alley down the seamstresses’ lodge and knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was following her. There was no work that day, so she removed the rice pot from the stove, transferred it to the table, and ran out to the street.

“Hey!” she called to his rapidly retreating back. “Ke-if!” She charged at him and grabbed his arm. “Why have you been following me?”

His expression threatened to break. He turned to her and was silent for a few moments. Thinking, she realized. He’s thinking of what lie to tell me. He finally looked down and thrust the leather map at her. “I don’t know how to read that,” he admitted. The Akkian tilt was strong in his voice. “Could you show me how?”

Sume was powerless against such a request. She smoothened her dress and gave a resigned sigh. “I have to turn the fire off in the kitchen. Wait for me here?”

“Your friend isn’t here,” Ke-if told her on the way to the beach.

“A keen observation,” she said dryly. He looked confused at that, and she smiled and patted his arm. “He’s got an uncle visiting. Only polite that he stay home tonight and entertain the old man, don’t you think? Here, lay that out on the sand.” She helped him spread the map out. “It’s a good thing the sky’s clear. We can count the stars as they come out.”

He looked interested enough when she started explaining the symbols on the map and the sky. It surprised her how much she still remembered; her father’s navigator had simply thought it was amusing, teaching a four-year-old girl how to read a star chart. Back then, her father’s men liked to joke that it was little Sume who would take over the family business.

“I like that you’ve finally replaced those rags,” she said at length, pointing at Ke-if’s attire. He glanced down and shrugged.

“I lost my clothes swimming the other night. I had to get new ones.”

She nodded. “I’m guessing the salt water just burned right through them.”

“Fashion isn’t my strongest point.”

“I can see that.”

He frowned. She smiled. His eyes flickered; in the waning light, they looked blue, like the sea. “Sume,” he murmured. “Tell me the story of Kiba again. I—I wasn’t listening, the last time.”

She smiled and told him the story again. About Kiba the fisherman who fell in love with the Goddess Sakku. She heard him take a deep breath and for a moment she wondered why he needed to hear it so badly, but a shooting star distracted her from her thoughts. It flitted past the sky, barely a flicker.

“The story, Sume,” he whispered. He sounded like he was crying in the dark.

She didn’t want to continue. She could see that something in the story was upsetting him, but she didn’t know what. Haltingly, she said, “Well. She got her fruit, but it wasn’t juicy, so. So being such a big bitch, she turned him into a bird like she was going to in the first place and stuck him into the sky. And that’s the story of Kiba.”

He closed his eyes. There were stars everywhere now. Over the horizon, into the darkness of the sea, the water-shadows seemed to leap out at her like wild animals.

“It’s getting late.” Sume smoothed her skirt over her knees. “I probably need to go soon. The mistress doesn’t like us staying out too long.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Sume smiled before she realized what he was saying. “You haven’t done anything to me, you silly man. What are you apologizing for?”

He looked at her with those eyes again. Something constricted in her throat. She suddenly understood that she knew what he was going to say, that she didn’t need to hear it from him now. Ke-if. She knew the name, if not the sound of it. I call him Kefier. I figured you need to Kag a name up before these bastards can accept someone.

“You!” a voice called out from the darkness before either of them could say anything else. Ke-if evidently knew the sound of it, because he started running. A figure emerged from the bridge above them and leaped towards him. They rolled across the sand, and the figure lifted a fist and smashed it into Ke-if’s face.

Sume screamed; the man turned to her and scowled. “Don’t be offended. I’m pretty sure he didn’t have the money to pay you, anyway.”

She flushed and stepped towards them. “I don’t know what argument you two have, but this isn’t the time or place. The guards will know how to handle this.”

Ke-if started to say something, and the man struck him a second time. “You Jins!” the man exclaimed. A white forelock fell across his face. “This is Kag business, not something you should be concerned with. Guards indeed—pah!” He spat on the sand and started wrapping a piece of rope around Ke-if’s hands.

She stood there, frozen, wondering if she had time to call up the guards and if the man would attack her if she did. Ke-if was lying very still. A wave of pity washed over her. “If it’s money, I can help,” she intoned. “Don’t hurt him.”

“You hear that, you piece of shit?” the man snorted, pressing his knee over Ke-if’s groin. “You have a woman offering to buy you out. You’re pathetic. Does she know about Lisa?”

“Leave her out of this,” Ke-if hissed.

The man dragged Ke-if upright. “Not that I care either way, but if you set the guards after our tail I’m killing him and dumping the body for convenience.” He tapped the hilt of his sword for emphasis.

“Don’t take him,” she said. “We can talk about this. He—”

“With all due respect, lady,” the man said. “You can do much better than this traitor. You know what he did, don’t you? He killed his friend. The man who took him in and treated him like his own brother. Go home and forget you ever met him.” He slammed his elbow into Ke-if’s chest before yanking on the rope and leading him up to the road.

Sume watched their retreating figures and dropped to her knees. Ke-if. Kefier, she thought again, turning the name over in her head like a dog gnawing at a bare bone. Oji had given him that name, Kefier, to make it easier for the others to say. The Kag were particular like that. No…it couldn’t be him. The one who bore that name was a boy in Oji’s letters, not that dark, broken man she had seen. But that was years ago. Years and years ago, when they thought they could still turn their lives around.

I want to find a dragon, Papa. Perhaps she meant her brother. Perhaps it didn’t matter. The friend Ke-if killed…

“Oji,” she murmured, realizing the truth. She buried her face in her hands and wept.

Chapter Seven

The cart rolled to a stop just as Kefier opened his eyes. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious. Long enough. Too long. His head felt tender, and his body felt like the day after a fevered sleep. A day, maybe two.

He heard voices and tested his bindings. They were still tight. He was hoping they would’ve loosened over time, but it seemed like escape that way was unlikely. He hadn’t thought very far from that when hands reached into the cart and dragged him out. He tried to swing his body against his captors, but a staff slammed into his already-bruised head and sent him reeling to the ground. As he started coughing, somebody grabbed a handful of his hair to lift his head. “I thought you’d learn by now,” Gaven said. “You just might be the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.”

One of the men looked dubious. “You’re bringing him to town?”

Gaven shrugged. “I need a drink and I want to keep an eye on him. You’ve all seen how slippery he can get. Hey look, bastard. Home sweet home. Bet you didn’t think you’d ever see this hellhole again.” He gave Kefier a push, watching as he stumbled onto the dusty streets of Cairntown.

Gaven was right, of course, but it still surprised him when the memories of so many damp evenings flooded him; how many times had they staggered through these same streets, faces streaked with dirt and craving food and drink and the comfort of women? He could still remember Oji saying, You know you love Cairntown when the scent of piss gets you all excited. He felt his heart pounding as soon as they reached a familiar road, the one that led back to Comfrey’s. The thought of seeing Lisa after so long made his knees weak. She probably thought he was dead. He hadn’t given her much room to think otherwise the last time he’d seen her, that time he’d said his goodbyes. He hadn’t been thinking. She’d called him an idiot, too.

“Does Baeddan want him dead?” one man asked. Kefier didn’t recognize him or any of Gaven’s other men. That worried him. He had been in the faction long enough to know most people by face, if not by name. Did Baeddan recruit new people just to give to Gaven? He had heard them call him officer on the road.

Gaven snorted. “I wouldn’t know. Don’t care. I’m just glad to be home.” He noticed Kefier listening to him and struck him with his fist. “Fuck,” he added, rubbing his hand. “Death is too good for you.” They had reached the path leading to Blue-dog’s tavern. At the sight of the tavern doors, Gaven gave a lopsided grin. He motioned to one of the men. “Stay here and watch him.” He glanced at Kefier. “What’s the matter, you son of a bitch? Want some ale for your parched throat? I’ll find you some dog piss for afters. Hey, Aru! Next man passes by and asks, tell them what he’s done. I’m sure he wants to know, too.”

Kefier’s face paled at those words. He glanced at Gaven’s man, but Aru refused to meet his eyes. He sank to the ground and sat on his chafed hands. The last time he had been here was that night thirteen or fourteen moons ago—he wasn’t sure. He’d lost track of time in Fuyyu, where the world moved so differently. Please, he thought, feeling his chest tighten. You didn’t hurt Lisa. She had nothing to do with it. She isn’t mine.

He heard sandals behind him. “Excuse me,” a voice called. “I can’t help but notice that you have a badly beaten and tied up man in a very public place. That seems quite wrong to me.”

Aru grinned from the side of his mouth and pointed. “This here’s a traitor to the faction. We’re carrying out just punishment to a criminal. Tying and beating’s just the start of it.”

A young man appeared. He looked Jin, dressed in an open red tunic belted around the waist. His dark hair was tied in a knot above his head. “Don’t you have town guards to take care of that business?”

Aru jabbed a finger into the young man’s chest. “Hey, Jin, did you board the wrong ship to Hafod? Or maybe you couldn’t afford a ship, ended up stranded, tossed overboard? I’ll try to speak slowly in case you were dropped on your head at birth. This is Kago. In Kago, the law falls on the hands of men who can keep it, and in Cairntown, that happens to be men of the faction. Remember that.”

The young man nodded rather too quickly. “I see. So you are part of this faction. What was the name again? Some sort of animal, deer or cow, with hooves?”

Aru’s face coloured. “We’re the Boarshind Faction, you ignorant Jin.”

“Right,” the young man continued, unfazed. He ran his fingers over the thin moustache on his lip and glanced at Kefier. “So what did this man do? Steal some bread, look at the wrong woman?”

“He killed a faction man,” Aru replied. “An officer, Thiar. I didn’t know him but I was told he was a fair man. This animal came running back to the faction after a botched job and gutted him like a pig.”

“And so fulfilled your faction’s namesake. I see.”

Aru’s face flickered. “Are you insulting us?”

The young man held his hands out. “No, no. Pardon me. I’m bad at this overly complicated language you call Kagtar. That is all he did, then? Kill a man? Did he have a quarrel with this Thiar?” He glanced at Kefier, who dropped his eyes to the ground.

Thiar.

Kefier couldn’t say he regretted it. The old man deserved what he got. His biggest mistake was staying there long enough for Rok to catch him. Anyone else he could take, but that look on Rok’s face—he still couldn’t forgive himself for letting his friend see him like that. He had tried to tell Rok what Thiar had done to them, but there hadn’t been enough time.

The sound of the Jin clearing his throat jolted Kefier back to his senses. “If you don’t mind, I would like to speak with him. I am a missionary, you understand, of the prophet Kibouri, which I am sure you must have heard of living so close to Jin-Sayeng as you people do. A criminal such as he deserves to hear these teachings.”

Aru looked amused, but he nodded. “Be my guest.”

Kefier watched in confusion as the Jin pulled a barrel close to him so he could sit on it. “Where do I begin...” The Jin smiled. “First, let me introduce myself. I am called Ing Vahn, servant to the teachings of the prophet.” He bowed. “Kibouri lived a long time ago, in the days when dragons roamed Jin-Sayeng’s vast grasslands. He was adviser to the Emperor Rayang, a most noble king who brought much prosperity to the land. Kibouri...”

Both of them stopped in time to see Aru’s head drop to the side and hear him begin to snore. Vahn frowned, his brow furrowed. “You Kags are a rude people.” He looked genuinely displeased.

“Ing Vahn,” Kefier suddenly said. The Jin looked at him. “I know you.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t recall—”

“You were that little boy in Gorent, a long time ago. You’ve grown up.” Kefier lifted his bound hands to his knees in order to lean closer to him. “You called us coconut-worshipping pagans.”

The Jin turned red. “Why, I never! The teachings of Kibouri, sir, celebrate the open mind and soul...”

“You said we should stop bedding our sisters and embrace the morality your religion had to offer.” Kefier’s face twitched. “I remember that scar on your cheek. Yes, it has to be you. Ing Vahn. My brother Enosh was fascinated with you. He thought it was amazing that such a young boy could also be a scholar.”

A look of understanding came over Vahn’s face. “Gorent, was it? I’m sorry I don’t remember you, but if your brother is who I think it is—tell me, how is Enosh? When we parted, I had promised him we would see each other in the mainland, man to man. A promising leader and a scholar in his own right.”

Kefier looked away. “He’s dead.”

Silence followed his words. Vahn’s eyes were closed and Kefier realized that he was praying. That surprised him. He waited, and when Vahn finally looked up, he murmured, “Thank you.”

“Why thank me? He was my friend. I know you think that ten years is a long time, but it makes no difference to me. A friend once is a friend for life, is he not?” He gave a sad smile. “I did not think it would come to this, though. We promised we would someday meet as equals, when we’ve accomplished the dreams we’ve laid out for ourselves and for our people. I am closer to that dream now than I was and I can’t believe I won’t be able to share that with him.”

“In the Kag, they don’t believe in the afterlife.”

“I am aware of that.”

“What does Sakku offer to the departed?”

Vahn folded his hands, a deep expression coming over his thin face. “According to Kibouri, a man’s fate depends on the mix between his intentions and his actions throughout the course of his life. The deity closest to a man’s soul is responsible for judging him. There is Jano-ong, Rathalia, Akaterru of the Oren-yaro...Enosh, I think, had a soul like a blade of grass. Immiresh, the warrior-poet—”

“A warrior-poet?” Kefier felt something latch in his throat and he started coughing.

Vahn glanced at him worriedly. He said nothing, but he got up and shook Aru’s shoulder. Aru’s eyes snapped open. “You need to get this man some water,” Vahn said firmly. “Is your idea of justice letting a man die of heat and thirst?”

“Fuck off, Jin. You’ve wasted enough of my time,” Aru snarled.

Vahn responded with a tight-lipped smile. “Anger…” he began.

“I could tell you a thing or two about anger,” Gaven broke in, appearing by the door. His words were slightly slurred and the smell of wine was thick on his breath. He pointed at Kefier. “The first time I saw that piece of shit I had to stop myself from ripping his head clean from his body. Die of thirst? That’s too good for him. Here.” He ripped the canteen from his belt and threw it on the ground. “What are you waiting for?” he screamed. “You want it from a silver goblet, is that it?”

It was Vahn who grabbed the canteen first. He uncorked it and handed it to Kefier. “You need to learn mercy, my brother,” Vahn murmured. “There is a Jin saying that mercy is for the weak, but that is only half of it. Kibouri teaches that true strength—”

Gaven laughed. “Kibouri? By Agartes’s dick, I’ve had enough of your blasted country, thank you very much. The way you butcher ale should never be allowed to leave your borders. Did you tell him what this man has done, Aru?”

“He killed a man called Thiar, yes,” Vahn replied.

“Aru left out the part where he ran off as soon as he was done, leaving behind his friends to clean up the mess. Baeddan, you know, takes treachery very seriously.” There was a finality in his tone that made Kefier look up. Gaven turned to him and the smile on his face turned chilly. “You didn’t think, did you? You didn’t think and the rest of them paid for it.”

Kefier opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Rok, he thought, remembering how his friend had blocked the stairs with a heavy arm. “I’ll take care of this,”
he’d said. He remembered waving back, remembering thinking that Rok had a way with words, that he could explain what had happened, that Thiar had betrayed them all and Kefier had only given him what was due. Except of course he hadn’t told Rok about that. Why did he think that night’s bloodshed ended with him?

“You piece of shit,” Gaven said loudly. “Go on. Take him back. I’m done with him here.” He spat and walked away.

Kefier dropped to his knees and almost welcomed the blow that followed.

Interlude

“Your thoughts are very far away. Did you not hear a word I said?”

Ing Vahn glances up from his plate of boiled potatoes and squints at the stranger. “Forgive me,” he murmurs. “I am worried about my friend. He is being held at the mercenary faction’s camp some distance from here.”

The man strokes his grizzled beard. “That is unfortunate. I have heard some very unpleasant things about that organization. They have monopolized the industry in these parts and the nature of Kago being what it is...you have my condolences.”

Vahn nods. “Thank you for that. I—I did meet someone. One of their clients, I believe. He allowed me to explain my dilemma and assured me he will try his best to make sure my friend is safe. He claims to know Baydan, the leader of the group. Badden? I’m sorry, I don’t have a very good ear for these Kag names.”

“Indeed,” the man says. He looks dubious, but Ing Vahn refrains from commenting. The man takes a sip of that strong, Red Lion wine he had specifically asked for and pushes a piece of parchment across the table. “Well, here is what you have asked for. Directions to the list of transactions of the nature you’ve described between Jin-Sayeng, the Kag, and Gaspar over the last fifty years. Dragons, monsters…a strange request indeed. As you can see, most end in Gaspar. I’m not surprised. There was once a saying like that, wasn’t it? All journeys end in Gaspar…” The man laughed. “You haven’t even told me what you need this for. You don’t strike me as a dragon-hunter, and only a dragon-hunter would be interested in the comings and goings of strange creatures through the south.”

“It takes all sorts,” Vahn replies. He places a bag of coins beside his plate. “I hope you find this compensation sufficient.”

The man digs through the bag and nods. “You are heading for Gaspar, then? You’re not taking the infamous Yn Garr tunnel through Cael, are you? It is the shortest route, but I am told it is an arduous journey.”

Vahn grins. “I may be foolhardy, but I’m not mad. No—I’m heading back through Jin-Sayeng, along the coast. The long way. For me, the road always ends in Jin-Sayeng. Watch and see.” He takes the parchment and tucks it into his belt. “I thank you for your time.”

“And you for yours, Ing Vahn. I hope all goes well for your friend.”

“As do I.”

The dancers performing at the Blue Dog tavern that night are beautiful, if not very talented. Harron Silvaeres—Master Blue-dog to his patrons—know exactly where his customers’ tastes lay, and that they couldn’t care less about the droning music in the background and the manner with which the dancers fumbled about on stage. One man, inebriated even before the night had begun, shouted earlier that he was happy as long as it had breasts and legs; he was greeted by loud cheers and, a little later, a live chicken, carefully thrown at his table.

Gaven of Ni’in, who would have normally been the first to throw lascivious comments and who appreciated women in all shapes and forms, finds the dancers exhaustingly dull today. Not that he isn’t trying. But the brightly coloured skirts and the tones of flesh underneath are doing nothing for him tonight. They might as well be raccoons dancing in the moonlight.

He turns to the tankard in front of him and downs what remains of his beer in one go. Then, his voice slightly slurred, he calls for more.

One of his companions taps him on the shoulder. “You’re more upset about this than I thought you would be, Gaven. Taking Kefier in—that must’ve been tough. You were friends, weren’t you?”

“What?”

“I said, you were friends, weren’t—”

“I know what you said,” Gaven says through gritted teeth. “I was trying to give you a chance to back away. How, by Agartes’s balls, could you ever think I was friends with that piece of shit? Honestly.” He took another swig.

The men around him give a nervous laugh.

“We thought, since you hung around him all the time…”

“You all know what parasites do, don’t you? They stick to you, and then they draw blood, and sometimes you try to burn them and it turns out they’ve burrowed deeper elsewhere. That’s what Kefier was—a fucking parasite. Oji picked him up from Lon Basden like some whore’s disease and we haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”

“You make him sound more terrible than we’ve heard he is.”

“Don’t I?” Gaven looks around the room, daring them to question him further. “He’s ruined Oji’s life, and I’m telling you, if he didn’t fucking kill Oji himself, then I’m a poxy whore.” He swallows another mouthful. The beer tastes sour to him now, and he isn’t sure if he can force it down his throat one more time. He rises, a little more ungainly than he imagined he would.

“Where are you going?”

“Gotta piss,” he mumbles, stumbling out of the tavern.

As he relieves himself near the dark alley right outside the Blue Dog, his eyes wandered upwards. The moon has never looked so pale before. He wipes his mouth, buttons his pants, and allows himself the liberty of collapsing on the ground.

Ridiculous, he mutters to himself. He is being ridiculous. He is an officer now, with responsibilities and an image to maintain. Has he ever seen Algat or Baeddan drink themselves to oblivion in a cheap tavern around cheap women and low-ranking men? Of course not. He berates himself even more as he vomits in the bushes, his stomach contracting around itself.

Screw Agartas’s beard; he wants to die.

No, no, he doesn’t, but he feels like it. He spits the vile taste from his mouth and stumbles out into the street. He has decided that tavern air, thick with the smell of smoke and wine and perfume, is something he can no longer face. He needs a bed. An inn somewhere. Comfrey’s? No, no, he wouldn’t dare, he couldn’t. They loved Oji over there. Love Kefier, a thing he could never understand.

That damn kid. They should have left him to die in his own filth in Lon Basden. Gaven would have, too, if not for Oji and his bleeding heart. Damn the both of them to the depths of hell.

For the first time since he heard of Oji’s death, he feels a choking sensation within him. Not tears, nothing close to that; the life they all chose was always linked to death and Gaven is no stranger to the pain of a lost companion. But a lost friend? Ah, but he doesn’t have the words, not a whore’s son like him. He knows, at least, that he should have never allowed himself to grow as close as he did to the damned Jin and the rest of those ragtag men—he should have remembered those lessons from the streets in Ni’in. Too late for regrets, now. Too late for everything. Tears run, tongues wag. The dead remain dead.

He feels the sword at his side, flexing his fingers around the scabbard, and then gives one last look at the closed doors of the tavern before limping down the street, towards the only home he has ever known.

Much later, he finds himself at the doorway leading to Baeddan’s quarters. The Head of the Faction doesn’t particularly like visitors, but Gaven cares little for such courtesies. He needs to tell him—wants to tell him—exactly how he should deal with Kefier. As he stands there, he hears boots and looks up.

Perhaps it is the slight, twitching pain, caused by a night’s worth of drinking, that makes him impervious to the sight. Perhaps it is curiosity. No matter the reason, he gazes up at the man that had just left Baeddan’s room.

“You seem ill, Officer Gaven,” the man says. His voice is as gentle as a summer’s breeze. Faint amusement stirs in his brown eyes. His clothes are plain but of expensive make, black and brown and hidden underneath a cloak in Dageian fashion. He is not very tall, but his presence fills the hallway, causing Gaven to shrink back a step.

“Had a rough night, Ylir, sir,” Gaven blurts out. It is difficult not to reply to this man whether you like him or not. Gaven isn’t sure why. He doesn’t even remember when he first met him. Ylir seems to have come out of nowhere, son or apprentice of a Boarshind patron who goes by the name of Yn Garr, and Gaven was told, from the very beginning, to stay away from him if he could. Keep his head down if he couldn’t.

He didn’t know why, at first; he remembers making a joke or two about it to the men. “Maybe he needs help pleasuring his wife,” followed by raucous laughter.

His cheeks burn at the thought now. There is something about Ylir that is strange. Gossip is that he is more than Yn Garr’s apprentice; that he is an enchanter, able to change face or form or alter your thoughts if you let him. Gaven didn’t believe in such things until that first time he spoke to the man. It was like his brain was on fire. He was distinctly aware of his own clumsiness, how Ylir moved with a grace that filled him with shame. It was not a thing he told the other mercenaries, but…

“Ah. I’d be careful, if I were you,” Ylir says. His lips twitch. “You wouldn’t want to fall in the lake.”

Gaven runs his hand through his hair and gives a nervous laugh. “Of course, of course, sir.” He pauses.

“Did you need something from Baeddan?”

“I…I don’t know.” He swallows. It is happening again. He blinks, staring back at this man. What is he doing? What does he want from me?

“Baeddan said you’ve captured the traitor.”

Gaven furrows his brows. What did Ylir care about that? The incident was faction business, not something a client ought to be involved in. He sees Ylir reach into his pockets.

“Here. Baeddan will be too busy.” He flicks his finger. Gaven catches it in mid-air. It is a key.

When he looks back up, Ylir is gone.

Through the bedroom curtains, Dai sees his mother talking to the Kag mirror once more. Whispering, as if she is afraid the neighbours will hear. This has always confused him. The neighbours talk about them already, anyway, so what is one more thing? He glances back at his sleeping grandfather before tip-toeing out into the hall. It is only a little past noon, and he is still supposed to be napping. If his mother sees him now, she will be livid.

He presses his ear against the nearest wall. Against the thin, bamboo covering, he hears his mother sigh. He knows that sigh, because it is her way of stopping herself from crying. He always heard it, for instance, before she hit him, or on the days grandfather went missing.

“Are you sure of this?” Mother asks.

“I’m not,” comes the unmistakable sound of Sister Sume’s voice. Dai feels his heart beat; he misses her so much, and the last time she had used the mirror his mother had not allowed him to come close. He wonders if she had received his last letter. He had promised her when she left that he would send one every week, even if she didn’t always reply for being so busy.

“Then why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, sister. I thought that man—he was trying to tell me something. I could see it in his eyes.”

“You and your fantasies, Sume.”

“But he hasn’t written, has he? After all this time. He should have. If he’s all right, he should have.”

He hears a low moan coming from the bedroom and ignores it. His mother places the mirror on the table and begins furiously snapping cabbage leaves with her fingers. “I’m of the belief he has finally settled down with an enormous-breasted Kag woman. Don’t patronize me, Sume. I know he’s your brother, but he is not the sort of saint you think he is.”

There is an abrupt silence. Dai does not know what to think, or what to do. “Dai,” he hears, and then realizes, too late, that it is grandfather’s voice. He rushes back to the bedroom and sees his grandfather sitting up, one hand clutching his heart. His eyes are wide open. “Dai,” he says again, gasping for air. The stench of urine is fast becoming strong in the room.

Dai’s world spins in front of him. He takes a step back and screams for his mother.

Yn Garr stares at the single, pulsating eye in the darkness.

“You are uneasy,” he says. He picks up a bucket. The eye blinks, the iris turning a distinct red. The pupil narrows to a slit.

“You like that?” he asks. “Here.” He empties the bucket’s contents into the ravine below. The eye disappears; in the darkness, he hears a snuffling sound.

“Your master will be here soon,” he says. “Do not fret. You’re about to take a long journey, and it’s just the right time. You’re not what you were. Look at you now—so tall and strong. Strong enough to destroy armies, you think? Strong enough to fall empires. He—” Before he has time to finish his words, he hears something echo in the darkness. Purple flames waft towards him and encircle his arm, making him cry out in pain.

The eye appears again and he panics as he sees it widen, his reflection shining on the surface. Quickly, he dips his arm into a small glass container and speaks. The flames settle down and he closes it with a final spell.

“I am his master,” he says. “You’ll obey both of us, if you know what’s good for you.” The purple flames rustle before disappearing, leaving behind a thick, black ooze that bubbles and smokes. He stares at it defiantly for a few moments and then, his burnt arm trembling, he turns away. Three scarred men glance at him from the other side of the cavern, and he lifts his hand and nods. The sound of grinding gears echoes in the distance. It is followed by the meaty plop of thirty small bodies plunging into the pit below.

Behind him, it answers with a deep groan of pleasure. The man walks off, smiling.

Chapter Eight

The first thing Kefier noticed was the onion. Not the soreness of his ankles or the crusted debris on his face, but the onion lying conveniently in front of him, jolted loose from a pile in the corner. He blinked, pressed his tongue against his teeth, and reached for it. It felt solid in his hands, real.

He didn’t want to believe it. With surprising care, he peeled the onion, pieces of the crisp skin gathering on his belly. As his fingernail bit into flesh, he smelled the pungent odour and gazed upwards at the open sky. Cold, clean air rushed into his lungs.

The sky was above him.

Wind was whipping his hair and he could hear the unmistakable rhythm of a trotting horse. He was on a cart, nestled between sacks of vegetables and grain. He didn’t know if he was supposed to be there. The ropes around his wrists were gone. The smell of the onion was making his stomach skip. He pressed it against his nose and began to eat. Tall trees hovered around him as the cart drove past, dark green and russet. Colours he thought he’d never see again.

He ate another onion before he felt sick. For a long time he sat with an arm on one knee, gazing at the moving countryside. It was not familiar to him, but that didn’t really bother him. His thoughts were elsewhere, on a quiet shore somewhere long forgotten. Remnants of a fire, still burning, not far away. A fish head on a stick beside him. Stars in the sky, also burning. The heavy breathing of a dog on his lap.

Was that shore still there, untouched, his entire childhood strewn across its sands like paint on canvas? He realized he had not thought of that place for so long now. Was the cave still there, and that castle they built with rocks and branches? That ledge over the best fishing spot there ever was? That grave they made for their father’s old hunting dog Kabu, after he died of a flea infestation? Enosh had polished and carved the dog’s name on a rock, and they had to steal the tools from old Harrana…

The memory of Enosh pushing him into the bushes to avoid the prying eyes of their aunt faded. He remembered thinking of him in the dungeons at the mercenaries’ keep, and then, predictably, of the dungeons themselves. And what he had been doing there. And what he was doing now, being carted off to God knows where by a man in a straw hat whistling that utterly ridiculous song about Dageian babies that got Oji kicked out of taverns one too many times.

He started to look around the inside of the cart. An angled shadow caught his attention. He dragged it out from underneath the pile of onions. It was Oji’s sword. His sword, now. He pressed the handle with his hands and tied the scabbard around his belt.

He looked at the driver again. “Where are we going?”

“Next town,” the driver said. He didn’t seem to care that Kefier asked.

“Where is that, exactly?”

“Vildar.”

He waited patiently for a little more than that, but it was obvious that the driver was finished with him. They rode on in silence, the wind whipping his face. The shadows between the trees were very dark, he noticed. He started thinking about the famous Kag Forest, which stretched through most of the lands of Cael and Kiel. Yohak of the Wood was said to live there, a fallen god among men, roaming the endless weaving of the shadows…

He paused. Vildar? He looked back at the driver and repeated this thought aloud.

“‘Bout half a day’s ride more,” the driver mumbled, chewing on something he clearly wasn’t about to share.

“Vildar is a town in Cael.”

The driver grunted an affirmation.

“Then that’s…” He pointed at the woods.

The driver turned around for the first time. “Bite that finger, kid. You’re going to bring them out of the shadows and after us.”

He mumbled an apology and bit his finger. “Then I’m right.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t. But keep silent. We’re safe on the road so long as you keep quiet.”

“It’s all just stories, isn’t it?” He glanced back at the shadows, remembering the tales the men used to share when they got bored. There were things there, the men had said. No smirking or glancing at each other, as he knew men who ridiculed him did. You saw them sometimes in the dark, sometimes in the fogged light. People had walked into the forest and never returned. Babies had been found that needed to be killed, their teeth as sharp as needles, their cries a beast’s wail into the night.

The clerics forbade such stories, of course—the wood was sacred to Yohak, the Chief Kag god, and it wasn’t as if everybody saw or believed otherwise. But Kefier had grown under a different god, Ab, the one the Kags called Arfaraw, who battled demons and other gods and was scarred all over, and who watched you when he could, but not always. Not always. They used to light incense at the edge of the wood where Kefier once lived, to appease spirits they couldn’t see or fight themselves. They even left food offerings sometimes.

He took a deep breath. He was older than he used to be and it was about time he looked at things from a man’s perspective. He didn’t feel like it, though. Thunder cracked through the sky, and he felt even worse. Soon the light would be gone. Now…

The rain started falling then, shifting the air into a pale, hazy, streaked-grey. The driver pulled his cloak up over his neck. Kefier, without a cloak or a blanket, wrapped an empty sack over his head. Distracted by the sudden cold and the foggy scent of wet earth, he didn’t notice the cart stop or the stranger pull up beside him until they were well on their way again.

“Hello,” the man said after a few moments. There was a strange expression on his face. He was wearing brown and tan riding leathers. His eyes were brown—no, green. Grey. Kefier blinked, unsure. What stood out was his voice, which was very smooth, like a singer’s.

“Good weather, this,” Kefier mumbled, looking around him.

“Barely. Good is when it rains like God’s pissed at us.”

“You mean when it rains like God’s pissing on us.”

The man smirked. “I like that.”

“I’d prefer we stay away from blasphemy until we get off the road,” the driver interjected.

“Begging your pardon, but does not Yohak of the Wood live here? Hence, God-talk being appropriate…”

“They don’t like it.” Without taking his eyes off his horse, the driver jerked a thumb to the forest and then promptly bit it.

“You farmers are all the same. There’s a lot of potential for some of these woods, but heaven forbid we touch them for fear of stirring some goblin or another.”

“I’m sorry. Not goblins,” the driver corrected. “Demons. If you talk about them some more, I will throw you both on the road.”

“Me too? I didn’t even say anything,” Kefier mumbled.

Both men ignored him. “Listen to this. An entire farm in Tirador, torched by some feud or another. Blamed on these things.”

“The children were found dead on the field,” the driver said. “Their eyes were taken.”

“You blame these things, and so the real villains run off without a taint to their name.”

“The feuding family’s children were also killed. Their farm was not torched. There was a fight going on, as it happened. When they returned with their men injured and dead they found their children as such. Bloodless, too. Explain that.”

Clearly, the man didn’t know this part of the story and fell silent, chewing on his lip. Kefier took this time to offer him an onion. The man looked at him again, puzzled, and Kefier had to nudge it at him before he accepted. Kefier noticed he glanced at the forest from time to time while he peeled the skin.

“How are you?” the man asked, after a moment.

Kefier turned to him. “Do I know you?”

“No,” he blurted. “That’s just my way of getting acquainted. My name is Doras.” He held out his hand.

“Kefier.”

Doras noted that he didn’t return the handshake and dropped his hand to the side with a rueful smile. “In Gaspar, your name sounds like the word for cultured milk.”

“So I’ve been told.” He sniffed. “It’s actually Ke-if, but in Kagtar—”

Doras smiled. “I know.” There was another long silence. “Well, Kefier, I just wanted to say that you look well. Like you just crawled out of a horse’s ass.”

Kefier wanted to laugh at that, but the exhaustion was crawling all over him. He dropped his head. “I’m sorry. I just spent the last few days in a very uncomfortable situation, mourning men I was proud to call my friends. Then I wake up here, and nothing, absolutely nothing makes sense. Hey, you,” he called to the driver. “How did I get here?”

The driver didn’t even hesitate. “I picked you up from the side of the road.”

“Just out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Sure.” His tone was dull.

“And you’re dropping me off at Vildar because you just happen to be heading that way.”

“Yup.”

It made so little sense to him he was afraid to question the man further. It was a probably a ploy by Gaven. What he’d done the past few days wasn’t enough, so now he was going to break him like this. Show a man the sky after so many days of darkness, then take it away again, and how close to madness can you get?

Doras’ calm voice broke his thoughts. “So I take it you won’t be staying in Vildar. Are you going home, then?”

Kefier struggled to reply to that with a straight face. “Cairntown was my home the last few years. Now if I go back, they will kill me.”

Another pause. “You must have been born somewhere else.”

“I was born in Gorent, actually.”

“Then why not go back?”

He smiled. “Because if I go back there, they’ll want to kill me, too.”

Instead of laughing, Doras looked sombre. “Hard to believe. Don’t you have family? If you’ve been gone as long as you say, then they must miss you.”

Kefier resisted the urge to jump off the cart. It was rolling fast and although he doubted the fall would kill him, he was hurting too much to risk more pain. He detested the audacity of this Doras, though. Those were questions even Oji had never asked. The answers to them remained buried in the past where they belonged. He took a deep breath. “If I can, I’d like to go back to Jin-Sayeng. There’s a woman.”

“Ah,” Doras said. “There always is.”

He didn’t want to say more than he already did. He thought of how Lisa had once told him she wouldn’t mind living in Jin-Sayeng, if it’s better than this wormhole, and now that the wormhole was closed to him he wondered if she would remember those words. If he could ever send a message to her. If she would still take him, or talk to him at all.

“There’s this story I read once of how a woman undid the most powerful mage in the history of Dageis. Here in the Kag, they call her the Witch of the East. Have you heard of her?”

Kefier shook his head. The man settled against the sacks behind him, chewing on the onion. His mouth was a thin line. “There was a witch in far off Gaspar who sewed together a bunch of dead children and created a creature so hideous and evil that to gaze upon it, they said, would turn anyone’s soul black.”

“What a load of nonsense,” the driver snorted. “Souls don’t have colour.”

Kefier gazed at the moving road underneath him, his thoughts turning as the wheels of the cart turned. He touched Oji’s sword. Everything seemed to catch up to him at that moment. He closed his eyes. Doras said, “I’m sure you don’t have stories like that where you come from.”

“No,” he agreed, eyes still closed. “We have ah—nothing. Stories about the winds and the sea. Nothing so morbid.”

“Then your family, who wants to kill you, probably won’t. Whatever you did. This, here, is not a quiet land.”

“More bullshit,” the driver quipped. “We haven’t had a war in years. Peace and prosperity for all.”

“Peace never lasts for long,” he said.

They grew silent again. Stories, Kefier thought, opening his eyes now to gaze at his surroundings. The Kag Forest took up much of the lands west of Kago, where Cairntown lay. It sprawled through the land like a maze or a blanket, depending on which historian you read. The provinces of Cael and Kiel had settled in the midst of this dark wood, while the kingdom of Hafod had to deal with it to the south and east of their boundaries.

Nobody had ever explored the wood fully, Kefier had been told. Oh yes, some had tried. It wasn’t just the stories, though. Whichever way you looked at it, there were reasons for avoiding that wilderness. The god who walked around in penance. Spirits. Wild animals. Unmapped mountain ridges. Locals who would just as rather stab you and make off with your money than assist you. Even the Boarshind didn’t like taking clients that wanted them to do things in those woods—Baeddan was still a Kag at heart and had been known on one occasion to say that he would rather cut an arm off than send his men that close to Cael. It was a humbling thought.

“What’s the worst thing they can do to you, anyway?” he remembered Oji asking someone who had been born and raised in Cael.

“The god is feared for good reason,” the man had said. “And wild animals can be killed. But the others? I don’t think fear even begins to describe how I look at it. When they kill you, you don’t just die. They claim your soul for their own—your soul won’t travel through the agan river. It just stays behind, as its slave.”

Jin-Sayeng’s stories, like Gorent’s, were tame in comparison. In Jin-Sayeng, they had dragons, and stories of little men who lived under mushrooms and gave you gold if you were polite enough. Granted, knowing his tongue, he was likely to get cursed and start pissing blood instead, but that was still better than this. And ghosts. Why not ghosts? Ghosts just needed help, right? If they didn’t scare you first with all the moaning and the blood. Kefier paused from his musing and noticed that they had entered an open field. The wood was a disappearing blanket behind them.

Doras had been napping, but when Kefier looked at him he woke up. He glanced at the horizon. “I guess this is good bye,” he said, smiling at Kefier. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Don’t you want me to take you all the way to town?” the driver asked.

“Got business here. Thanks.” He flipped a coin. The driver caught it.

“Take care,” he said. He started to lift his hand in a kind of gesture, but seemed to change his mind. He pushed himself off the moving cart. It was only when the man was no longer in sight that Kefier realized he had left a bundle behind. He took it with him when the driver eventually dropped him off, hoping he would run into him again in the future.

Vildar echoed a youthful Cairntown, bustling and crowded, peppered with hues of brown and red instead of sand and grey. Several street vendors shouted behind stalls. A few sluggish horses trotted by, dragging carts while their sultry-looking masters whipped them to motion. Children darted through the streets. And there was, of course, the occasional passer-by, who looked at Kefier and stared as if he ought to be somewhere else—most of them fair-haired and pale-skinned.

He longed to mingle with them, to explore the streets and shadows to his heart’s content as he had done in Fuyyu. But he realized, with growing alarm, that it didn’t seem possible. If he had stuck out in Fuyyu like a sore thumb, here he was apparent as an extra head. The further he got into town, the more he saw people gazing open-mouthed at him.

It wasn’t long before someone came up to clasp a hand around his shoulder. He jerked back, reaching for his sword, and noticed that it was a man dressed in leather armour. He knew about guards from his time in Fuyyu and froze. The guard pointed at him. “You’re new in town?”

He nodded. The guard frowned. “Any reason you’re here?”

“I’m visiting an uncle,” he said quickly. “He’s sick. Wasn’t very careful in Cairntown. Went to a seedy whorehouse.”

The guard didn’t look amused. “Can you tell me where he lives?”

“Down the ah—” He was going to say harbour before he realized where he was.

“You’ll have to come with me.”

Kefier lifted his head. “Why? I’ve done nothing.” He felt his muscles tense. He had just been inside a dungeon. The guard reached for him, and without thinking, he pulled out his sword. He hadn’t known that there were two other guards behind. They fell on him. His battered body wouldn’t allow him to fight any more and he allowed them to drag him down the street.

The only other occupant was a heavyset man, young, perhaps only a few years older than Kefier. His hair was a full golden yellow, not the deep, muddy colour of Kefier’s, but near that of dandelions. His serene expression was out of place against the shadows under his eyes, the stubble around his face, and the filth blanketing his forehead and cheeks. “My mother named me Camden,” his cell-mate continued. “You are?”

“Kefier,” he said. He glanced at the room beyond the bars—it was empty, save for a wooden door at the other end. “You don’t sound like you’re from here.”

“I’m thinking you’re not, either.”

“So we’re here because we’re strangers?”

“They’re idiots, you ken. I just arrived from Nalvor, port south west of here. I believe it’s having something to do with papers, or a lacking of them. I have never heard of such a thing before, yeah? I’ve been sitting here for five days.”

“How long before they kill us?”

“Bout five more days, I suppose.” Kefier paled, and Camden gave a short bark of laughter. “You’re not acting as tough as you look. I don’t know. Perhaps they’re planning to keep us until we turn out to be not criminals, yeah?”

Kefier swore under his breath. “Where did you say you were from?”

“I didn’t, but I’ll say. I’m from Baidh.”

“Across Hafod?” Kefier asked.

Camden nodded. “Small island country. Beautiful place. And friendly people, I’m thinking, not like the bastards here, yeah? Mother of mine! Forgive my language.”

Kefier swallowed. “Do you know a family by the name of Lawin?”

“No. Larwin, you say? Even then. I can’t say I have. Why?”

“My mother was raised in Baidh.” He was surprised at how easily the words came out. Something to do with the last few days, perhaps, and how close he’d been to death since.

Camden’s brow shot up. “You’re half-Baidh?”

“No. I mean—” He rubbed his wrist, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. Why was he blabbing to this man, anyway? But it felt wrong to stop now. “My mother grew up in Baidh, although she was of Gorent stock. A family by the name of Lawin adopted her. She returned to Gorent to marry my father.”

“Gorent. I should’ve guessed. Your colouring’s about right. We’re having a few Gorentens in my parents’ farmstead working for us. Good folks. But your accent’s a bit different, yeah? Not as thick as I’m used to. You’ve been in the Kag long?”

“Long enough.” Why not go back? He struggled to keep a straight face.

“I’ll be telling the truth, now.” Camden’s expression hardened. “I was here having to do some important business. A friend of mine got married three years ago and had a son. Boy took after her, yeah? Her eyes and hair and everything, out the crib. I was his godfather. Her husband got a bit of fortune. Not a lot, But he thought to take her and the boy for a trip up to the mainland. They were wanting to see Nalvor, and Cael, glorious Cael, pay a visit to the temple of the great mother there. I heard it’s a grand sight, white marble and stone…”

“What happened?”

“They were going back along the road when the boy disappeared. She only turned her head once, and he was gone. Her husband stayed in the mainland to find him. He told me when he returned he couldn’t find anyone to help look for the boy. People said it’s been happening all over and that he wasn’t the only one. I wanted to help them out best way I can. So here I am.”

The door swung open, halting their conversation. A man walked in, clothed lavishly in shades of blue. He held a hat in his hands, which he wrung sideways as he stared at Kefier and Camden. His eyes were weepy.

“You can speak Kagtar?” he asked.

“Last time I checked,” Camden said.

The man jerked his head back, to an unseen figure behind him. Then he took a step, as if to take a closer look, his nose wrinkling. “Even that one?” he asked, pointing at Kefier.

“So the Kags lack manners even in Cael,” Kefier murmured.

The man wiped his face with his hat and faced Camden instead. “A bad time for you both to be abroad. We’ve had too many—incidents.”

“What incidents?” Camden asked.

The man shrugged, wiping his face again.

“What incidents?” Camden repeated, grabbing the bars with both hands. The man jumped back involuntarily—Camden cast an enormous shadow over him.

“Attacks on the farms and fields, dead livestock…”

“Missing children?” Kefier ventured, much too quickly.

The man raised his eyebrows, then turned around and shut the door behind him. The voices died down. Camden shuffled back to his seat and gave a deep sigh. “You just had to open your big mouth, yeah?”

“What did I do?”

“Now he’s thinking we know more than we should.” He shrugged. “Can’t say I’m blaming you, though. It’s unsettling, all these things.”

“You think it has anything to do with those demons? From the wood, like they say?”

“I’m thinking they’re just children’s stories, yeah?” Camden was visibly amused. He swung his legs back and forth, like a pendulum. Kefier watched the movement, for lack of anything else to watch. “I’ve been reading of them. You’re thinking they have something to do with farm attacks and dead livestock?”

“Maybe.” Kefier shrugged. He saw that Camden had lost interest in him and was peering through the small window above them. He was tall enough to lean against the sill comfortably while standing on the bench. “What’s happening?” Kefier asked. He paused and heard faint music coming from outside.

“The town square,” Camden said. “They’ve been busy with something the past couple days.”

“A fair?”

“I’m thinking so. No, wait. Listen.”

Kefier strained his ears. It seemed as if another instrument had been added to strings and violin. He saw Camden nodding his head appreciatively and realized it was a song, now—a voice, as pure and glorious as if it were part of the melody itself.

“The Ballad of Aenith,” Camden murmured. He started humming the words to himself. “Keeping await over that threshold of love like a sin, hmm hmm hmmm…you’re not knowing this song?”

Kefier shook his head.

“I’m thinking that’s a shame. I’ll teach you, seems we’ll have enough time for that. Mother of mine, but she has the voice of angels!” He grinned. “Maira and I, we were singing this together back then in the pastures and the sheep. You know sheep can appreciate music?”

They listened to the song, and the songs that came after that. The very last song made Camden stop. The music was slow and soft now—Kefier had to stand beside Camden in order to hear it.

“It’s the love-tale between the Kag hero Agartes and his lady Myrn of two hundred years ago,” Camden said. “Mother of mine! Listen, listen to this.”

The voice rose to a crescendo, above the accompaniment. Kefier glanced at Camden blankly. Camden looked near-tears when he turned to him, and his mouth dropped open. “This is beautiful! I’ve been wanting to hear it like this my whole life!” He reached out to slap Kefier on the back. As soon as his hand touched Kefier’s shoulder, Kefier slammed his whole body into him. He was smaller than Camden, but the force sent both of them flying to the wall.

“Sorry!” Camden cried, lifting his hands up. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to.”

Kefier stepped back, feeling a little dizzy. “No, it’s just that—”

“You’re touchy. I get it.” Camden shrugged and returned to his bench. The music had died down. “I’m wondering who she is,” he whispered, glancing up.

Kefier said nothing. He sat on the opposite side of the cell, placed his hands over his head, and wished his pounding heart into silence.

Chapter Nine

Her name was Lillah Artek. They heard snippets of the name in the streets throughout the next couple of days. They called her Cael’s Nightingale, and she had taken time off from her regular performances in the city of Cael (known for its theatres as well as its temples) in order to visit the duke of Vildar. The performance in the town square had been a rare treat, open to the public. Camden found this news evidently pleasing.

“All the culture in Cael. What more in Hafod? Oh, if only she had gone with me instead of him, we would have—” But whatever he meant by that, he said no more on the subject.

On Kefier’s third day of imprisonment, they heard a commotion on the street outside their cell. Camden rose from the bench and stepped up into the sunlight, his face eager. “It’s her.”

“Oh?” Kefier asked noncommittally. He didn’t care for the singer one way or another, but she was all Camden talked about for days.

He peered through the window leading out to the street. “I think I see her. What is she doing? I’m thinking she shouldn’t be here, this isn’t a good place for—”

There was a shrill cry. Kefier cringed.

“Listen, Lillah. It’s not my fault you went gallivanting into the countryside on your own. I was worried.”

“On my own? I had to take three servants with me before you would let me go!”

“I did not let you go, you escaped, you damn woman!” The cry came again, and then a hard snap. The male voice started screaming. “You bitch! My riding stick! That hurt!”

“I am not going back with you! Leave me here for Atur to pick up!”

“Oh, so you like them old now, you dirty cheating wench…”

“I’m begging your pardon,” Camden broke in, where he stood. “A bored person like me is wanting all the entertainment he can get, but I’m thinking it’s best if you kept your hands off the lady and your words light on her, yeah?”

“What’s that?” The man entered in view. Kefier saw him bend over and spit near the bars. Camden drew back. “The last time I let scum talk to me...”

“Come in, then,” Camden said, grinning. “I’m thinking my friend and I are obliging enough for you. Though I’ll have to be warning you, he’s rather vicious.”

Kefier laughed. It sounded more menacing than he intended and he clamped his hand over his mouth. The man swore, cursing Camden’s seed and the generations after him. He returned to Lillah and wrenched her away from the street. They disappeared from view, but Kefier could hear her screaming and fighting him every digit of the way.

“Your rendition of Ranochi’s was the sweetest of its kind, Lillah!” Camden called after them. “May the mother and her consort bless you!”

They were left alone, in the darkness.

“Maira,” Camden whispered. “All of this—” He indicated the cell and the solitude it brought them. “It makes a man want to be remembering memories, don’t it? As if they’re all you have, in the end.” He slumped down against his seat.

“There’s an apple tree back home,” he said. “It’s sticking its branches into my room through the window. Pap would sit on the bench below it and take his guitar and he’d just be strumming away while we all listen. He’d be singing like that when I wake up in the mornings, loud and clear. I’ve never learned to sing like him.”

His words turned into a low drone. The only way they could pass the time here. But Kefier heard everything, while in his head his own memories unfolded. A quiet sea. The sea, there, all the time. With Sume. With Oji. With Enosh. As part of him as his heart and soul and blood, as ceaseless as his every breath.

Later that afternoon, the door to the small room opened, and a figure walked calmly, demurely, inside. It was a woman—dark-haired, pale-skinned, and clad in a simple white dress. Kefier thought of a gull he once saw diving into the sea and emerging in a shower of rainbow and pearl, and likened her to the image. She was frighteningly beautiful. He snapped from his revelry long enough to notice Camden in the same shocked state. The Baidhan stammered an introduction.

“From Baidh?” she mused. Her eyes wandered the cell, and she smirked. “What else does a criminal know of Ranochi?”

“I’m thinking enough to sing half of his songs by heart,” Camden grinned. “Though badly.” He paused. “And I’m not a criminal, if you please. We were taken for being foreigners.”

“Because of the troubles. I heard.” She nodded, turning to Kefier. “You?”

“I thought Ranochi was some kind of cheese.”

She covered her mouth, as if hiding a laugh. “You’re not criminals, then. But stupid foreigners, no question about it. They’ve been on the lookout for anyone to blame for the past few weeks—you should have known to bring the proper papers.” She pulled a stool from the end of the room and sat on it, smoothing her dress under and over her lap as if she was in a king’s dining room. An invitation.

They spoke through the long afternoon, discussing ballads and tales and songs and acting as if Kefier wasn’t there. He didn’t mind, anyway. He preferred to sit against the wall, letting their voices drone against his ear. He observed how Lillah often traced one finger around an ear, as if tucking behind a lock of hair that wasn’t there, and that there were bruises around her delicate wrist.

After sunset, guard arrived to escort her out. She was reluctant to leave.

“Must be boring in that duke’s house,” Kefier commented when she was gone.

“Atur apn Cuinn is half-deaf,” Camden murmured. “I’m guessing she’d prefer a prison-cell with that Garril there.”

“Birds in a cage.” Kefier thought of Lisa and the women back in Cairntown, which drifted towards Oji’s sister, Sume. His face hardened.

“She’s not coming back, I’m thinking,” Camden said. His face was straight. He rubbed his head and grinned weakly at Kefier.

But she returned the next day. She shoved fresh pieces of bread through the bars, to Kefier’s delight, and then proceeded to discuss modern compositions with Camden and why she thought they were a waste of time. Camden retaliated, though his voice never rose. Their debate turned into a discussion about the retellings of Agartes’s stories. Kefier lifted his head in interest.

“Can you tell me anything about the demons?” he asked. “When it comes to Cael, it was all the other men could talk about. They told me once when they were near the woods that Rok—a friend of mine—pretended not to be scared but then he made people walk with him just to piss.”

Lillah stopped in mid-sentence and stared at him. “Well,” she said, after a moment. “That’s an interesting question.”

“Folk tales they were scaring children with for a long, long time,” Camden said, his eyes flaring. “Nothing worth singing about?”

“Nothing worth singing about,” Lillah agreed. “It’s a depressing subject, really. Can you believe some people are thinking the attacks came from these—things? Someone claimed to have seen walking horses trampling the fields.” She smirked. “There is one. One short song. Not really very famous—I don’t even know why I bothered to remember it. The writer jumped off a cliff, from what I recall. Here.” She cleared her throat and began to sing in a low voice.

She told the story of Naijwa the Fair, daughter of Gaspar, and famous necromancer—a mage who could made dead things move, breathing spells into them until it seemed as if they had a life of their own. She fell in love with a native Dageian, another mage, Raggnar rog-Bannal. The affair didn’t last long; both Gaspar and the empire of Dageis declared war on each other after, and Naijwa rushed home. Somehow, she was separated from Raggnar and was forced to trek through the Kag wilderness alone.

No one knows what happened to her in those months. She must’ve heard the news from some small village, of how her country burned and her people starved. People were convinced she had died in the wilderness. But somehow, she lived on.

“And behind her she left a trail of damned souls,

Left soulless creatures

Left creatures.

Left monsters.

Her sorrow for the whole world to know.”

When she stopped, Camden stirred from his seat and uncrossed his arms. There was a bemused expression on his face. “I’m thinking I’ve never heard of that story before. Why?”

Lillah smiled. “Not perhaps in Baidh. Here in Cael, so close to the shadows of the Kag, it is a story that has frightened us since we were children in our mothers’ beds. Mind you, there’s more to that story, though I won’t bore you with the details. An account I read mentioned how Naijwa was particularly interested in the dead. She was skilled in a sort of taxidermy, except her work was animated.” She giggled nervously.

Camden recoiled. “You’re saying, she made dead squirrels alive again? That kind of thing?”

“Oh, she would’ve found that boring. More a dead squirrel with a rat’s tail and a crow’s wings. And no, they weren’t alive, though from what it sounded like she was trying—rather unsuccessfully—to make certain mythical creatures.” She rubbed her jaw thoughtfully. “I remember it said that the creatures fell apart rather quickly. She was really only using a bit of her learned Dageian skill to accomplish it. The real art was in the glass beads she would use for the eyes.” She tittered. “There was also this bit about her throwing a tantrum when she returned to her home in Hilal, finding her whole family dead. She killed her family’s murderers, only during the process somehow caused the destruction of the village, too. Erased it from the map forever.”

“Mother of mine,” Camden, all too-invested in her story, murmured.

She smiled. “Our elders’ insisting aside, many texts have denied the validity of the story. There are no records of a village in Gaspar so close to Cael’s borders, nor of a Naijwa the Fair in the Dageian Plateau’s school. Which is a pity, because it makes for a much better history for Cael and Kiel than say, Molla the Enchanted Cow.”

Camden laughed. Lillah scolded him with a click of her tongue. “Why, the nerve! It’s much better than the Hafed version of how Agartes came to Kag shores. On a giant sea turtle, indeed. These stories…”

“Some people would call them heroes,” Kefier broke in.

“Not Naijwa. Heroes wouldn’t cause such wanton death.”

“She brought justice to her family, didn’t she? Despite what she’d done.”

Lillah gave him the sort of smile Oji would’ve given him had he been there, the sort that told him he was too entirely too naïve for his own good.

“Did you hear? Lillah Artek is having another performance later, in the Twisted Drake.”

Kefier heard. The two men that entered the room were talking loudly between themselves. The one that had spoken went straight for the padlock holding the cell door together and pulled against it experimentally.

“You’re planning to just leave them?” the other asked.

“I missed the first one. You’d think the others would let us hear the end of it when they find out we didn’t see the Nightingale?” He glanced at the prisoners. “They’ll be fine. Unless they can magick themselves out or pick a lock.”

Camden grinned as soon as they were gone. “I’m thinking you don’t have a hairpin on you?”

“Sadly, no,” Kefier said. “Perhaps I should buy one later.”

“Pity. The one night they’re gone, and we’re not figuring how to get the hell out here.”

“Pathetic, I know.”

The door creaked open. Kefier’s muscles tensed.

“Lillah,” Camden gasped.

“Camden,” she said politely. She nodded and motioned for them to come closer. “I don’t have much time. I scheduled a performance for today. Vildar really shouldn’t have prisons, you know? The guard was a volunteer. Besides, everyone always goes to my performances…”

Kefier growled grasped a cell bar in one hand. “You can get us out?”

“No, I can’t. I thought I could pinch their keys when they were walking out, but alas—my fingers aren’t as nimble as a thief’s. So here…” She reached her hand into the space between the bars.

Kefier reached out, and relief surged into his heart. It was Oji’s sword. The leather handle was warm to his touch, familiar. He pulled it into the cell and noticed that someone had wrapped a thin blanket around the scabbard. It was the same one the man had offered him, back in the woods.

“What are we needing to do with these?” Camden asked.

“I don’t know. Will you try something?”

“Of course,” Kefier said. He was holding the sword against his heart. “Thank you.”

“Garril is forcing me to leave tomorrow,” she said. She touched Camden’s hands briefly through the bars and then reached out to pat Kefier’s shoulder. “If you manage tonight, north of town there’s a farmer I’ve asked to wait awhile. He’ll be carrying goods to Cael. If you get there, it won’t be difficult to find my house. If I’m not there, my servants will accommodate you.”

“You keep saying if. It worries me,” Camden said.

She smiled. “It suits your face to be worried. May you always be blessed. Now I must go. Be careful, please.”

They settled against the walls once she left. Kefier dozed lightly, his eyes flickering open once in a while. It seemed hours had gone by before he heard footsteps flood the room. He saw the guard enter and immediately lunged at Camden, roaring.

Camden swung out at him in panic. The guard jumped towards them, waving a heavy stick. “Stop it! You two!” He grabbed the bars with both hands, rattling them. At that instant Kefier ducked Camden’s next blow and grabbed the guard’s arm. The man gasped. In the moonlight, the sword’s blade glinted against his throat.

“The keys!” Kefier hissed. “The keys or your neck right here, right now!”

The guard started to shake. Kefier pressed the sword tight against him. “The keys, damn you!”

“Hold on. Be gentle, please,” the man stammered. He inserted a key through the bars, dropping it inside the cell. Kefier jerked his head back at Camden, who picked it up. He reached through the bars and unlocked the door from the other side.

The cell door swung open, and Camden walked out. He looked back at Kefier, his face white. Kefier ignored him. He wrapped his other arm around the man’s throat, removing the sword, and pulled back. A few moments later, the man crumpled to the ground.

“Mother of mine! Why did you kill him?” Camden cried, shielding his face with one hand.

“We don’t know he’s dead. We have to go.”

“We have to help him!”

“There’s no have time for that, Camden.”

Camden clenched his fists. He looked as if he would strike Kefier for an instant, then his eyes fell on the sword and he whirled around, unable to look at the room any longer.

They walked into the empty streets in silence, and headed north, as Lillah instructed. Before dawn they reached the farm. A horse and a cart stood by the road. The man loading the cart with fruit looked up and regarded their appearance with detachment. “Finally,” he said, wiping a hand across his forehead. He pointed to the back of the cart. “I’ve been waiting all evening. Get inside.”

They settled underneath the heavy canvas that covered the cart. Camden still looked shocked, as if he was playing the night’s events over in his mind. Kefier closed his eyes and tried hard not to think about the kind of man the Boarshind had taught him to be.

Chapter Ten

They were on the road for a few hours, exhaustion and hunger overtaking their senses. The farmer had told them that Lillah had paid enough for their travel and nothing more. Kefier expressed his feelings about this by hacking away at a watermelon the size of the farmer’s head. Pieces of green watermelon skin flew around them. He hewed out a sizeable chunk and offered it to Camden.

Camden stared at him, unmoving. The blanket was covering their laps—it was the only contact they had since they started, and he had accepted it only because of the cold. He didn’t take the food. Kefier sighed. He didn’t really feel the need to justify what he’d done back at the prison. Sometimes compassion meant death. Each man’s path was his own, untouched by his fellows, even his god.

So Oji, why did you save me? You had nothing to gain. He shifted in his seat. Now you’re dead and I’m here.

The cart pulled to a stop. Camden started to jump off, but Kefier pushed him back, lifting one hand. “Don’t move,” he mouthed. There were voices outside. Kefier recognized the farmer’s. There was an angry note to it. His hand strayed to the sword.

“Some watermelons, onions, to sell at the market,” the farmer was saying. “Nothing else.”

“Are you sure? Lying’s a bad idea right now.”

“Sir, I can’t possibly be…”

Kefier thought he heard what sounded like sword crushing moist watermelon flesh. He closed his eyes. There was another creak, more steel being drawn, more flesh being hacked. The horse’s scream pierced the sky. Camden looked at him in alarm, his whole body rigid. Kefier looked back, afraid he would bolt at the last moment. He would never be able to outrun them.

“Vegetables, he said,” a man was saying outside the cart.

“Fruit, I think,” another added.

“We’ll see about that.”

Kefier heard, saw, the canvas rip from above, and thought he felt the blade sliding into his own flesh. He turned to his right, a second later, sweat streaming across his face in rivulets, and saw, instead, the blade buried deep within a watermelon.

It was pulled out. “That smells good. Get us one.”

A pair of hands slid under the canvas. Kefier felt blinded as the light streamed against his face and he gripped the sword tightly, his skin growing hot. But he didn’t move, though every muscle in his body was urging him to fight. Looking at Camden, a man bigger and stronger than he was unarmed and shaking, he felt as if he didn’t want to fight anymore. Kefier gazed into nothingness, resigned to his fate.

The flap of canvas was left back in place and he felt the darkness on his skin.

“Ugly watermelon.”

“They’ll all taste the same.”

“They’re all watermelons there? No humans?”

“Of course they’re all watermelons there. Do you think I’m blind?”

There was a second’s pause, and then another blade slid into the canvas and buried itself neatly into a watermelon right on Kefier’s lap.

“Stop that. I swear, I think if Old Man Baeddan doesn’t care, Algat shouldn’t. I’m sick of this whole affair. Bad enough they did what they did to Rok and the others. Isn’t Kefier that dark little fellow? The Dageian?”

“He’s from Gorent, I think,” the other man replied.

“Huh. I could’ve sworn—the accent—”

“They speak Dageian up there. We should go. We’re wasting our time here. You didn’t have to kill that guy, you know. He probably had a family.”

“He had that look, the kind that reports to Caelian guards.” A pause. “You know what they think of us up here.”

The voices dispersed, and in a few seconds were gone, leaving Kefier and Camden in total silence. They waited until the dark turned to grey through the holes in the canvas. And then Kefier crawled out of the cart where the first thing he saw was the farmer, still on the driver’s seat, holding the reins in his hands. His head was gone. It had rolled off onto the dusty road, a few meters away from them, blood-marked, eyes gazing blankly.

Behind him, he heard Camden gasp, and vomit.

They had also killed the horse. It was lying where moments ago it had stood in harness, the great neck pierced. Kefier rubbed the stiff body with his hands, whispering a soft prayer. “Were they from Vildar?” Camden asked. The first words he had spoken in hours.

Kefier shook his head. “Those weren’t guards.” He glanced at the road. “We have to go. We can’t wait here.”

“Go? Where?” Camden’s voice broke. “You’re wanting to go in there?” He pointed to the woods.

Kefier didn’t want to nod, but he did. He trudged forward, expecting Camden to stay behind. But the man followed him into that certain death, or so the folk tales of the Kag would have them believe.

Of course, for the hours they walked through the dark, the only real certainty lay in the surrounding silence. Several times Camden tried to drown it with a whistle, a tune to drive the seeming blankness away, but he gave up after a while. Even the birds were quiet. It sounded like the night after somebody’s funeral.

They stopped underneath a tree with huge, looming branches. Camden slumped against a thick root jutting out of the ground, his round face red with exertion. Kefier settled on the dirt nearby. “We’ll make it to Cael City,” Kefier said, thinking Camden needed the reassurance. “But then I don’t know what to do from there.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know who’s chasing us or why.”

“I’m thinking the man you killed…” Camden started, but he stopped himself and turned away.

“I think we’re safe here,” Kefier said, ignoring him. “We should be safe here.” The forest seemed less menacing than where he had come through, going to Vildar. “Are you hungry?”

Camden grunted.

“Wait here. I’ll find us something.”

He found the tracks a little off to the right of their camp, and then the deer not long after. It was old and lame, smaller than a Kag sheepdog; it had probably been seeking a quiet place to die. Kefier killed it without a fuss. He gutted and skinned the meat where he stood, removing the guts and burying them, and then he returned to camp. Camden had already started a fire. Kefier appreciated the forethought as he dropped the carcass by his feet.

They cooked the meat and ate in silence. Afterwards, Camden reached for Oji’s sword, plunged unceremoniously in the soil. He started tinkering with something around the handle.

“Where did you find this?” he asked. Kefier looked up to see Camden holding up a necklace with a green stone pendant. He hadn’t noticed it on the sword before. Back when he took it from Oji’s body, it had no such ornaments. Gaven had taken the sword from him when he was captured and that was the last he’d seen of it until the day he woke up in the cart.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Camden held it in his hands, against the fire. “It was my boy’s.” His face twitched. “I gave it to him on his name day.”

“Don’t they make those by the cartload?”

Camden turned to him. “I made it myself. So I know. I know—” He closed his fingers around it. “You’re sure you don’t know anything at all?”

He didn’t reply. Camden, disgusted, walked away. The crickets started their silky chirping, but Kefier stared silently as the fire crackled and spat, thinking of a thousand things that had nothing to do with death or despair or loss.

Camden didn’t return, even after the night ended and morning mist had receded. Kefier folded the blanket, gathered the dried pieces of meat, and scattered the leftovers. He covered the fire pit with dirt and then went off to follow Camden’s trail.

The broken foliage went around in large circles. By noon, Kefier had all but given up. He climbed a tree to rest, hoping he was high enough to see movement from afar. He had started to doze off when he heard voices.

“Look, we’ve been through this already. You were with him, weren’t you? Speak properly!”

“We heard in Vildar he escaped with you. Where’s Kefier?”

The mention of his name chilled his heart. He recognized the voice—the man was also from Singular Seven, part of the group who frequented the Chiming Princess instead of Blue-dog’s Tavern. They once talked about dogs, a good four-hour conversation a lifetime ago.

“We were together, but he left me on the road. He’s probably gone now.” Camden sounded weary.

“This is ridiculous,” one of the men said. “I don’t want to stay in these fucking woods any longer than we have to. Who knows if these creatures don’t just feast on children?”

“They don’t. If you’ve lived in these parts long enough, you know we’re not supposed to be here.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. Here, Baidhan—tell us where he is or we’ll kill you. I’ve no desire to carry dead weight around.”

There was a long pause, and then Camden’s voice came, steady and resolute. “I’m thinking you’re getting nothing from me.” A different tone than last night’s. Kefier shifted, having heard all he wanted to hear. He should have known to be more careful. Baeddan’s men were everywhere, wherever there was money to be made. Even the lords in Hafod hired them. And Vildar? Vildar, at the edge of the wood in Cael, a road away from Cairntown? Oji would’ve laughed and called him a half-wit. He knelt by the bushes and waited until nightfall.

The fire had dwindled to glowing embers. A single guard lay by a tree some distance away, clearly the night watch, but too exhausted to pay any attention to the job. Kefier stepped towards Camden and shook him by the shoulder. Camden’s eyes snapped open. What word he meant to utter next was stifled by Kefier’s hand against his mouth.

Kefier lifted a finger to his lips.

“Let me go,” Camden mumbled. “Your hand smells.”

Kefier turned his head to check on the sleeping men before he withdrew his hand, wiping it against his trousers with disgust. He lifted the knife from his belt and began to work at the rope.

“What are you doing here?” Camden whispered.

Kefier stopped and gave Camden a worried look. “Have you fallen in love with your captors? Should I leave?”

“Just stop talking and get me out!”

“I’m trying.” Kefier pointed at the tangled mess the rope had been knotted into while he began to hack at it with the knife in his other hand. “Stop wriggling!” He drew back for a second to inspect his work and sighed. The rope was thick, and the knife was dull after all the meat he had gone through the past night.

“Thank you,” Camden whispered. “I mean, after last night—I was just upset, and…”

Kefier shot him an angry look.

“You’re wanting no sentiments, yeah?”

“None right now, please,” Kefier growled. He suddenly swore. The knife had gone through not just the rope but across the skin of his thumb. He realized his mistake all too quickly. Grasping the bleeding thumb with his other hand, he turned and saw the men stirring from their sleep.

“Somebody’s…it’s Kefier!” The man stumbled towards them, sword in hand. Sweat dripped down Kefier’s face. His head leered. The man’s every step seemed slow and he felt as if he was in a dream, his eyes weighed down by rocks. So he thought it was only his imagination that made the man look to his side in fear, if he hadn’t heard Camden’s scream.

A colossal figure emerged from the bushes and crashed into the mercenary. It pulled his head off in one quick motion and waved it at the dying fire, screeching. Then it started to dance around the camp, cracking his skull as if it was nothing more than a piece of fruit and slurping the insides with relish.

Camden had dropped to the ground. Kefier knelt beside him and pulled the blanket over them, hoping it would hide them in the night. He felt nauseous, looking at the remains of the man he once knew. He remembered he liked greyhounds, suddenly. Something about their grace, their independence. That thing in the middle, prancing apelike around the fire, didn’t even register in his mind. It still didn’t seem real. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

That thought didn’t stop it from flinging the men left and right. Some, the lucky ones, died at once. Others had to watch their companions ripped from limb to limb. The creature sat in the midst of this bloodbath, laughing, its long hairy arms moving to shove each morsel into its gaping mouth.

Kefier and Camden remained motionless for what seemed like hours. And then, when they thought it would be over, that the creature would take the last bite and leave, it sat up, and sniff the air, unmindful of the writhing body parts around it. Kefier felt the sweat drip down his jaw. The creature was still hungry. It was still hungry. It had caught their scent. It was looking for them.

The tears rolled off Camden’s face. His own breath felt laborious, cold. Time stopped.

He forced himself to look back into the clearing. The creature had ventured nearer and sat an arm’s length away from them. He saw its face for the first time. It looked vaguely like a man, though its head was the size of two, with greyish-green skin and eyes, eyes so unlike anything he had ever seen before. But what unsettled him the most was the creature’s smile. It stretched all the way to its ears, nonchalant, happy, still tainted with the blood and bits of flesh from the men it had just killed.

And then the creature scratched its head and moved away, and only then did he realize that it didn’t seem to know where they were. He suddenly remembered the incident on the road, when the mercenary had looked down at him and seen nothing but watermelons. He fingered the blanket. It felt like an ordinary wool blanket, but it had to be more than that. He had thought the man who left it was strange—could he have been a mage? He’d heard they could attach power to ordinary things.

But the creature could still smell them. Undaunted, it continued to rummage through the camp. Kefier realized that if they stayed where they were it would stumble on them sooner or later. He touched Camden’s shoulder, to warn him. Camden gave him a puzzled look. He reached for a stone and threw it across the bushes.

The ape-thing turned at the sound. Instantly, Kefier leaped, sword held high, and aimed for the creature’s spine.

“Bweeeh?” The creature’s voice sounded like a trumpet. Kefier halted and saw its neck spin around, though its body remained where it was. It didn’t even seem surprised at all. The sound of its laughter made the hair on Kefier’s arms stand on end. It turned its body the right way and began to walk towards him. Kefier tried to lift his sword, but found he could not. His arms and feet felt like lead. He tried to speak, to call to Camden and have him run to safety, but he couldn’t even open his mouth.

It roared, spraying the air with the stench of corpses. Its tongue was black and spiny, its teeth dull and brown and decorated with pieces of red flesh. Kefier stood there, waiting for the inevitable.

And then Camden slammed into its side with his heavy body and whatever spell it had cast on Kefier broke. Kefier saw it reach out to crush Camden’s skull. He turned to grab a switch, thrusting it into the embers. The creature’s arms were still in mid-air when Kefier slammed the blazing torch at its head.

The fire did it. It screamed and tottered backwards. Kefier plunged the sword into its neck as it fell. Black blood hissed and spurted out of the open wound. It slumped to the ground and shrank. In its stead lay the body of an infant, too small to have been out of the womb. That, too, didn’t last. Before Kefier could crawl closer to inspect it, it was gone, leaving nothing but ashes blowing in the wind.

He and Camden stared at each other in silence. The spitting of embers and the heavy aroma of wet blood surrounded them.

“I’m thinking we’re crazy,” Camden breathed. “Stark raving mad. We’re probably piss ass drunk back in our cells. I was never the one for drinking.”

Kefier sank to the ground.

“That witch…Naijwa. Those beasts she made.” Camden buried his face into the crook of one arm. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “But it seems like those stories were true. The stories about the Kag woods are true and we…

Kefier crawled to his feet. “Camden,” he said. “Can we go? I don’t want to spend a moment more in here than we need to.”

But Camden was sobbing. Kefier turned away and murmured his own prayer. Ab, take care of those departed. Ab, watch over their souls. He didn’t know, didn’t think, about the creature taking those from them, too. They couldn’t always be right about the demons in Cael.

By the time they left the clearing, the sun had begun its slow, steady ascent over the treetops.

Chapter Eleven

Somehow, they found their way back to the road and onto the scattered remnants of civilization across the fields. Farms and villages they passed offered them food and directed them to Cael City. One tried to send his daughter off with them, a homely thing with bugged eyes. Kefier had to mumble something about already having a wife while Camden expressed great regret in lacking certain areas necessary to reproduce.

Still, it was difficult to ward the gnawing fear from that night. Trees stood everywhere around them, always. Kefier wasn’t entirely too sure that they stayed off the roads or away from the sunlight. They didn’t seem like the sort to follow rules.

He found himself thinking more and more about Lillah’s stories. About Naijwa and her sewed-up dolls. His mind started playing tricks on him—made him imagine a dead cat with two heads sat on his chest, or a monkey with a pig’s snout watched him from a tree. Which was ridiculous, really, since they didn’t have monkeys in the Kag. He also found himself distracted by other stories he’d heard—of a hunter ensnared in his own trap and was forced, upside-down, to watch a herd of smelly, hoofed figures pass through the road in the dark.

Camden was no help. He was not a mainland Kag and couldn’t fathom a way to deal with their pressing surroundings. He spoke a lot about the hero Agartes, who had braved these woods himself even before there were roads and towns to greet him. How did he do it? The stories never mentioned demons, and yet Naijwa’s story—if you could believe it—happened before his time. He slew beasts and meddled with politics and made shrines to the god Yohak, making him an even bigger figure than Mother Namalah, whose consort he was.

Agartes himself, of course, was born in Baidh. A farm boy, the youngest of seven. Sick of his father’s careless parenting and his brothers’ bullying, he ran off one day and found an egg by the shore. He ate it. What was a hungry boy to do, having found an egg? Even if it was very large and blue? You didn’t run around trying to sell it—you ate it, scrambled with carrots and pepper and seasoned with a sprinkle of salt.

Happened that the egg was that of a large turtle who found him by the sea when he returned the next time he got hungry. The turtle got very mad and would have killed the boy then and there, but then he decided it was a waste, and took the boy. Vengeance, he said. His only surviving child—his mate dead for many months—and the boy had the audacity to eat it. He didn’t seem to care that the egg was possibly addled.

Little Ajy appeared to have been lost to the world forever, and his story could’ve ended there. But he appeared on the shores of Cael fifteen years later, a full-grown man, tall and muscular and scarred. He walked, the old texts say, with a definite purpose. He killed the beast Tandahg—an enormous tusked creature that ‘bled a river when pierced with a sword’—and was seen dragging the body to the shore, where a great turtle emerged. The turtle took one look at the body and seemed to sigh a great sigh, as if it was part of the waves. Then he turned and disappeared into the sea.

Agartes returned, where the villagers in what would later be Cael and Kiel rejoiced, hailing him a hero. Under his tutelage, the towns prospered. Roads were built leading to the kingdom of Hafod. Somewhere along the way he was taken in by the Hafed king and became a high-ranking general. He defended the lands from Dageis and created truce with Gaspar over the mountains.

Died a lonely death in Cael, they said. Not befitting for a hero. Not in the midst of a glorious battle, sword in hand, crying for a land he loved, but in a cold bed, mourning a dead wife and children, crying for a land he left.

“Will you go home soon?” Kefier asked, one night away from Cael City.

Camden didn’t answer immediately, but the look on his face made Kefier regret asking. “I’m thinking that would be nice,” he said, slumping back against a fence on the road. “I’m tired. I want my bed. My family. My dogs! Do you know, Kefier, there is nothing like the sound of your own dogs greeting you when you come home.”

Kefier didn’t answer, and Camden didn’t try to talk again until at least an hour later.

“I gave it to him,” he said, holding the pendant up against the sunlight. “On his naming day. Green, for the mother’s colour.” Camden paused. “I wish I can give his mother a better answer than this.”

“We all want better answers,” Kefier murmured. “I don’t think we’re allowed to have them.”

They reached Cael City by midday the next day. Kefier had never in his life seen a city like this before. He stopped to gape at it and Camden had to bully him towards the gate to stop them from getting trampled by merchants on the road.

“Visitors to Cael?” a man asked, from his watchtower. “Merchants or tourists? You’ve family here?” He sounded bored.

“We’re here to see Lillah Artek,” Kefier replied, from behind Camden.

“Names?”

“Camden maic Camden of Saldor in Baidh.”

“Kefier of Cairntown.” He wasn’t taking chances this time.

“All right,” the man said, scribbling and then gesturing. The heavy gates opened from the inside. Gingerly, Kefier and Camden stepped into Cael for the first time.

Children spilled across the wide streets of cobblestone, shouting and laughing in rosy-cheeked joy. The shingle-roofed buildings stood evenly, in neat rows, two stories tall and made of cut stone, the colour of sun-drenched white. Clotheslines hung across balconies and street corners; trees and flowered shrubs marked the tiny sections of soil in between the streets.

Cael City stood as the centre of worship of the wood god Yohak. The city thrived on the constant come and go of tourists and pilgrims, and on exporting stone from the quarries up north. Fuyyu was busier and Cairntown more populous, but Cael had more culture and less stink. It pleased Kefier to not have to hold his hand so close to his nose whenever he saw an open gutter.

They stopped at the temple first, to Camden’s insistence. It was a large building, palace-like to Kefier’s eyes, with steps made of marble. Kefier felt guilty for having so much mud on his boots. A vast array of peddlers stood by the entrance, selling trinkets of worship—necklaces and prayer beads and statuettes. There were beggars, too, kneeling by the steps or marble pillars, although they looked cleaner than any beggar Kefier had met in the past. A man played the lyre nearby, singing praises to the god.

“Bracelets, sir?” a woman called to Kefier, as Camden strode ahead in awe. He shook his head.

“I don’t worship Yohak.”

“Does it matter?” she asked. She was feeble and shook while she talked. “A god is a god is a god. If you believe, he listens, no matter what you name him.” She held a bracelet made of wooden beads, the symbol of Yohak etched over the weathered grain. Kefier frowned, but he dug into his pocket until he found a dusty coin and gave it to her. She pressed the bracelet into his hands, smiling toothlessly.

“May his guidance find you on your road,” she said. Kefier knew it was a sales tactic, but it made him feel funny, anyway. He followed Camden towards the temple, removing his shoes by the door at an old man’s bidding. The whiteness pervaded even the inside. The windows were covered in coloured panes of glass, depicting several images, scenes of some sort—a man with a cane standing over a wood, a child on a boat. An altar stood at the far end, with interlocking symbols of the god, plain in contrast to the rest of the temple—brown, for Yohak. It shadowed the centre of the temple, with its long cushions. Several people kneeled or sat on them, meditating or praying. Camden was at the end of an aisle, his eyes shut tight.

The hollow silence echoed around Kefier as he took the cushion behind Camden. He had fully intended to pray to his own god, too, but somehow it didn’t feel right. So instead he tinkered with the bracelet and glanced at his surroundings, wondering at the tall beams and the chandeliers and the statues. There was one of a man in a full suit of armour, a sword in one hand and a beast’s head in the other.

“Yohak guided such a man,” Camden murmured. Kefier started, and saw that he was staring at the same statue. “Agartes, I mean. A holy man. A hero. What is a child to the gods? A child doesn’t mean a damn thing.” And then he set his jaw and motioned for Kefier to follow him out of the temple.

They found Lillah Artek’s district to the north. If they had gaped upon entering the city before, their jaws nearly hit the pavement now. The streets were wide enough for two carriages to pass side-by-side. The architecture of some of the buildings bore a resemblance to the Yohak temple—designed around white stone or marble, tall columns, and liberally decorated with statues of Kag deities, gods, and important political figures. There were shops of every kind, some showcasing their wares inside glass. “They say it mirrors the cities in Hafod,” Camden murmured, his face alight with wonder. “The only one of its kind in these parts.” He stopped and drew a long breath. “There, Kefier. See? That’s where Lillah performs.”

The building he pointed at was bigger even than the temple of Yohak. Kefier could not fathom what possessed these people to build such a structure, and yet there it was, a giant amongst ants. Camden started to talk about theatre, artists, councils, merchants, and the myriad of activities contained by this building alone. He lost Kefier right around the point where he began a tirade about how the Caelians approached tragic romances and why for all intents and purposes Baidh did it better than anyone else.

Lillah met them at the door to her apartment. After everything else Kefier had seen that day, it seemed small and bare. She hustled them inside, bolted the door, and called for her maid, a mousey-looking girl who couldn’t be more than twelve, to start dinner.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” Lillah said. “I’ve been moving my furniture around, you know how that is. Do you both realize you’re three days late? I was afraid you’d forgotten about me.”

“We got into some trouble,” Kefier said. Lillah’s expression changed, and he quickly added, “But it’s over now. Um, do you mind? If I can get a bath or a change of clothes or...I know Camden’s been dying to talk to you.” He tried to smile, but it was difficult when Camden remained serious.

“Of course,” Lillah said. “Jerisi! Jerisi, draw some water up, won’t you? And get some of Garril’s clothes—the top drawer—you know.” The girl nodded and sprinted upstairs.

“Garril’s clothes?” Kefier blanched.

“He’s going to be in Vildar for another week, if you must know.” Lillah smoothed out her dress. “And he doesn’t live here, so it’s not like he’ll care.” Jerisi arrived with a bundle and handed it to Kefier. He smiled awkwardly at her.

“Just show me the pump, please. Don’t bother bringing water in.”

She looked horrified. “But it’s right outside.”

“Lead the way.”

She hesitated before letting him follow her through the kitchen and out the back. He glanced around. Lillah’s yard was fenced in, with stone walls higher than his head. He placed the clothes along a dry window, removed his shirt, and started the pump.

“Oh,” the girl said, walking back out. “Here’s some soap, if you want.”

Kefier thanked her and began lathering his hair over a bucket. She came up behind him and started the pump again. He sighed under the stream of water.

“You’ve got a big burn in your back,” the girl suddenly blurted out. “And lash marks.”

He tried to pretend it didn’t make him uncomfortable that she noticed his scars. “Do me a favour—never visit Dageis.”

“You were a slave?”

He paused in the middle of washing his beard and looked at her. He didn’t really want to answer the question, but he nodded. “A mage-thrall,” he whispered. Not that the Dageins knew the difference. The girl didn’t catch on to his silence and began pressing him for answers. She had met no one from outside Cael, let alone someone who had been to Dageis first hand, and he found it difficult to deflect the attention. But eventually, he finished washing up and took Garril’s spare clothes from her. The Caelian-style tunic was patterned in blue and short-sleeved, which allowed a glimpse of the tattoos on his left arm.

Lillah and Camden were still talking in the sitting room when he returned. A hunch of cold roast pork was laid out in front of them, mostly untouched. Kefier sat across from them and helped himself. Camden noticed him after a while and looked up. Kefier smiled at him. “You stink. Maybe you should take a bath.”

Camden flushed. Lillah smiled. “Well, I don’t think you’ll fit into Garril’s clothes very well, so maybe I can get Jerisi to run off and get you some.”

“I’ll do it,” Kefier said. “Where’s the stores?”

She handed him a coin purse. “You must’ve passed some on the way here.”

“I don’t know if he should go. Maybe it’s best if I do it,” Camden broke in.

Kefier smiled. “Don’t worry about me. We’re in the city now. What’s the worst that could happen?”

It was inevitable, of course, that after having uttered such fate-defying words he would get lost between a crowded intersection, clutching a paper-wrapped package under a sudden downpour. Kefier stood there, blinking back water and swearing. Horse-drawn carriages danced past him, their passengers oblivious to the rain.

“What’s the big deal?” he called out to someone who had found shelter beneath a meat-skewer vendor’s parasol. “It’s almost as if they’re excited to be out here. It’s damp, and it’s dark.”

“It’s also the first showing of The Grey Rose,” the man said. “A most glorious event. One of Ranochi’s masterpieces, you know, and the lead tenor is one of Kiel’s...”

Kefier looked up, recognizing the face. “It’s you. I shared a cart with you on the way to Vildar.”

The man blinked. “Perhaps.”

“No, it is you. You left a blanket, too. It’s back at Lillah’s—I can get it if you want.”

The man held out his hand. “Before you say anything more, come and join me and my friend here. There’s plenty of room. If you would be so kind, sir—” The vendor grunted, but he moved his roasting grill a foot to the side, allowing Kefier to squeeze in. Kefier shook the water from his arms and heaved a sigh of relief. The coals from the ash pit were glowing red, and the heat felt pleasant against his skin.

“Now, where were we?” the man asked, his hand over his thin beard. “Ah. The blanket. Well, as I got a new one after I was so careless, I suppose you could have it for yourself. Consider it a gift.”

“I noticed something strange about it.”

“The smell?”

“What? No. I mean—” Kefier glanced at the vendor, but the man seemed disconcerted about something and was trying very hard not to look at them. He shook his head. “I think you had that thing enchanted.”

“Did I?” The man seemed somewhat amused by the statement.

Kefier frowned. “This isn’t a joke. It saved our lives.”

“I’m sure. I’ve heard it gets cold out in those woods.” The man tapped the vendor on the shoulder. “Two intestines, please, for me and my friend here.”

“I can’t pay you back.”

“I didn’t say anything about paying me back.” The man took the skewers with a smile and handed one to Kefier. “Don’t concern yourself over the blanket. It is an ordinary thing and it is what it is.” He took a big bite from the roasted intestine and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “You said you’re staying at a ‘Lillah’s’ place. Lillah Artek?”

“Ab, you’re one of those too, aren’t you? What’s that word—an ardent admirer?”

The man smirked. “And I see you’re not. That’s fine. I’m glad you found a good place to stay.”

“Well, for a while. Probably a night or so.” Kefier narrowed his eyes. “Why does this concern you?”

“It doesn’t. I’m merely commenting.”

“Right. You’re not fooling me.” Something clicked in his head. A memory—no, memories. The man was too familiar. But the details slipped him, even as he tried to reach for them, and he found himself opening his mouth before he could decide where he’d last seen him. “You’re Ylir,” he said. “Not Doras. You hired some of my friends last year. Guarding some trade caravans over at the Gaspar border.” The words spilled from his tongue. “Did you follow me all the way from Cairntown? Did Baeddan send you?”

Ylir glanced at him nonchalantly. “Don’t be absurd. From what I understand, your capture is strictly between you and your faction. In other words, you have no value to other people and thus none of my concern. More intestine?”

Kefier tried to look at him a second time, trying to remember beyond that. That voice—he couldn’t have heard it from then, because he was too far away. He’d only really seen the man leave Baeddan’s office. Ylir had glanced at him and then walked away. Only later did he learn that he was a representative of one of the biggest trading companies in the Kag. The men who were awarded his jobs always said he was a fair master, if a bit stern, and apt to giving generous rewards if things went his way. He had never asked what happened if things didn’t go his way.

The man himself looked plain, with the kind of face you’d have a hard time picking out of a crowd. He looked like he was in his early thirties. His posture was languid, a contrast to his dancing eyes. Kefier knew that sort—a man who, snake-like, could pretend to be enjoying the sun while waiting for the moment to strike. Is his presence in Cael all just a coincidence? The thought made Kefier uncomfortable. He didn’t like games. If the man wanted him dead, he should really just stick a knife in him now and get it all over with.

“You look like a fisherman, dropped his net over the sea.”

There, he thought, struggling. That voice. He looked at the man, narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry?”

Ylir shook his head. “An old Hafed saying. You’re still worried your friends sent me here to kill you. That’s understandable.”

He swallowed. “So you’re telling me they don’t want to kill me after all.” It was difficult to sound casual, especially after the last few days.

Ylir pulled out a piece of meat from his skewer and popped it into his mouth. “Oh, they do. They want your head, preferably set on a pike in front of the keep. So when Gaven set you free, it really set things aflame.”

Kefier had to stop to let that sink in. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling light-headed all of a sudden. “I thought you just said that Gaven set me free.”

“So goes the rumours.”

“Gaven. Officer Gaven.”

Ylir shrugged.

Kefier tried to look straight at him. “The man who took me there in the first place. That Gaven.”

“Funny enough you mentioned that,” Ylir said, scratching his neat beard. “He seemed like the unstable sort. I’m not even sure why your boss thought he’d make a good officer.”

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t know. If you may recall, I left soon after I heard news you’d escaped yet again. I didn’t think I would actually end up sharing a ride to Vildar with you.” He smirked. “Believe me when I say that I have no time to waste pointing you out to them. I’m a very busy man. Perhaps, if you make things inconvenient for me, I’ll mention you when next I meet with Baeddan but for now, you’re the least of my concerns.”

The rain had turned to a soft drizzle. Kefier felt a chill on his bones. “Thank you, I suppose,” he murmured. He hesitated. There was a word on the tip of his tongue, connected to his memory, that was gone, now. He blinked. “I’ve got to go.” It sounded to him like he was speaking for his own benefit.

Ylir waved goodbye.

It was easier to figure out Lillah’s house now that he knew which direction the theatre stood. Jerisi met him at the door, took the package from him, and showed him to a guest room upstairs. It was small, but the bed was clean. Kefier threw himself on it and dreamt of nothing but clouds the whole night through.

He woke up sometime in the early morning, thinking, you’re staying at a Lillah’s place. Lillah Artek?

Kefier slowly rolled out of bed. He could hear Camden snoring in the next room. Kefier remembered the night they escaped from Vildar. He didn’t want to cause any more trouble for him. Even though he was older than Kefier, he was surprisingly naïve, and something about that grated Kefier’s insides. They had gotten lucky last time. If the faction ever caught up with them again, they would most certainly get rid of any inconveniences along the way, and that included Camden and Lillah. Why did he get so careless, telling Ylir about the singer? No matter what the man said, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the faction followed. Who would they send this time? If Algat himself came—

He cut the thought short. Algat put the faction’s interests above all else. Kefier had once seen him dole out justice to a man who had stolen from a client: he had his eyes cut out before sending him home. That happened often in Kago, where the only law was the bite of iron and steel. Algat would have been away when Gaven had captured him. Kefier would be dead otherwise.

He took the steps as slowly as he could and still nearly crashed into Jerisi on the way down.

“What are you doing awake at this hour?” he grumbled, rubbing his elbow.

“I forgot to put the laundry in. The pigeons ruin them in the morning. Oh, and this is for you.” Jerisi held up a hefty coin-purse.

Kefier refused it. “I can take care of myself. Tell your mistress not to worry about me.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not from her. Someone came by earlier, after you’d gone to bed. See? There’s a letter.”

He took it, went down to the sitting room and held the letter over the lamp. For a moment, he stared at it, and then he gave it to Jerisi. “Read it,” he grumbled. She looked confused for a moment and then obliged.

“The following funds are for Kefier of Gorent: two hundred ril for the safe passage of Mr. Boras Leg’mor to the Hollow Hills. Fifty ril for delivering Mrs. Ada’s fourteen head of cattle. Three hundred ril for five months’ work with Mr. S and Mr. O.”

“But that’s—nearly a year’s worth of backed up pay!” Kefier exclaimed, jumping up. He looked at the letter again. “I didn’t think I’d ever see a single coin, let alone all of it.”

“There’s another letter, Mr. Kefier.”

“Thank you. Can you read it for me, too?”

She pursed her lips. “It only says, Mr. Oji Kaggawa’s family will be informed of his unfortunate passing and given the sum of...”

“No, that’s all right. That’s enough.” He took the letters and folded them over his knee. “Did you see what he looked like? The man who sent all of this?”

“Oh, him? It’s just the baker’s boy. He said somebody else paid him to take it here.” She glanced up. “Is there anything else you want me to read for you, Mr. Kefier? It’s nearly dawn and I have a lot of work to do. The mistress, she likes her hot bath before the temple bells.”

“No,” he said. He tried to think. Algat wouldn’t—but what if the man was learning? You catch a dog by throwing a hunk of meat his way, not pelting him with stone. More likely they wanted to avoid the hassle of Cairntown guards and a quadruple murder in the home of a famous singer and were waiting, even now, at the inns, the stores, and the roads.

He clasped his hands together as he considered his options. He had coin; he could go anywhere. Whoever sent him that money was telling him as much. He reconsidered that it was Algat—Algat wouldn’t have bothered with Oji. He wasn’t that smart, wasn’t that sort of man at all. Hadn’t Lisa said as much about the mercenaries? Ruthless, cold, with no ounce of subtlety or cunning.

Ylir yn Garr wasn’t one of them. The money would’ve come from him. But Kefier doubted it was from the goodness of his heart. Mentioning Oji was the clue. It was deliberate, a signal telling him, Kefier, to give up. To let it go. Oji was dead. Move on with your life, boy. What’s wrong with you? Isn’t this what you wanted? Enough coin to carve something of your own, to be whatever sort of man you want to be.

He closed his eyes, remembering how light Oji felt in his arms as he died. A strange thought to be having now. Shouldn’t he have been heavier?

Another thought drifted into his head. The strange things in the Kag. The monster in the forest. The thing in the cave back in Hartmur.

Ylir yn Garr didn’t want him dead, but he wanted Kefier to look away. The coin he was holding was to buy his silence. Whatever he had hired the faction for was something Kefier and Oji were never supposed to see.

The fucking bastard.

“Actually, Jerisi!” he called out, following her to the kitchen. “Have you got a map somewhere? Grab a candle and help me read it, won’t you?”

Summer

Interlude

The mainland is not even an entire sea away, and yet already Dai can tell how different things are here. The lawless west, some say, extend as far as the first city of Jin-Sayeng. There is certainly no short supply of things from the Kag: their furniture, the people, the food. Even the stories.

He wanders out of his new home for the first time to hear a storyteller address a crowd. The man’s voice was low and rumbly, with a tremor that could unearth the world’s secrets. Dai, momentarily out of his mother’s reach, stops to listen.

“It is not recorded how Agartes knew it was his son’s head inside the box,” the old man says.

“You don’t start a story that way!” someone calls from the back.

The old man frowns. “I’m telling it my way, and I say it starts thus: it is not recorded how Agartes knew that it was his son’s head inside the box.” He pauses now, waiting for the crowd to defy him further. When they don’t, he continues.

“Some speculate that even as far back as the Battle at Kiel Peak, he was already showing signs of being connected to the agan. That might indeed explain many of his heroic deeds and why he had always seemed to be in the right place at the right time—at least, until that day.

“What is written is how Agartes paused at the doorway for a long time. Creases lined his forehead, but his face remained impassive. He turned to his steward, the dark-bearded Urthen, and said, ‘There’s nothing here.’

“‘Are you certain?’ Urthen tried to peer through the doorway, but Agartes’s enormous frame was blocking his view.

“‘I am always certain.’ Agartes’s voice was calm and clear. ‘Check on the others. I will meet you outside.’

“‘Urthen tipped his head forward and disappeared around the path that led to the servants’ quarters, a few minutes’ walk from the main house. When they first married, Myrn had nightmares of dying in her bed in a fire and took the liberty of having a separate building constructed uphill. It had twelve rooms, a kitchen with an oven large enough for a roast pig, and a pantry three rooms big. And because Myrn was the kind of woman who took her fears and turned them into accomplishments, she commissioned the builder Sogar apn Tal for an enormous dining hall and garden. The parties she hosted had been the talk of Tilarthan for many years.

“Agartes sat down. Thinking about Myrn’s parties did nothing to stop his trembling hands. He looked at the box again, angled near the staircase. It was the wooden kind they shipped fruit in and the bottom of it was wet.

“He took a deep breath and convinced himself that it was probably one of his dogs, dismembered to frighten him. That got him out of the chair. He tipped the box over with his foot. The head rolled out and stopped by the pile of boots at the door. Myar’s eyes stared into space. It was difficult to tell if he died fighting, struggling, or unaware.

“Myar. The sturdy, bright, athletic one who liked horses and wanted so badly to be a blacksmith someday. Agartes always agreed half-heartedly, because he and Myrn had enough money to send him to school, and why should the boy be holding a hammer and tongs when he could learn from books and making a name for himself? The last time they had talked about that, a month ago from today, Myar had been insistent. ‘But Da,’ he’d said, his nose wrinkling the way it always had since he was a child, ‘Rusak is willing to apprentice me in Tilarthan. We’re not talking about horseshoes, Da. I don’t want to be a farrier. Think about it. I can learn about weapons and make real art!’

“Agartes removed his cloak and covered the head with it. His heart was fluttering, like an autumn leaf struggling against the wind. It took him a moment, but he managed to murmur Yohak’s prayer of peace before starting up the stairs.

“Aldeti was in the hall right next to the staircase, curled up in a ball so tight that at first, Agartes could’ve sworn he was just asleep. His viol lay a few feet from him, ever faithful in death even as in life, shattered in several pieces. Agartes closed his eyes and uttered his second prayer that night. He added another prayer after that, that it would be the last. He tightened his jaw and pressed forward.

“A dead dog met him in the study. And also Jairon and Sera, the twins, their arms wrapped tight as if trying to shield each other from whatever it was that ended their lives. His face maintained its composure as he found a blanket for them. Even when he saw their mother, his wife Myrn, on the floor at the other end of the room, he didn’t weep.

“He got to his knees and sat next to her. He thought back to the day they met—how she wore a plain cotton dress, hair unbound. ‘Why are you staring at me?’ she’d demanded of him. She didn’t care that he’d just been made general by the king of Hafod an hour ago. She was only fifteen years old, daughter of a minor lord, and to her he was nothing but a source of amusement—an older man hopelessly in love.

“She was twenty when they wed; he had waited, wooed her for that long. ‘Fine,’ she’d said, the day she agreed. ‘I’ve had it with your pestering. You,’ she’d added, pointing at her decrepit, toothless father who wanted the wedding even more than Agartes did, ‘Make sure my dowry’s big enough. I don’t want to run a household on a budget. We are having children, right?’ She’d glanced at Agartes, her eyes burning. ‘You’re not one of those old fools who think children just get underfoot? I’ve always wanted a big family.’

“‘We’ll have a big family,’ he’d replied, laughing. ‘As big as you want. Anything that’s mine to give is yours, Myrn.’

“‘It better be.’

“Agartes glanced at her body and tried to say another prayer, but this time the words stuck in his throat. He noticed her broken nails and the scratches on her face; she must have tried really hard to fight them off. But her ripped dress and her soiled undergarments, discarded in a corner, also told him she had failed. They’d ripped her throat, too, after they were done. Or before.

“He felt bile in his mouth and left the room. He nearly tripped on Gorrhen, his eldest. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed him on the way back. Gorrhen, too, had tried to fight—there was a sword in his hand and a grimace on his otherwise still face. His other arm was gone. Gorrhen was going to go with Myar to Tilarthan to get him settled in. He’d sworn, said he knew people. ‘Women, you mean,’ Agartes had told him, laughing. Gorrhen had grinned back and Jonar, who was twelve and had been listening to the conversation, flushed a deep red.

“‘Jonar!’ he now said out loud, wanting to get it all over and done with. ‘Vayna! Can you hear me?” He thought that if he named them, they would come running to his open arms the way they always did. He thought if he heard their names it would snap him back to reality—that he would wake up and Myrn would hold him while the rest of this nightmare played out in his head, and only in his head. Only in his head, dear Yohak, please.

“Agartes found Jonar’s body downstairs, in the family dining hall, with two of the servants. As he stood there, he heard a faint noise, like a cat’s mewl, from upstairs. ‘Vayna,” he gasped, like it was his last breath. His hands shook.

“He found her in his own bedroom, hiding underneath the velvet covers. ‘Da,’ she squeaked. Her face was white, but there was no mark on her body. He gathered her in his arms and cradled her head against his chest as if she was an infant all over again. Against her soft skin, he was distinctly aware of his callused hands.

“‘It’s all right now, my sweet,’ he murmured. Tears streaked past his wrinkled eyes and down his scarred face. He smoothed her beautiful, dark curls, remembering that she had been born with a full head and that they had never cut it. ‘Da’s here. I won’t let them harm you. You still have me, my little one.’

“The storyteller pauses now, staring at the crowd. His eyes flick past them to settle on Dai. There is a furtive grin on his face—playful, almost, a man who knew the power he held in the story he was laying out. ‘When he woke up,’ he continues, “he was in a room he couldn’t recognize. The ceiling was made of brick; his house had plaster on it. He saw Urthen standing over him. ‘Yohak curse you, Urth,’ he grumbled. ‘We should have been on the road hours ago.’

“‘Sir?’

“‘The road. Myrn explicitly told me if I was late for her gathering I might as well not—’ He got up and felt a burning pain along his chest. ‘What did you give me, Urthen? My arms feel like lead! Is that smell fox fern salve? Why—’

“Urthen placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘You don’t remember, sir?’

“The grave tone in Urthen’s voice jolted him. He tried to think. The memory that came to him, however, was several years old. Jonar had just been born. He was rubbing the infant’s thin hand with his finger and mentally tracing the lines on his lips, his tiny nose, and his dark eyes so that they would be etched in his memory forever. Born weeks too early, Jonar was so small he did not look like he would live another day. Gorrhen had come up to him tentatively.

“‘You want to see the baby?’ he remembered asking.

“The eight-year-old nodded. He leaned over the armrest. Gorrhen peered at his brother’s red face and was silent for a long time. ‘He’ll be okay,’ he finally said, turning to his father. ‘When he’s strong enough, I can teach him how to ride on my pony. I’m getting too big for Prance, anyway.’

“The memory faded. He realized that Urthen was waiting for his response with bated breath. He struggled to regain control of his senses and said, ‘Have you sent men to find the ones that did this?’

“Urthen nodded. ‘Olfren of Dageis must have sent the orders. I am certain of this.’

“‘He wants me unmanned. So that I cannot lead the king’s forces into battle against him.’

“‘You’ll prove him wrong, won’t you?’

“Agartes’s mouth ran dry. He turned away from Urthen and glanced around the room. He noticed there were no other beds. ‘Where’s Vayna?’ he demanded.

“‘Sir?’

“‘Vayna. Have you found a nurse to care for her? Send for Myrna’s sister. A woman kin will be better than a stranger in these times.’

“‘Sir,’ Urthen murmured. ‘You know she’s gone, just like the others.’

“Agartes shook his head. ‘No. She was alive when I found her. Rot your eyeballs, Urthen, is this your idea of a joke? Take me to her now!’

“‘She died, sir. When we found you she was dead in your arms.’ Urthen swallowed. ‘I don’t know how else to tell you this. She was stiff. She must have died hours before you got there.’

“Agartes roared and stormed out of the room. His legs threatened to buckle under him, but he dragged himself out in the hall. Servants rushed in from all sides to hold him. He reached the doorway before they pulled him down. In the distance, he saw the building that was once his home up in flames.

“‘Leave him,’ a female voice whispered. A hooded figure appeared from the garden. The servants hesitated for a moment before letting him free. He stepped outside and instinctively reached for the sword that wasn’t on his hip.

“‘I’m sorry you had to find out this way,’ the figure said. She pulled her hood down, revealing the smooth face and pointed ears of a ka-eng. ‘They had tainted the place. Dageian arts. It is probably why they got as close as they did.’

“‘You burnt them, too?’ he asked.

“She lifted a sunburnt arm, wrapped in different wooden bangles, and placed it on his. ‘We could not risk more lives. When your man went in after you, he nearly died. I was surprised that you still lived. You were there too long.’

“‘You know these things? I was told the few ka-eng with the agan have fled to the mountains.’ He swallowed, looking up again at his burning home. The smell made him want to vomit. ‘He said my daughter died, too. Did you see her?’

“The ka-eng nodded.

“‘Because I saw her. She was alive,’ he snarled. ‘I’ve got a traitor or two in my midst, and I’d like to know who that is. You—who are you and what are you doing here?’

“She dipped her head. ‘I was passing by.’

“‘We’re in Hafod. Ka-eng and kusyani don’t just pass by. You came here for me.’

“She looked at him for a long time before nodding. ‘My master wanted to speak with you. You have met him before, I think. Goche is his name.’

“‘Goche,’ Agartes repeated. He smiled from the corner of his mouth. ‘I am done with speaking, I think. Today shows me that my path only leads to war and death.’ He knelt, his hands tightened into fists. He closed his eyes. ‘Vayna,’ he added. ‘She was alive. I saw her. I held her. Why are you telling me I will never hold her again?’

“The ka-eng took a deep breath. ‘Perhaps your mind—’

“‘I am Agartes Allaicras. I do not let minor details escape me. I saw the rest of them, didn’t I? She called me, spoke to me. Yet Urthen told me she was dead hours before I got there. What did she die of, ka-eng? Tell me, if you know so much.’

“‘She was cut down, like the others.’

“‘She was whole. I saw.’

“‘Perhaps.’ The ka-eng paused. ‘Her soul may have hung back, waited for you. They are allowed to do that sometimes. You saw her spirit, threading through the stream of agan connected through you.’

“‘I felt her in my arms.’

“‘You must have held her before. You were remembering, but you had one foot stepping into the other plane. One does not forget the taste of water or the smell of air.’

“His eye stung. He stubbornly wiped it and looked up at the sky. ‘I hope you’re right,’ he murmured.

“‘My master Goche says that you possess a strong connection to the agan. Have you not had other such experiences in your youth? Seen things or manipulated elements you otherwise shouldn’t have?’

“‘When I met Goche twenty-five years ago, at the ridge near Vildar, some things did happen. But I’ve always thought it was him all along. He wanted to make a hero out of me and got that. So forgive me if I am more suspicious of him than I normally am.’

“‘He wants nothing, hero, but what he has always wanted—peace throughout our land. Believe me. That I came at such an unfortunate time...’

“Agartes snorted. ‘Unfortunate? You have a funny way of expressing yourself.’

“‘I apologize.’

“‘Ka-eng, I don’t have time for this. I need to find my sword and sharpen it. I have an arrogant Dageian king to kill and no reason to hold back any longer. If I am alive by the end of this war, come to me. Maybe I’ll have time to entertain you then.’

“‘Goche tells me that if you cannot control yourself, and your strength in the agan, you can wreak havoc through the land. You speak of winning. If that happens, then good. But you have seen Dageian handiwork in your own household. Their arts cannot be met by sword alone and we do not want their presence in the Kag anymore than you do.’

“‘Piss on that.’

“‘Ajy...’

“Nobody else knew the name his mother gave him and he had not heard it in years. He looked up with a start.

“‘This agan...’ he began, his mind turning. Reaching. He tried to remember what his mother’s hair smelled like, realized he couldn’t. He couldn’t even remember her face. He could still hear the laughter in the courtyard, could still remember the timbre in Aldeti’s viol and the way the candles flickered each time he kissed them goodnight. One never forgets the taste of water or the smell of air. But water and air is...only water and air. He could remember the feel of his infant child in his arms twelve years ago, but could he hold on to everything for the rest of his life? They were all irrevocably behind him, now.

“The ka-eng’s voice broke into his thoughts. ‘Come with me. Come back to Cael. We will talk. You do not have to do anything but that.’

“‘I saw Vayna because I possess this connection to the agan?’

“‘Possibly.’

“He clenched his teeth. ‘I’m too old for this,’ he said.

“‘Agartes Allaicras...’

“‘That name. Yes, yes,’ he murmured, getting up. His knees shook a little, but he tried to ignore that. ‘I’ll go with you. I’ll listen to what Goche has to say this time. Just don’t let him get in the way of me sticking a knife between Olfren’s ribs. Don’t even dare mention otherwise.’

The storyteller takes a deep breath. “Here, at this point, the texts go their separate ways. Ranochi wrote a highly controversial play that has Agartes marrying the ka-eng and living a new life with her people. The most popular version, written by Cavalli in ballad form, tells of Agartes returning from Cael to defeat Olfren before retiring to the mountains. He has avenged his family, he would say, and so will live his few short years in peace before seeing them again in the after world. End story.

“Except of course Cavalli was not native and did not know that in those days, the Kags did not believe in the after world. His ballad made it a highly debatable subject in the following centuries, but in those days, the Kags knew without a shadow of a doubt that Yohak returns souls. That everything from the past is forgotten; all memories, all hopes, all dreams, all loves, in place of a new life. There are no reunions, only eternal good-byes. And Agartes Allaicras, blessed defender of the Kag, was also known as the champion of Yohak. He never doubted those beliefs.”

He places a finger on his lips before putting his hands together. “The true story, as always, is in the details.”

Chapter One

Above the taste of last night’s wine and the feel of silk around his bare legs came the unmistakable sound of the morning prayers from the street below. Ylir groaned and tried to shut the window behind the bed, eyes still closed. It wouldn’t budge. He gave up, slumped back into the mattress, and tried hard not to gag on the incense.

“Honestly,” Dalna said, moving about him. She slid the windows closed. “For a man so charming in the evenings—”

“It was only my intoxication for you, my love.” He snatched a pillow and placed it over his face.

She removed it just as quickly. “And now you aren’t, I suppose?”

He cracked one eye open and grinned. Somehow, while he slept, she had gotten up and dressed. Her hair was held up in that absurd Caelian fashion and her gown was so ridiculously frilly he longed to rip it off her right then and there. He nearly said so. But she could read him better than he thought and pushed him back into the pillows with her finger over his lips. “There’s meetings I have to attend. Some dispute over our land near Vildar.”

“It will wait for you.”

“It took me an hour just to get into this corset!”

“And it will take me but a few breaths to unlace it.” He placed his lips over the thin fabric around her shoulder and began kissing her, drifting up to her neck. She made a soft sound. He took that as an assent and gently pushed himself over her.

“Ylir—” She smacked him away, though it seemed to him it was done with much regret. “There’s breakfast to be had downstairs. You’ll send me a message when you can?” When he didn’t reply immediately, she drifted next to him and placed her hand over his. “Will you? Ylir.”

“Of course I will. As soon as I can.” He pulled himself up, lifted her chin to him, and kissed her. She flushed.

“There’s a function tomorrow evening, at the Grand Swan, that I have to...” she started, uncertainly. For a woman who could be so feral in bed, she was surprisingly shy in their conversations. He couldn’t help but smile at that.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

She left, and he closed his eyes and dozed off long enough for him to hear her carriage leave the street. Someone knocked at the door and the maid’s voice was hushed, as if she was afraid—really, at this day and age!—that the neighbours might hear. “Breakfast is ready, sir. Please get ready soon.”

He sighed. Did she think he was planning to stay in bed until the next Yohak’s Day? But he grinned and said, “Of course, miss,” in as placid a tone as he could muster. He got up, stretched, and began the laborious task of putting on his clothes.

Rikel was at the table when he appeared. He looked up from his plate of black bread and sausage and narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t told you were here,” he said.

Ylir took the seat right across from his and clapped his hands. “Oh? Well, I’m sure it was only because your mother didn’t want to bother your sleep. Don’t you have lessons?”

“My master is ill,” Rikel said. He paused while the maid placed another plate on the table. When she returned to the kitchen, he grumbled, “My father will be home any moment.”

“Perhaps. The winds are fair this season and I’m sure his ship wouldn’t run into any trouble with the Dageians.”

“Why, you stupid gasa!”

Ylir ignored the outburst and started cutting a sausage into tiny pieces. He could hear Rikel’s breathing, though. The twelve-year-old inherited his father’s temper, if Dalna’s stories were anything to go by. Of course, Ylir didn’t have the pleasure of first-hand knowledge, and was glad if things remained that way. He popped a bite of sausage into his mouth, chewed, and only once he’d swallowed did he turn back to the boy and say, “Sit. You might upend the table, pressing on it like that.”

“You’re Gasparian. You don’t have the right to tell a Caelian anything.”

“I am not Gasparian and even if I was, then my kingdom would rule half the continent your puny country is in. No one is above being told what to do, boy. Sit and don’t let me upset your meal.”

Rikel sat, but he continued to glare daggers at him. “My father will find out, someday,” he said.

Ylir gave him a bored look. “Oh? And I’m sure you’ll tell him, of course? Watch him hit your mother? Maybe they’ll get divorced and you’ll have the pleasure of spending summer festivals in two houses.” He laughed. “Your anger is wasted on me. I’ve got no desire to be friends with you, boy, nor will that stop me from seeing your mother if she wants it. Have a good, long chat with your father instead, if you can keep him around long enough. You probably shouldn’t cry, either. This sausage is way too salty as it is.”

That did it. Rikel finally shoved his plate aside and stomped off. Ylir smiled from the corner of his mouth and continued eating. Someday, he thought, that boy really ought to learn patience. Preferably before it killed him. Not knowing how to deal with people did that, sometimes, especially since his father repackaged Kiel ore as Caelian.

The door-bell rang. Ylir looked up curiously, but he wasn’t worried. Sagnor yn Arom had only sailed three weeks ago and even that he could deal with if he had to. The maid hurried past the dining hall. He heard the door click open and a few hushed voices, and then Jarche strode in, her sun hat almost covering, but not quite, the angry look in her eyes.

“You!” she hissed. Her greyish skin was tinged with red.

“I do have a name,” he said mildly. “Even if hardly anyone insists on using it these days. Won’t you sit and join me?”

“You have been late,” she retorted. “Eight days. Eight days. I’ve sent out men scouring the roads for you, thinking perhaps you’ve been taken by bandits or worse, and then I find you here, here, of all places!”

“I sent a letter from Cairntown informing you of my plans.”

“What plans? All your letter said was, I’m heading back. That’s it! You should’ve been here eight days ago!”

“I was. The Grey Rose opened four days ago, and I’d have been home then, only Dalna couldn’t see it until last night. So.” He broke a piece of bread and carefully nibbled on it.

Jarche’s eyes looked like they would pop out of her head. “And so?” the ka-eng hissed. Her narrow ears were drooping behind her, the way they always did when she was angry. It reminded him of a wolf before it struck. “A retinue from Barun arrived here soon after your last contact with us. Nearly two weeks ago.”

“Barun?” he asked, wiping his lips with a towel. “Concerning our Gasparian project, then? But I thought that’s already been approved...”

Jarche shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, it’s been approved, but that has nothing to do with that, I don’t think. Lord Azchai of Barun himself—in person. He’s at home right now, sitting there, waiting for you.”

“Azchai? I don’t think I’ve heard of this fellow.”

“He’s a minor lak’an of some farming province bordering Jin-Sayeng. Are you even listening to me, Ylir? He’s waiting for you.”

“Yes, I got that the first time. What in heaven’s name does he want?”

“He didn’t say.” She took a sausage from his plate and chewed it thoughtfully. “He arrived with his men—a dozen of them, mind you—and demanded for Hertra Ferral. When I told him you won’t be back for a few days yet, he demanded we house him, as is his right as a Lord of Gaspar. Even now they’re sitting there eating our way into the poorhouse.”

“Goodness, Jarche, don’t be so dramatic. Yn Garr knows?”

“I sent him a message right after, and his reply was, ‘Humour them.’”

Ylir snorted. “So he means for me to take care of this one, too. Well.” He slid on his gloves. “Did you bring a carriage, or do you intend for me to walk?”

Jarche laughed. “A carriage? After I spent the last week sniffing about Cael City for you? Please.”

“Lead on, then,” Ylir said, sighing.

Yn Garr’s estate stood in the middle of a sprawling acre of land, enormous by Cael’s standards. Ylir wasn’t sure what he hated the most about it—the winding stairs or the numerous rooms, most of which contained nothing but dusty old books that fell apart when you touched them. He’d spent much of his youth agonizing over some of those tomes and perhaps part of the reason he detested coming home so much was the fear that Yn Garr would require him, yet again, to memorize them.

“Nice touch you’ve done with the place,” he said. Jarche pursed her lips. Signs of their visitors were strewn across the yard in the form of horse dung, trampled brush, and piles of weaponry which, Ylir assumed, Jarche had not allowed inside the estate for fear of her precious vases. A couple of tents were erected right beside the orange trees.

“Half the lot can’t speak Kagtar,” she said while she unlocked the front gate. “I’ve had to learn Gasparian on the fly, just so I can tell them to please, don’t eat the cat. Didn’t do a damn thing.”

He arched his brows. “Really? The cat is gone?”

“Don’t look so happy. I lent her to Mrs. Crawne in the meantime.”

“Pity.” He glanced around the footpath. “I’m surprised the guards haven’t come poking their nose into this mess yet.”

Jarche sighed. “Oh, they have. ‘Campfires aren’t allowed in Cael, Ms. Jarche. We thought a house was being torched over here, Ms. Jarche.’ I just directed all the fines to the master’s account—let him deal with this humour. Tsah! Do you want to wait in the study? I’ll send him up there.”

“Please.” Ylir undid his cloak, draped it over his arm, and proceeded with the nasty business of stomping up to the third floor. He had forgotten how much trouble his heavy boots had with the slippery steps. He entered the study without too much affront to his dignity and took the seat behind the table. There was already a pile of paperwork for him and Jarche, bless her, had purposely neglected to organize it. He started sifting through them without really meaning to do anything about it.

The double doors opened and Jarche walked in, her face taut. “Lord Azchai of Barun,” she announced, bowing. She rolled her eyes at Ylir and stood aside.

Ylir got up just as the man—the tallest man he must have ever seen—walked in. He didn’t really mind dealing with Gasparians, but their height always took him aback. And of course, Jarche wasn’t kidding when she said this one was a lord, even if it was of nothing but a scattering of farmlands here and there. He looked like it, with the white robes that contrasted against his sun-browned skin, the golden rope around his waist, and the garnet set in the middle of his turban. “You,” he said, as soon as his eyes landed on Ylir. His eyes were like slits and his fierce expression was made even sharper by the pointed edges of his moustache and beard. “Hertra Ferral?”

“Hertra Ylir yn Ferral, yes,” Ylir said. “It is a pleasure to welcome you into our humble abode, Lord Barun. May I offer you a drink?”

Azchai frowned. “Pleasantries will not easily fix this, Ferral. You have made me and my men wait a very long time.”

“I was not informed of your arrival,” Ylir said, walking over to the cupboard, anyway. “As you must have been told, I was away on pressing business in the Kago region and because of some unforeseeable circumstances, was delayed for several days. My master’s businesses are complex and take up most of my time.” He poured two glasses of honey-coloured brandy and offered one to Azchai. “If you will? It is not poison, I assure you.”

“I am inclined to be suspicious now that you have,” Azchai said, but he took the glass anyway and sniffed it. He did not hold it by the stem, as the Kags do, but deep in the palm of his hand, like a cup. “You have strange tastes here in Cael. But this is not entirely unpleasant.”

“I’m glad you think so. So, my lord, what sort of service might these simple merchants offer you?”

Azchai smacked his lips. “Simple? Bah! You are either foolishly modest or think little of me. Your Yn Garr’s Industries is one of the largest trading companies in this continent and from what I understand you have now set your eyes on Gaspar. I can tell you right now, many of my countrymen are nervous.”

“That is incorrect. We are not a large company, sir.”

“Ah, but you do make a hefty profit.” Azchai’s eyes twinkled.

Ylir crossed his arms. It was not the first time a minor lord or another had presumed it their right to force Yn Garr’s business in their hand, but until now, no one had had the gall to say it to his face. “We do all right,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Keeps the wine flowing. Good cheese once in a while. I will ask you again, sir—what does Barun need of us?”

“I wanted to offer a...gesture of good-will. So to speak. You are setting up operations in Gaspar. In the province of Al-ir.”

Ylir cocked his head. “Indeed. My master had got it into his head that Gaspar might appreciate some of our good Caelian stone.”

“We have plenty enough stone in Gaspar, Ferral.”

“And they are beautiful! But there are certain procedures possible with Caelian stone, sir, that—well, you have seen our temples, no doubt? Our alabaster is something that many of your countrymen appreciate and they have expressed, many times, that such buildings in the middle of your desert sands...”

Azchai banged the glass against the table. “Enough of your prattle. Whatever your purpose, you can’t deny that you will encounter opposition. There are hundreds of lords in Gaspar, sir, and most of them do not believe in foreigners. Flaunt your Caelian stone some more and you will find a band of mandraagars streaming through that mountain pass to claim it for themselves.”

Ylir pressed his lips together. “Oh, I hope we don’t get that far.” Did the man think he was threatening a child? Gasparian warrior-mages streaming through the mountain pass indeed. The miniscule tunnel that connected Cael to the sprawling kingdom of Gaspar was made by Yn Garr Industries decades before his time and would collapse from the sort of thunderous marching an army is capable of.

Azchai seemed to take more from his tone than he intended. The man made an elaborate gesture with his arms and laughed through his thick beard. “It won’t, if you accept my offer. You can have my men—as many men as you need for your operations. What my land lacks in splendour I more than make up for in the strength and dedication of my people.”

“I don’t know if we could find any use for goatherds, Lord Barun.” This time, he couldn’t hide the sarcasm from his voice.

Azchai pointed at him. “You overstep your bounds.”

He tipped his head slightly. “Pardon me. I see you are not used to dealing with honesty.”

“I’m offering you warriors, Ferral! Warriors to defend your rag-tag group from the inevitable onslaught the warlords will throw at you! Why, Lak’an Mhagaza himself is probably just waiting for your first big payout before he turns your whole operation upside-down. I know the man, Ylir. I know Gaspar. For a cut of your profit, you can have this knowledge and my support. I am good on my word.”

Ylir fell silent for a few moments. The man reeked of desperation, which meant, of course, that turning him down wouldn’t be easy. Ylir wasn’t sure if Yn Garr would appreciate having to give a percentage of their earnings over to someone else, especially on demand like this. There was some sense in the man’s words, but his personality left a lot to be desired. The haphazard way he approached the whole situation was not how Ylir liked to do business. Briefly, he considered if running his sword through the man’s heart would leave a deplorable amount of blood in his study. Then he realized that even if that had been an option, he had forgotten his sword in Dalna’s room.

Tread lightly, someone had once told him a long time ago. They were words meant for an entirely different thing, but he used them, and got this far.

“That is a very good offer,” he said at last.

Azchai’s face contorted. “But?”

He smiled. “But I do not have the final say on this. My master, Yn Garr—”

“Your little wood elf said she doesn’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Jarche is a ka-eng, Lord Barun, a native of Cael, and a partner.”

“Pah! She is also a woman.”

Ylir pretended to look at the papers on his desk for a moment. “I will send word to you when he returns and makes his decision,” he said, after the rush of anger—and his desire to throw the man through the window—subsided. “Trust me when I say I will promise to attempt to persuade him in your favour. It makes a lot of sense and I commend you for bringing it to my attention.”

Azchai stared at him, his black brows knotted. “That’s it? That’s the best you can do?”

“At this moment, yes.”

“Then I hold you accountable for your promise!” The man inclined his head and started to walk out of the study.

“My lord…” Ylir began.

“What?”

“I trust in your discretion in this.”

“Why else did you think I came here personally?” Azchai snarled. He swore and walked through the doors, slamming it behind him.

Ylir found his knees again and sat down. He heard shouting downstairs and began sorting through the paperwork, trying to ignore it. Eventually, he glanced out the window and saw the group filing out on the road on horseback. He made a point to check on the orange trees to make sure they were still there. Yn Garr had imported them from Dageis, and the last thing he needed was that sort of mess added to his plate.

It was hours later when Jarche appeared with a bowl of diced potatoes and smoked fish. He hadn’t realized it was already suppertime. “This is all the food we have left,” she said, smiling at him. “Unless you’re partial to leek and carrot soup?”

“I’ll send someone to restock our pantry.”

“Already did. Don’t bother.” She glanced at the table. “I take it we’ve got trouble?”

“As usual. Nothing we can’t handle. Get me some fresh parchment and ink, Jarche. I’ve left my sword at Dalna’s and would like it sent here before her husband starts thinking she’d taken up northern fencing.” He grinned. “I’d also like to send a message to Baeddan of Boarshind. After that scandal you made, man probably thinks I’m dead. It’s never good when the boss dies, Jarche—remember that.”

“Funny. I remember teaching you that when I did all the work.”

Ylir laughed. “And aren’t you proud of your student now?”

Lord Azchai of Barun’s visit was quickly shuffled to the furthest corner of Ylir’s mind. There was too much work to be done and not enough time, it seemed, to do it right. There was compensation to be paid for the workers’ families who died in the accident at Serpentsridge, and bribes to certain Dageian authorities to be diplomatically handled. Last season’s profits had to be tallied up so decisions could be made—is it really worth the trouble, honestly, to be selling so much Kielian basket-weave to the north?

And of course, the construction at Al-ir was running into trouble and it had nothing whatsoever to do with Gasparian lords. Their builder, a certain Hamis from Hafod, had defaulted. Thirty thousand ril had gone into hiding with him. Yn Garr’s latest letter ordered Ylir to get to Al-ir as quickly as he can to personally make sure the operation doesn’t collapse over their heads, and also to get the Boarshind after that fool’s tail. It was ridiculous, because Baeddan detested not meeting clients to their face, and Ylir almost certainly couldn’t be in two places at once.

“Do you know what I want?” he demanded of his man Burg as soon as he walked into the room.

Burg grinned placidly at him, his arms folded over his barrel chest. “Two buxom maidens under a warm blanket on a frosty night?”

“Well, that,” Ylir said. “And a little house on the shore of Gilwin, in Hafod, where there’s padded carriages that will take you to the next town for a bite of roast pheasant with gravy and then back. Do you know it takes fifty days on horseback to get to Al-ir from here?”

“Having been tasked with bringing that first message to the Al-ir Lord, who by the way is an extremely unpleasant fellow, yes, I am in fact aware. And it’s actually sixty days, by my count.”

“Sorry. I’d forgotten that was you.” Ylir gave an inward groan and ran his fingers through his hair. “I thought for sure I’d have at least until summer. I hate horses.”

“I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat. Dealing with the Boarshind is tricky business. Oh, I know you’ll say Baeddan isn’t so bad, and I grant you, maybe he’s not most days, but do you know where they pick those men up? The gutters of Cairntown and half the cities in the Kag would be full if not for that group. If you could get some good, honest men to do that work for you instead...”

Ylir grinned. “And pray, tell me, where we can get some good honest men to track down Hamis Begram and rip his eyes out and—hold on.” He glanced at the missive on his desk. “And cut off his hands and stuff them in his mouth and slice off his tongue, after making sure we’ve recovered as much of the money as we can. Oh, and parade the poor fool around Hafod without anyone the wiser.”

“Exactly my point. Why deal with men who don’t think twice when told to do something like that?”

Ylir clicked his tongue. “Come now, Burg, don’t tell me you don’t want the opportunity to visit your family in Ni’in? I’ll send a nice trinket for you to take to your fiancée.”

Burg shook his head. “Last thing I want is my family learning I’m dealing with the Boarshind. Speaking of which—I delivered that package you gave me. You know, before you disappeared with that woman.”

“I did not disappear, good sir. I was simply occupied.”

“Difficult to convince Miss Jarche otherwise.”

“So he received it then?” Ylir tried to look nonchalant.

Burg nodded. “He also apparently disappeared the day after.”

Ylir cursed. “I didn’t count on him being so stupid. Lillah Artek and her influence would have protected him a good few weeks at least. Which way did he go? North, back south? West?”

“None of those. I mean it this time. Disappeared. Poof. Hmm, how shall I put this? Algat’s men are baffled. I met a few for drinks. For all intents and purposes, he’s gone. They’re not sure what to do next.” He shrugged. “Did Baeddan ask you to do this thing?”

“Not your business, Burg, I told you that.”

“Well, I sort of like to know what kind of chopping block I’m putting my head under.” Burg snorted. “When do you leave?”

“I don’t know. When can I find a horse willing to put up with my nonsense for the next two months? Ah, curse that stupid old man! If only we’d gone with Sogan’s Artisans...their builders are competent, I hear. Maybe not so well known, more expensive definitely, but then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Maybe not.” Burg crossed his arms. “I’ve got an idea, if you’re willing to hear me out.”

“Do tell.”

Burg approached his desk and grabbed the map from underneath the pile of papers. “Here,” he said, pointing. “Is Al-ir. Here is the port city of Aret-ni. Five days on horseback and you’re there.”

“No Cael passage ship will brave Gasparian waters.”

“Decommission one of yours. There’s one on the docks at Ahrdias right now, waiting to be loaded with what—turnips?”

“Lumber,” Ylir said. He stroked his short beard. “I suppose we can take the loss, if it’s between that and salvaging the Al-ir construction. But our sailors won’t hear of it, Burg. That superstitious lot will throw me overboard at the slightest provocation. You can’t pay your way out of ignorance.”

“Oh, yes you can. I happen to know that there are many competent sailors within the Boarshind. There should be a group of them in Ni’in at any given time. Later, you can get the same lot to find this Bergram, and I don’t have to go meet Baeddan at all. We’ll just send a letter.” He gave a smug smile.

That actually took Ylir by surprise. He looked up and laughed. “Anything to get out of that, huh, Burg?”

Burg grew sombre. “Baeddan killed my uncle, Ylir. You know I’ll do anything for you, but I don’t think I’ll be able to hold my temper that much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Truly, I am.” He pulled the map closer to study it. “If we follow your idea, I can be in Al-ir before the season is done.”

Burg tipped his head forward. “Glad I can be of help.” He started to leave, and Ylir clicked his tongue.

“Now, now, Burg, you’re not off the hook yet. I’ll need you to make the arrangements for me.”

“Where did you think I was going?” Burg huffed indignantly.

“And you’re still coming with me all the way. I won’t let you deal with Baeddan, but if I’m sailing halfway around the continent in a ship full of Boarshind men, I’ll need you at my side.”

“Rats. Any way I can bail out on you?”

“I don’t know,” Ylir said casually. “Have you discovered the secret to teleporting yet?”

Burg sighed. “I’ll get on it then.”

Ylir folded the map as soon as Burg left and began listlessly sifting through the remains of his lunch. Kefier disappeared. Who could’ve guessed? The man had left a blazing trail from Cairntown to here. Supposing Algat’s men had caught up with him, killed him and dumped him somewhere and then lied about it to Burgois?

Not your problem, he thought, leaning back against his chair with his fingers over the bridge of his nose. There was too much work to do and he could not afford to spend so much time worrying about little things. He had tried his best; that was all that mattered. He slowly got up, strapping his sword—an elaborately decorated karis he had bought from Dageis a few years back—to his waist and made the long descent to the main hall.

The first thing that caught his eye was the wolfhound comfortably curled around the rug in front of the fireplace. “Bartleby,” he said. The great dog looked up and thumped his tail.

The man on the armchair pretended not to notice him. There was a book on his lap. There were always books on his lap, or tucked under his arms, or on the bed beside him while he slept. He was explicitly fond of books and once brought home an entire carriage-full, just because. “I met your man on the way out,” he said, turning a page. “Said something about decommissioning a ship?”

“I didn’t know you would be back so soon, master.” Ylir took the armchair across him and cradled Bartleby’s head in his hands. “I was on my way out to send you a message. How was Sorda?”

“Cold, as usual.” Yn Garr flipped another page, looking entirely too relaxed for someone who, according to the messenger, had been so furious when he learned about Hamis’ treachery that he broke off a leg from a table and used it to smash the rest into smithereens. Ylir couldn’t read him and he wasn’t really sure, if that bothered him or not. He could read most men easily, in contrast. “Gasparian authority is heavy in Aret-ni, I will warn you now. Perhaps you should put aside this inconvenient fear of horses and be more sensible.”

Ylir flushed. “I thought that it might be a good test of my skills.”

Yn Garr lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve been practicing, then? Jarche tells me the most you’ve done is use it on unsuspecting merchants’ wives.”

He smiled at that. “I put an idea into a man’s head. It blossomed. He was against it, in the beginning.”

That got Yn Garr’s attention. He closed the book and pressed it against his knee. “Immediately?”

“It took time, master. Everything takes time.”

Yn Garr cursed under his breath. “That’s not good enough. Your ridiculous turtle’s pace is costing me much.” He got up. “You will take Aina’s Breath. Not that deplorable lumber ship. That tub won’t last a trip to Jin-Sayeng, let alone Gaspar. Yes, Aina’s Breath will get you there. She’s due to dock within the week for repairs.”

“And the cargo?”

“Leave it behind, throw it overboard. I don’t care.”

Yn Garr’s tone made him nervous. Ylir swallowed and took great care to keep his voice even. “With all due respect, sir, we were set to make a pretty hefty profit from that. And if we store it in the warehouses some of the goods wouldn’t last the winter.”

“Inconsequential. You know that isn’t the real problem here. We need access to the site, and we need a builder capable of finishing those tunnels before Mhagaza’s mages realize what we’re doing. If it concerns you so much, sell it to the Jins!” He snorted. “Maybe you’ll luck out and actually get a good price from those cheap bastards for once.”

“With all due respect, master—”

Yn Garr frowned. “I know you enough to know that disrespect is precisely what you mean when you say that.”

“All right. How can you be sure this is going to work? A tunnel to the Dageian border is going to take a long time. You told me yourself it took ten years to connect the Serpentsridge mines to Hartmur. The tunnel the company made from the northern mountains took at least three, and that was a strip through the mountain—a tiny sliver on the map, compared to what you were planning. And to do all of that under the noses of Gasparian authority…”

“Did I ask you to worry about the details?”

“You haven’t, but in case you haven’t noticed by now, master, I deal with all the unpleasantries brought on by these details. You still haven’t told me what happens after we connect the Al-ir project to Hartmur.”

“What do you mean, what happens? You know exactly what happens, Ylir.”

Ylir pretended to rub his head. “I’ve been away, master. The longer I stay away, the stronger it grows.”

“Which is why you’ve been honing your skills all this time. Tell me about this man.”

“He’s one of Baeddan’s younger officers. About a year ago, one of Baeddan’s men returned and killed another officer. He escaped, but this officer, Gaven, caught him after being eluded for many months. You can imagine how frustrating that was for a man who only wanted to go home and enjoy the comforts of his new ranking.”

“You smirk.”

“I can’t help it, master. I spoke with him, and he let this man go. I watched him escort him out of the grounds himself.”

Yn Garr took a deep breath. “Where is he now?”

Ylir blinked. “I’m sorry, sir? I wasn’t aware I was supposed to keep track of him.”

Silence followed. Ylir glanced down and pretended that his heart hadn’t started hammering against his chest. He tried to imagine what the old man meant and why, in God’s name, it mattered where a half-blood went after one was done with him. What did he miss? No one would for a second believe Gaven that he’d been witched—there was no proof of that. And that their faction’s best client did it? If he hadn’t done the deed himself, he wouldn’t believe it.

Yn Garr’s fingers drummed across his knee. Ylir had been his apprentice long enough to know, at least, that it meant he was brooding over about something else. He took the opportunity to breathe. The movement made Yn Garr turn back to him, but that something else, whatever it was, still weighed on him. His eyes were very far away. “This man, Gaven,” he started.

“What about him, master?”

“You must have worked a very strong spell to cause him to go against his nature.”

“I—yes, master. It was strong. I’ve not worked a spell like that before in my life.”

“You dared risk that?”

“Sir?”

“A spell that strong might have worked against you instead, turned you into a cripple for life. You must have put a lot of yourself into it—I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve imprinted yourself on him, given him a shadow of you, so to speak.” Yn Garr paused, as if weighing yet another thing on his mind. “All to prove a point?”

He shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “I’ve risked my life before.”

Yn Garr pressed his lips together, but if there was doubt on his mind, he didn’t say it. He threw a hand back. “Send word when you’re in Al-ir.”

“Sir—”

“What now?”

“The mages, at Enji…”

“What about them?”

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. The site is too close to Lake Enji. Surely Bannal’s mages are as bad as any of the mandraagars? I don’t really want to face Bannal again, not when there’s too much at stake.”

“And I told you to let me worry about that.”

“As long as we’re clear that I warned you, sir.” He smiled thinly. “Will you be staying home?”

Yn Garr smiled. He rarely did. “Home? No. Never. But I’ll be here.” He gestured to the dog and disappeared upstairs.

Chapter Two

Market day at the docks in Fuyyu was a pleasant enough affair on its own. Hana had urged her to stay behind and work—what money did they have for spending? They had left Akki and moved to Fuyyu after her father’s death to work, and nothing else. But Sume couldn’t do that to the boy. Not a child like Dai, who never complained, did all his chores, and kept out of the women’s way. Just last morning she had seen him peering through the shutters to watch the other children play on the street below. She’d heard him sigh once, as if aware it was a luxury he was denying himself, before shuffling off to help chop the vegetables.

He went to school in Akki. A soldier’s widow from Bara had set up a store there and taught some of the children how to read and write for a small fee. She had told Sume once, over a hot cup of tea during the monsoon, that she found Dai terribly intelligent. At six, he had already gone through the modest primers and scrolls she’d taken with her from the mainland and knew enough arithmetic to help out with her store once in a while. Sume had dreamt he might attend one of the colleges in Shirrokaru or Natu when he was older and grow up to be a scribe, perhaps even a priest or a scholar.

Now, of course, there was no chance for that happening, not even had they still access to Oji’s sporadic earnings. Children in Fuyyu were taught by their parents or not at all. The port city, already half-forgotten by the shaky monarchy, lacked any sort of formal educational arrangement. The richer folk—the ones who had no choice but to do business here—sent their youngsters off to better pastures. Tetsung himself had grown up in a town to the north, where the priestesses of Sakku made children recite proverbs from the prophet’s own texts. Both she and Hana would have to work twice over to even afford such a thought.

If he wasn’t going to have the assurance of a bright future, then she would at least give him the chance to be just a child for one afternoon. After her father’s death, they barely had time to spend together as a family. Dai was all she had left of the only men in the world she had ever loved, and she’d sworn she was going to do what it took to make sure he was happy. If he was at least happy, it was half the battle. She didn’t have much to give him but with this, she could at least try.

It took her some time to build up an argument, but once she started, Hana couldn’t even get a word in edge wise. They’d been working hard, she said. They did have some money. Enough, at least, for them not to go begging out on the street for food. They weren’t really going to buy anything. The boy deserved a break. She deserved a break. Maybe Hana would like to work herself to hag-dom but she would like to find a husband herself before she got too bent and wrinkly.

“Dear Sakku!” Hana had screamed, throwing a spool of thread in her direction. “Go! Take the boy, if that will keep you out of my hair for a day!” Sume had laughed, hugging her, before dashing downstairs to grab Dai from Errena’s doting company.

Dai had only seen the market that one time they got off the ship at the docks and it had been a quiet evening then. Now, the sights, the smells, and the sounds mesmerized him. Vendors of every sort of item imaginable crowded the streets. There was red rice from Natu, candied nuts and fruits from Bara, painted sparrows from the mountains and leaves of apaiy from the Sougen plains. She went to one of the brightly coloured stalls and bought a bag of honeyed plums. Dai’s eyes grew wide at the sight of them. “Don’t tell your mother,” Sume grinned, pressing the bag into his hands.

“She’ll know,” he grumbled. “She always knows.”

“Then I’ll tell her it’s my money and I can do whatever I want with it.” She drew him close to her and kissed his mop of curly black hair. “Within reason, of course.”

“Oi, Dai, Sume!” a voice called, waving at them with a fly-chaser.

“Tetsung!” Sume smiled, grabbing Dai’s hand and whisking him towards the stall. “Your father’s grain came in early this year?”

“Easier now that I’m here, ah?” His face was bright underneath the mass of pimple scars on his cheeks. He winked at Dai. “Hello, little man. You’ve gained a bit of weight.”

“Errena’s been spoiling him,” Sume laughed. “Dumplings and sweet cakes every day, isn’t that right, Dai?”

Dai frowned, his cheeks dimpling. “When I tell her I’m full, she gets this look on her face, so I don’t have a choice but to start eating again.”

“That’s women for you,” Tetsung agreed. “Tell you what. Probably by the time winter’s over we’ll have better prospects in this city and I can afford to hire you to do odds and ends for me. Give you something to do, keep you out of trouble, you know?” He winked.

“Oh, Tetsung, don’t you think he’s too young?” Sume asked.

Tetsung snorted. “Nonsense. How old are you, Dai?”

“Eight,” Dai replied. He suddenly looked thoughtful. “Can I, big sister? It would help mama out so much.”

“I suppose,” she said, struggling to keep the pride out of her voice. The last thing she needed was the boy’s head bloating over something like this. She wagged a finger at Tetsung. “Only if you promise you’ll keep him out of trouble.”

“Trouble? No trouble when Tetsung’s concerned,” Tetsung smiled. He pointed towards the wharf. “Look, Dai, there’s a ship just coming in over there. You want to go and take a look? We can see you from right here.”

The boy glanced at Sume. She pretended to think about it for a moment and then nodded. He scampered off without giving her a chance to change her mind. She turned back to Tetsung, who gave her a sheepish grin. “He’s a boy, Sume. I was one too, once, you know.”

“I remember having that exact same conversation with Hana this morning.”

“So you know that as a boy, he needs to be around men, right? Not a bunch of nagging, pernickety old women.” He winked. “Not counting you and your lovely sister, of course.”

“I do know that, Tetsung,” she said. She turned to watch Dai’s figure in the distance. He had joined a group of other boys and begun trading friendly insults with the men onboard the incoming ship. She couldn’t remember when he’d grown so tall. Was it only yesterday that they were children together, playing jackstones or chasing kittens out in the yard? He had been so small he would trip on his sandals when they ran. She remembered a blazing afternoon hunting damselflies through the tall yellow grass. She was better at it than Dai was, while he loved singing,

Dragonfly, oh dragonfly

Don’t run away

We’ll spend a day together

Then I’ll let you on your way

Tetsung coughed. She suddenly remembered how her silences disconcerted him. She turned back with a smile, trying her best to soothe that crease of worry on his forehead. “What were you thinking of?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“You lie badly.”

She smiled. “It’s nothing, really. Only that it’s so unfortunate how some of us have to grow up so fast.”

He flexed his fingers in front of him. “I wouldn’t call that unfortunate. Those who don’t grow up—ah! Now where do I start? Look at my cousin, who hasn’t left his father’s house. He’s unmarried and nearing thirty years. Let’s talk about something else. Sume, next year, my father says he’ll give me my share of my inheritance, which means I can get a house of my own. I was thinking maybe I could get one close to Errena’s place, so you wouldn’t have a hard time walking.”

“Now why would you say that?” she asked.

Tetsung gave her a painful smile. “I should’ve started from the top. You and your family—you can come live with me then. It would be so much easier. And Sume, it’s been more than a season since I first met you, and you should know by now that...Sume? Sume, are you listening?”

She wasn’t; not to him. Instead, she was listening to the screams coming from the dock and the footsteps of people rushing in at once. An empty feeling descended into the pit of her stomach. She didn’t really know what was going on, but she abandoned Tetsung at his stall and darted down the cobbled street as fast as her sandals could take her.

“Step back! Give the boy some air!” someone cried out, confirming Sume’s worst fears as she tore through the crowd and saw Dai’s pale body lying still on the ground. She held her breath in check and started walking, forcing herself to be calm. The blood pounded in her ears as she knelt right next to him and placed his white, clammy hand in hers.

“Can’t you hear me?” a man was saying in roughly accented Jinan. “Give me a moment with him.” He shoved her to the side. She didn’t protest. She watched as he bent over Dai, pressing his hands into his chest. She blanked out right around that time. She didn’t faint, but everything around her became a blur. People walked about her and talked but all she could comprehend were waving arms and moving mouths.

And then she heard a coughing and her heart lodged itself in her throat. Dai’s eyes were open now—when did they open? They allowed her beside him again, this time letting her cradle him in her arms. Only then did she allow herself to weep—for the loss of her brother, for almost losing his son. She didn’t really notice it when somebody touched her shoulder and asked her to follow him into the ship. Without a word, she braced her feet and carried Dai up the ramp.

They ushered her into a room, with a clean bed. “Look,” the same man said, nudging her towards a chair. “Calm down. We’ve called a physician. The boy will be fine.”

She found her voice, then. “I am calm.” She sounded like it, too, which surprised her. They were removing Dai’s shirt and covering him up with warm blankets.

“All right, then.” He gestured at a man by the doorway and screamed in Kagtar. “Brew her some tea, whatever passes for tea in this Agartes-forsaken port. Now—” He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Your boy’s fine. What’s your name?”

She found herself gazing into his solid, brown-gold eyes. They were very warm eyes. They belonged to an even warmer face, framed with dark hair in a shaggy crop, and a beard trimmed close to his mouth. “Sume,” she responded, fidgeting in her seat.

“Sume,” he repeated, standing up.

“Sir Ylir!” someone called from the deck.

“The physician should be here soon,” he said, smiling ruefully. “Until we meet again, my lady?”

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, but only for a moment. Dai was reaching out for her and she forgot everything else. She was at his side at once. “I’m sorry,” were the first words out of his mouth. “I was trying to get a closer look. One of the boys knocked me to the side, and I slipped.” The colour was returning to his skin. He glanced around the room for an instant before giving her an imploring look. “Please don’t tell her. Don’t tell mama. She will never forgive us.”

Dai always said that, of course. If he broke a bowl, or came home late from a fight, or that time they had an argument and she chased him around the neighbourhood until she fell and skinned her knees. Hearing the familiar words, after she had been so close to losing him, made her feel like crying and laughing at the same time. She pressed her hands over his cheeks, making him stare into her eyes. “I won’t if you don’t,” she murmured.

“Good,” he said. “‘Cause she’d kill us, you know.”

“I know, my heart.” She tried to smile back. “She’ll skin me alive and shove you up a horse’s ass. I know.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of the physician and a bedraggled Tetsung. Dai was prodded, his breathing listened to, and his urine examined for its colour before he was proclaimed none worse for wear. A sombre young man with the colouring of mixed Jin and Kag descent, who called himself Burg, brought them a simple meal of rice and fish-cakes—courtesy of his master—and then took it upon himself to walk them through the streets and back home. He was polite enough, but he didn’t talk much, and Sume wasn’t quite sure he took her words of thanks seriously enough.

Hana was asleep against the window, clothes on her lap, when they stepped in. Sume placed her finger on her lips and ushered Dai up the stairs to get dressed. Then she tiptoed into the workroom, past the folded shirts, and placed her hand on Hana’s shoulder. “Sister,” she whispered. Hana’s eyes opened. There were dark hollows around them, wrinkles she’d never noticed before.

“Oh. You’re home. Is it late?” Hana glanced out of the window.

“No. Afternoon prayers haven’t started.” She knelt down and started helping her with folding. “Have you had your lunch yet?”

Hana paused, as if just considering it. “No. I think Errena made fish stew? I could take a few minutes, I guess.”

“That was yesterday, sis,” Sume said kindly. “Do you want me and Dai to take you outside?”

“You mean to buy food?” Hana’s eyes were wide open. “We can’t afford that, Sume! You know that.”

“I’m sure we could spare a bit of coin to get you some soup. Can’t we, Dai?” She had heard his tiny footsteps by the door. “Come and join us. You haven’t kissed your mother yet.”

He approached tentatively. He almost died, Sume tried hard not to think. She pretended there was dirt in her eye when Dai bent over to wrap his arms around his mother.

“Soup today, and then what?” Hana patted Dai’s arm. “Every day, just because we’re too lazy? Go buy some tomatoes and onions, I’ll make something. I’m not hungry yet. You both know we can’t be throwing coin around. Times were tough enough when your brother was out there working and now that he’s gone—” That familiar wrinkle of irritation appeared on her forehead. She returned to her work furiously.

“It’s all right, mother,” Dai murmured. “Tetsung said I could start working for him after winter. That’ll help, won’t it?”

“For what? Buying yourself baubles?” She made a dismissive gesture with her hands. “I’ll cook. Be patient.” Without another word, she took Dai aside and got up through the door.

Sume turned to her nephew, but the boy shook his head. “Maybe I can learn to sew,” he said, smiling. Perhaps the thoughtless jab at his suggestion didn’t hurt him. He was used to it—they both were. Sume had the fleeting memory of tearing down the street as a young girl, trying to find the midwife’s house while Hana lay on the floor in a pool of birthing fluid, cursing her brother’s name for all of heaven to hear. That night, there had been so much rain that Sume was sure she was going to drown in it. She turned to return Dai’s smile and realized the boy had already gone.

Chapter Three

“Marry Tetsung,” Errena told her the next day, the moment Sume made the mistake of mentioning her problem. “He seems like he’s got some things going on for him and he’s not a bad looker. He can afford to feed you, in any case.”

“What?” Sume exclaimed, nearly dropping the lid from the boiling rice. “Where in Sakku’s name did you get that idea?”

“From the fact that he is so obviously smitten with you?” Errena coughed. “Oh, sure, he’s got the sort of nose you’ll find yourself cursed with generations down the road, but let’s not fool ourselves, Sume. None of us are getting any younger. Do you really want to turn out like me?”

Sume paused in her stirring. “Well, if you put it that way...” And then she sighed. “Let’s say he’s interested. I don’t think Hana would approve.”

“That doesn’t matter. She’s not a blood relative, is she? Your parents are gone. You don’t need anyone’s permission but your own.” Errena pointed a tomato at her. “You’re doing this for her sake, anyway. So I don’t see why she wouldn’t give you all her blessings, even if they were hers to give.”

Sume shrugged. “She’ll accuse me of abandoning her. She did, you know, when I told her I wanted to work here. She said she didn’t expect to see me again, just like Oji.”

Errena clicked her tongue. “Goodness. Doesn’t she have family?”

“Apart from me and Dai?” Sume tried to think. She’d known Hana most of her life—they’d all grown up on that same street, with the cherry trees and the flocks of sparrows every night. She remembered her going home to an old woman who coughed a lot and died before her own mother did. “I think there’s a couple of aunts somewhere in Shirrokaru,” she said at length. “They don’t write to her, though.”

“For Sakku’s sake, Sume, now you’ve gone and made me all depressed,” Errena groaned. She glanced through the kitchen window and broke out into a grin. “Well, look who’s got ears up the grapevine. Tetsung, our strapping young man! Come in, come in. Take a sit. We’ve got banana spring rolls and brown sugar cakes. Pick your poison.”

Tetsung didn’t look amused, which was unlike him. He came in without even glancing at Errena and went straight to Sume. “Here,” he said, pressing a bag of coin into her hand.

Sume glanced down. “What’s this for?”

“It’s all I have right now. Maybe you’ve got a bit stashed somewhere?” He looked very pale.

“I don’t understand,” Sume said. “Did something happen?”

“I don’t know. I think you should hear this alone.” He made an awkward sort of nod towards Errena’s direction.

“She’s fine,” Sume snapped. “Stop dawdling. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Dai,” he said. He hesitated for a moment. “He’s up in that blasted ship right now. That Kag ship. They caught him stealing. I was at my stall and I saw them dragging him up there. I tried to talk to them but they won’t listen to me, those cursed Kags, won’t let him go free. I grabbed this and came straight here. We must give them something.”

She fought that increasingly familiar surge of panic and took the coin purse. “Okay,” she said. Someone was probably mistaken—Tetsung, or the men on that ship, or someone. Dai wouldn’t steal. Dai knew stealing was wrong. She looked at Errena first, and then at the pot of rice still boiling merrily away. And then she left the kitchen, walking up the stairs and into the common room where the women slept. The bit of coin she’d saved up was under her bed. She took that, counted it to make sure, and returned downstairs.

Seagulls and screaming fish-vendors more than made up for their silence during that long walk to the docks. Only when the dark figure of the merchant-ship appeared on the horizon did Tetsung finally clear his throat. “They’ve posted guards,” he said, sounding surprised. “Dear Sakku in the sea, I can see blades on them. He’s only a boy—dear Sakku, he’s only a boy. What is wrong with these people?”

“Listen to yourself,” she murmured. “That’s not helping us at all, is it? Maybe you should stay here. I don’t want you beside me up there.”

He looked hurt. “Why not?”

She placed her hand on his elbow. “Please. Just stay here.” His anxiety made her aware of hers, made her nauseous. She didn’t say that, though, and smiled up at him instead.

He mistook that for something else and conceded. Biting her lip, she strode up to the armed men blocking the ramp up the ship. “The boy’s my nephew,” she said in her best Kagtar, standing as straight as possible. “I want a word with your master.”

“Turn back,” one man advised. “It won’t be pretty.”

She glanced across the deck of the ship and then back. “Where’s the city guard?” she asked. “You’ll need them so he’ll be tried fairly, won’t you?”

The man laughed. “Oh, we’ll treat him fairly—for a petty thief caught red-handed.”

“This far south, girl, you’ll be lucky to get a glimpse of a city guard,” another man said, arms crossed. “Didn’t they teach you that? We might as well be in Kago, girl. The only law is the law of the blade. Of sorts.” He gave her a smile that was a little too wide.

She didn’t give him the satisfaction of responding and turned, instead, to the other, younger man. “Where are you keeping him?”

“Below deck. There’s no point going to him, girl, they won’t let you. The master’s right pissed and he can’t wait till we’re out at sea so he can chop...”

“Ranias!” the other man cried out.

“I see,” Sume said. “So you do respect other laws.”

“We just don’t want trouble, girl,” Ranias muttered.

“You’ll get it if you don’t let me talk to your master,” she said. “The priestesses of Sakku won’t take kindly to this. Unless you plan to sail within the hour, I can get them to swarm in here and cast curses on your rudder and your sails.”

The older man snorted. Ranias, however, looked nervous. “Hey,” he said, glancing behind him. “It won’t hurt, I guess? The master might want to see her? Maybe he doesn’t really want to chop a boy’s hands off. You know.”

“I’ve seen him do worse,” his companion said.

“But—” Ranias scratched the side of his chin. “Hey, okay. He didn’t say don’t let anyone come up here. So—he might chop our hands off, for not letting her. You understand?”

The man frowned and seemed to think about it for a moment. “Wait here,” he finally said. He went below deck and was gone for some time. Sume found cold sweat beading over her nose and her forehead. She couldn’t muster up the courage to wipe them off.

The man finally returned. He said nothing, only nodded, and Ranias folded his hands to his side and led her down to a small door to the left. He knocked once. The door swung open after a moment and Sume stepped in. Ylir was across the other side of the room behind a small desk, his head bent over parchment. He didn’t even look like he’d gotten up to let her in.

“Leave us,” he told his man. And then, to her, “Sit.”

There was no other chair, only a narrow bed on one side of the room. She declined and remained standing. “I’d like you to release my nephew.” She was surprised at how she kept her voice calm—she felt like screaming. “What has he done and how much will you need?”

The merchant Ylir was silent for some time while he scribbled on the parchment and made clicking noises with his tongue. Finally, he seemed to remember her and looked up. Faint amusement stirred at the corner of his lips. “Your boy tried to make off with a very valuable golden ring. Unfortunately, during our attempt at capturing him, it slid off his grasp and sank into the depths of this filthy sea. I don’t care to risk my men diving about in the dark, so I must presume it lost forevermore.”

Sume drew a deep breath. “How much?” she repeated.

He cocked his head at her. “Weren’t you listening? It was a golden ring. Inlaid with gemstones. Your err, purse there, can’t possibly hold enough. Also,” he added, holding his finger up to stop her in the middle of opening her mouth, “even if you did have the money to pay it back, it is, unfortunately, priceless. A dear friend gifted it to me, you understand. Even now, I dread her derision at my admitting I had lost it under such ridiculous circumstances.”

“Ridiculous?” she blurted out. “You talk as if this is all a joke! Your men out there said you plan to chop his hands off! No item is worth that!”

“You say that so easily,” he said. “But then, I can’t possibly expect you to understand the subtleties of captaining a ship.”

“My father owned a ship,” she said. “He never stooped to such uncivilized acts.”

“Your father? Ah. That explains the Kagtar. You speak it well. Where is he now? Why is he not championing his thieving grandson, instead of a girl barely past childhood?” He smiled now, noting her anger, even though she tried hard to contain it. “Listen, Sume. I doubt your father runs a business as successful as mine. And I doubt he is as unfortunate as I am regarding the sort of men under his employ. If word comes out that I let a snip of a boy steal from me without so much as a slap to his backside, what do you think will happen? I’d be gagged, robbed, and I won’t mention the list of other unsavoury things that can happen to me before the week is over.”

“The priestesses...” she began.

“Will do nothing,” he finished. “I have paid a very generous tribute to that blasted temple when we arrived and I’ll be damned before I let them dictate what I do.”

The cold finality in his tone threatened to break her. She leaned across the desk, trying to get him to look at her, because he wasn’t, really; apart from his words, he didn’t look like he was taking the conversation seriously at all. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why even bother saving him then?”

Ylir shrugged. “I didn’t know he would repay me by trying to steal from me.”

“So that kindness—that was just an act?”

“Sume,” he said, and now he looked into her, and it seemed as if his eyes were almost yellow in the light. “Wasn’t it your prophet who said, sympathy is for the weak? Now go. I have many, many things to do. You may say goodbye before you are escorted out of my ship. Let your boy explain to you what he has done and why he must now be punished for it. Ranias?”

Ranias appeared, pushing the tiny door open. She didn’t move when he called her, so he grabbed her arm and dragged her down the hall. “I’m sorry,” he said as they walked, his fingers digging into her skin. “You seem like a nice enough girl. Should’ve beat your boy harder. Not that it would help him any now.” He led her out to the deck and then pointed her to an open hatch. “He’s down in the hold. Look, most of the men are out getting drunk or something. Well, take your time, okay? Aden!” he called down. “Let her see the boy! Sir Ylir’s orders!”

Sume clambered down the ladder and was greeted by a man holding a lantern close to his face. He was fair-skinned, with the same, mixed features as Ranias and Burg. “Oh, damn,” he said, looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

The man, Aden, drew a deep breath. “Nothing. I just thought I saw a ghost. You Jins all look alike.”

She ignored him and went straight to Dai. He was kneeling a few feet away, hands bound. He must’ve heard her coming, but he didn’t look up. She might’ve said something if he had. Instead, she lifted her hand and struck him, hard, across the cheek.

He started to cry, then. She didn’t. She stood there with her lips sealed as he blubbered an explanation. The ring, he said, he’d seen on the table when they’d brought him in after he nearly drowned. It didn’t look like anyone wanted it. They needed the money. This man, he was rich, wasn’t he? He wouldn’t miss it. So he’d returned to the ship to take a look, to talk to the man, to thank him for what he’d done the other day, and when his back was turned, he’d reached out and carefully stuffed the ring in his pocket. It would’ve worked, too, only it slipped out of his grasp, and then he had to run after it, and then...

She slapped him again. “Dai,” she said at last, controlling her own surge of emotions. “We are not a family of thieves. We are poor, Dai, but we work for what we have. I thought you knew that.”

“I know” —he said, his voice assuming a different timbre— “that my father killed for coin.”

“Whatever Oji did with his life is between him and the gods,” she said. “I thought I taught you better than this.”

Dai struggled to respond to that, but she suddenly didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say. She noticed Aden following her. “I can’t help but overhear,” he said, touching her shoulder. “You mentioned an Oji? I couldn’t quite understand, maybe it’s a common word to your people.”

“Yes, I did,” she murmured. “My brother. The boy’s father.”

“Ah,” he said, brightly. “Now it makes sense.”

Sume frowned. He straightened his long hair and grinned, as if having just heard a great joke that only he could understand. “I’ve been sitting there with that child all afternoon wondering why on earth he looked so familiar, and then you came along, and I figured it’s either just too dark or I’m really not used to your kind of wine in these parts. Anyway, your boy’s father, your brother, and my old friend, were one and the same.”

“You know Oji?”

“Knew.” The smile on Aden’s face disappeared. “You don’t know. Ah, Agartes, I’m sorry. I should’ve—”

“So he is dead.” She fought that flicker in her heart, the way she had been fighting it for the better part of the last few years. There was no time to mourn now; there had never been. Their father was recently dead too, and in the light of that, news of Oji’s passing seemed almost inconsequential.

“I wasn’t there. I heard that there was an accident while he was working. Didn’t the faction send a letter? They should have.” Aden scratched the side of his face.

“I don’t know anything about that,” she mumbled. “So you knew him. I’m sorry I couldn’t have met you under better circumstances.”

He tipped his head forward. “I’m not trying to make light of your pain, my dear. Sir Ylir can be quite demonstrative.” He pressed his hands together. “I’m still quite amazed. I didn’t know Oji had a son.”

“He never said?”

“I assume he left before the boy was born. Didn’t he know...?”

Sume snorted. “Oh, he knew. We told him. Letters. He wrote to him, occasionally.” She pursed her lips. “Ke-if...Kefier didn’t look like he knew, either.”

Aden looked surprised. “You met Kefier?”

She nodded.

“I don’t know what to say about that,” Aden admitted. “We were told that Oji’s death was in his hands. That he murdered him for the last of his pay. He killed off others in the faction, too, when they tried to stop him, including an officer. He’s lucky I’ve been stuck in Ni’in Port all this time or I’d…” He snorted. “That he found you couldn’t have been a coincidence. Last I heard, Gaven, another officer, had caught him in Jin-Sayeng and taken him to the dungeons. You’re lucky he didn’t try to hurt you.”

“He didn’t look like he wanted to.” There was another pain in that thought, one she wasn’t quite sure of. She really wasn’t sure of anything right now. She felt overwhelmed as she glanced through the window and at the stars faintly showing through the grey. She wondered if she could find that ring, if she dove over the side of the ship right now. The water would be cold but she didn’t think it would kill her, and she was a pretty good swimmer.

“I have a suggestion,” Aden said beside her. She glanced up, startled, having almost forgotten he was there. “Sir Ylir is a shrewd businessman. Have you offered him a trade to get the boy out of here?”

“He wouldn’t take coin,” she said. “Said I didn’t have enough.”

“Understandable,” he said, nodding. “Might I suggest you offer yourself instead?”

She coloured. “What kind of suggestion is that?”

“One that makes sense from where I’m standing,” Aden replied. “Suk—”

“Sume.”

“Yes, that. I really doubt Sir Ylir, may flowers bloom from his backside all his glorious days…” He suppressed a snigger. “I doubt he really wants to do whatever he said he’d do to the lad. He doesn’t have a choice, though. The men are watching and it won’t do him good to show weakness before we head out to weeks in the open sea. You need to give him a reason not to do what he’s promised the men, to show how he deals with that sort of thing. So, trade yourself. You’re young. Pretty enough. After we stop at Bara for supplies, it’ll be about three weeks at sea with no one else but each other to even look at, and if the rumours about his lordship is true, then he’ll appreciate the company. So to speak. And this sort of thing the men will understand and approve of.”

“You’re telling me to sell myself as his—as his whore?” She resisted slapping him; her hand still hurt from slapping Dai and he was way too tall for her to reach easily.

Aden scratched his head. “You’re over-thinking it. That’s hardly the word to use.”

“What else would you call it?” she bristled.

Aden shrugged. “Personal assistant? A way for your boy to keep his hands, and possibly his life? It’s not like he’ll be rubbing coin all over your breasts while keeping one eye out for the hour. Don’t look so scandalized, my dear. Look at where you live. I’m sure you’ve heard worse things.” He rubbed a thumb over his nose. “We’re not leaving for at least a couple more days and Ylir has no plans to infuriate people by doing anything to the boy while we’re docked here. I’ll take care of him. Go home and think about it. Sleep on it.”

“I’m going to get enough money to pay him back,” she said.

Aden nodded. “You do that. But think about what I said, too.” He escorted her down the ramp. At the edge, she hesitated, looking back up.

“Will you feed him tonight?” she asked. “Make sure he’s warm?”

“His father was my friend,” Aden replied, looking sombre for a moment. “What do you think I am, a monster?”

Tetsung had waited for her by the wharf. He started to ask how things were before he fell silent. She placed a hand on his arm and he flushed.

They walked like that until the end of the street. “What now?” he finally asked, standing in the darkness. Sume couldn’t see his face. On impulse, she got up to her toes and kissed his cheek. He froze, confused.

“Our problem for now, I think,” she said sadly, returning his coin-purse. She didn’t want to see what he would say about that. She ducked into the tiny gate and locked it behind her. Alone in the shadows now, with no one to see her, she allowed herself a few tears.

Sume caught Hana starting supper in the kitchen with the other women. She was smiling. She almost leaped across the table as soon as Sume appeared, catching her entirely by surprise. “You won’t believe what happened,” she said. “I got a package from Cael. The group Oji worked for sent us coin! His last few months’ wages and look...” She flipped open a piece of paper, pointing. “Recompense for death while in faithful service.”

“You’re happy,” Sume said flatly. She could hardly believe her ears. Why was Hana happy to hear news of Oji’s death? Because there was suddenly money involved? It was true he had not sent anything for months, even before he’d stopped writing, but to actually see the reality of that in Hana’s face frightened her.

Hana’s face turned red. “This is more than he’d ever sent us while he was alive. I’m sorry, Sume, but we already knew, didn’t we? This just assures us even more. Don’t you see? With this and what we’ve saved up so far we can go back home and try it there again. What’s the matter? Why do you look so sad?”

She looked at the other women, at their beaming faces, and bit her lip. She took Hana’s hand in hers and led her upstairs. At the top landing, she turned and told her.

There was fury, at first, a definite rage at the boy she had laboured to bring into the world but seemed adamant at following his wayward father’s footsteps. She nodded when Sume spoke of slapping him, asked her why she didn’t do more. “Where is he now?” she asked at last. “He’s an idiot if he thinks he can hide from me this time.”

“He’s still in their ship, sister,” Sume said, having tried to think of a hundred better ways to say what she was about to say. “They won’t let him go.”

“And why not?” Hana asked.

“He lost the ring he stole. They want enough payment in return.”

“Payment.” She said it like the word burnt her tongue. “How much?”

“Enough to make it worth a thief.”

“They’ve called the city guards?”

“No,” Sume said. “It would be better if they did.”

Hana realized it then, the weight of her words. “They are going to kill him.”

“I’m not saying that.”

“You are.” Hanna glanced down, towards the sounds in the kitchen where the other women continued to chat. “Don’t tell them. Take Oji’s money. It might be enough. Is it?” She looked up, her eyes searching for any strand of hope she might see on Sume’s face. “It doesn’t matter. Yesterday we didn’t have it, and we had him. I want that back. I want my son back, Sume. I was happy, then.”

No, you weren’t, Sume wanted to say. She remembered the look on Dai’s face when his mother had so easily dismissed his offer to help a little. She had known Dai all his life, had never known him to take what wasn’t his or act below what was right and honourable. All of it undone because of a mother’s careless gesture.

“I’ll talk to them,” Hana continued. She paused and brushed Sume’s hair over her ear. Her motions were calm, precise, but for a moment, Sume glimpsed her eyes and what seemed to be an endless void of grief, unshed.

Chapter Four

“So,” Burg said, taking the seat across the table with a glass of clear, coconut liquor in his hands. “You’re really not going to kill the boy, are you, Ylir?”

Ylir glanced up from the plate of dumplings on the table. “You must’ve heard wrong, Burg. I don’t intend to kill the boy. He’s just losing his hands.”

Burg gave him a strained smile. “And ah—he is expected to survive such an operation? A little boy like that? Out at sea?”

“That is hardly my concern, Burg.” Ylir picked up a dumpling and tested it. The meat was rubbery and overly salted. He considered sending it back for another dish, but it would be the third one that night and he wasn’t sure if the cook was now just sending him rotten food on purpose. He pushed it away.

“Ylir,” Burg continued, exasperated. “The boy was probably starving. Don’t you think you’ve punished him and his family enough? You saved his life before. It hardly seems fair to take it away now.”

“You and I, Burg, have a different concept of fair,” Ylir muttered. “Greed and starvation are two different things. He seemed healthy to me.”

“What about the sister? She looked positively miserable.”

“Most people in her situation would be. Say, how’s that fish coming along? Should I have ordered the same thing?”

“It’s all right. Don’t try to change the subject.”

“It’s hardly my fault that the boy’s a thief and that this is the most appalling alehouse I have ever had the misfortune of walking into.” He said it out loud, to make sure the servers heard.

The yellow-haired man walking resolutely towards them certainly did. He tipped his head forward in greeting and grinned. “I did mention never to order the meat, did I? Stick to the noodles and the beer, I said.”

“The beer,” Ylir said. “Is despicable. Piss in a pot might taste a little better. Pigswill definitely more so. What do you want, Marre?”

The man took a chair and straightened his collar. He was middle-aged and dressed like the kind of man who cared what the local populace thought about the amount of money he had. “I’m disappointed, Ferral. We chance upon each other so far away from home and this is how you greet me?” He gestured at one server, asking for a bowl of lami and beer.

Ylir crossed his arms and leaned back. “My manners aren’t the best when I’m being forced to unload my entire cargo for less than half their worth. These Jins are robbing me blind.”

“Exactly why I made sure we saw each other. It’s not every day you hear a ship of Yn Garr is anchored at the docks. Your master should’ve told me I was on business here, my dear boy.”

“I knew, actually. Why, apn Oilsin? You fancy yourself an expert in Jin-Sayeng trading now?”

“I’ve been at it since their regent opened doors to the Kag, my boy,” Marre said. “There’s good coin to be made, if you only know who to talk to and how. I notice your men all reek of the Kag—half-bloods from Kago?” He casually pointed at Burg, ignoring his bristling. “The Jins won’t trust them. You should’ve hired a local the moment you got here.”

“We did ask for advice. We were told of the sea-goddess’s temple’s influence on the populace.”

“And let me guess? Asked to make a donation?” Marre’s eyes twinkled. “You’re still wet behind the ears, Ferral. But not to worry. We all make mistakes. Some of us more than others, but...ah!” His order had arrived, and he started digging into it with gusto.

Ylir watched him without smiling. “What do you really want, Marre?” he finally asked. “I don’t have much time to spare.”

“My, but you’ve certainly inherited your master’s temper!” Marre paused, slurping a fat noodle into his mouth. “I was just curious. There was a bit of gossip from my route, of hired half-bloods ah—responsible for a few missing children in Cael.”

“Hardly my concern. That sort of thing has been rumoured in Cael for decades.”

“Ah!” Marre exclaimed. “Of course. I know that. Spirits and things that go bump in the night. But you must’ve been hiding under a rock not to know the more recent string of events. After learning that you’ve also hired half-bloods to work for you, I became intrigued. Is this an affirmation of that part of the gossip that said Yn Garr was involved with the entire thing? Given your master’s affinity for young boys...”

Ylir got up. “Burg,” he said. “We’re leaving.”

“Oh, come now!” Marre exclaimed, holding his hands out. “I’m simply making conversation! You’ve no reason to be offended.”

“After the bad beer, sir, I am inclined to be less than tolerable with attempts at defaming my master’s character,” Ylir said flatly. He started for the door with Burg a few steps ahead.

“That temper again, Ferral,” Marre called after him. “I recall you being more patient, back when you were an old man in Baidh. How is your daughter, Hertra Ferral? Sinea? She must be what, twenty-three by now?”

The door slammed shut behind them. Burg stopped in his tracks and looked at him. Ylir said nothing, afraid that a single word would give him away. He kept his face calm and started down the street.

“What do you want me to do?” Burg asked.

“Nothing,” he whispered.

“He wants to damage our reputation,” Burg said. “You’re just going to let him walk away?” His brows furrowed. “I could get the men to...rough him up a bit. Teach him a lesson.”

“Didn’t you catch the half-blood ruffian bit, Burgois? What would that accomplish?”

“Make you feel better?” Burg shrugged. “I don’t know, Ylir. You’re the brains of this operation. Tell me what to do.”

“I told you already. Nothing.” They’d reached the end of the streets and he pointed at the direction of the wharf. “Get back to the ship. Check up on the boy. Make sure those idiots aren’t starving him or worse. Take off the offending limb if anyone has touched him.”

“Where are you going?”

“You said I was the boss, Burg,” Ylir said. “Now shut up and do as I say.”

As soon as Burg had disappeared around the corner, he turned back and took the long way across the street.

It was, in more ways than one, a beautiful night. Cloudless sky, the moon—smaller than he was used to, it seemed—a crescent sliver, nearly golden. He had time to gaze up and marvel at it while he prepared the room and waited. In fact, the sight mesmerized him so much that he almost missed apn Oilsin’s footsteps resounding from within.

He peered through the curtains. The man was alone, which was good. The man’s wife was back home in Cael, but you never knew if he was keeping a Jin bed slave at hand. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to deal with that sort of inconvenience right now. He felt unnerved, out of his league. It was probably that damn beer. That, and that whining girl from that evening, the one whose nephew they’d locked up in the hold. Everything about this damn country infuriated him, reminded him that the world was always looking for a chance to undo all his hard work and start from scratch. He didn’t really want to hurt the boy, for example, but leniency was weakness and the last thing he needed was a mutiny out at sea. He shouldn’t even be here.

He closed his eyes, waiting. When he was certain the man remained alone, he carefully pushed the window inside and landed softly on the floor.

Marre apn Oilsin didn’t turn at once. He was pouring something into a cup, and he held it out to his direction. “I was wondering when you’d show up.” He sounded anything but surprised.

Ylir smiled. “Our conversation earlier left me wanting for more.”

“Indeed?” Marre took a sip. “Have you come to defend your master’s reputation? Or something else?”

“A man as successful as Yn Garr is always followed by gossip,” he said smoothly. “Last year, they said he was skinning goats and chanting rituals to some Dageian demi-god. He can handle his own affairs.”

“Ah,” Marre said. “So that other thing, then. Ferral.” It sounded like he was biting into the name. “Tell me where he is. And how you’ve duped his associates that you are—and have always been—the man behind his accounts. I was wondering why Ferral suddenly up and handed everything over to Yn Garr Industries. It didn’t seem like him.”

“I don’t think I owe you that kind of explanation.”

Marre grew sombre. “You do. Ferral was an old friend. The last I heard, he was taking his daughter to Dageis. Years later you show up and I, like a fool, thought you were who you said you were.”

“Like a fool, Marre,” Ylir said gently. “You should’ve left it alone when you had the chance.”

“How do you do it? Enchantments? Do you cast spells on yourself or the other person to make them believe anything you want to?”

Ylir simply smiled back.

“You’re a mage,” Marre continued. “You would be. You’re good, sir. There’s a multitude of opportunities for men of your skill. You’re wasted on petty murders.” He drained the glass. “Tell me what Yn Garr pays you, and I’ll triple the amount.”

“You believe I’m a mere henchman?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I am Ylir yn Ferral,” Ylir said. “My business is my own. Gorrhen yn Garr is a partner.”

“You believe he’s a partner, but he’s your master, too. Partners can be changed.” Marre clapped his hands. “Come on. Behind that veneer lies someone who knows he can gain more out of this arrangement. What do you want, then? Rich friends? I have powerful connections and one word from me will be enough to get you in their good graces.”

“You want me to enter this knowing you can forever hold this knowledge like a noose around my neck? I am not stupid, apn Oilsin.”

Marre paused, licking his lips. “I have hired men downstairs. One scream from me and they’ll—”

“They won’t hear you, Marre.” He sounded almost sad.

Marre stared at him, licking his lips. For one painful moment, neither of them moved. And then Marre leaped for his sword in the corner. He grabbed the hilt and turned swiftly, the blade arcing through the air as it attempted to strike Ylir’s head off.

Ylir sidestepped and watched as the sword got stuck into the window sill. Marre, realizing his mistake, dropped it and tried to run.

His heavy frame never even made two steps. He slipped on the floor and fell, his head striking the corner of his expensive-looking desk. The sound of the cracking skull was like a hammer denting the wall. Ylir impassively watched him bleed out on the floor.

He returned to the window, trying to avoid the blood getting on his boots. His heart was still hammering against his chest. Everything had happened so quickly, which was probably a good thing. Marre’s offer had been…tempting. Connections of his own, one not attached to either Yn Ferral or Yn Garr’s name, sounded like a breath of fresh air. It would have been poison, though. Everything in the damn world was poison. He’d learned all this time to sip small amounts for his own sanity, but he wasn’t sure how long he was going to last like that.

Much later, down at the docks, he noticed he’d gotten blood on his tunic, anyway. And his fingers were smeared. Cursing his carelessness, he knelt by the shore and scrubbed himself with wet sand while fighting the overwhelming urge to throw his entire body into the sea. Everything about him was a construct, and he hated it. It wasn’t just enchantments. His whole life was fabricated. He wanted nothing more than to be himself, than to build a legacy surrounding his name alone, and yet…

His thoughts were interrupted as a figure approached him in the darkness. He pivoted, his hand at the hilt of his sword.

“Sir Ylir.”

He recognized the girl from earlier, the one with the thieving nephew. From the heave of her shoulders and the breathless look on her face, she had been running.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. Her Kagtar was so smooth—she didn’t leave out words or butcher it with her accent like some of the other Jins did.

He got up, wiping his fingers on his lap. She watched him with the acuity of a fox. “I can’t see what that has to do with me.” The practiced detachment slid out of his mouth easily.

She seemed undeterred. “My nephew is the only thing I have left of my father and brother.” She swallowed. “Your ship—your men—brought news of my brother’s demise. He was one of your mercenaries. I don’t know what got him killed, and I suppose it doesn’t matter. My nephew is my only family left. I am responsible for him. We’re the only ones left of our line.”

“If you’re the head of your family, then it must have fallen quite far indeed,” he said. “Perhaps ending it will do the world a favour.”

She balled her hands into fists. He thought she might make a swing for it. But she kept her temper in check. “Set my nephew free. Your—one of your men, he said—well, I’ll work for you instead. To pay his debt.” She took one step towards him. “I can cook, I can clean. I can be more useful to you than a boy could ever be.”

Had it been earlier that night, he would’ve said no. He might have even toyed with her a little, made her see how utterly useless her struggle against his wishes were. For someone who had spent years wrestling with more powerful men who could crush him with a single word if they knew what he was, having someone else under his control was intoxicating. Now, though—now, the moon seemed more red than yellow, and he was so very tired. And also, she did not look bad in the dark and did not appear to have the least idea what she was offering in exchange for a silly little boy.

“All right,” he murmured. She looked surprised that he’d agreed. Without another word, he turned around, and bade her to follow him back to the ship.

Chapter Five

Kefier awoke, wrapped in blankets underneath a sprawling night sky. His fire had died down. He got up, shivering, added firewood, and remembered how Oji used to do it for them most nights. He was always the first one to get up on any occasion—bright-eyed, cheerful, ready to face the day. Some mornings you woke up to the smell of frying bacon and Oji singing his heart out to the sun.

He had been dead…a year. Or more? Kefier had lost track of time since he’d left Fuyyu, but the colour of the leaves and the cold air told him the passage of the months since. It made him acutely aware of the loss, especially now that the Boarshind seemed to have lost his trail and everything around him had come to a screeching halt. He missed Oji. He missed his smiles, and his hearty songs, and the way he made everyone else laugh despite his own problems. It sounded ridiculous now that he was a grown man, but he also missed the way he told him stories or picked up gear he’d dropped or fixed his sandals for him because, “My boy, because it’s a long way down that hill and you’ve got to be surefooted.”

The fire was blazing now, and Kefier stirred it, breathing warm air. The empty silence got him to thinking about Lisa. He could no longer recall how her dark hair smelled. It had a distinct scent—she always bragged about washing it every day—and back then, if she ever fell asleep when she was with him, he would smell it and thought he would remember forever. That got to him. Did he die, too, with Oji and all his other friends? He knew it was an unfair thought, because they had actually lost their lives while he was still breathing, but he couldn’t help himself.

He lay back against the grass and stared at the stars. They nearly blanketed the entire sky and he felt a little dizzy staring at them. He’d stared at stars, too, that first time with Lisa. He had been sixteen and shorter than her. He could still remember the way she sauntered up to him outside the inn and took his cold, trembling hands into hers. She placed a finger on his lips before he could say anything and led him up to one of the rooms. It was barely larger than the single bed on it, but Kefier could see Cairntown’s rooftops from the large windows. Cairntown, and the stars.

“You’re distracted,” she said, pulling the shutters closed. But she didn’t draw the curtains. Moonlight danced over her freckled face. “Come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never done this before?”

He coloured at her remark. She saw that and stifled a laugh. “I didn’t think—well!” She traced a finger down his thin collarbone. He swallowed as she gently pushed him back into the bed and tugged his shirt loose.

“I had a wife once, you know,” he grumbled.

Lisa’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh really? And you’ve never done this, ever?”

“I didn’t say—” he started. And then, suddenly distracted, his cheeks burned. “I was a boy,” he finally admitted. “In Gorent, it is acceptable to marry young. For living arrangements. She was older than I was and I didn’t really know anything back then.”

“That sounds nice,” she murmured. He realized she wasn’t really listening to him. She smiled at him. “I see you still don’t know anything.”

It was the truth, of course. She wasn’t a beautiful woman, by any means, but that night, her features bathed in moonlight, he felt as if he was in the presence of an enchantress, or a queen.

He later learned that Oji had paid her to do it, but he understood her work and didn’t care. He thought they had something together—felt that she found him more interesting than her other callers. She once told him after they were done that she felt safe with him. She hadn’t been obligated to, at that point.

She sold it for coin. That’s how it is with these women.

That pain came back. All this time, and it came back as if all this time and all that had happened—as if Oji’s death—did not stand between him and those words. He curled his fists and smashed them into his knees. Oji, may Ab watch your soul for all of time, didn’t have the right to utter those words. He knew how much that woman meant to him. He knew—and he still opened his big mouth. As if he was any better.

Kefier’s thoughts were jolted when he heard a pebble loosened behind him. He didn’t turn to the sound, but his fingers found the hilt of Oji’s sword. He waited a moment, drew, and pounced at the dark figure behind him.

There was a terrible wail. Kefier felt fur against his chest as he forced one arm around its neck, his left hand holding the sword close. It struggled, dark hands flailing in the air, but he held his grasp. A furred tail smacked his leg. He lifted the sword higher, and against the haze he realized the thing wore a light tunic. And he noticed too, that it was smaller than him, the size of a child.

He heard the beast gasp in Kagtar.

“Let she go,” it was saying, the words mixed with an intelligible tongue that sounded like the hissing of a cat. He relaxed his grip, but not enough to release it.

“Who are you? Why are you stalking me?”

It whimpered. “Play, play,” it gasped. Without his arm pressing tight against its throat, its voice was soft, no more than a child’s. He smelled its fear, felt fur come off its neck in clumps, and released it. It scampered a few feet from him, eyes on his sword.

“What are you?” he asked, watching the beast turn around and face him, half-crouched. The light from the fire answered his question for him: it was a kusyan. A few lived in Cairntown, though they mostly kept to themselves and you would be hard-pressed to see one in broad daylight. Oji had explained to him, once, that they were closely related to the ka-eng, except they had more hair—nearly furred—and had a tail. For a time, the Kag had regarded them as beasts and had hunted them down with insane frenzy. It was Agartes who eventually forbade it, although by then they had grown too sparse and too wary of the Kags to ever fully integrate themselves into society.

“She is Xyl,” the kusyan told him, flat nose wriggling beneath a mess of whiskers. It—she looked almost cat-like, except her ears, like the ka-eng, were long. “She is safe?”

“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “I’m sorry. You just caught me by surprise.” She looked harmless enough. “But why were you stalking me? I’m not used to being followed about at night.”

She cocked her head. “Follow? She is not following. She is hunting. See light. Wondered.” She did a quick hop and ran ahead, leaping on top of a rock. “Come, come,” she said. “Come, come, krawrmrrrr.” Her eyes gleamed in the dark.

“Come?” he asked stupidly.

The kusyan, Xyl, nodded.

“Where?”

“Home,” she said. She cocked her head again. “The hunting. Not good with you, ah?” She pointed at his empty fire. “Home. In the village.”

“There’s a village out here?” He gaped at the mass of dark mountains in the distance.

Xyl, growing impatient, made a sound at the back of her throat. He made a quick decision and shoved his things into his pack. “Lead on,” he finally told Xyl, who dipped her head and scampered ahead. She stopped every now and then, spinning where she stood, leaping on trees and rocks and calling out to him in a singsong voice.

It was dawn when they neared the site of a small village. The smell of cooking meat wafted into his nostrils and he hurried to catch up with Xyl, which became impossible as she dashed forward and disappeared behind a crudely made wooden fence. Animal skulls decorated the sharp posts. Kefier swallowed and slowed his pace.

A large male stood outside the gates. He was wearing loose trousers, but was otherwise naked. His bare chest was covered in dark fur. At the sight of Kefier, his eyes narrowed. He uttered an indistinct sound, the words unintelligible. Almost at once several armed kusyani emerged from the village, and Kefier found himself dragged to the village fire, sharpened stakes threatening to impale him from all sides.

Xyl appeared from behind a hut. Confusion dawned on her face and then panic. She approached one of the men, tugging at his arm, looking pathetically small and frail beside its muscular frame. “Jama,” she murmured. “Jama!” When he did not turn to her she dropped to the ground and began to roll across the dirt. Some of the kusyani glanced at her. The rest had their eyes on Kefier though, faces hardened with anger and suspicion.

One of them poked him with a spear. A moment later he heard hushed murmurs and saw the crowd parting to let an old kusyan hobble through. He was a pale brown colour, though the hair was completely white around his lips and his brows. He lifted a hand in a gesture, and some of the guards pulled back, leaving only one to handle Kefier.

The kusyan asked him something in one language, and then another. Then he coughed, and said, “Forgive me. Kagtar, then?”

“Yes.” He had never been gladder to hear it in his life.

The kusyan nodded. “You must forgive us. It’s not often we get visitors.” He grinned, showing dull white fangs between his lips. “Not very often. I am Faci. You have met Xyl. Honour us with your name.” He was holding a pipe in his hands, and he blew a stream of smoke into Kefier’s face.

“Kefier,” he coughed out.

He gestured again, and the guard holding Kefier pushed him away. He toppled to the ground and felt his bonds loosened. “Come, come,” the old kusyan said, heading to one of the huts. Kefier dodged the angry stares of the rest of the kusyan and followed him.

“Sit,” the kusyan said, indicating the floor. Kefier dropped down, noting the smell of herbs and raw meat. He heard a rustle behind him and saw Xyl squeezing through the folds of the hut.

Faci smiled at her before returning to Kefier. “You are in the Rammrar village, if you must know,” he said. “One of the last few kusyani settlements in the continent.” He reached for a wooden bowl from the shelf and dug into it. A moment later, he looked up, and gestured at Kefier again. “My manners is forgotten. You must have travelled far. What brings you to our humble village?”

“Xyl brought me,” he said, blinking against the overpowering herb-scent.

“What brings you to our mountains, then?” Faci smiled. “She did not find you in Cael, did she?”

He didn’t see the point of lying. “I was trying to escape some associates and thought that they wouldn’t check this way. I’d heard back in Cael that there was a mountain pass here.”

The bored look on Faci’s face dissipated. “That road has been sealed,” he said, running a claw under his jaw. “How did you get through?”

“I walked.” He remembered the trail was ancient, virtually untouched for decades, but nothing about it had been sealed. There had been an instant when he walked and then woke up in the wilderness but he’d assumed the lapse in his memory was caused by hunger or exhaustion. Probably both.

Faci suddenly grabbed his arm and sniffed it. “You do not reek of the agan,” he grumbled. “But that seal should have repelled anyone trying to walk through. That is interesting.”

“The agan?” Kefier asked.

“The Dageis call it the skilled arts.” The kusyani took a handful of the dried herbs and crushed it in his palm. Smiling, he threw it in the air, and kept it there. “Us, natives of the Kag, not the pale men who drove us to the mountains, we call it agan, the energy that binds us all. A few are receptive and can be trained to manipulate it. In Dageis, they called it the skilled arts, and people receptive to it are about as common there as rats in an alley.”

Kefier glanced back at Faci, who had now allowed the herbs to fall to the ground as normal, and swallowed. “I will be out of your way soon,” he said. “Xyl said—there would be food? I ran out days ago. There is no game here I know how to catch.”

“Food,” Faci said, nodding. “Is very important.”

“Go,” Xyl murmured. “He like this. At times.” She took his arm and led him outside.

There were villagers around the fire, talking amongst themselves and chewing on roasted meat and mushrooms. They stopped at the sight of Kefier. Xyl, still holding his arm, said something in their wailing language, pleading or arguing. She pointed at Faci’s hut several times. Kefier surmised from the look on some of their faces what they clearly thought of the elder or his decision.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Jama bearing down on him, his hot breath on his face. Xyl whimpered and stepped away.

The hand was dropped and a spit with a rabbit leg through it was offered to him. Jama said something to the rest of the kusyani, smiling, and left him alone. As if to follow his example, the rest of the kusyani began talking again, and it was as if he had never existed.

He settled against a log near the fire and chewed on the tough rabbit meat. Xyl sat beside him, wolfing her own messily. She looked so frail, as if she could easily break in two against his knee.

He extracted himself from the group once his meal was finished and because nobody tried to bother him, decided to take a quick walk around the village. Mottled sunlight and shadow danced on his skin. The village was erected on a small patch of cleared flat land. Right at the edge of it, obscured by vegetation and shrub, was a steep ravine.

Green and grey mountains tainted the horizon. Kefier felt his belly flutter at the feel of the cool breeze. Most of the Kag wilderness, even as far away as Hartmur, had been alarmingly dark and obscene. This was different. A beetle landed on his elbow and buzzed its way pleasantly onto his palm.

He heard something break behind him.

He sighed, opening his fingers and allowing the beetle to scramble from his fingers and clumsily fly away. Could he ask the kusyani to refine their hunting techniques, maybe? If they didn’t decapitate him first. He felt something hairy behind him and turned, his fist colliding against the taut flesh on Jama’s belly. The kusyan roared and flattened him with a similar blow, landing on his shoulder. He rolled across the ground, twigs and leaves sticking behind him.

Jama leaped on him again and he reached out to kick him. The kusyani didn’t even bother to move aside. It was not a fight, but a hunter playing with its prey. Kefier, realizing this, scrambled to his feet, but he was knocked down again. He rolled downhill. Seeing an opportunity, he made himself collide against Jama. They fell over a rock and into the forest floor.

Jama rose, looking as if he would lunge again, but he suddenly collapsed to his knees. Kefier tensed, the blood pounding in his head. A few moments passed, and he realized Jama wasn’t going to attack.

He could not.

Kefier slipped past him and saw a tall preface which rose into a mountain from behind. There was marking on a nearby rock; he could not tell if it was carved or drawn. It was in the shape of a rune, similar to the Sau letter in the Kag alphabet. It might have been Dageian. He drew nearer, slowly, one step at a time. Nothing happened. He reached out and touched the surface, his fingers reaching up towards the rune.

An icy feeling crawled onto his hand. He jerked away, as if it burnt. He felt the ground quiver underneath him and saw the rune, dark copper against the stone, turn black. The vibration stopped abruptly. He saw the outline of a door.

He pushed against the rune, feeling a burning sensation on his palm as he did so. The rock swung inwardly, revealing steps that led into darkness.

He glanced behind him once, to look at Jama. The kusyan was still on his knees, his great black chest heaving, oblivious to everything. He looked distressed, but not alarmingly so. Kefier started down the steps, his boots feeble against the moss-covered rock. The air was damp, with a sickly sweet stench to it. He remembered Hartmur with unease.

The light behind him was faint when he reached the bottom of the steps. Something hard rolled against his boot and he realized, with a start, that it was a skull. There was no mistaking that scent, now. He lost the desire to investigate further and went back up. Jama had not moved at all, even with Faci bent over him, whiskers drooping.

“Did I not tell you to stay in the village?” the old kusyan asked. The timbre of his voice was different from that morning.

“No,” Kefier said. “You didn’t, actually.”

Faci crookedly walked towards Kefier, his speed surprising for an old man. Kefier realized too late that he didn’t want to talk. He fell backwards, his face hitting dirt. Blood from a cut lip flew into his mouth as he swore aloud and turned to see the kusyan leaping, sharp claws glinting in the sunlight.

He tried to draw his sword. The belt snapped, and he used the scabbard to block Faci’s attack. The kusyan was nowhere near as strong as Jama. The scabbard caught him under the jaw and he crumpled to the ground.

“Hey,” Kefier started uneasily. “Don’t do that again. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Faci rose. Slowly. Kefier felt a sudden burst of heat in the air. The image of the kusyan began to blur. His face twisted, turned, leaving a dark mask in its stead; his body contorted, growing scales between fur. The shadows around him bent in all directions, made it look as if he stood on a field of dancing rocks. Kefier felt the sweat trickling down his throat, cold as autumn rain, but he didn’t move.

The creature looked at him and stepped forward, its body rippling as if made of water. Its tail shattered rocks into dust. Kefier fought hard to keep his eyes open; he could not figure out where the creature began or ended. It had no definite shape. One moment he thought it stood as tall as the mountains behind them; then it was suddenly Faci’s size, weak and hobbled and paler than the moon.

Kefier drew the sword, the scabbard cluttering uselessly beside him. The creature bent around the point, closer to him, a foot away, half a foot away…

The shadows danced faster. Kefier felt his heart at his throat, smelled the thing’s breath and remembered rain falling on dry soil. He swung. The creature laughed and danced away.

“Futile!” it said. “What good are your weak attempts? For me, the Kag cleaved! Who are you against my power?” Kefier didn’t wait to see what it did next and lunged. He might as well have been stabbing air—the creature was beside him at once, the breath on his ear, like rain…

Kefier felt himself thrown against the rock face, beside the rune, narrowly avoiding crushing his head. The creature pressed against him. His body felt rigid, bound, near bursting. He looked up and into the deep knot of shadows in its eyes.

He saw a face.

He screams.

It is reflected there, in its eyes, for him to see. He screams, heat pouring into his pores, out of them. His sword reaches up, the leather hilt clammy with his sweat, touches the creature’s face. It draws back for a moment, just a moment, but it is all he needs.

Thunder follows the purple cracks of lightning on the glass of the sky. The creature cries and falls to the ground. Kefier does not see why, what else happens. He is screaming still. He falls to the ground, his face wet with tears, the memories hot on him like the creature’s breath and that smell of summer rain.

He calls for him like he must have done a thousand times after his death, for forgiveness.

Chapter Six

Kefier opened his eyes and felt as if years had passed. It must’ve been only minutes, though. The kusyan was lying on the ground with a gash across his chest, his frail, dilapidated body struggling to breathe. Kefier crawled towards him. “Old man,” he said, unsure of why he still approached after what he’d seen. “Do you need any help?”

Faci’s lips cracked into a smile. “You have a kind heart,” he said. “But no. I am beyond help. What you did for me...is enough.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For? Attacking something that would have killed you? That would have ripped your soul from your body, dragged it where souls should not go?” The kusyan shook his head. “This is not your fault. Nor his. He never really had a choice. The agan was strong in me, and I was right there.”

Kefier touched his limp shoulder. “You’re making no sense, old man.”

“Hundreds of years ago,” the kusyan whispered. “The old kingdoms clashed. Dageis and Gaspar. They tore Bayatdan into pieces. They raped the women and killed the children and killed each other in the dark, in the light, under the gods’ eyes. They had done this for hundreds of years, don’t you see? Don’t you see? This is what they do. This is what we do.”

He drew a deep breath, and for a moment Kefier thought he was dead. But he shook his head and went on. “But she, she was there, this time. Call her selfish. Call her what you wish to call her. But know that her dreams have been shattered, her life has been threatened, and she thought her love was lost to the sea. Know that there are people whose lives are torn every day, who must live despite that…know that she knew this, and that no one else loved so deeply as she did.”

“This is Naijwa,” Kefier breathed. “You’re talking about her.”

The kusyan smiled. His wound was bubbling, attempting to seal itself shut. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”

“But Naijwa was—how long ago was that? You were alive then?”

“I told you. Hundreds of years. Flower, he called her. My beautiful flower.”

“Who is he?”

“Raggnar. Raggnar rog-Bannal.” He took another deep breath, his eyes clouding. “My master.”

“Did Naijwa make those things in the Kag?”

“Does it rain from the sky? Don’t ask insolent questions, boy. Those things—those toys, they don’t matter. What matters was what she made. In there, before it was over.” He pointed in some direction. “That abomination. Her child, her last gift to the world.” He sighed and began to murmur.

“And in her fury so, she created him,

From clay and mage-fire and her unborn child within—”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Kefier said.

Faci sighed. “The beast killed its own mother, and everyone inside the village of Hilal. Raggnar rog-Bannal arrived too late. The creature was already there, growing larger and fatter. He tried to kill it, but it was too strong.

“Raggnar was at his wits’ end,” Faci continued, blinking. “He could not just leave it there, could he? So what if it was in Gaspar, made by a Gasparian witch? As a Dageian mage he could’ve just easily walked away, but he was its father. He couldn’t just leave it. He asked his mages to help him. And I, too—I was so young, and only a staff-carrier, but he knew the agan was strong in me, though I was untrained in its use. Between each of us, we broke it into pieces and sealed it so that its power may not hurt the living world. Jaeth took his part to a temple in his home, I think. Farg did the same thing. They were very powerful, you know? The spells they knew...but I, I knew nothing, and we were running out of time. My master had no choice but to seal that part—its right hip—inside me.”

Kefier licked his lips. “So you’ve just been sitting here all this time, keeping this beast inside your body.”

“I don’t know much but the agan, the ebb of life in me, was strong, and fought to keep it sealed. For all these years, I kept it from hurting anyone. The hope is that when I die, naturally, that part of the creature in me would die. I will know, soon.” He coughed and grinned again. “I have at least kept this knowledge from him.”

“For Ab’s sake,” Kefier grunted. “You’re rambling again.”

Faci gazed up at the sky. “It was—Jaeth’s fault. He wrote to me. All those long years ago, telling me he wished to meet with me about what he’d done with his part. This was not my master’s wish. We were not supposed to know what the others had done. But I met him and he told me. Jaeth was always so naïve, and I—I was, too, for agreeing.

“This man, this other man whose name I do not know, only that he is old, and a Kag rank with the agan—” He grimaced, his tongue testing his worn fangs. “He found a copy of the letter. I don’t know how that came to be.

“What I know is that he finds us here. Eleven, twelve years ago. He made me tell him. Ingyomanrr marrir arranti…he took Xyl. I could not help it. You know Xyl, don’t you? Blessed child. She is all I have, I am old, my only descendant left. He made me tell him where Jaeth kept his piece of Sarohkitram. He’d kept it inside a box, sealed in a temple on Sagun Isle, across the village of Agantuan where Jaeth was chief in his time. He didn’t know I had one myself, or he would have made me tell him that too.

“But what he did to me broke the seal. I hadn’t known. Not until you came, and it saw you near the rune, and it reacted.”

He rambled on about something else, but Kefier had stopped listening by this point. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his own heart pounding against his ears. Sagun Isle. Agantuan.

Faci reached out, patted his hand. He looked like a dry leaf at the end of a branch. “All your fault, Jaeth,” he said, his eyes on Kefier. His eyelids drooped halfway and then he was gone.

Some memories come at you like a wave. You’re not quite sure when the swell starts, but you know before it hits how it all ends; that after the rise and fall, you will still be engulfed by the sea.

Kefier spent the night after Faci’s death watching the kusyan girl Xyl prepare a marmot for cooking over a fire. She had ceased to talk to him since her grandfather’s death. Kefier found the silence difficult to deal with, but he wasn’t sure how to break it. That was another thing about a wave—that as soon as it starts, you are powerless. He lost track of the girl carefully peeling the hide and saw his brother skinning a mouse-deer carcass.

“You’ve got to come home sometime, you know?” his brother said, his hands and his blade streaked with blood. “For Ab’s sake, you’re starting to stink.”

“I think I take more baths than you do.”

Enosh glanced up at him and grimaced. He was more handsome and could get away with certain expressions that would look grotesque on Kefier’s plainer features. “I know you’ve got this whole war going on with the elders, but this just won’t do. I won’t have it said that my brother is a hermit. It’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t know.” Kefier watched him hack off the lungs and throw it at the waiting dogs behind them. “It might give you a bit of an edge. The only chief in Gorent related to a hermit. That would get them talking.”

“I’m serious, Kefier. My reputation—”

“As your brother, I think you should kiss that goodbye.” Kefier threw his hands up in disgust. “Is that all you think about? All right. If you want me back so badly, tell them to give me my dog back.”

“Hilkiah owns Wing, you know that.”

“That piss-pot priest didn’t even know he existed until last week!” He kicked a spray of dirt towards the dogs, who wilted into the distance. “I raised him since he was a pup. I taught him to track half as well as he does. Hilkiah’s boy himself said he was useless until that hunt. And then suddenly he’s their dog? Enosh, what kind of a bloody chief can’t even tell his people to let his brother keep a stupid dog?”

Enosh’s face darkened. “The kind who is serious about his responsibilities,” he said. “What will it look like if I go around letting my brother get away with defying the laws? Do you know what that will do to my—”

“Reputation, yes,” Kefier hissed. “It’s amazing the number of new words you learn every day you’re in that seat.”

“You’re angry. I understand that,” Enosh said calmly. “Don’t lay it out on me. Come home, Kefier. We’ll talk with them. Perhaps they’ll do a trade.”

“The dog is worthless to them.” Kefier glanced out to the sea. “They just want to make me miserable.”

“You’re impossible.” Enosh sighed and laid out the pieces of meat on the hide beside him. “I don’t have time for this. Come home or don’t come home. I don’t care.”

“You do that,” Kefier grunted, not looking at him. But he heard the footsteps fade behind him and felt that overwhelming sense of loneliness he had tried to contain for so long. He struggled with the desire to chase after Enosh and beg him to stay a little longer. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his knees and spent the rest of that night thinking up ways to make Enosh’s life more difficult. Emptying his ink pots, or hiding his good tunic so he’d have to meet with the other chiefs in frayed clothing. That sort of thing.

His next visitor, the next morning, was more unexpected. Ailat, the weaver’s daughter, had never been a close friend of his, and in all the other times he had left the village she had never shown the least sign of caring. So as soon as he saw her, having just come back from a swim, his eyes grew wide open.

“Hello,” she said, smiling. She glanced at the shore. “The sun is nice today. Is the water warm?”

“Not really.” He ran his hands over his face, squeezing water from his eyes. “Did you know I would be here?”

She nodded. She placed a basket on top of a rock, smoothed her skirt, and sat down on the sand. “Is this where you always go when you disappear? The others were wondering.”

“Please don’t tell them,” he blurted out.

She looked up at the terror on his face and laughed. “As if I would!” she exclaimed. “Did you think I would be so cruel?” She smiled and pointed at the basket. “I brought you some cakes. And bread. I figured after days of eating nothing but meat you’d like them. My mother baked a whole lot yesterday. You missed quite a feast, you know.”

Kefier put his shirt back on and approached her warily. She continued chattering. “Mata Hilkiah gave this wonderful telling of the making of the moon. He did all the voices too. It was grand. And somebody from Fegu, who had spent a few years in Hafod, he sang a song. In Kagosh. I had no idea it was such a beautiful language.”

“It’s all right.” He took the basket from her and started digging through. The cakes were wrapped in oiled banana leaves. They were cold, but the scent made his mouth water before he could even unwrap them.

“Enosh told me you both know how to speak in Kagosh,” she continued. “Your mother taught you?”

He swallowed. “My father thought it would be important. They’ve got books, you know, in the library at Sen’senal.” He paused, cake still in his hand. “Maybe my mother taught Enosh. She never taught me. I was too young.”

“Oh,” Ailat quickly said. “I didn’t know. I guess when we moved here she was already dead.” She shrugged. “It’s been so long. But anyway, let me hear some of that Kagosh you know.”

“Really?” he asked. “Now?”

“Of course now.”

Kefier glanced at the cake and then back at her. “The cake is delicious,” he said, haltingly. The language grated his tongue; he had never been good at it.

“Oh,” Ailat murmured, eyes half closed. “How romantic.”

“I only said—” he began.

“Show me your cave,” she said, rising and grabbing his hand. “Enosh said you sometimes sleep in a cave. I can’t believe I didn’t know this shore existed. Can you believe how beautiful it is? Don’t we live in such a wonderful place, Ke-if?”

“Did Enosh send you to bother me? I’ve had enough of this. I’m done bending over so he could look good. You tell him that. Tell him he’s an arrogant, self-centered son of a—tell him he’s an ass.”

Her face darkened. “Maybe you should tell him yourself.” And then she huffed and left him on his own.

“There,” Xyl said, standing on a rock at the edge of the mountain. Kefier glanced up from his thoughts and saw the silhouette in the distance. It looked like nothing more than dark lake framed by black trees at first glance. Peering closer, though, he saw ashes, rock and the remains of burnt buildings strewn across the desert sand. He could see nothing else for miles across the horizon.

“What is it?” he asked, approaching her. “I thought you were just taking me to the nearest town.”

She bit her lip. “This is. Nearest.” She glanced back down, her ears folded flat against her head. “Sadness. There is sadness there. Grandfather saw. Knew.”

Kefier looked again and swallowed. It was off the side of the trail and no one was making him go.

Tell him yourself, she’d said. He should’ve. He didn’t know if that would have changed anything, made Enosh understand, perhaps, half the things he needed to say. Because it was too late to know now and for so many other reasons, he ventured towards that direction. Xyl followed him, her silence as heavy as his heart.

Dust stirred behind him with every step.

He remembered Jerisi’s eyes when he told her his intentions. “Hilal?” she had exclaimed, recoiling from him. “Are you mad? Even were it true, it is an unholy place, a birthplace of demons!” She made several signs of Yohak in quick succession.

“I don’t want to go there, child,” he said, exasperated. “But your mistress said it stands right against the mountains that separate this land from Gaspar. Do you know what that means?”

She goggled at him.

He shook his head. “That means there’s a way through these mountains.” He jabbed his finger at the map.

“There’s a way through these mountains,” she suggested, pointing at the range to the north. “A tunnel. A caravan route. If Gaspar is where you want to go...”

“I don’t want to go to Gaspar. I just need to get out of here.” Kefier sighed again, pulling the map closer to him. “Maybe I can make it to Aret-ni. Grab a ship. Maybe. But if I’m followed, it’s easy enough to ambush me on the road.”

“You’re being followed?” she gasped. “By whom?”

“Men who want to kill me.”

She made that sign again. “Then call the guards. They’ll deal with that easily enough. My mistress will help you.”

He gave her a look. “I don’t think they’ll want to help me.”

“Why not?”

He’d killed a guard. An innocent man, coming back from listening to a singer he admired. He chose not to scare her with that knowledge and glanced back at the map. “Kago is off limits. They’ll know me by sight.”

“I told you. North. I heard there're cities here, and...” She pressed her lips into a knowing smile. “You can pass for Gasparian.”

“Too bad I can’t speak the language,” Kefier snorted. “Anyway, it’s too far north, and that’s supposing I get on the road before they see me. But if that pass exists here, I just need to make my way to the mountains.”

She glanced at where he had been pointing and made a face. “You keep wanting to head south-east,” she said. “Where do you really want to go?”

“Jin-Sayeng.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Why?” Kefier repeated. He looked at her. “Where else could I go?” When she didn’t answer him, he smiled. “I know the language. I like the food. The people, they can be downright asses but...” He glanced down at the hefty purse and the letters. A trap, he thought, rolling his shoulders. Probably. A stupid one, though. Like trying to kill a prisoner by throwing the key in his eye.

“My grandmother told me about Hilal,” Jerisi said. “It’s where the witch came from. She went back there, you know. After she gifted the Kag with her demons. Went straight back there to murder everyone for her own blood-rituals. They said she used parts of the people she butchered to make more demons, but they took her with them.” She gave an involuntary shudder. “When the king’s men came later, wondering what became of the village folk, all they saw were the streets running red with blood and ghosts. So many ghosts, wailing for their limbs.”

Kefier struggled to contain his laughter. He glanced at the horrified girl. “I’m going to try going through these mountains,” he said. “I think I can do it. It’ll be harder to follow me. They’d have to be mad. And no, I have no intention of going into that place, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“What about the demons?” Jerisi asked, wide-eyed.

“It’s off the Kag Forest,” Kefier said. He tried to smile away the memory of the man’s head flapping carelessly in the dark. “I’ll take my chances. As long as I stay away from this Hilal...”

Yet now he was here, walking with his hand on his sword and his eyes searching the streets for blood. There was no hint of red amongst the grey. It didn’t even look like much of a village anymore; just the barest scattering of rubble and decayed wood. Xyl crouched beside him, her fur standing on end.

“This is it?” Kefier asked, his voice cracking the silence.

“You feel nothing?” Xyl asked, shivering. “Look.”

He turned to where she pointed. “I don’t know,” he said, breathing deeply. The rubble reminded him of an abandoned settlement he’d seen with Oji once. The mines in the area had stopped yielding useable ore, so people upped and left. Nothing dramatic, at least on the surface; just empty houses and barns, quiet streets and a broken pot or two.

He closed his eyes and heard Xyl’s soft voice. “They standing there. One moment and then.” She glanced into one of the empty houses. What used to be a house. “A father. Two children sleep. Not his. His mate says they are, but he knew. He took axe. Kill them before it took him.” She gave a small shudder. “Saved them, that way.”

“Your grandfather told you this?”

“Grandfather saw.” She looked at him. “Xyl feels. The soul remembers.”

They were deeper into the village now. Kefier stopped in his tracks and here saw walls covered in a black substance that felt like soot. Parts of the street were cracked. The fissures were deep and circular, as if something heavy had stood there once.

“Your grandfather said she made a thing,” he said, his mouth feeling dry all of a sudden. “The last thing she ever made.” The men, back in the forest in Cael, didn’t even have time to scream. “But I killed it,” he continued, uncertainly. “I killed the one inside your grandfather and another in the Kag. So why didn’t they?”

Xyl looked at him curiously. “Kill?” she asked. “Grandfather dying.” She shook her head. “He kill it. Was trying to. So many years. You didn’t do anything. Couldn’t have.” And then she suddenly stopped, her eyes widening. Kefier glanced behind him in the same moment she scampered behind a house.

A woman stood in the middle of the street. She looked Jin, but that ended with her features. She wore an oversized blue tunic, with various ornaments and dull jewels strewn into the fabric, and had a strange blue hat on her head. She gestured and tested him with a guttural language. When he didn’t respond, she hesitated and lifted her arms half-way.

Xyl hissed from her hiding place. Kefier took one step back, his hand reaching for the sword. The woman saw the movement and smiled. “You’re Jin, then?” she asked. He blinked, and she pointed at Oji’s sword. “That.”

“No,” he said. “You are?”

“Here and there.” She gave a half-shrug. “Are you a bandit or a scavenger?”

“I’m supposed to tell you if I am?”

“That’s the idea, yes.” She pushed her spectacles higher up her nose.

“I’m a traveller,” he said. “Passing by.”

“Not wise to lie.” Her lips remained mirthless. “Only one reason you’d be here. I’d like to know what you did with her journals.”

“What journals?”

She drew closer to him. “Naijwa’s journals. You’ve stolen them. Else why would you be here?”

“I told you, I’m passing by. Me and my friend.”

“The kusyan, yes. I saw. And I told you, it’s not wise to lie.” She lifted her arms again, revealing a golden rope wound around her left elbow. Kefier opened his mouth and felt a pulse, followed by the sensation of being pelted over the head with a club. He fell flat on his back.

The woman approached him slowly. “I won’t ask again,” she said.

“Sapphire!” a voice called out. A younger woman appeared behind the rubble. She was wearing similar clothes to the first, but in a lighter shade of blue. She glanced at Kefier uncertainly for a moment. “I found this,” she mumbled, holding up a silver chain with a pendant dangling on the end.

A flush of added irritation crept along Sapphire’s forehead. “Let me take a look at that, Moon,” she snapped. “A Yohak talisman? It can’t be. That miserable maggot figured it out!” She started swearing in what sounded like at least three different languages.

The woman she called Moon turned back to Kefier. “Who’s this?” she asked.

“Nobody,” Sapphire grumbled. “After Bannal said there was no way he could do it, here he is, with the audacity to throw this in our faces! How long has this been there, Moon? Did you scan the area?”

“It was last handled years ago,” Moon said. “At least five, likely longer. Umm, Sapphire, if Bannal thought for certain he couldn’t open it, why did he send us to fetch them?”

They seemed to puzzle over this for a few moments. Kefier finally dared to place a hand on the ground to push himself up, and they turned to him like startled deer. “Of course,” Sapphire mumbled to herself. “Then you were probably telling the truth,” she told him, sounding like she wasn’t too happy about it.

“I told you,” Kefier replied. “I’m just a traveller. Xyl?” He glanced to his left and saw the kusyan staring at him wide-eyed. She approached when he gestured, casting a wary eye on the two women.

“A kusyan!” Moon exclaimed, dropping into a half-crouch. “Oh! I’ve heard they occupy the mountains here, but I didn’t think I’d actually see one! Come here and be petted,” she crooned.

“She’s not an animal,” Kefier mumbled. He turned to Sapphire. “I can’t help but overhear.”

“Oh?” Sapphire sounded bored.

“This one’s grandfather just died. He mentioned a man, a Kag. I think a mage, like you.” He rubbed his chin. “Do you know who he is?”

“We do,” Sapphire said. “But we’re not likely about to tell you now, are we? Moon, get your things.”

“Sapphie,” Moon began. “Wait a minute, won’t you?” She pointed at the sword on Kefier’s belt. “Do you know how to use that? Have you used it before?”

“On varying occasions,” Kefier mumbled. “Why?”

Moon cast a quick glance at Sapphire before she continued. “Our guide left us a few days ago, while we were staying in Kalthekar. There were rumours going on. Something about Barun pressing their luck against the border. He was Jinsein and perhaps thought it meant war and was afraid for his family. Who knows? The Jinseins have always been afraid of the Gasparian warrior-mages, the mandraagars.”

“Tell the man our whole life story, Moon, I think he has time,” Sapphire drawled.

Moon gave her an uneasy smile. “He took our horses. We need to get home to Lake Enji to report this to our lord, but I doubt our chances to get very far on foot. If you could take the place of our last man, it would be great.”

“You two look like you can handle yourselves,” Kefier observed.

Moon giggled. “Oh, we can. If Sapphire caught our guide early on she’d have taken his head off. Wouldn’t you have, Sapphie, dear? But it would be nice to have someone used to traipsing about in the wilderness, get us food, deal with the locals. You look like the type. You’ll do.” She placed a hand on Sapphire’s shoulder. “My sister will pay handsomely if we get to Lake Enji in one piece.”

“Lake Enji. That sounds like it’s in Jin-Sayeng.”

“It’s on the border. Gaspar, Jin-Sayeng? Who knows? Lord Bannal owns the land and he’s not the sort that would let anyone make him bow his knee. It’s been years since anyone’s tried.” She gestured at the kusyan. “You don’t have to decide right away. We’ve camped near that ridge, away from the village. Near that lone gum tree, you see? Join us for supper later, if you want.” Sapphire pressed her lips, declining to add to the comment.

Kefier looked at the direction she pointed at and could make out a tent and the remnants of a campfire. “Why so far away?” Kefier asked.

Moon smirked, shadows dancing on her round face. “I wouldn’t want to sleep beside the ghosts of Hilal. Do you?”

Sapphire and Moon were sisters, raised under the tutelage of mages who lived on an island in Lake Enji. Kefier knew such places, where students of the skilled arts trained in seclusion to prevent the kind of disasters that make for great stories down the road, existed in Dageis, but to hear of one so close to Jin-Sayeng came as a surprise to him. Even in the Kag, where so-called witches—if not socially acceptable—weren’t given to the temples or fed to the seas, a place that purposely invited magery was unheard of.

Without even the slightest bit of urging, Moon prattled on as if he was a student himself, giving him an overview of the arts they learned down in Enji. It all had to do with the manipulation of natural forces: wind, water, earth, or fire. The methods were Dageian in nature, but they had adapted it to respond to their surroundings. Farmers from both kingdoms frequently hired their mages for predictions on the weather, which was honest enough income, if a little droll.

“So what are you doing here?” he asked, gazing across at them over a fire. Moon glanced at Sapphire before shrugging.

“Umm, well, we were just trying to supplement our studies.”

But her distracting talk was wearing his patience thin. He turned to the darkness, towards the direction of the village. “I didn’t know Hilal was a popular place for a stroll,” he said dryly. At the sound of the name, Xyl shivered. The nearness still affected her, but she had refused to leave his side, despite his urging.

Sapphire gave Moon a sharp glance. “You see?” she asked. “Less chatter from you and perhaps he would’ve left it alone.” Moon turned red and looked down.

“It wasn’t fooling anyone,” Kefier said kindly. He turned to Sapphire. “So tell me.”

“There is nothing to tell. We are students of our craft, as she said. Naijwa, for you must know Naijwa, else you would not be here, had many skills worth studying. She had left journals here, journals that were sealed under a powerful spell. Even the most skilled mages I know would have had a hard time breaking the seal. But they are gone. So now this whole trip, which we had prepared many months for, is wasted.” She pressed her lips together. “Now it is your turn to tell us why you are here.”

“So now you care?” Kefier patted Xyl’s arm. “I told you. This one’s grandfather passed on. Before he died, he mentioned a man who had forced some information out of him. A Kag with great power in the skilled arts.” He noted the expression on Sapphire’s face and his smile faded. “Is this the same man you think stole those journals?”

“Why do you care?” Sapphire asked, observing his face.

He swallowed. Sagun Isle. Agantuan. “This…Kag,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. “He has a Baidhan accent, doesn’t he?”

Sapphire pursed her lips. “This man struck a rivalry with our master many years ago. They were racing to recover Naijwa’s journals and other memoirs surrounding her work. Yes,” she said, sighing. “He has the Baidh accent.”

“White hair. Heavy brows.” Kefier closed his eyes for a moment, trying to recall. “A distinct walk. Like a man who used to be very strong but now can’t face the idea that he is getting old. Big frame. Expensive-looking clothes.”

Sapphire’s face remained expressionless. “Perhaps it fits the description of our man. Perhaps not. Continue your story.”

“I was born in Agantuan village,” he said, looking into the fire. “In Gorent.”

“All the way to the north,” Moon breathed, not quite believing it.

He smiled. “Yes. It was the year my half-brother became chief after my father’s death. The Kag came. Kags, you understand, don’t come to our islands often. The last one was my mother—who was Gorent in blood, although she was raised in Baidh years and years ago.

“The Kag came. I never learned his name. Didn’t care. Enosh made friends with him, though, wanting to better speak the language. The man entertained him. Found him amusing, I guess. It seemed like he had money, and it was surprising to our villagers when he started asking for Enosh’s guidance, if he wanted to take a boat to the other islands to speak with the other chiefs, and so on. For the weeks he was there they were inseparable.

“I was suspicious, so I followed them one day, after they started making preparations for a hunting trip. They took a boat to the island across ours. Sagun Isle. Nobody lives there. All we have is an old temple to Ab, which our forefathers had closed.” He stopped. Sapphire and Moon bent closer, waiting to hear what he had to say, but he had run out of words.

How do you tell a story you had denied yourself so many years?

He faltered. He was a coward at heart, exactly the kind Oji wouldn’t believe he was. “He used my brother to steal something,” he said. “An artefact of some sort.” He turned back to Xyl, took a deep breath. “Xyl’s grandfather told me that a man called Jaeth had hidden something there. I didn’t quite understand that part of his story. Maybe you both do.”

“Maybe,” Sapphire agreed. “Maybe you will take us to Enji first, before I entrust you with your answers. If you have met this man, Lord Bannal will want to speak with you.”

Kefier nodded. It was enough that she didn’t ask. He gestured towards the village. “Are there really ghosts there?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

It was Moon who answered. “You know that Naijwa’s creatures take in souls?”

“So the Kags say.”

“When that creature is opened up, maybe killed, the souls are thrown back into this plane. Some pass over, going wherever it is that souls go. Others linger in their sorrow. I have never seen them. But I’ve heard enough stories and I have no desire to find out.”

He tried to think about that. “They are free, then?”

“Strange choice of words, that,” she said. “Maybe you should go up there and ask them. If your life is taken forever by such things—ended, then and there, for reasons beyond your understanding—are you ever truly free?”

Interlude

His mother would be upset. No, more than that—Dai has seen her upset before, and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that if she catches up to him now she would not know what to do with him. Strike him, maybe. Hang him upside down from the rafters. And of course, it goes without saying that she would never, ever forgive him.

So he tries not to think about her. But it is hard, because he is surrounded by the sound of other small voices, all clamouring for their own mothers. These ones, as far as he knows, have done nothing wrong. They were simply where they were expected to be before they were taken, snatched away from the comfort of their lives to Sakku knows where. They have a reason to cry.

Him? “Ah, Dai, Dai,” his grandfather used to say, outcasts the both of them. “You will be your mother’s death someday.” And so it is better, he thinks, that she does not know. That she cannot see where his follies have led him. Never mind that they had already taken his aunt from them—Sister Sume, whom he loved with all his heart. She is gone, and it is all his fault. So he deserves whatever waits for him. He deserves it, and his mother will never know and she doesn’t have to know because—

The wagon grinds to a halt. Hands reach under the tarp and begin dragging the children out, one by one. Some scream; they are beaten by the ends of daggers and swords. Dai clambers out willingly.

They are at the edge of wilderness he does not recognize. He has lost count of the weeks in transit, and so even the tall, black mountains and granite cliffs seem a welcome relief to the shadows and the stench of human waste. “Where are we?” he asks one man, a half-Jin.

“Never you mind,” the man says. He does not seem as cruel now as he was in the days past. He orders them to march in a line and makes them follow him along the sandy ground. Dai looks up, his forehead drenched with sweat, to the sound of an eagle in the distance.

They walk; some of the children fall, and the men set on them, beating them until they get up. One doesn’t. Dai watches as they cut him loose and kick the body to the side of the road. “What a waste,” he overhears another man snort. “Can’t we still use him? Won’t it touch carrion?”

“No carrion. Has to be alive.” The man notices Dai’s attention and he frowns. “Yohak forgive us.”

“May all the gods forgive us,” the other man agrees. “But my own would starve to death if I back out now.”

They bark at them to keep moving. Dai tries, but his feet become leaden as they draw closer to the cliffs. Soon they are traversing a narrow path. The smell of death is stronger here, and Dai begins to hear things. He thinks, at some point, that the child beside him is whispering in a heavy voice, and that behind them there is the scratching sound of something sharpening its claws on rock.

He stops. The other children do not. One does a curious roll where he stands, so that he faces them for an instant. His eyes have gone to the back of his head and his face is blue. He utters something—a name, maybe—and throws himself down the ledge at the end of the path. Another follows. In the distance, there is a deep, slurping sound, and Dai sees an enormous eye rising from the shadows in the chasm.

Dai screams. Clearly, this is not something he should have been able to do, because the men turn to him in surprise. A child tumbles next to him and he avoids the falling body and runs. One man reaches out for him, but his movement is too slow. Unfettered, Dai dashes under him and sprints for the light.

They yell. “Get him!” some are crying; others are saying, “Leave him be! We don’t know—” But those are all behind him now. All he can see is the clear sunlight beyond the tears in his eyes.

He runs until he can run no more. The men do not chase after him. By the time he realizes this, it is too late—he has exhausted himself too much, and he falls to the ground. As he slips into unconsciousness, he dreams of the father he has never seen, and cries out for him in the dark.

“Halt!” The voice of the border guard is strained beyond the storm. “The gates are closed. You need to come back in the morning.”

“I need to get through now,” Ing Vahn says. His sedge hat isn’t doing much to keep the rain off him; he is soaked through. His horses, a chestnut and a dapple grey, look just as uncomfortable.

“What’s that?” the guard calls.

“I said I need to get through.” He gestures at the gate. “Open them.”

The two guards on the tower look at each other. One gesticulates, and the other swears. “Don’t you have any place to stay for the night?” one of them finally asks, swinging down the ladder. He is a good head taller than the young man and glowers at him. “I told you, the gates are closed. Come back in the morning with your papers. Are you in a rush?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” the young man says, hardly intimidated. He is on horseback, anyway, and can see past the guard’s helmet. “I need to get to Shirrokaru as soon as I can. Official business. Now if you would be so kind as to step aside...”

“What official business? From the Dragonthrone?” the guard at the top of the tower calls out. “Ask him if he has a permit.”

“You’ve got a permit?” the guard next to him demands. “We’ll let you through if you have anything official-looking. A letter, piece of paper, a carving with the regent’s face on it—anything.”

“I don’t need a permit,” the young man says patiently. “This is urgent. You’re Jinsein, aren’t you? Then this concerns you. They’re going to be attacking us soon.”

“Who?”

“Barun.”

“The Gasparians?” the guard asks. “Are you barking mad? Nothing like that has happened for a long time. Did you wake up from a bad dream or something?”

“I’m telling you, I need to bring this news to the palace. The regent needs to know.” He isn’t sure if anyone else knows how ironic the words sound, coming from his mouth. Or how ironic any of this is. He has journeyed all this way in search of a dragon, only for the trail to lead to a war brewing at their borders. Mercenaries, beasts, Gasparian lak’an…all he knows is that his precious kingdom is under attack.

“Regent needs his beauty sleep,” the guard sneers. “What did Lord Ryabei ever care about gossip? Barun won’t be attacking us, boy. Nobody told us anything and they usually tell us first. Didn’t you know the Gasparians are afraid of Jin-Sayeng? Of our dragons?”

The young man’s breath is white on his lips. “Dragons,” he says calmly. And then he gives a smile, the rain streaming past his cheeks. “We have no dragons in Jin-Sayeng. Everyone knows that. No dragons, no organized army, no king. We’ve been on the verge of getting trampled by anyone who would dare for a very long time now, and Barun is taking the initiative. If you value your family and your homeland, you will let me through.”

The guard at the tower hears everything and laughs. The other guard lifts his torch close to his face, to take a closer look at him. He sees, for the first time perhaps, that he is very young, not even old enough to have proper hair on his lip, and that his eyes are very frightened.

“Go home, son,” the guard whispers. “You had a bad dream. You...”

The arrow takes him through the eye before he can finish speaking.

There is an anguished scream from the tower, followed by a horn blaring in the distance. “Open the gates!” the young man screams, his horses panicking. The one with the pack tears the reins loose from his grasp and thunders back down the road. “Barun is attacking us! Open your bloody gates!”

He doesn’t realize it then, but he was expecting to die with the guard, his brains smashed by a Gasparian war hammer against the heavy wooden gates while still on his horse. But somebody in their panic must have listened to him, because the gates swing inward, just before a volley of arrows is set loose in the distance. He coaxes his horse into the crack and hears the arrows sinking into the gate as it closes once more behind him.

“We don’t have enough men for this!” a guard tells him, grabbing his horse. “What are we to do?”

He looks into the man’s horrified eyes. “Did you not join the army to serve your land and your king?”

The man closes his mouth, rain plastering his black hair against his forehead.

“Loose your own arrows. They might not charge until there is enough daylight to see. Wake all your men. I will send word from the nearest encampment to get help. Pray to all the deities and gods that my horse does not fall before I get there.”

“And then?” The man has never seen war in his life. He is not much older than him.

The young man places his hand on the other’s shoulder. “You draw your sword and defend this border to your death.” He jerks at the reins, sinks his boots into his horse, and tears down the road. Amidst that freezing rain and the sound of hooves striking the ground, a distant memory flares.

One leader to another, Enosh. How do you give your whole life knowing they will never know what you’ve done for them?

He shuts his eyes against the rain. He was right, after all—ever and always, the road for him always leads to Jin-Sayeng.

Chapter Seven

The sails flapped against the wind above, white as parchment.

It was their sixth week at sea. Seventy-four days, actually, since Sume was forced to watch Dai as they sailed from the wharf, his face waxen from the realization of what she’d done. Tetsung had been with him, his arms tight around the boy’s body to stop him from dashing into the sea and swimming to her.

She hadn’t seen Hana’s reaction. Her brother’s wife remained ignorant up until the day they left. If she had known, perhaps, she would have made the offer herself. It is better this way, she thought, biting her lip. At least they were together, as a mother and son should be. Tetsung had promised to care for them until the day she returned.

“Don’t think like that, sweetness,” Aden said, coming up beside her with a grin on his face. “I know you are thinking of your family. Don’t. It’s harder to bear each day if you think of them.”

“Is that what you told my brother?” she asked.

He held out his hands. “What do you want me to say? You don’t see ponies or kittens around, do you? Your brother chose a hard life and bore the brunt of it. Won’t you listen to me when I say I truly am sorry that you and his son got dragged into it?”

“You’re not gonna bed her like that, Aden!” Ranias barked. “You’re doing it all wrong!”

Aden coloured. He was the kind of man who coloured easily, and he made a big show of it, too. “These callous men,” he said behind him. “Such language in front of a girl, Ranias. Honestly, didn’t your mother teach you any better?”

“My mother fed swine in Ni’in,” Ranias grinned, showing the gap in his teeth. “She tried her best. You’re not letting him sway you or anything with his words, hey?” he asked, turning to her. “The shitstorms I’ve heard from this man.”

“Oh, I just let him flatter me,” Sume said easily, pretending to fan herself. “I know a sea-cow would look good to anyone after weeks at sea. Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, there’s a stew down below that needs tending.” She ducked her head out of their way as they began to argue about one thing or another and noted, with pleasure, that they waved goodbye. That was good; she was learning how to deal with them.

At least three or four of them thought that they were closer to bedding her than the others. It was only that stalemate, if nothing else, that kept her safe so far. So as long as she kept out of their way at night—she had her own bunk, and kept it locked for good measure—and smiled and pretended to favour one man to stir concern in another, then they seemed content to leave her alone. They liked her cooking, in any case.

Burg was sitting at the table when she returned to the stew. She tipped her head in the casual greeting she’d learned from the men and started stirring. “How’s the boss?” she asked. She’d learned quickly that Burg was the only man on board who ever really spoke to Ylir on a constant basis. To the others he remained an enigma, one who would stand on deck and smile at you one day and throw you overboard for spilling drink in front of him the next.

“He’s fine,” Burg said, staring absently into a bowl of yesterday’s soup. “Tired,” he added. “Always is.”

“If you’re not overly attached to that, this one’s almost ready,” she said. “It’s better, too.”

“What’s better than salt beef stew?” he asked.

“Salt beef stew with carrots?” She smiled and replaced his bowl, adding two hot loaves on the table beside him as well. “Taste that. I tried something different.”

He took a sip and smiled. “Don’t tell me. You added someone into this stew.”

“Lans, but don’t tell anyone,” she said, returning his grin. The small, portly cabin boy wasn’t around to listen to the insult, anyway. “Tell me what’s wrong. You seem depressed about something.”

“Isn’t a man allowed to be depressed about anything?” He pointed through the window. “I just started thinking about my fiancée. I only got to see her once before we left.”

“Oh,” she started. “I didn’t know men like you got married.”

He snorted. “Don’t compare me to those louts. They’ll only take a woman if she’s blindfolded, gagged, and ass up in a barn.” He smiled again, though the look in his eyes remained distant. “She didn’t want me to go. Didn’t think my work was important enough. Her father owns a farm, you know. Could really use all the help he could get. I told her after this, once we get married, I’ll consider. She didn’t think that was good enough. She wanted a child. By Agartes, you women! What is it with you and children?”

“They entertain us when men go off to do worldly things,” she said. “So you argued and then you left?”

“By Agartes’s balls. For all I know she considered the engagement over and done with.” He sipped again. “What did you do to this stew? Are we telling the captain we need to add to his crew when we get to Sutan? Never mind. Don’t let me catch you telling Sir Ylir this, you hear? The last thing I want is our morose benefactor pulling the rug under my feet because he thinks I’ve been unmanned by a woman.”

“It happens,” she said. “All the time.”

Burg shook his head. “Not to me. Not in Ylir’s eyes. He pays really well, you know?” He broke into the bread and tasted it. He was silent for a moment, and then he turned to her with an apologetic look on his face. “The boss asked for you.”

She had to pause for a moment to let that sink in. “Why?”

Burg looked back into the stew. “I don’t know. Just get up there before he has my cock on a plate. Fix your hair or something.”

“All right, but I don’t know why you look so worried.” She wiped her hands on a towel and then, entirely out of impulse, tweaked Burg’s cheek. “He told me explicitly that I was to clean and cook for the crew. Nothing more.”

“Right, girl,” Burg said, pretending to swat her away. “We had a cook. He sent him home after you came on board. He lived all the way in Kago, do you know?” The sombre look returned to his face. “Really. It might not be so bad. If you have his protection, you’ll be safe from the rest.”

“You men all think alike. I’m sure he just wants to ask me a question about our supplies or something.” She pulled the pot out of the stove and placed it on the table in the corner. “Well, tell the next person who comes in to leave some for everyone. I’ll talk to you later, Burg.”

But her forced cheer died down as soon as she found herself sstanding outside his door. She was used to the men’s ribbing—she had heard it all too often in Fuyyu, where the men took no pains in protecting her ears from anything. She remembered Tetsung bristling at every comment out on the street or in the taverns, but then he was an old-fashioned Jin, as her brother had been. She imagined what Hana would say if she was standing beside her right now. Something about her honour, certainly, that growing up in Akki should have taught her to expect better from men, and how can she expect to get a husband now, after all of this?

“Someone’s out there,” a deep voice called from inside the room. “If you’re planning to assassinate me, you should’ve done it minutes ago.”

Sume took a deep breath and opened the door. Ylir was sitting behind his desk, exactly as she’d seen him the last time she had been in this room. He barely glanced at her. “You called for me,” she said, noting that he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was dishevelled and the shirt he was wearing was open down to the chest. She felt her cheeks colour.

“Hmm,” he replied. He pointed at the bed. She made herself look; there was a pile of clothes, neatly folded. They were reasonably fashionable and in the Kag style, complete with the knee-length boots and a cloak. “We’ll reach Sutan by dawn tomorrow and as soon as we dock I would like you to get these cleaned for me. Take them now so I don’t have to look at or smell them in the meantime.”

Sume blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Burg is insufferably ignorant about these things,” he continued. “In Fuyyu, he paid a washerwoman who ruined two of my best shirts and trousers. And I can’t very well trust the rest of the men in this ship not to pawn them off for gambling money or dump them down the sewers at the nearest opportunity. Is this satisfactory?” He peered up at her, smiling. “I wouldn’t want to distract you from your other duties.”

“Would I be allowed to take a walk through town while I’m at it?” She gave her own smile: one of honest relief. Hana would have told her she was pushing her luck.

“I don’t know,” Ylir said. “The men might note your absence and kill themselves in utter frustration.”

“You forget we’ll be in town by then. I’m sure they’ll find satisfaction somewhere else. If not, you can rent a hog from one of the farms. They wouldn’t notice the difference.” She tried not to look too excited. “I’ve never seen Sutan. Or anywhere that wasn’t Akki or Fuyyu in my life.”

“Is that so important?” he asked. “It’s just one bloody Jin town after another.”

“Oh, sir. Sutan is a city. Next to Shirrokaru...” She shook her head. “You’re a Kag. You wouldn’t understand. Shirrokaru, Sutan, Bara, Oren-yaro, and Kai, they are the last bastions of Jin-Sayeng heritage. Places that still show what Jin-Sayeng used to be. Our traditions have been fading since the Dragonlords...”

“Agartes shit on me!” Ylir exclaimed. “If you’re going to talk the ears out of me with that Jin nonsense you might as well do what you want. It’s not like I can stop you.” He turned back to his parchments.

“Thank you, Sir Ylir, sir.” Sume tipped her head, picked up his laundry, and started for the door. She paused and turned to him, wondering if perhaps she’d overstepped her bounds and had missed something, but the man was acting as if she wasn’t even there in the first place. She noted that his fingers were ink-stained to the knuckles before closing the door behind her and making her way back to her own room.

Ylir was as good as his word. The next afternoon, after a rather uneventful arrival that involved a few hours of inspection and paperwork with the Sutan officials, she left the ship without an escort.

Some of the men were surprised. “All she has to do is head back home!” one of them wailed. It was Tibal, the stern-faced, golden-haired Kag who had been with Ranias that day she tried to bargain back her nephew. He had never been friendly with her, though she had seen him skulking about in the back of the mess hall, staring at her like a cat would a mouse.

Sir Ylir gave him a look and he wilted. “She offered her services freely,” he said. “She can walk out any time she wants to. Isn’t that right, Sume?” He gazed out at her from the deck, his eyes twinkling. She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or humorous.

She held out the pile of laundry in her arms. “I won’t. On my honour as a Jinsein,” she replied. Whatever he might think of that.

Sutan dwarfed her expectations. For the time she was walking through the streets staring at the tall pagodas and the clean canals she felt thoroughly and utterly out of place. Her clothes alone left no doubt that she was just an ignorant country girl, come to gape at the majesty of the east. She noted the displeased look a woman in a brightly coloured robe gave her and pretended, for a moment, not to be so surprised that there were orange fish under the bridge.

Orange!

A kind grandmother who was feeding the fish and did not look so threatened by her threadbare appearance showed her the way to a reliable washer-woman. The shop itself was watched by a bored-looking lad, who barked for his mother when Sume appeared with her bundle. The mother did not look impressed at first, but her colour quickly changed when she saw the quality of the clothing Sume brought her. “This has a button that’s come loose,” she grumbled, laying them all out on the table in her shop. “You want that fixed as well?”

“Just make sure you follow the stitching over here,” Sume replied. “It’s not the same as the ones on the sleeve.”

The washer-woman noted where she pointed and nodded. “I can have them ready for you on the morrow.”

She tried not to gape. “Really? So soon?”

“I take it you’ve never been to Sutan before.” The washer-woman took her out to the back of a small warehouse that would have made Mistress Iamme’s eyes pop out. There were several vats of boiling water and a kiln, specially designed for heating rocks to help dry clothes. Jars of cleaning chemicals were stacked in a cupboard. “Your master is a Kag?” the woman asked, after a brief moment of stunned silence from Sume’s part.

“Hopefully his particular tastes will be pleased,” she replied.

“That’s not a problem. We’ve served nobles before, you know. The old king—King Rysaran’s father—had a retinue that required our services for a time. Ah, those were the days.” She gave a smile.

“What was it like?”

“Oh, it was wonderful. I didn’t get to see them in person, of course, but the nobles’ clothes, I have never seen silk so soft in my life. They’ve even found a way to weave silver and gold into it, without affecting the texture.” The washer-woman gave a longing smile. “They were far too long, of course, so the edges were a little frayed. The servant looked shocked when we suggested we cut them. Sacrilegious, he said. Perhaps some of those garments survived the sacking. Well, the nobles are like rats, now, hiding under their tunnels. Moneyed foreigners like your master rule Jin-Sayeng now.” She sighed.

Sume would hear that sigh many more times throughout the day. The way she looked, her accent, and her inevitable confession that indeed, her master was a Kag merchant, brought in their share of stories. Broken families, ruined fortunes, children growing up waving goodbye instead of the traditional farewell of placing their elder’s hands on their heads... She had wanted to visit the city hoping to catch a glimpse of what once was and found it difficult to even enjoy a cup of tea without somebody pounding her over the head with nostalgia.

Her father had mixed feelings about it, she remembered. Sure, the Kags brought change, but he had been happy at the chance to finally make some money after the war with Xiaro, which had left Jin-Sayeng starving. Crops were dying from the heavy rains and Xiaro was attacking every Jin-Sayeng ship that came within sight of their waters. There was no one else to trade with but Gaspar, whose lords took advantage when they could and asked for too much coin in exchange for their paltry grain. So the Kags’ desire for their silk, their fruits, and their perfumes was a change of pace and a sign of full bellies to come.

But others saw Jin-Sayeng’s acceptance of the dirty, ill-bred Kags into their borders after years of animosity as the last nail to the coffin. It felt like a goodbye to Jin-Sayeng pride, to years of regarding themselves as defenders of this land, Dragonlords who held purity and honour above all. Dragonlords? Pah. A toothless old man with snakes tattooed around his arms pointed at Sume and told her he had never seen a Dragon in his lifetime. Oh, he knew they existed, but he had never seen them, he didn’t have to believe, he didn’t have to care. Furthermore, was it not Jin-Sayeng who should’ve driven the Kags back to their lands when they came? Who should’ve never allowed Dageis to grow into power, nor let Gaspar for a moment think that they were the heart of this continent?

She stopped telling them about her Kag master after that; she was nothing more than a simple country girl now, having come from Akki on a ship to find work in the city. People became nicer. Gave her suggestions on  where to go, told her she should find a place to stay in soon because even though the streets were patrolled at night it was better to be safe than sorry. They liked her accent, they said, and that she should probably get new clothes. Sutan employers were picky like that.

She ended the afternoon at a food stall with a plate of warm rice and creamy fern stew with buttered snails. She thought about what Tibal had said—that she could just walk out now and find a ride home. That was providing, of course, that she had the money to do that. She didn’t. She might find work here now, but to save up that kind of coin would take months—no shorter than if she just finished her time with Ylir.

She dug a rubbery piece of meat out of the shell and popped it into her mouth. The wholesome home-style meal was delicious after the weeks at sea. She suddenly remembered Kefier and the first time she had met him back in Fuyyu. Somehow, she couldn’t get his face out of her mind. She could still vividly recall his silences, and the way his eyebrows knotted together, as if there was so much he wanted to tell her but couldn’t.

I’m sorry.

That curious pain crawled up her heart again and refused to budge. She paid the man, her food unfinished, and walked back down the street to the docks. There was nothing else to see. She really only wanted to go home—to hold Dai in her arms, to listen to the wind outside their window and think about nothing beyond tomorrow’s breakfast.

She made a wrong turn and didn’t realize it fast enough. It was nearly dusk when she saw that the houses were getting closer together and that the sea was nowhere in sight. She stopped in her tracks and took a deep breath. A quick glance at her surroundings showed that some of the rooftops were within easy reach. Back when they were kids, she and Dai would get up on a roof if they ever got lost.

She picked a house that looked empty and carefully pulled herself along the wall, gathering her skirt underneath her as she went. Up on the roof, she noted that the docks were not far after all. She was starting to climb back down when she noticed Ylir standing in the middle of a dark alley in the next street.

Sume knew it was Ylir, because only Ylir dressed like that. Despite the humid weather, he still insisted on wearing those thick, dark garments and boots that clicked when he walked. His hair was neatly braided and tied high over his head.

Curiosity got the better of her and she inched closer, breathing as quietly as she could. He was holding a piece of chalk in his fingers and drawing something across the cobblestone. She couldn’t see what it was, because the marks disappeared as soon as he walked over them. After a few minutes, he paused outside a door and pulled out a lit candle. He stood there with his eyes closed and murmured something.

A cold wind blew out the flame. He glanced up and for a moment, Sume thought he had seen her. But he turned away to open the door and walk into the building.

Sume waited. The afternoon waned. As it got darker, several well-dressed men—Kags, from their clothing—appeared on the street and entered the house where Ylir was. She saw lights appear from the windows and heard the distinct drone of many mouths chattering at once.

She clambered back down and took the long way back to the ship. She tried not to look back—she was afraid that if she did, she’d see Ylir walking towards her. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was that she saw back in the alley, but she was certain it wasn’t meant to be seen. She tried to remember everything her father ever told her about the Kags, about their rituals and religion. What part of the Kag was Ylir from? She didn’t even know that. She didn’t need to know anything beyond the helpless look on Dai’s face.

“You’re late,” Burg said when she finally boarded the ship. Sume gave him an exasperated look.

“I was told I could take a look around. I took my time.” She took her sandals off and massaged her calves. “Why? Did the master make a big deal out of it?”

“The master is having a meeting at the moment,” Burg said. “I don’t think he’ll be home until morning. You’re lucky.”

Sume smirked at that. “Some luck.” She glanced at the clouded night sky and took a deep breath. “You’ve known Sir Ylir a while, haven’t you, Burg?”

“Long enough. When I first met him, he was barely out of boyhood, running errands for his master at Ni’in. I was looking for work and they pointed him out to me. I right about shit my pants laughing. He was this tall.” He smirked, holding his hand chest-high.

“Where does he come from?” she asked. “His hometown in the Kag, I mean.”

Burg glanced at her. “Kag? He’s not from the Kag at all, girl. They’re not usually dark like that.”

“But he speaks it so well. I thought he was a native.”

“He was taken in by Yn Garr when he was young, so the story goes. Yn Garr owns this ship and all our operations. I guess he was getting old, needed someone to help run things. He’s had apprentices before, but Jarche told me no one but Ylir ever lived up to the old man’s expectations.” Burg shrugged. “As to where he’s from—he never really talks about his past. Might make good pillow talk, if you ever get around to it.”

She elbowed him in the rib. “You! That’s not nice.”

Burg snorted. “Don’t tell me he hasn’t invited you into his bed yet, girl? That’s hard to believe.”

“Maybe he’s just being a gentleman.”

“And maybe I’ll shit gold one of these days. Well, if what you say is true, you’ll be safe for a few days yet. I’ll probably be asked to fetch someone from the city by tomorrow.” He shuddered. “I hate walking into the kind of place where grabbing a man’s crotch is the same thing as hello.”

“Really?”

“Really. I like my women clean, you know.”

“I’m sure some of them try. Is Sir Ylir really that kind of man, though?” She flushed, having said that.

“Why? What’s the matter?”

“He scares me,” she admitted. She glanced around for a moment, to make sure they were still alone, and took a deep breath. “The men are callous, yes. But they—well, they are the way they are. He’s something else. I never really know what he’s thinking. He’s polite with you one moment, and then the next—” Sume shook her head. “He hates Jins. Even I can see that. I don’t know. I just want to go home, Burg.”

He placed his elbows over the rails. “If he said you can go home by the end of this trip, then he means it. Bet you he’d make arrangements for that, too. I know that much, at least. Go to your room, Sume. Get some sleep. There will be other nights for worries.”

She touched his arm and smiled. “Good night, Burg.”

His face was the most vivid it had ever been in all her dreams of him. The wind whipped the hair over his brow as he stood at the edge of the docks, holding one hand out. “When you get scared,” he said. “Just reach out.”

“I’m not,” she told him. “Not yet.”

Oji gave that smile of his, the kind that said, I know more than I let on. She hated the insufferable smugness of it. Hana, of course, loathed it.

“When I get scared, I’ll tell you,” she said confidently.

He drew back and sat down, so that his legs were dangling over the sea. “You’ll tell me. Of course.” He smirked. She looked at him over her frantic swimming and thought that he looked so handsome and that he should stay that way, because she missed him so much. But she knew he was dead. He seemed to know, too, because his smile became sad. She reached for him now and his face melted into the shadows.

“Call me when you get tired of all of this,” his fading voice called out from the darkness.

Sume opened her eyes and realized she couldn’t move. There was a hand on her mouth and hands gripping both her ankles and her wrists. Tibal’s face leered over hers, his breath stinking of rotten ale. “That’s right, princess,” he crooned. “Easy does it.”

She screamed into the hand. Tibal snorted and pushed her further back into her pillow. “Relax,” he said, the words bubbling from his lips. “You don’t want to die, do you?”

She bit him. He let her go for a moment, but before she could scream again, he grabbed a pillow and covered her face with it. In the choking darkness that followed, she felt her dress being ripped from the front. Those sensations quickly disappeared and were replaced with a sharp pain in her head as she gasped for air.

The pillow was removed and Tibal’s hand returned to her mouth. She flared her nostrils, breathing in the cold air. She was already half-naked. “We can do this all night if you want to,” Tibal said. “I don’t care if it kills you.”

“Let’s try not to do that, eh?” one of Tibal’s companions said.

Tibal’s face remained passive. “The more you struggle, the more this will hurt. Just so you know.” He stuffed a piece of rag into her mouth and took position by her feet.

Oji, she thought, straining against her captors. These were your companions. Help me. She shut her eyes, but she could smell them even in the darkness, could feel them pushing her down so she couldn’t move.

She waited for the pain, but it didn’t come. Instead, she felt the hands loosen. She immediately swung to her left, catching one man in the eye with her fist. As she got up, she saw Aden dragging Tibal out of the room by the neck.

“Get the fuck out of here!” another man cried out, breaking into the room with a drawn sword. “By all the gods, man, are your fucking brains made of straw?” Ranias smashed his elbow against one man and threw them all out of the room. “Agartes in heaven,” he mumbled. He crossed over the bed to Sume just as she was wrapping herself with a blanket. He stood next to her and peered at her face. “Fuck this. Fuck. Are you hurt?”

Sume shook her head, but she couldn’t find the words. “Put this on,” Ranias said, grabbing fresh clothes from under her bed. “You shouldn’t stay here. Come with me to the kitchen.” He glanced away as she got dressed and then took her hand. They passed by the doorway and he grazed his fingers against the smashed handle. “Fuck,” he said again, shaking his head.

Aden met them in the hall. “Those idiots broke the lock,” Ranias said, leading her to a chair. “Agartes help them. Is the master awake yet?”

Aden winced. “He took Tibal from me.”

Ranias ran his hands into his hair. “I don’t know. I hope he realizes this is just all his doing. If he thinks we’re all in it...fuck. We’re so fucked. I thought you checked the lock in that room. You said it was solid.”

“How was I supposed to know those idiots would just break it?” Aden grumbled. He glanced at Sume and his eyes softened. “Oh missy. I’m so sorry. Did they...?”

“I don’t think they managed to,” Ranias said. He slammed his fist into the table. “Not that it makes a fucking difference now. Guess how cheerful he’s going to be the rest of this trip, now. Fuck. We still have weeks left.”

“Agartes, Ranias, can you stop thinking about your problems for once? This isn’t about you!”

Ranias got up. “Okay, okay. Let me go make you some tea.” He started for the stove.

Aden pulled up a chair and sat next to Sume. “You haven’t said a word. Talk to me.”

She opened her mouth, intending to tell him she was fine, that she was none worse for wear, but a shudder escaped her instead. She closed her eyes.

“Ah, shit,” Aden mumbled. “Look. Ranias,” he called out. “Do you know any good stories? Anything at all?”

“What about the one with her brother and the mountain man? That one always cracked me up,” Ranias called back.

“Oh, that one. Yeah, I was there.” Aden smiled. “Well, that was the time Kefier and Oji had to walk quite a ways to get help. You see, our caravan had gotten stuck in the mud, and we couldn’t budge it no matter how hard we tried. They walked for a couple of hours and the first hut they got to, there was a mountain man. Oji mistook him for a bear and nearly threw an axe at his head. And—ah, shit, I’m telling this wrong, aren’t I?” He giggled nervously.

“It’s all right,” Sume said, her voice raspy. Ranias arrived with the tea and placed it near her. She tried to reach for it, but her arms were too painful to move, so she smiled up at him instead.

“I probably added too much sugar,” Ranias said, scratching his head.

They were interrupted by a guttural scream above them. It went on for several seconds and was followed by a moment of utter silence. Ranias glanced at Aden, his face waxen. They heard the clicking of heavy boots in the hall outside.

The door flung open. Ylir stood outside, hair in disarray and with blood splattered across his tunic. He lifted his arm. Dangling from his fingers was Tibal’s decapitated head.

Sume reeled back, her hands over her mouth. Aden got up, instinctively shielding her with his body. Ylir’s face was contorted with rage. “Who else was in it?” he snarled. “Tell me now before I tear this whole bloody ship into pieces.”

“She’s fine now, boss,” Aden said. “Please. It was just that group.”

Ylir narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t I make it clear that she’s under my service? And what is mine is not to be touched?” He turned to Ranias. “Aren’t you in charge of these imbeciles?”

“Sir, no sir, we’re a collective group, our officers let us make our own—”

“This is all rabble to me.” He pointed at them. “From now on, I’m holding you both accountable for your men.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Aden said. “They won’t listen to us. We’re not faction-appointed.”

“I don’t give a damn! I’ll hire new men in the nearest town if I have to! If you can’t keep yourselves in line, I’m going to personally make sure that you get it worse than this fool!” He lifted the head into the air and uttered one word. It exploded into pieces. He stomped out, leaving bloody footsteps behind.

“Fuck,” Ranias said a few moments later.

“I’ll talk to everyone,” Aden murmured. “Don’t clean up. They’ll...probably listen better if they see this.” He turned to Sume.

She didn’t give him a chance to say what was on his mind. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “Go worry about your own.”

“You sound like him, you know?” Aden said, shaking his head. “He was smiling, the last time I saw him.”

Sume didn’t know what to say to that. She nodded. When both men had gone, she placed her palm against the warm cup and watched the dark red stains on the floor. She remained staring until dawn.

Chapter Eight

“Do you see that?” The excitement was unmistakable in Moon’s voice. Kefier abandoned the fire he had been trying to start and joined her at the edge of the rock face. She pointed. “That’s the sea.”

“So it is,” Kefier said. “Am I missing something?”

Moon gawked at him. “You mean you don’t know about the famous Harp’s Crossing?”

Kefier looked at her and slowly shook his head. She feigned a deep sigh of disappointment, but before she could say anything, Sapphire broke in. “I wouldn’t waste my time trying to educate the unwilling,” she said, her voice flat. “Weren’t you going to get us food?”

“Xyl said she’d find us something,” Kefier replied. He ignored Sapphire’s wilting glare and returned to the firewood. As he piled the kindling together, everything turned dark and a cool breeze fell on them. He glanced up in time to catch the majestic, red-tipped wings stretched across the sky.

The massive creature glided past them and disappeared in the mountains. “A dragon,” Kefier breathed.

Sapphire had been quiet the whole time, but now she pretended to snort and pushed her glasses higher up her nose. “We still have some in Gaspar. The Jins are always going on and on about dragons disappearing from their land, but they’re not all gone.”

“That was a fire-breather, Sapphire,” Moon said. “The kind you don’t see often in either kingdom.”

“Nonsense. That was a war-dragon, and well you should know it. You see—” she added, glancing at Kefier. “The mandraagars have tamed some of these beasts for battle. Not that they’ve been needed for many years now. The dip on the back, you know—that’s what tells you it’s a war-dragon.”

“I’m telling you, Sapphie, it was a fire-breather. The shape of the nose—”

They were interrupted by Xyl’s arrival. She darted into camp as quickly as a mouse heading for a hole and hid behind Kefier. She gave the two mages a furtive glance before turning to him, her hair standing on end. “What’s wrong?” Kefier asked, when he realized she wasn’t going to speak first.

She turned to the shadows on the horizon, up the path where they’ve left Hilal several days ago. She started shivering. “Home,” she started.

“I understand, Xyl. You didn’t have to come with me. If you want—”

“No.” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “Come,” she said. She jumped over a rock and scampered down the hill. Kefier left the mages behind to follow her.

The kusyan led him across the boulder field and right to the edge of the sparse wood to the south. Here, she came to a halt and tentatively walked on all fours, her thin tunic clinging to her soft fur. She was staring at a dark space between several rocks, mesmerized.

“What’s over there, Xyl?” Kefier asked.

Xyl froze, but it wasn’t at the sound of his voice. A movement came from the shadows. Kefier drew his sword and jumped forward. There was a flash of black hair and a boy suddenly tumbled into the light, screaming in barely discernible Jinan.

Kefier dropped the blade and grabbed the boy by the shoulders before he could hurt both of them. He was crying and swinging wildly. “Calm down,” Kefier said, trying his best to sound as gentle as possible. “No one’s going to hurt you here.”

The boy stopped and looked up, his eyes wide and frightened underneath the tangled mop of his hair. “You’re Jin?” he asked. His voice was raspy.

“No, but you are?”

The boy nodded.

Kefier glanced once at the wilderness. There was no town for miles and the border between Gaspar and Jin-Sayeng was even farther away. He started to ask what the boy could be doing in the middle of nowhere, but the boy stumbled before he could take another step. Kefier reached for him. All of a sudden, an arrow flew past his ear and skidded along the ground behind him.

“The boy is ours!” The hoarse scream grated the air like a drawn blade. Kefier leaped for a boulder mound just as another arrow was set loose. He scrambled for the sword and extracted it just as the first man came running for him.

“Kefier?” the man said, stopping in his tracks. Kefier didn’t recognize him, but the emblem on his belt marked him as someone from the higher ranks of the Boarshind. Kefier didn’t even wait to think about that. He aimed low and struck the man’s legs. Blood sprayed his face and infused the air with the scent of iron.

The man staggered back. Kefier slammed into him with his left fist and used the hilt of the sword in his right hand to beat him to the ground. “Leave me alone,” he said, between breaths. “Fucking just leave me alone you—”

The man spat blood at him. “This has nothing to do with you!” he hissed. Kefier felt him try to reach for his belt and pinned his arm to the ground with the sword. The man screamed; Kefier grabbed his throat and forced him back.

“I’m not even with Algat!” the man finally stammered, his eyes bloodshot. “I’m taking orders from a client. A fucking client, do you hear? I was after the boy, not you!”

“Baeddan wants me dead.”

“Baeddan doesn’t even know who you are. He—”

“Benai!” somebody called from the distance. “Have you found the boy?”

“Hold,” Benai screamed. “Hold!”

Kefier pulled the sword out of Benai’s arm and rushed the newcomer. The other man—a thin-looking half-Jin—already had his sword out and met him face-to-face. “Who the fuck are you?” he cried. “Who the fuck is this, Benai?” He sounded nervous. Kefier used this to push him harder and tore his sword out of his grasp.

He stood there with the two men, blood running down his arm, and said, “Tell me what you’re both doing here before I kill you.”

The other man swore under his breath. It was Benai who spoke. “The boy escaped. Let us walk back to our camp with him and we’ll make sure Baeddan learns of your cooperation. Maybe he’ll talk to Algat, call his men off you.”

“That Kefier?” The man looked even paler, having heard his name. Kefier glanced at him, wondering why he spoke with such dread. Two years ago they didn’t even know who he was. What had Algat been telling everyone?

“You haven’t answered my question,” he said, trying to remain calm.

Benai pushed himself up with his good arm. “I told you already. We’re working for a client.”

“Trading in young boys?”

“Tr-transporting ore,” the other man replied.

Kefier was suddenly very aware of his heartbeat. He swallowed. “This true?”

“That’s why we’re all the way out here. The boy is camp help. He stole money. Isn’t that right, Benai?”

“Yes,” Benai said. “Like I said—”

“Please don’t give me back to them.” The boy’s voice was feeble. He lay where he had fallen, Xyl hovering protectively over him. Her ears were flat against her head. “They fed the other children to a monster.” He looked at Kefier pleadingly.

“A monster,” Kefier repeated. He tried to find the Kag words for it. He walked back to Benai. The man opened his mouth, and he struck him with the flat of his blade. “Who’s your client?”

Benai pursed his lips. He struck him a second time, hitting bone. The man groaned and rolled away from him. The other man was slowly backing away with his hands in the air. “What’s the big deal? This has got nothing to do with you.”

“Who,” he repeated, “is your client?”

“This big company,” the man said. “Yn Garr Industries. Now let us go, before I—”

They were the last words he ever spoke. Walking backwards, he stepped right over the edge of a chasm that hadn’t been there moments before. Black tendrils wrapped themselves around his neck and pulled him down. He never even had the chance to scream.

“Oh fucking Agartes, what is it doing out here?” Benai cried out.

Kefier hardly heard him. His eyes were on the cliff edge, at the tendrils that were now crawling over the ground. Something heavy was pulling itself up. He felt a tug, like a woman’s breath on his ear, and felt his heart lurch over his throat.

An ambling, two-legged creature appeared where the tendrils ended. In place of a face, a single, pulsating eye rolled around the sunken head. It was enormous—blood-flecked, veined. Tiny maggots crawled over the glassy surface and some fell in time with the creature’s step, dropping along the deep black pools the creature’s feet left behind. The creature glanced at its surroundings with fervour before settling its sights towards Kefier. It stopped. You!

Its voice was like a stab in the dark.

Oji, he heard. His voice now, not the creature’s. Oji, snap out of it. What’s wrong with you? You’re starting to piss me off. Oji—!

He almost threw himself at the creature, his sword raised. But a cold spell struck him from behind and he fell forward, his hands and feet engulfed by the sensation of being rope-bound. His face to the dirt, he saw Moon’s sandals pass him by and heard Sapphire’s strong voice above the din.

“If that’s what I think it is, then we have to capture it, Moon.”

“Are you insane?” Moon’s own voice was shrill, in contrast. “Has that tea you’ve been slurping finally made its way to your brain? The master warned us to stay away if we ever met one of its entities. Together we wouldn’t have the power to fight it, let alone capture it. Look at it!”

“I’m looking. What do you suggest, Moon? Step aside and let it walk on by? Offer it milk and cookies?”

“When we get back home, I am going straight to Master Bannal to make a formal request to have you cured of sarcasm. Sapphire, I’m...” Kefier pulled his head up and saw her drop forward like a leaf. She started shaking, as if she was trying to fight something. Her lips began moving, and he heard her murmuring a warding chant.

“Leave my sister alone,” Sapphire said, facing the creature. She lifted her hands. A ball of flames erupted from her fingertips and hurtled itself against the beast. It fell back, groaning, but the attack barely singed it. It shook itself and took another slow step, the ground melting around it.

“Can use your help any minute now, Moon,” Sapphire drawled.

But Moon couldn’t hear her, couldn’t respond. Kefier rolled to one side and called out, “Call off your spell on me! I’ve still got a sword.”

“You must want to die so badly,” Sapphire murmured, sweat running down the sides of her face. “My spells won’t even work against this creature. What makes you think a pathetic piece of metal would cause a dent on it? If you want to help me go and wake Moon up.”

They were interrupted by a reptilian screech from above. A dragon appeared, perhaps the same one they had seen that morning. It circled them like a bird of prey. Sapphire’s brow crinkled and she slowly stepped to where Moon lay. Out of all their figures, only the creature’s stood apart. It was still ambling towards them, devoid of all sense of urgency.

The dragon spotted it. It screeched a second time. The creature’s eye rolled up to focus on its new aggressor. The dragon opened its mouth, revealing rows of jagged teeth. It grabbed the creature’s shoulder, intending to take it to flight. There was a guttural scream. Still holding the creature in its grip, the dragon lost control of its wings and tumbled over the edge of the cliff, taking the creature with it.

Moon regained her senses and pulled herself up. “Is it dead?” she murmured, her face ashen. “We should take a look.”

“That soiled ground is not good to step on,” Sapphire replied. She helped Moon to her feet and snapped her fingers, releasing Kefier’s bonds. He tumbled forward and immediately began looking for Benai. He saw the man quivering behind rocks several feet away.

Sapphire caught up with him. She bent over and placed a hand around Benai’s bleeding arm. “Where is your master?”

“You’re looking at him,” Benai hissed. “I was hired for one thing alone. I’ve never even seen the guy. I can’t tell you what he looks like, let alone where he is.”

“And that one thing is?” Her grip around his arm tightened and Kefier could’ve sworn he saw flames dancing in her eyes. Benai’s breathing became laboured. He struggled to kick dirt in her face, but she simply moved her head.

“All right!” Benai gasped. “We’ve been feeding that—that thing you saw.”

“With children,” Kefier finished for him.

Benai turned to him and spat. “Yes, with children. Why do you look so surprised, Kefier? Weren’t you willing to sign the same contract? I heard Thiar denied it to you, so you killed him.”

Kefier’s jaw tightened. “The only job we spoke about involved transporting ore.”

“That was a lie. I shouldn’t say that. That was a front. He took you to the caverns outside Cairntown?” Benai grinned, despite looking like he was in tremendous pain. “That was the creature’s spit. Not everybody reacts to it the same way. If you could withstand it, he takes you further.”

“He sent us to our deaths.”

“Us?” Benai narrowed his eyes. “Oh. Your friend. Back then, they were holding it up in the mines in Hartmur. You couldn’t have gotten into the bowels of the cavern without falling to your deaths. What killed your friend again?”

There was an accusing note in his voice. Kefier slammed his fist into the man’s face and stepped away. Sapphire took over the questioning. He didn’t stay to listen to their conversation, and instead found Xyl and the boy who had fallen unconscious once more.

“It’s gone,” Xyl told him. She pulled her tail close to her body and glanced down the cliff. The black pools were spreading, along with the smell of rotting bodies.

Kefier knelt beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “You mean forever?”

“For now.” She wrinkled her nose and turned back to the boy. “He is hurting. Needs food, needs rest.”

“I’ve been selfish,” Kefier murmured. “Yes, you’re right, Xyl.” He picked the boy up, allowing his head to rest on his shoulder. He sauntered over to Moon, who was still staring in the distance.

“We need to get him to town,” he told her.

Moon nodded without looking at him. “Kalthekar is not far. It would be better if we had horses.” She shook her head. “That dragon was...unexpected. I don’t think the master would be happy things ended up this way. I can still sense its presence. If only we knew what’s going on down there. Sapphire,” she added, glancing at her sister who was now resolutely walking towards them. “Can’t we check? I’m sure the master would want us to.”

“If we all die trying, then the master won’t know anything at all,” she said sharply. “We will gather a party of mages when we get back. That will give us ample opportunity to prepare.” She glanced at the unconscious boy. “I suppose we’ll have to pass by Kalthekar first. We’re almost out of supplies, anyway.”

“What about Benai?” Kefier asked.

“Who? Oh, the Yn Garr hire. He wasn’t your friend, was he?” She briefly glanced at the streak of blood on her robes. “No need to worry about him anymore.”

After so many months living in the wilderness, Kefier found the transition to the smoke-filled, tapestry-laden Gasparian society difficult. The scent of tobacco and incense burned his throat and had him coughing almost as soon as they set foot in Kalthekar, and the colourful banners and clothing made him dizzy. Gasparians were also notoriously tall, and even though Kefier easily towered over the average Jin, he felt dwarfed walking amongst them in the streets.

Sapphire and Moon, in contrast, did not seem to have the same problems as he did. Despite their Jinsein features, they blended in well, speaking the dialect fluently and acting as if they were one of the locals themselves.

The food, however, more than made up for it. It felt good to eat when one was hungry, instead of having to forage or hunt. Gasparian cuisine was very heavy, full of oils and spices. Kefier enjoyed a platter of lightly fried, and still nearly raw, lamb, covered in an oily, red sauce and mixed with an assortment of chopped desert fruits. Although it was unlike him, he had also ordered a glass of dark ale. There was a hint of red in it.

The Gasparian tavern was noisy and full of foreigners, so nobody bothered Kefier with a second glance. Most of the talk revolved around Jinsein accusations of Gasparians attacking their border guard. The Lak’an of Al-ir was claiming that a band of misfits—rebels, or bandits—were responsible. There was still no word from Jin-Sayeng, but that was to be expected. The country did not even know where their king was, let alone how to deal with a situation so far out in the borders. Everyone knew that Jin-Sayeng officials rarely ventured out of the capital.

A red-haired boy—a Kag—poked his head through one of the windows near Kefier’s bench and whistled to the barkeep. “My master’s dragon wants a cherry pie,” he said. “Can you get some?”

The barkeeper chased him off with a growl. As the boy disappeared, he turned to Kefier and snorted. “Kags walk in here. Think they own the land. You Kag?”

“No sir,” Kefier quickly said. “The language is an inconvenient necessity.”

“Don’t look it. How you like your meal?”

“It’s very good. The ale is excellent.”

“I saw you come in with Bannal’s women. Mages. They hire you?” He nodded, and the man frowned. “Don’t trust them. We are close, you know, to Bannal’s isle. The things I have heard. The things I have seen. Those mages, you know, they come here sometimes. Cause trouble.”

Kefier popped a piece of lamb in his mouth. “They seem kind so far.”

“Everyone is kind. Until you are not useful anymore.” The man tipped his head and walked away, leaving Kefier to mull over his words.

He returned to his room later, with a plate of flatbread stuffed with the rest of the meat platter and a glass of milk. He placed these on a ledge by the windowsill and approached the boy.

The boy was still asleep. They’d arrived early that morning, and except for occasionally opening his eyes he had remained asleep the whole day. Kefier paused for a moment to watch the mop of curls fall over the boy’s forehead and wondered why it seemed to him that all Jinseins looked alike. The thought came and went. He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and gently shook him awake.

The boy’s eyes shot open. “Mama...” he started. He saw Kefier and his face fell. “It was a dream,” he stated blankly. He looked distressed about that.

“I’m afraid so.” Kefier pointed to the windowsill. “You need to eat.”

The boy pulled himself out of the bed and got the food. He was smart and ate slowly, taking sips of milk in between. It seemed to take forever. Finally he stopped and looked at Kefier. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“For being so weak. I couldn’t even walk back here.” He glanced down. “Is that thing gone?”

“As far as we’re concerned.” Kefier pulled a chair close to him. “Where does your mother live? I can take you home after I get Sapphire and Moon safely back to their master.”

The boy glanced up at him. “You’d do that?”

“Well...” Kefier scratched his cheek and tried to grin. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“You don’t know who I am.” The boy looked down. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I left home. I left my mother. They won’t want me back. I’m—I’ve brought shame to my family.” He grew silent and sat very still.

Kefier crossed his arms. “Then I’ll take you across the border to Jin-Sayeng. Better you’re out among your own countrymen. You won’t survive here long.”

“The closest town from the border is twelve days’ ride away,” the boy murmured. It was strange to hear a boy who couldn’t be more than nine years old speak that way. He must’ve been educated—his mealtime manners betrayed a good upbringing, which was rare in the children Kefier had met from Cairntown.

He tried to hide his amusement. “Then we’ll ride twelve days. I’m Ke-if, by the way. The Kags insist on calling me Kefier, so take your pick. What’s yours? It will be difficult to converse if you don’t tell me.”

The boy was silent.

Kefier shrugged. “If that’s how you want it. You should rest now—Sapphire will want to be up early tomorrow. Keep the bed. I’ll take that comfortable spot by the door.” He stretched and sat down on the rug. It was an ideal spot for tripping uninvited visitors.

He heard the boy rustling as he returned to the bed. There were a few moments of silence, and then he heard the boy murmur in a voice barely more than a squeak, “Dai. My name is Dai.”

Kefier nodded. “Nice to meet you, Dai.”

Interlude

“When I was a boy,” the old man says, his wrinkled head shining in the sunlight. “I saw the fairy king. He was as tall as you, my dear, and as white as the snow they say covers the mountains in the lands to the north.”

Camden watches the enraptured look on the children’s faces and smiles, despite himself. For a moment, he forgets he is no longer a child, and draws closer to the storyteller: a Jin, travelling all the way to Cael to weave his craft. The man moves gracefully for his age, his words making vivid images of the castles and the forests and the fairies, his arms gesturing as he speaks. At one point he reaches out with one hand as if striking with a sword, and the boy nearest to him drops his kitten and cries for his mother.

Camden smiles, catching the kitten before it scampers out to the street, and returns it to its master. The little boy looks up at him, green eyes like stars, and he suddenly remembers Calum. How he used to look whenever he would bring him trinkets from town, the way he would grab his hand in delight because “N’uncle Camden’s visiting again!” If things had gone differently, and he had more courage and asked Maira before Arell did, would Cal have been his? Does thinking like that ever make a difference in this world?

He notices the children leaving. The storyteller, it seems, has finished. He walks up to the man and hands him a generous coin. The Jin glances up, blinking, and then grins toothily. “This will help,” the old man admits.

“I’m thinking you’re a long way from home,” Camden agrees.

The old man looks at him. “Not just me. How long are you staying here for?”

Much, much later, while he sits in a tavern and contemplates the menu, he realizes he never did respond to that question. How long for, indeed. His family is waiting for him, after all, and he has already sent a letter to Maira, telling her of the necklace. He hasn’t told her that he thinks Calum is dead. Going home will confirm this. But if he stays in Cael, for all she knows, he is still following leads, and that the necklace is a sign of hope rather than despair. For all she knows, he will be bringing Cal home with him on the next ship.

The serving girl arrives to pour him warm, dark ale. As he sips it, he looks past his shoulder and sees a man arguing with three others. The man, in particular, draws his attention because he has a Jinsein’s dark hair, save for a white forelock drawn over his face. “He can’t have just disappeared,” he is saying, angry. The other men are shaking their heads.

“Why are you suddenly so concerned, Gaven? Wasn’t it you who let him run off in the first place?”

The man laughs nervously. “No. Baeddan had me do it. I mean to kill him this time around, when I’ve caught up with him.”

The other men look at each other. The one called Gaven snarls at them; his eyes are bloodshot, and clearly this is disconcerting to the men. “Look,” one says. “We don’t want trouble. If you want to keep looking for him, go ahead. It’s been months since we lost him, Gaven, and for all we know, he’s dead. We’ve got other things to do and we’re under Algat’s orders, not yours. What about your men?”

“Algat stripped off his rank,” one murmurs under his breath.

Gaven whirls at him. “The hell he did! He doesn’t have the authority!”

“Then why are you alone here, Gaven?” the man asks.

He roars, sending his arm flying back. A clay pitcher breaks behind him. The patron steps out of the bar to speak to him, but Gaven lashes at him instead. “This is a despicable place.” He hisses the words out, then glares at the men one last time. “If you won’t help me, Agartes rot your souls…!”

He walks out. Camden watches the door close behind him, remembering the name Algat, and Kefier, who had accompanied him after escaping from Vildar. He doesn’t know where Kefier has gone to—he has disappeared in the night many months ago, Mother knows where. He is not sure if he likes the man or not, but he was kind to him, and he has often wished him well, since then. Out of impulse, he drops several coins on the table and heads outside.

He sees Gaven standing in the middle of the street. There is a scent about him, one of a man who has not been home for a while—the stench of urine and dirt. His clothes are bedraggled. Unaware of Camden’s attention, he looks around him, scratches his neck, and says, “No. No. He’s gotta be here. Gotta be here somewhere.”

His odd behaviour makes the hair on Camden’s arms rise. He tells himself to let it go—that wherever Kefier is, he would probably be able to take care of himself. He begins to walk away, but then he sees a shadow crossing the street. He presses against a wall and hears the sound of boots clicking.

“Gaven,” a deep voice calls out. Baidhan. There is no mistaking the accent.

“And who the fuck are you?”

The man extends his hand. He is holding a large, round vial, with something purple inside. There is a loud shriek, and then the vial breaks. Smoke rises from the ground where the glass shards lie, emitting the scent of chemicals and burnt flesh.

Camden covers his mouth, to stop himself from vomiting.

The Baidhan chuckles. “I didn’t think I would get that sort of reaction so fast. Ylir really did a number on you, did he? But that’s behind you, now. Come with me. I will give you a future more glorious than your petty mercenary life could have ever offered you.”

“No,” Gaven says. “Piss off. You—” But the Baidhan raises his arms and Gaven drops to the ground with his hands on his head.

“Ylir is my apprentice,” the man says. “Whatever he did to you broke you. You are mine, now.”

Gaven screams. Camden pushes himself off the wall to run.

It is a mistake, but maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. Camden feels his limbs slacken, feels cold, wet cobblestone on his face. He remembers he has not told Lillah where he was going. She had asked him to accompany her to the theatre, where she would perform that night, and he had declined. Another mistake. Would that, too, have made a difference? Does anything?

His last thought occurs a few moments later, not long after the Baidhan steps in front of him and brings out an enormous sword that looked like it belonged to Agartes himself. He thinks of Maira, of never having to face her again. She will think he is with Cal somehow.

He probably will be, soon.

Ka-eng live for centuries.

Few people know the fact. Very few of her people live among the Kag, and those who do tend to re-invent themselves every half a century or so, to give the impression that they age and die like humans do. It is, they were taught, a precaution. If history has taught them anything, it is that humans are greedy and notoriously unstable. What will they do with this knowledge, if it becomes known? How many ka-eng will they capture, prod, and poke, in order to learn this secret, in order to use it themselves and against their fellow men?

Jarche is three hundred and twenty-five years old. By ka-eng standards, this is roughly a bit past middle age. By kusyani standards, she would still be a sprite youngster. But she has lived in the noisy, ever-changing world of men for most of her life, and so some days she feels elderly, like an ancient oak that has seen too much.

Ancient oak, actually, is what the boy used to call her, back when he was still a boy. Like all men, he had aged too fast. She still remembers long, summer nights back in Hafod, when she would bake bread with the windows open while he would take his crutches to read his books on the kitchen table. He used to tell her how much he loved her bread, that he thinks it is the most wonderful thing in the world. He was always a flatterer, that one.

She misses him as he was, before his body had healed. Before they had opened the box and Yn Garr had decided that the pace at which he was learning was not fast enough. She remembers arguing with him about that. By all the gods, the boy was too gifted to be allowed to progress so recklessly. Skill in the agan—especially one so strong—needed to be nurtured, not thrown into the fire.

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Yn Garr had snarled. “It’s here now. It’s getting bigger, and if his enchantments are not powerful enough, he’ll lose control of it. He’s already losing control, as it is. Or do I need to remind you again about what happened last time?”

Last time had been when the boy returned, muttering and half-mad, after the creature had wrapped him in its embrace far too long. It should have never happened. But Yn Garr is impatient, has always been, and for a ka-eng who has lived for so long, she does not understand.

“Stop feeding it so much, then,” she told him. “Wait a bit. Give the boy time.”

“Time to what? He’s here now. If he dies before he can get it to Dageis, what then? A descendant of Jaeth with this much skill in the agan does not come around every century!”

“He’s not going to die.”

The look Yn Garr gave her after those words nearly broke her heart. “What makes you so sure of that, Jarche?” he asked, and she was forced to leave it alone. She is too soft already, as it is.

And so she sits here, alone, poring over papers—transferring large amounts of money to pay workers and mercenaries, handling accounts, supply requisitions, gunpowder permits, and the like—while she sips stew she made just for herself. She tells herself that any time she chooses to she can drop it all and leave; she has not visited her ancestral home for too long, and her family (if they are alive) will surely welcome her again. But she has done this for centuries, and in a way, she enjoys it.

The cat meows. She picks up his dish to refill it and looks out of the window. She thinks of the boy again, of the only maternal feeling she has ever allowed herself, and wishes him well. In time, he will be home again, and they can laugh for a while. She can wait for that. Ka-eng live for centuries, after all.

Chapter Nine

The tendrils, black at first, turned purple if you stared at them long enough. There was a hint of fur there, a touch of scale here. They flicked forward, wrapping themselves gently around his arm as he came close. Jaeth’s son, it loved to croon. You could see the sky over Gorent reflected in the surface of its eye.

Jaeth’s son. You wouldn’t hurt me, would you? Send the other away. He was here. He—!

“Sir Ylir, sir.” He opened his eyes to his cramped quarters inside Aina’s Breath and felt a heavy weight lift from his chest, as if somebody had punched him and then pulled back. He glanced through the porthole and glimpsed the first rays of dawn peeking over the mountains in the distance. Right, he thought wearily, his head pounding. Daylight started early this time of the year in Gaspar.

He ignored the loud presence outside the door and took his time getting out of bed. Shirtless, he ventured over to his desk and re-lit the lamp. An apparatus on top of it allowed him to heat last night’s spiced wine in a tin cup. A Hafed friend of his had designed it; the thing was notoriously unreliable, but some days it worked all right. Soon, the room smelled of cinnamon and cloves.

He pulled out the box from under his bed and found the clothes the Jin girl had laundered for him several weeks ago. They smelled of mothballs now, but that was preferable to the sweat stains he had been forced to deal with all this time. One does not show up in a Gasparian lord’s court wearing peasant attire, even if it was only the Lords of Al-ir and Barun.

The thought of meeting Azchai made Ylir grimace with distaste. It would have been a lot easier if he had met the man under different circumstances. It wasn’t that he regretted turning him away back in Yn Garr’s estate in Cael—the man was so irritable, and his face so smug, that Ylir couldn’t have reacted any other way. But to suddenly realize that the man could be useful after such a dismissal didn’t bode well for their operations.

He took a sip of the wine and the grimace turned to a frown. It started almost as soon as they arrived at Aret-ni; Lak’an of Al-ir, the Prestigious Lord Mhagaza, had sent word that he was removing Yn Garr’s Industries’ rights to build on his land. He was also confiscating all materials and resources on the site. It didn’t matter that such an act was illegal in the Kag; they were in Gaspar, which meant the lords could damn well do whatever they liked. In all likelihood, Mhagaza had learned of their builder’s default and was going to try to get what he could out of it.

And then of course as soon as he received that message, he received another from Azchai, who had arrived in Gaspar almost too quickly (did the man’s horses fly?). The man didn’t say “I told you so,” but he might as well have tattooed the words all over Ylir’s body. He repeated his offer and Ylir, bristling, felt like he had no choice but to consider it. What followed were several weeks of furious correspondence by mail, wherein Azchai repeatedly upped the stakes until Ylir could no longer open his letters without seeing red. That damned, greedy pig! Ylir even told his master that their best chance of profit right now was to turn the ship over and charge the insurance company. He’d find a way to survive.

But Yn Garr’s reply was a definite “No.” Another infuriating man. Work with him, you buffoon. I don’t care if we lose money over it. This operation is about more than the profit. Foundations, fool, it’s all about foundations. Get that through your head. Or haven’t I taught you enough?

Foundations. Ylir snorted—all well and good for Yn Garr to say such a thing, but no matter which way you put it, one and one can’t add up to five. Where was he supposed to get the coin to appease everyone—Al-ir and Barun both—and still make sure operations went underway? They were already out thirty-thousand ril!

Maybe he could turn the ship over and sink with it.

He smirked at the thought.

“Sir.”

“You’re still there?” he asked, irritated.

There was an abrupt silence, followed by a shifting of feet. He sighed, pushing the wine away from him, and shrugged into an old shirt. He buttoned it up before clearing his throat. “Come in.” He snapped his fingers. The door flung open.

Ranias stood there with his hands in his pockets. His face was pale. “The horses have arrived, sir,” he squeaked.

“And that warrants an announcement, does it?”

“Sir?”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Never mind. I suppose that means we should get ready to ride those dumb animals soon. Everything has been packed?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve also sent word ahead of our arrival and secured the ship. The men we’re leaving behind are very trustworthy, sir. You have nothing to fear.”

“I hope that’s true.” He glanced through the porthole and was silent for a moment. “The girl,” he said. “Is she ready?”

“Sir?”

“She’s joining us. What’s with that face? I can’t very well leave her behind with your men, especially after what happened last time. If you don’t have a horse ready for her, give yours up. You can ride a donkey in the meantime. Honestly.” He snapped his fingers again, shutting the lamp fire from afar, and began the laborious task of putting on his boots. Ranias hovered around like a fly for a few moments, but eventually he must have realized how stupid he looked, because he bobbed his head and walked away.

Burg was waiting for him out on deck, clad in thin leathers, furry shoulder-pads, and the most utterly ridiculous cloak he had ever seen in his entire life. It made the short man look like a mushroom. “What in Yohak’s name is that?” he asked, trying hard not to laugh.

“I am told this is what Gasparians wear,” Burg snorted. His cheeks were red from the heat. “And what about you, you fine dandy? Do you really think the ponies would be impressed?”

“Thank you for the compliment, but this is actually an old shirt.”

Burg’s face grew serious. “What’s this I’m hearing about you wanting the girl with us? There ought to be enough girls along the road, don’t you think?”

“That’s hardly my intention.” He leaned across the railing and faced Burg. “I still mean to return her to her family. After what happened last time, I’m not trusting her around these cock-brained monkeys. Besides, Burg, do you really think the woman would allow us to lock her up here while we go riding off into the sunset? Last port she could hardly wait to get out.”

“That was before,” Burg murmured. He immediately dropped his head. Ylir saw the girl emerge from below deck. She had tied her hair in several knots, and he noticed for the first time that it went to her waist. The length of it was probably going to prove problematic during their journey. He was trying to think of a polite way to tell her to crop it when she came up to him and stared him in the eye.

“Sir,” she said casually, but even behind that he sensed a tinge of venom—not a lot, but enough to jolt him from his thoughts. “I wasn’t told I was to go with you beyond the port.”

“Change of plans,” he replied.

“I see.” She glanced at Burg for a moment, then turned back to him. “I’m to ride a horse, I suppose?”

He grinned. “You can walk, if that’s what you want. Although I’ve been led to believe that Ranias is somewhere right now procuring a donkey.”

“My clothes aren’t suitable for travel.” She sighed. “Oh, why do I have to go? I’ve never travelled inland before. I like knowing where the sea is. I’m not even sure I can sleep without hearing waves, or thinking I can hear waves. It sounds funny but I feel like I could drown if I’m surrounded by land, miles away from the sea. You can’t possibly know what I mean, but...”

Ylir looked at her and closed his mouth. The crashing of waves against an empty shore...

He turned away and gazed across the horizon. “Burg, accompany her to that godsforsaken store you bought that absurd outfit from and get her whatever she needs. They’ll probably be men’s fitting, but they should have some small enough. All the better, don’t you think, keep her away from prying Gasparian eyes? And you, girl—start learning to keep your mouth shut. I know propriety is not a trait Jins are known for, but...well, if you don’t learn from me now you will soon. Now get out of my sight, the both of you.”

The sea was quiet here, with waves that folded on top each other instead of rising tall like those she had grown up with in Jin-Sayeng. That was, of course, a surprise—she thought the ocean looked the same no matter which angle you viewed it from. Burg had told her before that Aret-ni was at the base of an inlet, but those were just words to her.

There was a haunting, wild beauty to the place though, one that she didn’t have difficulty admitting that she liked. The tall, layered cliffs surrounding the strip of beach were made of sandstone, streaked with white and yellow. The sand itself was white—she first noticed this when she got off the boat with Burg, and suddenly she couldn’t help but utter a small shriek of surprise. She immediately kicked off her sandals so she could feel the wet sand between her toes.

In the distance, Sir Ylir watched them from the deck of the ship, but if he was displeased by her actions, he said nothing. Burg, behind her, made a comment she chose not to hear. It was difficult to care about anything else when you had seawater pooling around your ankles.

She took her time at the store. There wasn’t much choice in travel clothes, but she had no desire to look like a pack animal, and Burg didn’t seem to mind waiting. “It’s just like shopping with my sister,” he said, grinning so wide the gap in his front teeth looked like a chasm.

They left Aret-ni in the afternoon, passing through a narrow road framed by strange, dark trees with branches so low Sume had to duck many times to stop herself from falling off. The grass, where the sun could reach it, was tall and yellow. Her mount stopped often to pick at it, and Ranias had to touch its flanks with a whip to get it to move again.

The small, lean beast was a strange affair for her. She had never ridden horses before and found the experience both frightening and exhilarating. An hour after they first moved on, her thighs began to sweat and swell from rubbing too much against the saddle. She remembered riding buffaloes, but that had been very different. She could still recall those times with her brother (back in a dead uncle’s farm, so long ago), how she would wrap her legs around its thick shoulders and feel like she was riding a mountain. One time, a gnat had stung the buffalo, and it had gone wild, with both of them still on it. Later their father had screamed at Oji, asking what he would have done had his sister died.

“Bury her,” he’d said, matter-of-factly.

It all felt like it happened to someone else.

The thought of her brother gave her strength. She knew some of the men—Tibal’s friends and sympathizers—resented her for what happened at the ship, and she could feel them watching her every move, waiting for her to fall or otherwise make a fool of herself. She did neither. One time, when the gelding reached out for another bite of grass and Ranias reached out to hit him, she tapped her heels into his belly as she had seen the others do and laughed as he galloped, pulling him back near the front, where Ylir rode. Ylir, of course, had barked at her to get back in line; he was even more irritable than usual on horseback. Still, she had made her point.

She thought more and more of Oji in the days that followed. Travelling like this made her think of all the times her brother must have travelled himself. She could still remember some of his letters, how he himself had to learn to ride a horse, or how Kefier seemed perpetually unable to find a ride that didn’t want to kill him.

Aden confirmed. “I don’t know what that was all about. Maybe the horse didn’t like the way he smelled. We had this mare back at Baeddan’s, you know—very placid old girl. Nothing more than a cow horse. She saw him and she lit up like she’d just seen half the demons in the Kag.”

“It sounds like you all had fun,” she said. “In the Boarshind, I mean.”

Aden gave a rueful smile. “There’s good and bad days. There’s good days—like now, believe it or not, when your client’s not a total nutcase or at least in Sir Ylir’s case pays really well.” He grinned. “Bad days—well, there was this client who had it in his head that he was going to convert a barn into a house, and let’s just say scraping half a century’s worth of cattle crap wasn’t in the job description. The best days happen when we get paid.”

“My brother loved it, then.” She had to struggle not to cry, saying that. She was still so young when she last saw him, but she could still remember how restless Oji had been in Akki. Dai, she thought, had the same sort of spirit—the kind that would turn a blanket over and over again even though it had just the two sides.

“He loved it,” Aden said. “But not enough. I mean, he still made those preparations to come home. He wouldn’t have done that if he liked the life that much.”

“Preparations.” She blinked and pulled her horse closer to him. “What do you mean?”

Aden opened his mouth. “You didn’t know? He was all set to come home. I thought he must’ve written to you before he died.”

“He did. He said there was a surprise. And then he stopped sending money and…” And now she knew. Don’t cry, she told herself. Don’t let these men see you cry. He had never wanted to go home before, not in all the seven years he had been gone. She had asked, of course. Hana had pleaded. The reply was always the same...there’s not enough money. They won’t let me. Just a few more months, and then...

He was coming home. To them; to his father, his sister, his wife, and his son. He must have been saving his money before he died, because what was the point of doing all of that and then coming back penniless? That changed things. Hana had been so convinced that he just stopped caring about them. Even when she had learned about his death, she had been unsympathetic, because he had stopped sending them money months before he’d stopped writing and that meant to her he was spending it elsewhere. Another family, another woman, himself—it didn’t matter. But now... He was coming home, Hana. He was saving money to come home to us. Oh, we were so wrong, and now it’s too late.

Sume turned to Aden. “You told me he died from a work accident. There must be more to it than that.”

“I don’t really think this is the place or time.”

“Isn’t it? I think I’ve held out long enough. He was my brother, Aden. Is, still. Some things death don’t change.”

Aden glanced at Ranias, who shrugged. “All right,” he said. “One of the contracts you sign in the faction demands you finish one last job before they can release whatever funds you have remaining. Oji and Kefier were sent off to the mountains. That’s as far as we know. Kefier came back and killed one of the officers. He got away, but not before some of our other friends were killed defending him.

“Gaven caught him. In Fuyyu—so I suppose you met him there. Gaven told me later on that he thinks Kefier killed Oji and was just trying to cover up his tracks. That upset him so much. Gaven was close with Oji—they used to bid on the same jobs before Kefier came into the picture. He wanted to hear the confession straight from Kefier’s lips. I don’t know what happened after. Right after I heard of his capture, we were sent to Ni’in for another job before being given this one.” He shrugged, as if he was almost sorry he didn’t have better news for her.

She didn’t know if she believed it. I’m sorry, he’d told her. For that? There must have been a reason why there was so much sorrow in his eyes when he looked at her. She knew she was supposed to be angry, even more so than Oji’s friends, but she couldn’t find it in herself.

Aden shook his head. “I’ve upset you. We don’t know that, little girl. We don’t know. So don’t worry your pretty head over it. We’re heading to Al-ir now, see? Whatever happened in Kago...that’s ages ago, now. There’s nothing we can do about it anymore.”

He lingered around her for some time, but she had fallen eerily silent and that must have made him uncomfortable. He fell back with the rest of the men and didn’t bother her again. That night, when they set up camp under the vast darkness, she stared into a fire, the weight of so many years threatening to crush her heart.

“You didn’t cook tonight,” she heard Ylir’s honeyed voice behind her.

She tugged at her bare feet. “Burg insisted.” She turned her head as he dropped to the ground beside her. He was holding a bowl of turnip soup casually with one hand. “Shouldn’t you be in your golden pavilion?”

He laughed. “That’s just a rumour. I have a perfectly standard tent like the rest of you. Why?” He paused, a rare playful glint appearing in his eyes. “Are you curious to see the inside?”

Sume turned to him sharply, but he ignored her as he sipped soup straight from the bowl. It was strange to see him as brazenly uncouth as the rest of them. She remembered Burg telling her that he preferred eating with a knife and fork like the nobles did in Hafed. He had also neglected his grooming habits, because his face, which he normally kept smooth except for the patch of hair under his jaw, was now covered with black stubble.

He grimaced, and she suddenly realized she was staring too much and turned away. “Burg can’t cook at all. What on earth possessed you to let him take over?” He dumped the rest of the soup on the ground and wrapped his hands together. “That’s one thing to look forward to in Al-ir, at least. Mhagaza is known for throwing good parties and Lord Barun promises to bring his best cooks, whatever that means. Also, Mhagaza’s palace—what passes for a palace in this blasted country, anyway—is right next to a lake—rare in these parts, don’t you know? I hear you can get the servants to take a tub of water right to your room. What’s the matter with you, now? I’ve been talking and you still haven’t gotten a word in edge wise. If any of the men are bothering you—”

“That’s not it at all,” she said, rather too quickly. He lifted an eyebrow, and she sighed. “Just...don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Don’t, you tell me. You’re supposed to be my servant.” He sounded amused. “Well, if it’s not one of the men, what is it?”

“I was just thinking about—about my family. How much taller Dai has gotten since I’ve been away.”

“Dai,” he murmured. “Ah. That thieving rascal.” She shot him a look. He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know what else to call him. His actions have brought you thus far. Clearly you enjoy this ride about as little as I do.”

“He didn’t beg me to save his skin, you know. I volunteered. He’s a good boy. His father left before he was born and sometimes he thinks the weight of the world is on his shoulders.”

“Don’t make excuses for him. If he’s old enough to make decisions on his own, he’s old enough to be held accountable for them. You raise a boy the way you doting women did and look what happens. You—”

She got up and dumped her bowl, steaming soup and all, on his lap. His face remained placid as she stalked away from him, but she had only gone a few steps when he said, in a sharp voice, “Sume, stop.”

She stopped. She didn’t know why. That frightened her, because in her mind she was still walking away from him; she could still picture herself making for her own tent and curling up in the corner. She felt a sensation, as if a bead of ice-cold water was making its way down her naked spine.

“You stop it,” she said in a low voice. “I know what you’re doing.”

His eyes flickered. A faint smile played across his lips. “Oh?”

“In Sutan, I saw what you did at that building. You’re a witch. I’m not ignorant about these Kag magery—I know what I saw.”

“Witches are women, Sume,” he said, almost kindly.

She bristled at him. “A mage, then. An enchanter. That was a business meeting, wasn’t it? You were using enchantments to influence those men.”

“A bold accusation.” His dark golden eyes flickered, and she realized too late that she shouldn’t have even brought it up. It was difficult enough to tell what Ylir was thinking when he was in a good mood. To confront him further might very well be suicide. But then he flicked his fingers, and said, “Sit.”

“No!” she screamed, loud enough that some of the men, sitting around their own campfires, looked up. She covered her mouth and collapsed to the ground on her knees.

Ylir looked at her. “You just might be the most vexing woman I have met in my life. What have I done to earn your wrath?”

“You wanted to chop off my nephew’s hands.”

“Apart from that.”

She glared at him. Was he really just trying to infuriate her? He wasn’t even laughing, so she couldn’t gauge if this was simply his idea of a joke. Before she could offer a biting remark in return, Burg appeared. He looked at them and hesitated.

“You want to join us, Burg?” Ylir asked. “I’m sorry I didn’t send you an invitation. The cuisine, as you can see, is less than ideal.”

“Oh, piss off. That was my mother’s recipe.” Burg crossed the slope leading to their fire. “You need to see this.”

“Need to see what? I was just getting comfortable.” He glanced at Sume, who felt her cheeks colour in spite of herself. Mage, she thought, and regretted not taking that beaded necklace Hana had tried to give her back in Akki, the one she said warded against evil spirits and spells.

Burg’s face grew serious. “It’s best if you come. You wouldn’t believe me otherwise.”

Chapter Ten

They crossed the ridge that marked the boundary of their camp and started climbing the hill. They didn’t have to go very far. Eventually, Burg stopped, panting, and pointed. Ylir gazed out at the distance and saw smoke trailing above the flat trees. He could also see what appeared to be light from several campfires.

“There’s no village there,” Burg explained.

“I’m aware of that.” He was feeling anger stirring inside him. “Could it be a hunting party?”

Burg shrugged. “Could be. Or something much worse.”

“Mhagaza told me he would hold off until we’ve had a talk. I am disappointed to see he has broken his word.”

“We don’t know that yet. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“What’s happening?”

Ylir drew a sharp breath and glanced behind him. The girl had followed them. He almost yelled at her, but he suddenly felt too weary to bother. It was Burg who spoke first. The man already seemed infatuated with her and jumped at the chance to show off. “Over beyond that forest is where the refinery is. Or would be, if we can set things right. And sitting on it is several hundred thousand ril worth of equipment, building materials, blasting powder, and raw ore. We’ve got a handful of guards there but not enough for that number of fires. And that’s worrying.”

“Is that so?” Sume straightened her dress and glanced towards Ylir matter-of-factly. “Then we should ride there, shouldn’t we?”

“We?” Ylir asked.

“We.” She said that firmly. He suddenly recalled the conversation from earlier and had to stop himself from laughing out loud. She was still intent on that, was she? A mage, indeed. He knew he should have done something that night when he glimpsed her spying on him over the roof, but he had figured her for harmless—a little too curious for her own good, perhaps, but nothing more than that.

This wasn’t good; he was beginning to doubt his ability to judge people. She still looked like she wasn’t going to cause him any trouble, but he wouldn’t know that for sure. It was probably best to keep an eye on her from now on. The last thing he needed, after all this, was some wisp of a girl planting doubt in the men’s heads. They knew, of course, that he dabbled in the agan—it was something he hadn’t tried to hide from them. But if she started making them think he was some sort of trained enchanter, that he was probably capable of more than parlour tricks, it would be harder to influence them if the time came. Not impossible, but he strongly believed in not giving himself more than he could handle.

He nodded slowly. Burg looked confused, but he had been Ylir’s man too long to question him, and immediately set off into the darkness. He glanced back at the girl and noticed that her hands were shaking. Without really thinking about it, he unlatched his cloak and draped it over her shoulders.

She turned to him and managed an awkward, “Thank you.”

“Keep behind me when we get there. I don’t know what’s going to get into these Gasparians’ heads when we show up. I’m sure it’s probably a misunderstanding, but in case things get heated, turn back to camp and sound the alarm. Tell the men to arm themselves and be ready.”

Burg arrived with their horses at the foot of the hill. Ranias was also with them, rubbing his eyes and yawning like a cat. Ylir had to pause a moment for that—Ranias seemed like a trustworthy fellow, but he was hardly the pick of the faction litter and not the kind of man Ylir wanted near him in a bind. Burg, always one to show off, was probably considering the girl’s feelings, as Ranias was one of the few men there she seemed to like. He frowned. He needed to talk with Burg about that. Operations came first, even if you had to step all over someone to get it done. What happened to the girl was unfortunate, but she ought to have seen it coming when she decided to come with him.

They set off along the valley. Ylir had seen the plans for the project, but he had never been here before and had to rely on Burg to lead. He couldn’t help but notice that the location was further east than he expected. No wonder it took them too long to transport supplies; he remembered fuming about it, cursing Burg through the seeing mirror until even the normally placid man looked uncomfortable. Yn Garr had assured him that this was the best location to connect the tunnels to the Hartmur mines, but seeing the terrain—the granite cliffs, the fact that the closest body of water was the river where they had camped—he began to wonder. This was supposed to be a façade, a way for them to continue working without trouble from the Gasparian lords. How were they supposed to take investors up here if it required a rough ride at a downhill angle so sharp he felt like his balls were running up his neck?

He glanced at the dark mountains in the distance. Lake Enji sat somewhere between the river and those mountains. Yn Garr had assured him that situation was under control, but he was starting to doubt the man meant exactly that. He wasn’t still trying to attack Bannal and his mages, was he? He’d tried that years ago; Ylir had been younger, more inexperienced, and barely got out alive. The incident had happened on a mere road—how was he supposed to fare against Bannal’s fortress, with its ancient spells and more mages than he knew how to deal with? He was one man. Surely Yn Garr couldn’t be so daft?

They reached the end of the corridor, where an opening had been blasted through the rocks. Burg snorted. “Welcome to your domain, my lord.”

“Some domain,” Ylir grumbled, urging his horse into the crack. He tried to let his eyes adjust in the dark.

Burg slid past him with the torch. “The stuff’s still there,” he said, indicating the enormous stack of boxes, steel rods, and other material wrapped up in cloth. A low wooden roof had been set up over most of them, though some of the material was sticking out, unsheltered. Off to the far right was another shelter, enclosed with canvas, which Ylir figured was the workers’ facility. It was larger than he anticipated.

“How many men are supposed to be guarding this area?” he asked Burg.

Burg scratched his jaw. “I left, what, maybe five?”

Ylir drew a deep breath. “There’s more than that here right now. Much more.” He ran his hand along his sword. A familiar heat surged up his right arm. “Which way to their tents, Burg?”

Burg hesitated. “Perhaps we should go back to camp and get more men.”

He drew his sword impatiently. “If you want to do that. I’d like to talk to them now.”

“All right. Just—just don’t do anything rash.” Burg started down a path that wound around the site. In the greyish moonlight, Ylir glimpsed a giant excavation that was not supposed to be there until he himself had given the signal to proceed. The impatience turned to a sick sensation in the pit of his gut. It was a feeling he had not known in years.

“Who goes there?”

Burg started forward, but Ylir cut him off. He jumped off his horse and very quickly walked towards the man the way Sume had once seen a mountain lion stalk its prey. She could feel his muscles tensing and for a moment she had a glimpse of the contained fury that roiled inside the man. She suddenly remembered that night, back in the ship. Not the details surrounding it—those she had tried to set aside—but the expression on Ylir’s face when he pulled that trick of making the head explode. It was the look of a man used to control and found, to his dismay, that it was slipping.

This time, though, his arm remained still. “I should be asking you the same thing,” he said in a low voice.

The man grunted. “Who the fuck—” he started.

Burg might have possibly saved his life. He rushed the man and wrapped an arm around him. “Ah, Dorn!” Burg exclaimed, while glancing at Ylir. “You’ve grown fat, you stupid dog! Here, let me introduce Sir Ylir, Sir Yn Garr’s right-hand man. Sir, this is Dorn. He don’t look like much but he’s the foreman I left behind when I last came here.” He smacked Dorn again, for good measure. The man stumbled forward and was smart enough to make sure he collapsed on his knees.

“My lord!” he said, when he was done coughing. “It’s a delight to finally meet you!”

“Enough with the pleasantries,” Ylir said. “Burg tells me he only left five men behind. You have at least a dozen tents here and more up that hill.”

“Sir?” Dorn looked confused. “Sir Yn Garr didn’t tell you, sir?”

“Tell me what?”

“We got a missive weeks ago. Sir Yn Garr sent more men, sir. He wanted the excavations to begin as soon as possible.”

“Without a builder to inspect the operation?” Sume saw him clench his fists. “Is the Lord of Al-ir aware of this? He was very adamant that construction not continue until we’ve talked. I thought by now he’d have seized and held everything until I arrive.” He paused. “Don’t tell me. He was here.”

“He sent men, yes. About a week or so ago.” Dorn’s face was turning white.

“And you used force.”

“They—” He glanced helplessly at Burg. “We had no choice. They came up with their swords and they didn’t really try to talk to us and the only word we ever got from you guys was Yn Garr sending those men and...” He collapsed to the ground once again. Sume thought it sounded like he was sobbing.

Ylir was being amazingly silent. Burg bent over to pat Dorn’s back. “Easy there, lad. Sir Ylir knows better than to blame you, don’t you, boss? You did well. But if you have new men here that means Sir Yn Garr sent someone else to take charge. Where is he?”

Dorn glanced at the tents up the hill. “Boarshind,” he said.

“They did Mhagaza’s men in?”

Dorn nodded.

Burg glanced back at Ylir. “Maybe you should take a moment, before you talk to this man.”

“The hell I will,” Ylir snarled. He clicked his fingers. “Stay here with him, Burg.”

“Sir—”

“Sume.” It was the first time he had uttered her name in a while, and she glanced up in surprise. “You come with me. I need you to remind me not to kill the man when I set my eyes on him.” Without even looking at her, he strode up the hill.

Sume sighed and left her horse to follow him. He walked very fast, and she had to trot to keep up.

“This is unbelievable,” he murmured when she got within earshot. “My master relies too much on these men. Oh, I grant you, if you need something unpleasant or dirty done, they can do it, no question about that. But when it comes to delicate matters, you don’t send these idiots anywhere near that job. My master knew that whole situation with Mhagaza from the beginning. What did he think would happen, now that they’ve killed his men? Not even the whole of Boarshind can keep the Gasparian army at bay if it comes to it.”

It felt like he was expecting her to respond, so she did. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

His face tightened. “Maybe, but it won’t be easy. Ah, that stupid old man! This isn’t the first time I’ve had to undo his mistakes and it won’t be the last. Sending the Boarshind for this job, indeed.” They had reached the leader’s tent—a tall, canvas-covered pavilion. Ylir all but ripped the front open. “You!” he said, his voice starting to thunder now—a far contrast from his usual soft tones.

A black-haired man was sitting at the end of a cot. Sume marked him as a half-Jinsein. There was a white streak along his forelock and several more on the back of his head. Sume felt as if he was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t put his face to anyone she knew. The man glanced at them. “Sir Ylir,” he greeted.

Ylir visibly relaxed. “Gaven.”

The man called Gaven smiled from the corner of his mouth. “I’ve heard you were on your way here. I was looking forward to seeing you again.” He extended his hand.

Ylir paused a moment before taking it. “You’ve lost weight.”

“I have. So I have!” Gaven gave a short burst of laughter, which accentuated the grey hollows under his eyes.

“The foreman tells me you’re here under my master’s orders. Tell me what sort of orders these are.”

“Don’t you want to sit first? Have some tea?” He glanced at her and smiled. “You brought a friend? Ah, excellent. I will put something on the kettle. I have food, too, if you’re both hungry.”

Ylir said nothing and allowed the man to do what he wished. Sume watched him from the corner of her eyes, wondering if she was missing something. The man called Gaven pointed them to a rug in the center of the tent, where several cushions were laid out. She glanced at Ylir, who nodded. Together, they sat, and Gaven laid out two plates heaped with sliced pieces of dried meat and onions.

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you better,” Gaven said with a grin. “As you can see, the nearest market is quite a ride away.” He uttered another weak laugh.

Ylir touched the food, but he didn’t taste it. His face was deathly still. “I need an answer from you, Gaven. Why did my master send you?”

Gaven took a cushion and placed his hands on his knees. “He wanted the excavations to start before you got here. Said there was no sense in waiting.”

“He knows Mhagaza put a stop to our operations. Legally—”

“Yn Garr told me to tell you we are not Gasparians and should not have to hold ourselves under Gasparian law. Mhagaza himself broke protocol first, didn’t he?”

“So that includes killing Mhagaza’s men?”

“They did not mean to talk. What were we supposed to do when they rode in here and tried to hack us to pieces? So we just gave them a taste of their own medicine—only you know, more than that. Dorn there can tell you how we covered one in honey and fed him to the ants.” Sume blanched, but the man, Gaven, seemed pleased.

Ylir’s face remained expressionless, but his eyes looked like wildfire. “You did this, knowing what you already know? You idiot. Did you at least kill all of them? Or did you, like a man whose mother dropped him on his head at birth, send one back to tell Mhagaza what you did?”

“Oh, no. We killed all. No sense sparing any after what they almost did to us.”

“That buys me some time, at least,” Ylir said. “But I’ll have you know right now that this isn’t the way I run things. If Mhagaza learns his men haven’t returned, he’ll think the worst. What did you do with the bodies?”

“Buried, burnt, I don’t know. I let the men do what they will.” Gaven looked bored. Sume wondered if he had ever really met Ylir before. If he were one of Burg’s men, he would already be face-down on the floor, stammering apologies in quick succession.

But there was something holding Ylir back from pulling out his sword. Sume wasn’t sure, but it clearly had nothing to do with the value of the man standing in front of him. He got up, knocking the tea kettle with his boot, and pointed at Gaven. “I want every one of those men accounted for. Dig them up and count the bones if you have to. I have to be in Al-ir by tomorrow evening.”

“Don’t let me hold you back.” Gaven could barely conceal the sneer behind his voice.

Sume glanced at Ylir and saw him narrow his eyes for a moment. But that was all he did. Without another word, he walked out of the tent. Sume got up to follow him.

“You,” Gaven said.

She turned to him.

“What is Ylir yn Garr doing with a Jin at tow?” he snorted. “Is he so desperate for cunt now? Maybe better you stick around my camp, girl. I’ll show you how a real man treats a woman.”

“Maybe better you just do what he says,” she said, her voice even. “Before I show you how a real woman can wield a knife.” Gaven started to say something, and she chose that moment to duck through the tent flap. To her surprise, she saw Ylir quietly waiting for her by the path.

“You were irritatingly patient with him,” she said.

Ylir’s eyebrows knotted. “Your father never taught you the value in keeping your mouth shut, did he?”

Her ears burned at that. She resisted the urge to stomp on his feet—he wouldn’t have felt anything, anyway, what with those heavy boots of his—and started walking down the path. She heard him follow her and felt her heart leap to her throat. “I’m going to have to leave some of the men behind,” he said, getting close enough for her to smell the spiced scent he wore. “Burg included. I don’t know what my master thinks he’s doing, but I’m not about to let that half-blood run this show. If Lord Mhagaza catches wind of what he’s done, this whole business will be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Who is he, anyway?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt. “It seemed like you knew him.”

“He’s one of the Boarshind. What else do I need to say? You’ve met them. About the only good thing about them is that they’re cheap and they’ll do anything, including fuck their own grandmother, for money. I’m sorry.” He ran his hands through his hair. “You’re going to have to let your bodyguard loose, too. What’s his name? Ranyar?”

“Ranias,” she mumbled.

“They like taking Hafed names. It’s ridiculous. Burg will need all the help he can get.”

She swallowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re still going with me and I want to warn you in advance that you’re not going to have your entourage with you when we get to Al-ir. Don’t worry,” he added, flashing her a smile. “You should have realized by now that I find Jins detestable. You’re perfectly safe from me.”

Her stomach knotted. She wasn’t sure which of his comments she wanted to hit him for, but it was all she could do to stop herself from actually trying. She weighed her words carefully. “You talk as if I have a choice.” She quickly glanced away as he turned to her and softly whispered to Sakku that he would not see the tears welling up in her eyes.

Chapter Eleven

“You’re not taking the boy with us,” Sapphire said, her voice a hint more irritated than usual.

Kefier didn’t bother glancing up from tying the knots on his pack. There was no point—he didn’t care about trying to reason with her, anyway, and he’d always been a little afraid that she had the power to make him burst into flames if he looked into her eyes. He continued piling wrapped packages of dried lamb’s meat in the bottom of the bag. “I can’t leave him here,” he mumbled. “He doesn’t know anyone. Who knows what those Gasparians would do to him?”

“I’m not paying you to pick up every stray you come across. He’ll cost us extra on the caravan.”

“Then take it out of my pay. What’s the problem with that?” He pressed his hands into his knees and got up. Sapphire was still standing behind him, her arms crossed. “I know this is more trouble than you bargained for. If you want me to find you another man—”

Sapphire narrowed her eyes and was quiet for a moment. “No,” she said at last. “I don’t trust Gasparians.”

“Aren’t you one yourself?”

She glared at him. “Are you blind or just plain idiotic? Do we look Gasparian to you? Honestly.” She drew a deep breath. “No. We don’t want that. It is imperative you meet my master. For that, if nothing else, I will deal with your ridiculous vanity.” It was amazing how she could speak so calmly while implying she wanted to strangle the daylights out of him.

“And you’re so sure, are you, that your master will talk to me at all? He won’t keep the answers from me just because?”

Sapphire’s lips became a thin line. “You dumb oaf, that’s not the issue here. If you’ve got enough brain in your head to keep alive, then you should have figured it out by now. I won’t be able to tell you anything you don’t already know. This man, Yn Garr, struck up a rivalry with my master the gods know how long ago and has been that way since I can remember. You say you’ve met him before. My master will want to know the circumstances. Only he will be able to make light of what you tell him, to interpret the nuances—”

He struggled to keep awake and pretended to tie the last knots around the pack even though he had not finished loading it yet. The sun, he noticed, was starting to spill over the barn windows. If Sapphire herself was as smart as she made herself sound, she really should head back to the inn now to get started on breakfast. He opened his mouth to say so himself when Moon appeared by the doors, panting. She looked frantic.

“The boy,” she said, as Kefier took one step towards her. “He made off with our purse. I checked our room. It’s gone, and so is the boy.”

Sapphire’s eyes glowed. “What?” she hissed.

“The men said they saw him heading down the main road. Oh Sapphire, what are we going to do? Without that money we’ll only make it as far as—”

Kefier dropped the pack and started running. He heard Sapphire call out to him, but he didn’t care about what she had to say at that moment. The boy’s face flashed in his mind. A thief? he thought, noting a pang of disappointment in the pit of his stomach. Ab and Sakku both help you, child, this is not how you show gratitude!

A retort to that stirred in the back of his mind. He refused to put words to it and caught up with Dai just along the town outskirts. The boy’s face was streaked with dirt and tears. He didn’t stop to think about that. He grabbed the boy’s shoulder and hauled him close. Dai didn’t flinch, but neither did he look back at him. He was gripping the purse tightly in one fist, and as soon as Kefier held his hand out he gave it without a word.

A movement along the ditch to their right caught Kefier’s attention. He swung his head and saw Xyl ducking under the fence posts. She had refused to step foot inside Kalthekar, but she must have been keeping a close eye on the road. Kefier was relieved to see that she hadn’t completely abandoned them.

Sapphire and Moon appeared uphill. Kefier pushed the boy to the side and started walking towards them. “Did he have it?” Sapphire asked. Her cuffs were bare mid-way.

Kefier held one hand out. “It was my fault. I’d borrowed the purse earlier, intending to buy more straps, and forgot all about it.”

Sapphire’s eyes narrowed. “You forgot? What sort of person forgets that kind of thing?”

“The kind of person who got distracted by some woman’s mewling,” he said with gritted teeth. He threw the purse at Moon. “Count it if you want to.” Inwardly, he prayed the boy hadn’t spilled coins all over the place.

Moon cracked the purse open and peered inside. “It all seems to be there,” she conceded, without even bothering to count it.

Sapphire glanced at the boy. “If he is blameless, why did he escape?”

“Escape? You contemptible bitch, he wanted to see Xyl.” He pointed at the kusyan. “Now are we done with this drama? Can I please go back to my work now?” The whole situation was making him uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to being harassed by women, let alone over a boy he hadn’t known two days ago.

Sapphire bit her lip for once and walked away. Moon smiled at him for a moment before turning to follow her sister.

Kefier returned to Dai. The boy was still looking at the ground, his arms crossed. “We’re leaving in an hour,” Kefier said flatly. “I was supposed to carry everything, but now you’re going to have to help me with a pack of your own. If you don’t, so Ab help me, I’m going to knock all your teeth out. Do we have an understanding?”

The boy was quiet for a moment, but he eventually nodded and grimly walked up the road. Kefier wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly, but he didn’t have the courage to ask.

“I’ll wait,” Xyl said. She had said the same thing when they’d first stepped into town. Her eyes glimmered.

If Dai felt even the tiniest bit of remorse for what he’d done, Kefier didn’t see it. He remained silent the whole ride through to the south, his eyes downcast and his jaw set. Kefier noticed he spoke only to Xyl, who seemed to find the boy amusing. She taught him a simple kusyani game involving rocks and a ball she made of leather strips she harvested from Kefier’s pack, which kept Dai amused and out of trouble until they got to the foothills.

The caravan dropped them off at a nondescript intersection close enough to the Jin-Sayeng border that you could see the towers in the distance. Sapphire glanced at the boy momentarily, but pursed her lips and said nothing as she continued up the winding footpath into the wilderness.

“She’s worried, you know,” Moon said in a low voice, approaching Kefier from behind. She was so short that she had to look up at him. “Outsiders aren’t normally allowed at the towers. She’s taking a great risk as it is, bringing you with us.”

“I don’t understand. Why can’t you just send word?”

Moon touched his elbow briefly. Her hand was very cold. “Only sanctioned mages can cross the barriers. The towers contain many valuable items—spell books, histories of this land, artifacts, tablets. This, among other things, has attracted thieves over the centuries. Our forefathers chose to erect barrier-spells around the island to protect these treasures, but it came at a price: they cannot be undone. Or if they can, none of us know, save perhaps Lord Bannal.

“The barriers decide who passes and who does not. Intruders are dealt with appropriately. They recognize our own—mages who live in the towers, and on occasion they will allow accompanied guests to enter. But this is not certain. I have seen from afar a time when the barriers decided an important dignitary was not important enough.”

Kefier paused in his tracks. “I’m beginning to think this isn’t worth my time.”

Moon giggled. “Oh, you. You’ll be all right! So as long as what you’ve told us is true. The barriers will see you with us, and it will sense your thoughts. But the boy—” She glanced behind them and dropped her voice. “The barriers, you see, are especially sensitive to thieves.”

“He isn’t a thief,” Kefier said. “I thought I’ve explained that to you already.”

“Oh, Kefier. I know what you did.” Her face softened. “It is noble, but misguided. Look at him. Do you think he appreciates it? Getting caught and then being made to do an honest day’s job for absolutely no pay?”

He didn’t want to, but he turned to the boy and the quiet way he trudged underneath the pack Kefier had given him. Allowing the boy to help lighten their load was the only way he could keep Sapphire quiet, but now he was realizing that it might not be the best decision. He looked at Moon and ran a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to do?” he asked. “He can’t make it on his own.”

“He got this far.”

“If these spells you’re saying can sense thoughts, then you have nothing to worry about. The boy isn’t like that. I’m sure of it.” He took a deep breath before adding, “I have to be.”

“You’re taking this personally.” Moon almost looked amused.

“Am I? I just think that after what he’s been through, fair is fair.” Kefier tightened the straps around his waist and glanced imploringly at the small woman. “When I was a boy myself, my friend saved me. I was a mage-thrall in Dageis and he paid for my freedom. He’s dead now.” He paused long enough to feel his heart tighten. “I feel like I have to pay that back, somehow.”

“Is that why?” Moon smiled. “That’s touching. As I said, a noble thought. But do keep things in perspective. That was you. From what I’ve seen of you, you are a kind, honorable, and even generous man…”

Kefier laughed. She coloured. “Don’t! Maybe you don’t appreciate it, but I do. That kusyan, with the amount of agan she possesses, wouldn’t be so attached to you otherwise. But another boy might have knifed your friend in the back while he slept.” She kept her mouth shut after that, but Kefier could read the thought in the back of her mind—that she believed the boy was about as trustworthy as her example.

They reached a small fishing village by noon. It was nestled quietly in one of the satellite lakes north of Enji, or so Sapphire proclaimed, pointing at the map with a vehemence that suggested she had gotten her and Moon lost more than once in the past. A lanky, brown-skinned Gasparian met them. He had the crinkly eyes of a Jin. “We’ve been waiting for you, Sang Safira,” he said in a language that sounded close enough to Jinsein, but not quite. Kefier understood it, but he would have been hard-pressed to answer immediately.

Sapphire snorted and directed Kefier to dump the packs on the ground. “We were greatly delayed. A vagrant Jin we hired turned out to be less reliable than Moon figured. He ran off with our gear and our horses.”

“I only pointed out, Sapphie, that there was less chance of him being the sort of vandal we usually don’t like to trust along the road,” Moon huffed. “Clearly I was wrong.”

“And he is more reliable, is that what you’re saying?” the Gasparian asked, looking pointedly at Kefier.

“Hardly. We were left with no choice. Are your men ready?”

“They will be ready. You will wait here and have some of my mother’s shrimp cakes in the meantime. She started adding cinnamon. You’ll like it. Is your man coming with us?”

“Yes,” Sapphire said. She still looked pale at the mention of shrimp cakes.

The Gasparian jerked his head back. “I need to talk with you about crossing. The boy, too?” He glanced at Dai, and noticed Xyl for the first time. It was clear that he had a lot of practice pretending to be unsurprised in front of the mages, because he hardly blinked.

“Dai, walk with us.” Kefier motioned to him and followed the man to the shore, where a boat was moored along a pathway of rotting logs that served as a dock.

“My name is Dalgon,” the man said, placing one hand on his shoulder. “I have served as guide for the mages of Enji for many years, as my father and his father before him. Have they spoken to you about what we are to do on this route?”

“They tell me nothing,” Kefier said in a tone that made Dalgon laugh. Dai appeared just then, his face impassive.

Dalgon nodded, appreciating the joke more than he should. “This is how we’re going to do it. My cousins and I will take you as far south on Lake Maranga as we can, then we will walk the rest of the way to Enji. Normally I take four cousins, but Sang Safira has failed to inform me that there are more of you, so we shall have to do with two. I will need your shoulders—the boy and the women will have to wrestle with the packs.”

Kefier smiled. “I think they can handle that.”

“We’ll probably reach Enji tonight. We’ll camp near the shore and head on its waters tomorrow morning. This is important. There are streams along the campsite that will suffice for your morning routine. Do not touch the lake itself. Do not go near the shores barefoot. Understand?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The mages have worked on it so long ago that these don’t even know what spells are out there. It could be nothing, it could be anything. I had an ancestor who used water from the lake to boil the stew, the next day he broke out in scales before he died. Another ate mushrooms he found by the shore and lost his voice. Then again there is a rumour of a pirate who fell asleep in his boat, allowing his hand to touch the water. The next day he scratched himself and his manhood fell off.”

He said it in such a serious voice that even though Kefier felt inclined to laugh, he didn’t. He nodded, and Dalgon, pleased with this response, continued. “That’s the hearsay. Here’s the truth—that water, or something on it, eats at the boat. We carry resin to patch it up if we have to but we would like not to have to. I will need you all to keep still. Boy, don’t be going around jumping at every fish splash you see.

“When you talk, speak in a low voice. We don’t want to trigger the alarms. If you see anything strange—a glimmer of light in the water, or something strange in the air, tell me. We need to know immediately so we can steer the boat away from it. We’re all sensitive to different spells and you never know if you’re the only person in a boat who can sense something’s up.

“If you get frightened, don’t say so. Talk in a soothing voice. Say this: ‘Spirits of the lake, grant me passage. I am a friend of the mages. I am a friend of Lord Bannal the Mighty and all his blood stands for.’ Not those exact words, but something close. This is particularly important when we reach the island. The spells are stronger the closer you get to the towers. We’re allowed to go as far as the shore, but we can’t even accompany you folks deeper in. We’ve tried that before and we won’t ever again.” He smiled, showing crooked teeth, and patted his bare belly. “Now, don’t let all of that scare you. We rarely have incidents. These two have done this crossing alone many times before and they can detect most spells and ward them off before they reach us. Sang Safira may not look like it but she is well known for her skills. If she says you may walk with her to the towers, the wards should respect that and allow you entrance. I have to tell everyone this, though, because I don’t want someone getting scared and killing us all. If you don’t feel like you need to be there, tell me now.”

Kefier glanced at Dai, who remained silent. “We’ll be okay,” he said slowly. “We’ll follow your procedures.”

“Very well then. Get ready, we’re heading out after lunch.” The man crossed his arms and walked off to check on the state of Sapphire and his mother’s shrimp cakes.

The waves broke against the boat in flurries. It was almost dawn, but the mist surrounding them hadn’t cleared. That concerned Kefier. Everything had concerned Kefier ever since Dalgon’s talk by his village. He hadn’t slept a wink; every little sound jumped at him, and he ended up having to tie his sword arm to his leg so he wouldn’t feel inclined to hack away into the night.

Now, he still felt the same way, even with Dalgon’s reassurance that everything was going well so far. He shifted the pack at his feet and glanced at Dai. The boy was sitting beside Xyl with his hands on his knees. His face was deathly calm. A memory flickered in the back of Kefier’s mind, but he quickly squelched it. “How are you holding up?” he whispered.

The boy glanced at him. “I feel sadness,” he replied, turning to the still lake. Then, as if almost ashamed that he had spoken at all, he turned red and lowered his head.

“Ignore that,” Dalgon murmured, continuing to paddle with long, low strokes. “Mayhaps you’re feeling only melancholic. But it’s probably got something to do with the spells. You never know, you understand. A heavy feeling in one turn, then prickly skin the next—”

“There’s probably less than what most people think,” Sapphire murmured. Dalgon glanced sharply at her, but if there was something on her mind she didn’t say—she just kept her thin lips tight.

“With all due respect, Sang Safira, but my family has been providing transport for the Enji mages since Gashi Raggnar’s time. You might have grown up in the island itself, but that doesn’t mean you’ve seen all the lake and its mysteries. Those ancient mages were frightened of more things than we can imagine.”

“What were they afraid of?” Dai suddenly asked. The way he said it made Kefier lean forward, a layer of chill running over his arms.

Dalgon glanced at the horizon. “We are in a strange, scarred land, little dragon. Someday, perhaps, I’ll tell you. A time when Sang Safira is not looking at me with murder in her eyes.” He grinned and continued paddling.

No aberrations greeted them for the rest of the crossing—no strange lights on the horizon, no mermaids leaping over the rocks, no sudden growths on Sapphire’s chin. The boat slid across the soft sand of the island. As Dalgon and his men unloaded supplies, Sapphire picked up her robes and stepped over the rocks towards the edge of the wood. Moon followed her, stopping a few paces away.

“Is everything all right?” Moon asked softly.

Sapphire had her palm close to where the shadows began. Her eyes were dancing. “It is calm. Quiet, even. Call the boy.”

“Dai,” Moon murmured.

Dai approached them, his steps hesitant. Moon smiled sweetly at him. “This won’t hurt,” she said, taking his hand in hers. She slowly lifted it towards the shadows.

Sapphire’s face tightened, but she nodded. “It is safe. The barriers recognize our need for him. Now, the kusyan.”

They called to Xyl, doing the same thing with her. Again, Sapphire was not alarmed, and she finally dropped her hands to her side. Kefier took this time to approach them with their packs. “The men are leaving,” he said. “I’ve given them their payment.”

“Stay close to me,” Sapphire said. She stepped into the wood. Dai grimly followed her with Moon and Xyl behind him.

Kefier braced himself under the weight of the pack and took one step forward. The explosion that followed propelled him back, the ground caving in under his feet. Everything had fallen silent. He looked up at the sky and lifted his shaking hands. They were covered in blood.

He rolled to his side, coughing, and saw fire consuming the surrounding forest. Sapphire and Moon were standing over them, a blue barrier emanating from their hands. Sapphire’s eyes were blazing. “Get up!” she screamed, noticing him staring at her. “Grab them and start moving back to the shore!”

Kefier pulled the cowering Dai to his feet and grabbed Xyl’s arm with the other. He walked back, watching as Sapphire and Moon coordinated their movements with him. The flames extended beyond the sand. Everything around them had turned to ash. Kefier remembered Dalgon and his men and glanced out, but he couldn’t see anything except piles of blazing grey and black. He swallowed, hoping they’d gotten out in time. They must have.

They kept moving until they reached the lake, the scalding water rising to their knees. Sapphire’s eyes remained focused on the dying fire, but Moon looked like she was about to cry. Sweat poured from their faces.

Eventually, the fire stopped, and they dropped their hands. The blue barrier disappeared. “That shouldn’t have happened.” Sapphire’s voice was strained. “Something triggered the wards. Something triggered them strong enough to react that way. I didn’t expect that.”

“Do you see Dalgon anywhere?” Kefier asked. “I thought I heard them push the boat back into the water before all of that.”

Sapphire glanced at the empty horizon and then back at him. She looked irritated. “If they’d gotten the boat out they’d be out there right now staring back at us. If that blaze didn’t pulverize them immediately, they might have tried to make a swim for it.”

Kefier pushed her aside and ran down the shore. The sand was still hot where he walked, and the pieces that got into his sandals pricked his skin until it bled. He reached the heap of rubble where he’d last seen the men. Along the water’s edge floated several pieces of charred clothing and wood. One piece, upon second inspection, turned out to be an arm, soot-black and torn out of the shoulder socket.

His face flickered. He marched back to the others so that he didn’t have to think about wanting to hurl. “What happened here, Sapphire?”

“I don’t know,” Sapphire said, biting her lip. She turned her gaze towards the treetops and at the tower in the distance. “But I suspect we’ll find out soon enough.”

Kefier turned to Moon. “You said we would be all right.”

“I said probably.” Her face was very pale.

“You didn’t say probably. You said—”

“I’ve never seen this before,” she replied. “Please understand. The spells I know of might have gotten us lost, or froze us in our tracks, or made us see things, but this sort of total destruction...“ She swallowed. “There is something wrong. Sapphire, this isn’t an old ward, is it?”

“No. It’s new. Erected right before we left.” Sapphire lifted her hands again. “Someone’s coming.”

Kefier’s hand dropped to his sword before he realized he was trembling. That was unexpected. He had been in situations like this before, and he always remembered a sense of restlessness, of wanting to jump in before he could even see what he was up against, of the feeling of adrenaline from the end of his nose to the tip of his fingers. This time, he couldn’t see straight; he was feeling cold all over. The explosion from not even minutes ago began playing in his head, loud enough that his ears tingled.

A dark, bearded man appeared. “Sapphire,” he said. His fingers were glowing a deep purple.

“Vilum.” Sapphire’s voice was strained. “You come armed.”

Vilum cracked a smile. “You tripped the ward, cousin. What have you brought us?”

“A strange ward. An excessive ward.” She licked her lips. “You can see them. Our hired man, a boy, and a kusyan. You just vaporized old Dalgon. Do you realize how difficult it will be to get across the island now?”

“Transportation is easily arranged,” Vilum said. He lifted his fingers and walked towards Dai. “One of your strays triggered the alarm. Not this one. You’re as empty as a vase. You?” He stepped towards Xyl, and paused, his nostrils quivering. “Agan triggered it. No, not this one, either.”

“What are you talking about?” Moon exclaimed. “You set the ward to trigger around agan? Spirits, Vilum, we’re all mages here!”

“Not worth throwing hysterics over, Moon. Your signatures are all registered. No—Bannal had me set it up for a certain kind of agan. She has a lot,” he conceded, continuing to stare at Xyl, “but not the right kind.” He pursed his lips and glanced at Kefier. He gazed back at him for a split second. The man’s eyes widened. “This one—a hire, you say? Only?”

“What’s the matter?” Sapphire’s eyes narrowed.

Vilum suddenly grabbed Kefier’s hand. He drew back, but the wiry man’s grasp was stronger than he looked. He felt something hot pulse through his flesh. Vilum finally let him go and he tucked his hand into his sleeve.

“This one triggered it,” Vilum said, drawing his sword.

Sapphire looked surprised. “That can’t be possible. He’s a harmless hire. You’ve got to be mistaken.”

“The ward was too specific. No, it’s him.” Vilum didn’t wait. He threw a spell, locking Kefier’s feet where he stood. He tried to pull his sword out but another spell, this time coming from Sapphire, slammed against his hands and made him drop it. He yelled at her to stop, but she shook her head.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, before another spell knocked the breath off him. His senses spun. The last thing he heard was the sound of Vilum’s blade spinning above him.

Chapter Twelve

Never in her life did Sume expect to be face-down on a horse’s mane as it galloped through the midst of her countrymen being cut down by Gasparian swords. The smell of blood filled the air like earth during fresh rainfall, or salt by the shores of Akki. She almost screamed for them and felt a strange desire to grab a sword and stand by their side, though she knew next to nothing about fighting. But she was on a Gasparian horse, heading for a Gasparian manor, and beside her rode Ylir who was carving them a path with his wave-patterned sword. Her thoughts were drowned by the sound of hooves and swords and screaming. Even before she had the time to process them, she found her mount being ushered through enormous gates that thudded as they closed behind her.

“What’s happening out there?” Ylir demanded, his sword arm dripping in blood. Sume noticed for the first time that he had taken an arrow to that side. Casually, he snapped the end off and jumped off his horse.

A very tall Gasparian came out to meet him. “Rebels. Jinsein.” The man’s Kagtar rolled off his tongue.

“I could see that,” Ylir snapped. “Why weren’t we warned?”

“We’re being blamed for bandit attacks,” the Gasparian said. “A local chief from one of the clans south of the border claims there had been Gasparian raiding parties. His son came by several days ago, demanding recompense. Lord Mhagaza cut his head off and this is their response.”

“Wouldn’t this affect your relations with Jin-Sayeng?”

The Gasparian snorted. “His Holy King hardly cares about these little border spats and these people aren’t royals. If the Dragonlord of Jin-Sayeng himself cared enough to send a message, perhaps we’ll listen, but for Lord Mhagaza to entertain a clan chief?” He clapped his hands and servants appeared to take their mounts from them. He bowed once and led them through an elaborate garden. The stark contrast between the bloodshed five minutes ago and the calm, intricate statues bewildered Sume.

“You’re just going to let them get slaughtered out there?” The sound of her own voice surprised her. Evidently, it caught the Gasparian off-guard, too, because he turned as if just noticing that she was there. A sour expression crossed his face.

“Be silent,” Ylir said quickly. He didn’t look at her so much as he waved at her general direction. “I apologize, Makin. She hasn’t had time to learn her courtesies after I picked her up from one of the ports.”

“A seaside Jinsein? That explains the colouring. I’d heard their women spoke out of turn, but I’ve never had the opportunity to see firsthand.” He leered at her. “There a reason you keeping this around, Ferral?”

Ylir smiled mirthlessly. “Not what you’re thinking, Makin.”

“Really?” Makin looked suddenly amused. “I’m surprised to hear you say that. Then it is true that your master had you castrated. Wait until Sayed hears of this. Speaking of which, Ferral, achan!” He whistled to a woman, who immediately dropped to the ground upon reaching him. “Find her a room in the servants’ quarters.”

“A moment, Makin,” Ylir said, holding up his hand. His face remained calm, but Sume sensed a slight, unnerved edge in his tone. “This lady is my escort. She will need her own room close to where I will be staying.”

Makin’s eyes popped open. “You’re joking. Gods in heaven, you’re not! A Jin servant near your quarters? What would the lords say?”

“I don’t recall staying in the royal chambers the last time I was here. Indulge me, Makin. You hear from it, send them to me.” The steel edge in his voice resounded through the hall. Even Makin, who easily towered over him, must have heard it, because his shoulders suddenly sagged and he grimaced.

“You might as well take me to the headsman’s block yourself,” Makin said, looking for all the world like he meant it. He scratched his head and glanced at Sume. This time he avoided meeting her eyes on purpose. “Follow me then. Your, er, name?”

“Sume Kaggawa,” she said, one eye on Ylir. But if there was anything on his mind, he didn’t look like he was going to say anything. Makin nodded and waved at the woman. She immediately rose from the floor, passing by Sume and touching her elbow. Sume took this to mean that her interaction with the men for the moment was over and followed her.

Gasparian rooms were small and heady from the incense and spices they used to ward off evil spirits, or so Sume guessed after seeing the vast array of dried plants lining the windowsills. She recognized lavender and cloves, but the rest of it was strange to her—plants with clustered thorns, blood-red flowers with purple veins. As she traced her fingers over the velvet petals, she felt the maid’s eyes on her. She turned and offered a thin smile. “Is there a problem?”

The woman’s eyes flickered and Sume got the impression that had she been a man, she wouldn’t have dared linger another second in the room. Instead, she stood by the door, hesitating. Sume stepped towards her and placed a hand on her shoulder. The woman flinched.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she murmured.

“You’re not a friend of his,” the woman said. Her words sounded harsh, from the accent.

“Who? Ylir?” She tried not to laugh at that. “No, I suppose I’m not. I ah—” What was it he’d said? Escort? She’d wanted to kick him in the balls for that, if it meant what she thought it did. “An associate. He had to leave his man Burg at the camps. My father was a merchant, so I know my way around accounts and such, so he figured better take me along than some drooling idiot.” She gave an exaggerated sigh, and then another smile.

The woman’s eyes continued to stare at her through the veil. “Young woman,” she said evenly. “You should not give your trust to a man so easily. Your master, he has been here before.”

She tried to think about the woman’s words, but that morning’s events still weighed on her, and she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. She awakened to three strange women in her room. They were carrying an elaborate yellow silk gown, cut in the Jinsein fashion, with blue flowers embroidered all over the left shoulder. Sume knew that such fabric would cost about a year’s profit from a well-off merchant. She was still thinking about that when a woman tugged at the hem of her riding clothes, and only then did she realize that she was supposed to wear this.

Sume opened her mouth. “No, no. I’m hardly clean enough for that.” No sooner had she spoken those words, the door opened, and another woman entered with a tub of hot water that smelled vaguely of rose petals.

They didn’t give her a lot of room to argue. In no time, she was scrubbed, dried, and dressed. They didn’t know how to put her hair up in Jinsein fashion, so instead, they brushed and allowed it to spill behind her back like a waterfall. She was sitting there, gazing at her transformation on a mirror, when she heard the door open yet again. This time, it was Ylir. He looked back at her and was strangely silent.

She laughed to break the awkwardness. “So, your escort, am I?”

He coughed. “I didn’t expect—well, yes, to your question.”

“You’re very efficient. Cook one day, riding partner the next…”

“A merchant has to be, if he is to make profit.” He smiled now. He had trimmed his beard in the last few hours they were here. “Something’s missing.” He walked up to her, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a golden ribbon, to match her dress. “May I?”

She nodded, the smile on her face frozen. She felt him stroke her hair before pulling it up to tie the ribbon around it. She glanced at the mirror again. He knew what he was doing. “Did a bedmate teach you this?” she asked, by way of a joke.

He didn’t smile back. After a moment’s hesitation, he shook his head. “My mother did. She said, if I ever had daughters…”

“Sakku forbid,” she said with a laugh. “No offense.”

Now he grinned. “None taken. Now, are you ready?” He offered his arm to her. She took it, and together, they strode out of the room and down the main hall.

Silence fell as they entered. Even the loudmouthed Azchai paused in the midst of a hearty speech, his mug of sour Gasparian bitter tilted and dripping over Mhagaza’s polished floor. Ylir’s gaze fell on her a moment longer than it should before he immediately turned to Mhagaza. The old lord looked confused. He had not warned him in advance.

He smiled from the corner of his mouth and ducked around the corridor before the guards could decide that she did not belong there after all. He pushed Makin aside and appeared next to her, his stride matching hers. “I’m not expected, am I?” she asked him icily through closed teeth.

Ylir took her hand in his and lifted it high up. Her skin felt cold. If he allowed his gaze to linger, he was convinced he would see goose bumps. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve seen princesses in the Kag who can’t hold a candle to you.”

She looked like she wanted to kick his face in. “How many hours do you spend each night practicing those lines?”

“About one or two. If I’ve been drinking, then none at all.” He led her across the great hall to Mhagaza, whose expression had turned predictably dark. There are powerful women in Gaspar, women who could enter unannounced in parties thrown by powerful lords, but none of them were Jin. He knew, without even thinking too much about it, that the wrong word or wrong step could kill them tonight.

“My lord,” he said, dropping Sume’s hand as they neared Mhagaza’s seat. “I would like to introduce Sume alon gar
Kaggawa. Her father, Goran Kaggawa, had been a member of the Seven Shadows, the group of merchants paramount to the facilitation of Jin-Sayeng trade with the Kag. Quick Goro, they called him. When I met her in Fuyyu, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have her under my employ.”

Mhagaza leaned forward, like a hound who had just scented prey. “I’ve heard of these men,” he said. “Peasants who stood against a king! I should be bowing to you, then, little princess.” He grinned, showing off golden teeth. “Your father must have been the youngest out of them. Tell me, is there any chance of meeting him?”

Sume overcame the shock on her face long enough to answer calmly. “He just died, sir, this winter past.” It was a good response. He had been counting on her wit to get her through this evening, and it looked like his judgements were still on the mark, after all. He smiled, and she shot him another glare from the corner of her eyes.

“A pity!” Mhagaza lifted his hand and pointed at the band in the corner. “A moment of silence, please! Goro Kaggawa—when we were young men, unharassed by the responsibilities and obligations of state, we listened to their exploits with great eagerness. We are not big fans of the Jin-Sayeng monarchy, as you can tell, so enemies—annoyances!—of theirs are heroes to us. You must have had a lively childhood, listening to old Goro’s tales.”

There was a queer look on Sume’s face. Ylir realized, belatedly, that he was holding his breath. He should’ve warned her, he thought. But no—that wouldn’t have worked at all. Mhagaza was just as surprised as she was, which was as it should be. He inclined his head to the grand table, long enough to hear Sume murmur, “He spoke little those days.”

Mhagaza slammed his enormous hands over the table. “No!” he barked, drawing laughter from the crowd around him. “I find that hard to believe! How could he not? Suged, was there not a tale of Goran and his lady? A Gasparian romance in Jin-Sayeng clothing, if there was ever one. And if you can’t tell, I’m not exactly fond of romances.”

The man called Suged—another old lord, dressed in pale brown robes, nodded. “I remember the singers who brought that tale across the border, those long years ago. Ichi rok Sagar and his men were imprisoned in the great city of Shirrokaru for defending a Kag merchant against authorities. Only Goran Kaggawa escaped. Goro sought the help of a baroness, a powerful woman from the purest of Jin-Sayeng lines, but she would not even answer his letters, let alone meet with him. Her niece, a beautiful young woman, found the letters and sent word that she would help him instead.

“Through some trickery or another, she got him inside the dungeons. But the old baroness had spies dogging them, and they made it known that Goro was planning to help his friends escape. They sent two hundred guards to storm the deepest bowels of the dungeon, but when they got to Ichi rok Sagar’s cell, the captain of the guard was there. The Seven Shadows were nowhere in sight.

“The baroness’ niece, of course, could not return to her family any longer, and joined the group back to the savage southlands, where she married Goro. A happiest of endings, if there was ever one. We weren’t told her name, but she was your mother, wasn’t she, girl?”

Ylir glanced back at Sume and was sure that he could see her heart pounding against the fabric of her dress. This was more than she’d bargained for. But how was he to know that she was unaware of her own father’s history? He suddenly realized that she was holding her breath, as if trying to stop the tears from falling. She was succeeding, for the most part. Was used to it. He cleared his throat. “My lord,” he said. “May the lady and I be seated?”

Mhagaza scowled at him. “You’re a lucky bastard, Ferral,” he snarled. “But of course, she must be starving. More sombre tunes this time, please!” He clapped his hands and pointed at Makin. “Are you waiting for the moon’s turning? Give the lady a cushion, and some wine! Hoshat!”

The dancing resumed, and Ylir found himself completely and utterly ignored by the Al-ir Lak’an. He took a plate of boiled ham, garnished with olives and small potatoes, and joined Azchai in the corner. “I wanted to suggest you bring him chests of jewels and perfumes,” Azchai said, his arms crossed. “But a peasant girl? A Jin peasant? You’ve got nerve, Ferral, I give you that.”

“My intentions are completely innocent,” Ylir said while he picked at the food.

“From what I’ve heard about you, your intentions never are. But let’s forget this stunt for a moment and talk business.”

Ylir smirked. “Business. Here? Surrounded by Mhagaza’s men?”

“It’s as good a place as any. Unless you’re uncomfortable, Mister Ferral, in which case we can discuss recent events instead. Makin was telling me something interesting—his cousin, the general, had sent a retinue south of here a few days back and has yet to hear from them. They should have returned right around the time you arrived yesterday.”

“Have you tried asking the Jinseins? We had no choice but to impose on their little party yesterday. That is, providing you haven’t killed them all.”

“Knowing Mhagaza, unfortunately, we’re probably going to be treated to a display of their heads in the next few hours,” Azchai said drily. He waved over one servant to grab a second glass of bitter.

In the distance, Mhagaza was still talking to Sume, laughing over something she’d said. She glanced back at him and he caught a note of displeasure—discomfort, even. Mhagaza had his hand on her arm. Clearly the rules of Gasparian propriety varied from lord to lord. He noticed Mhagaza’s wife talking to her maids in the distance and wondered if she felt anything at all. She seemed like she was more occupied with making sure that the wine still flowed and that meat continued to be carved in copious amounts.

In Jin-Sayeng, Mhagaza would have been making an ass of himself, he knew. There were clear levels of caste in the Jin-Sayeng monarchy that you didn’t cross, no matter whose daughter you were. There was a reason Goran Kaggawa died in obscurity. He’d heard of the son, a certain Oji who was forced to work for the Boarshind to feed his young family. Even the Dageians wouldn’t have been so crass. The politicians might have thrown your name around to further their agendas, but you’d at least sleep on feather cushions the rest of your life. Not in Jin-Sayeng. Once a peasant, always a peasant…he was sure he’d heard a Jin say those words somewhere before.

A servant offered him golden-coloured wine. He hadn’t been planning to drink at all, but now he saw little harm in it. Delicate flavours of apple and orange swirled on his tongue. If Sume played her cards right, her family needn’t starve anymore and she’d get the sort of recognition her name deserved. Wasn’t that what everyone wanted in the end? Comfort, security, and a legacy to pass down to one’s children not built around shame? Mhagaza was rich, powerful, and still young enough to sire half a dozen semi-prince and -princesses if he wanted to. There were worse things in life; she wouldn’t even be the first Jinsein to end up in that position and she certainly wouldn’t be the last.

He watched her pretending to laugh at one of Mhagaza’s jokes and felt his throat tighten. Sing, little bird, he thought. Be his little golden bird from now on, and I will never forget how you paved the way for my freedom.

Two days later, he returned to the site, alone and bearing legal papers signed and stamped by the Lak’an of Al-ir himself. The papers allowed the project to commence. Burg met him on the road. “I only just got your message,” Burg said, wringing his hands together. “Gaven’s orders override my authority. They didn’t really care to stop until you arrived. Said they were going through with this, one way or another.”

Ylir frowned. The old man had remained irritatingly silent about the whole ordeal. He must have sent dozens of letters from Al-ir, and another five when he got to Aret-ni. The only message he got from home was from Jarche, who assured him she had no idea where Yn Garr had got to. He read the letter twice before tearing it. Then he sat down on the small, hard bed in his room in Aina’s Breath, eyes bloodshot, not really knowing how else to proceed. Was he just supposed to sit here and wait, like some office clerk, while a Boarshind man undermined their whole business? Why send him all the way here, then? Why not piss him off back in the Kag, where he could at least have the time to take a trip to Hafod and maybe look into getting that summer home complete with buxom ladies and all?

“These allowances are thorough,” Burg commented, appearing by the doorway.

Ylir distractedly glanced out of the window, letting his hand fall to his side. “Mhagaza can be amiable when he’s motivated.”

Burg paused. “I don’t understand.”

“Ignore me, Burg. I’m just really tired. Listen, can you ask the men if they know any place you can get a clean—note the word clean—Gasparian woman? Price is—”

“By Agartes’s balls, Ylir, don’t tell me you did what I think you did,” Burg suddenly gasped. “You didn’t just leave Sume in Al-ir for her health, did you?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Damn right it’s not!” Burg fumed. “What did you do to her, by Agartes’s balls? The Lord of Al-ir couldn’t just have gone from furious to doting in less than a week without—fuck, Ylir. She’s just a girl! You—!” His face grew red. Ylir had never seen him like this before, and he stood to face him, aware that the man might strike him with his sword if he didn’t handle this properly.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” he said. “Burg, sit down before you break into a fever or something. You’re spitting.”

“We’re not in Dageis, Ylir! I’m not your mage-thrall, and neither was Sume! Don’t you understand that? We serve you out of our own free will and hell, I don’t think she would have if you didn’t throw around the whole idea of dismembering her poor nephew. Dismembering him. A child! I know it was probably your idea of a joke, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did. Agartes, Ylir, I can take your eccentricities because I always thought that deep down inside you’re an honorable man, but now...”

He blinked at that. “Now, you want to leave?”

Burg glowered at him. “I suppose I do.”

“I can’t stop you, Burg,” he said, sitting down again. “Like you said, you’re serving out of your own free will. That’s unfortunate, though.”

“Yeah.” Burg swallowed, glancing down for a moment. “I’m—I’ll pack my things.”

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t hurt her, Burg,” Ylir murmured. “Mhagaza’s taking her as a concubine. There will be a ceremony three days from now. She’ll be rich, richer than the two of us combined, with her own servants and titles for her children. You really think I’m that heartless? He’s marrying her as Goran Kaggawa’s daughter, not some bedmate he can cast aside when he gets bored.”

Burg shook his head. “Is that why you had me look up all those details about her family, her past? You had this in mind all along?”

“He invited me up there to kill me, Burg, and if I had refused, he would have sent assassins after me, anyway. Sume saved me, you, and the bulk of our operations. Hell if I could have what she’s getting...”

“Try,” Burg growled. “Maybe there’s a Gasparian prince somewhere with strange enough desires.”

“You’re letting your emotions get the best of you.”

Burg ran his hands through his hair. He started to pace around the room, then seemed to think the better of it. “Did you even ask her before you settled all of this? Did she know what she was getting herself into?”

“She’s smart enough. She could have easily walked out any time she wanted to.”

Burg laughed. “You keep telling yourself that, Ylir. I’m amazed you can still sleep at night.” He stepped out of the room. Ylir looked away and struggled against the reflex to run his hands over his eyes.

“Easy enough to say, Burg.” He stared out over the window and into the sea. What was that she’d told him, about drowning in land, miles away from the sound of the ocean? He shook his head. He was becoming sentimental. He couldn’t afford that kind of inconvenience. A man like Kefier, perhaps, could live his whole life at the beck and call of his emotions, but he needed to be infallible. That decision in Al-ir was final. Burg couldn’t possibly understand.

But Burg was gone, now. He really didn’t think he would do it, but when he went back out to ask the men, they said he had grabbed his bag and left.

Morning came and went. He replied to Jarche, signed papers, paid an extra month’s docking fee for the Aina’s Breath. Then he saddled his horse and took the long, lonely road back to Al-ir. He hadn’t changed his mind, of course, but he could see her off. He could at least make sure she saw one familiar face during the ceremony. She would probably hate him, but sometimes people needed to make certain decisions even if they didn’t always agree with them. It was hard enough to navigate a world that was convinced he was someone to distrust. A Kag who was as dark of skin as the rest of them were—a mark of shame, he knew, as far as the Gasparians were concerned. But he wasn’t really Kag, and he had come to terms with that reality a long time ago. They would never let him do business honestly; he needed to be twice the snakes they were to get anywhere in life. A fact. One he didn’t agree with, but a fact nonetheless, and he’d merely learned to use it to his advantage. His father would have been proud. Angry, too, which was an interesting thought. It wasn’t exactly the worst thing he had ever done.

Fall

Chapter One

“Start from the beginning, Bannal.”

“That was the beginning. You weren’t paying attention. And since when did you stop calling me lord?”

“When you started wanting to get me killed, idiot. You knew we were bound home. You could’ve sent us word, could’ve let us know that things are more...dire than we’ve been led to believe. Instead you keep silent until we almost get roasted alive. If they ever write stories about these hundreds of years from now, they’ll be laughing at the sheer scale of your incompetence.”

“I had counted on your ability to keep yourself alive. And here you are. Loud, complaining, and alive. So.”

Kefier opened his eyes and found himself on his knees, tied to a post in the middle of an enormous hall. A surge of panic ran through him. He strained against the rope. Someone came up to him and touched him on the shoulder, and he lashed out, striking the man’s elbow with his skull. The man fell back, cursing.

Another man, tall, with a trimmed beard and a hooked nose that was neither Jinsein nor Gasparian, came up to him. He was holding a staff. “Sapphire didn’t tell me you were going to be difficult.” His robes were a pale green and there was an emerald bracelet around one wrist.

“He wasn’t, but then you knocked him around and treated him like a prisoner.” Sapphire’s familiar drawl woke him up from his stupor. He turned to see her seated at a round table, her elbows drawn up. “Let the man go.”

“You’re giving me orders?”

“Please let the man go. My lord.”

The man shook his head before pulling out a small knife. Kefier tensed, but he said nothing as the man quickly cut through his bonds. “Accept our hospitality,” the man said, indicating the table. Kefier stared at him for a moment before nodding and following him.

One of the mages rose to give him a seat. Kefier slumped down. He felt like the morning after a hard night’s drinking and struggled to keep his vision clear. Sapphire offered him a mug of warmed wine. “Perhaps it’s time to explain everything to me, now,” he said. What he really wanted to do was punch the man, but even with his head spinning he knew better. Knew better now, at least.

The man took the seat across him. “I don’t know if we’re acquainted enough for that yet. If you’re just a hire, then all I need to do to set this right is give you your pay, lend you a boat, and send you on your merry way. But you’re still here.”

“So I am.”

“Sapphire hasn’t told us all she knows.” He glanced at the woman, who glowered back at him.

“I thought it best you keep him alive so he could tell you himself,” she snorted. “Since you’re so wise, and all.”

“Your insubordination vexes me to my core,” the man grumbled.

“Does it? Good.” Sapphire made a nonchalant gesture. “He’s met Yn Garr. Or a man fitting that description.”

“Have you, now?” Bannal looked curious.

“I’ve told Sapphire about that already,” Kefier said, getting annoyed. An interrogation was the last thing he wanted at that moment. “He was in Gorent years ago. I don’t know him, personally, never spoke with him. That’s all I can give you.”

“No.” Bannal’s eyes started glowing and Kefier found himself frozen to his seat. “Not all. Look at me.” By habit, he resisted as soon as he heard those words, but it was useless. His chin began to turn.

“Sapphire—” he groaned.

“Don’t fight it!” She didn’t seem alarmed, which was distressing all the more. “He just wants to look into what you remember. So that we know you’re not lying.”

“No,” he said. “No!” He tried to fling his arm to break the man’s gaze and noticed, too late, that Sapphire was holding him back. He nearly turned on her, wanting to smash her jaw with his palm, but suddenly he felt a twinge along his left temple. Bannal’s irises were blue, and so deep he thought he saw the swelling of the sea.

He was standing, so it seemed, along a rocky shore, marred by sea-grass and long strands of amber-coloured bull kelp. A tiny crab was crawling along the loose strap of his sandal.

“So this is Gorent,” Bannal said behind him. He stepped over a swollen kelp pod and cringed at the resounding crack. “It’s almost—interesting. A little bland, but—”

“What have you done?” Kefier asked. Moments ago he had wanted to tear Bannal’s head off his shoulders, but now—now, all the hate had gone. He was gazing at the row of small islands on the horizon. He knew that there was no way he could be home, and yet here he was. Except that only moments ago he was in Bannal’s dining hall in Lake Enji, everything else felt right. The scent, the sound, the feel of pebbles under his sandals, the wind...

“I’ve tapped into the spaces in your brain that can never forget,” Bannal said.

Kefier couldn’t make sense of that. “This isn’t how I remember things at all. This is real.”

“It isn’t,” Bannal reassured. “We’re just better at remembering things than we think we are.”

Kefier ignored him and stepped across the sand, where the sea turned it into mud. He sat down and felt water seep through the bottom of his trousers. He plunged his hand to the side and felt, through the cold wetness, a broken piece of shell. He pulled it out and held it against the sun’s glare.

“You’re getting distracted,” Bannal said, appearing beside him again. “I need you to think about Yn Garr.”

“I don’t know him,” Kefier murmured absently. “Don’t really know. Don’t really care.”

“Try. There are important things at stake here. We need to know exactly what Yn Garr had done, and what he’s planning.”

Kefier shrugged. “What’s more important than this?”

“What?” Bannal looked irritated. Kefier glanced at the horizon.

“I don’t know what you did. Maybe you’re right. But this is my home, everything about this is right, and I haven’t been back in years. I didn’t think I would ever be back even though I’ve wanted nothing else in the world.” He smirked. “The tide’s just so high, and the water feels—it must be mid summer, by now. That’s the best time to gather oysters. If you don’t bother me, I’ll get you a nice, fat one.”

“Focus, lad. This is more than just a random snippet.”

“Yes, we’re just at the right spot. Look at that.” He pointed to a rough path between two boulders. “The village is ten minutes’ walk from here. I wonder what Hilkiah had done since he became chief. That old man had the most ridiculous ideas. He was a priest, too, if you can believe it.”

“We’re not there, Kefier,” Bannal said. He grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. “Mid-summer. There’s a reason you remember that. Don’t you see where we are?”

“We’re home.”

“Kefier—”

“We’re...”

It was the silhouette in the distance that stopped him in his tracks. Two silhouettes, actually—boys laughing in the sand. He almost rushed to them, wanting to ask who they were, where everyone he knew was, but then Bannal’s words came back to him and he realized that the voices—at least one of the boys’ voices—was familiar. He walked four steps towards them before stopping. That was close enough for him to see their faces, to hear what they had to say.

They were oblivious of him. “This is amazing,” the taller boy was saying, leaning against a staff made of driftwood. He was browner, the beginnings of a fuzz were already on his lips. “I can’t believe no one else found this spot. Our basket’s already full and we’re still finding clams.”

“You know that rumour about sea urchins in the sand?” the smaller, younger boy asked.

The older boy laughed. “No! You spread that around? But you acted all innocent when Gadir told us!”

“You have to, if you want it to stick! And besides, it’s not like it’s a complete lie. I’ve stepped on them around these parts way too often that it could be true. Here’s a nice, fat one.” He pulled something out of the sand and added it to a large basket beside him. “What do you think? Roast ‘em, or stew, or...”

Their conversation was interrupted by an unusually strong wind. The smaller boy got up and pointed in the distance. “I see sails.”

“None of the fishermen are out there right now,” his brother said.

“And none have those sails. Enosh, that’s a foreign vessel out there.”

“You’re right.”

“Can you tell where she’s from? You’re the one who’s been reading all those books.”

Enosh shook his head. “What I can tell is that she’s in trouble. Help me get the boat out—the size of her, I think she’s about to tip soon. Quickly.”

Kefier didn’t follow them. He remained sitting on the sand, cold beads of sweat dripping over his face. “You don’t want to see if they make it?” Bannal offered. “That’s a storm brewing out there.”

“Don’t need to. I know they did.” He knew, too, that it had been a stupid decision, that even if their flat, green dinghy was designed for those waters, there was no guarantee that the sailing boat wouldn’t drag it along as it went under. For it was already sinking, even before they could push the dinghy into the sea. Probably ran aground on some corals. They would find debris along the shore for weeks.

Kefier and Bannal stared at the horizon in silence. Nothing was happening, and even the foreseen storm had stopped. Bannal cleared his throat. “So what happened?”

“Enosh saved him. The only survivor,” Kefier said, without looking. “He was like that. Didn’t even think. Got hero blood pumping through his veins.” He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, they were sitting on a low bench in a village, nestled among small, reed huts and tall pine trees. Several children, dressed in thick furs, were kicking a leather ball around. Bannal glanced around and took a deep breath. “It’s winter, now,” he said.

“Late fall,” Kefier corrected him. He was almost afraid to breathe again, but he did, and the scent of rain and pine-needles filled his senses. He approached a tree and laid his palm against the bark.

“So he stayed that long,” Bannal said.

Kefier nodded. “He stayed two years.”

A boy was walking out of the hut. The same boy from earlier, but taller now, the strands of hair getting darker on his upper lip. The other boy followed him. “You can’t be serious. We need you for the hunt.”

“Gorrhen says he wants me to help him translate some scrolls he’d found,” Enosh said. He was angry, but he was struggling not to yell. “You know I can’t miss this opportunity.”

“The Segedo tribe are laughing at us, do you know that? They say our chief would rather lounge around the city than back in his island, helping, where he should be.”

“Since when did you care about politics?” A note of humour. “Maybe if the island chiefs spent more time in Sen’senal, learning about our ancestors, we wouldn’t have half as many spats as we do now. Tell Emong he’s chief for the next week.”

“The hunt, Enosh—”

“You know more about hunting than I do. What’s the problem?”

He stared at him, dumbfounded. Then he stepped back and Enosh went on his way.

“Sen’senal is our only city in Gorent,” Kefier said, watching him walk away. “It’s not much after you’ve been to Jin-Sayeng or even Cairntown.” He laughed a little. “But compared to the rest of the villages, it’s something. Enosh wanted to be more than a chief, you understand. More than a clan leader.”

“You never went with him to this city? To visit Yn Garr?”

Kefier didn’t reply immediately. He was looking at his surroundings, drinking in every detail. If this was his memory, he thought, where had it been all these long years? He could still recall shutting his eyes back in that Dageian ship, trying to be where he was now and failing miserably. He needed it then.

“Once,” he finally told Bannal. “I went with him. I needed to buy good rope to fix the fence.”

“Show me.”

He hesitated again. “I don’t see what any of this has to do with anything.”

“I’ll tell you when I find what I’m looking for. Come. Sen’senal. They have a dock there, don’t they?”

“They—” and then he was there, standing close to the small marketplace the Gorenten used to trade amongst themselves. Baskets of fish and fresh meat were strewn across the sand or hung from makeshift stalls. Gazing out to the distance, Kefier noticed huge, empty blots, as if somebody had deliberately spilled ink over the memory.

“I never liked it here.” He glanced at two men arguing over a small sack of mushrooms. “When faced with other tribes, people grew more—I don’t know what the word is in Kag. They pretended to be better than they were. Father noticed that, didn’t like it. He brought us here more often when he was alive. We needed to learn to read and to speak Dageian.”

“Dageian?” Bannal looked surprised.

“Not the mainland talk. We trade with the northern colonies sometimes.” They reached a small building, made of stone. Bannal’s eyes flickered slightly. “Our people find little use for scrolls and books, but when they find them, they bring them here. This is where he lived—that Baidh man.”

“Yn Garr.” Bannal stepped in front of the door and gestured. “Open it for me.”

“Couldn’t you—”

“It’s your memory, Kefier. I am merely an intrusion. Open it.”

He turned the knob and stepped inside. The building was tiny, no more than a small house. He didn’t know who’d built it—foreigners, most likely, and so long ago that it probably didn’t matter. He remembered how his father used to bring men here before the rains started so they could patch up the roof and other things.

Enosh was sitting on a desk, head bent over a book. An old man stood at the furthest corner, also reading. A strange look came over Bannal’s face. He stepped towards the old man and placed his hands over his shoulders. The old man continued reading, oblivious of him.

“You son of a bitch,” Bannal said. “Even like this, I never thought I’d catch you. What’s that in your hands?” He tried to jerk the book away, but it slipped from his fingers. He bent down to take a look and swore. “There’s no text on this. You don’t pay much attention, do you?”

Kefier said nothing. He glanced out of the window and saw himself, at twelve years old, peering from the outside. “Enosh,” he was saying listlessly. “Can’t you take a break and get some food with me? One of the Bedar tribe is selling venison stew. He’s put quail eggs in it.”

“Leave me be, Kef, can’t you see we’re busy? I’m trying to decode something. Gorrhen’s getting close to finding this—well, you wouldn’t understand.”

He flicked his fingers. “Of course I wouldn’t. You never explain.”

Enosh’s eyebrows furrowed, but he didn’t even look up.

“Should I at least buy you a bowl?”

“I don’t have time to eat. Go away, Kef. Go!”

Their surroundings faded. They were standing along Sen’senal’s shores again. Bannal swore a second time. “You remember quail eggs but not what Yn Garr and your brother were reading. This is just—”

“Oh, shut up. That’s all I have for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Kefier felt a warm touch on his arm and opened his eyes. He was back in Enji with a tremendous ache running along the back of his head. Moon was sitting beside him. She looked concerned. “They shouldn’t have done that.”

Bannal, too, had just awoken. “The insubordination,” he growled.

“You could have killed him,” she replied. “He wasn’t prepared. I can’t believe you let him do this, Sapphire! Is chasing after Yn Garr so important you would risk a life?”

“Yes,” Bannal said without hesitation while stirring a cup of coffee. “Despite what my student implies, you’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Kefier bit back the string of remarks building at the tip of his tongue. “You said you’ll talk to me.”

Bannal looked annoyed. “Right. Yn Garr.” He fell silent. Kefier caught a note of discontent by a twitching along the muscles of his jaw. The man wasn’t even considering his question. He was thinking about that scene, in Sen’senal, whatever that implied. Kefier’s presence there was a mere inconvenience. He knew this because it was exactly the same way Yn Garr used to look at him.

He felt a familiar pain, long forgotten, and without really thinking about it glanced at Moon in a silent plea for her to take him away from all of this. She complied, taking his arm. Nobody stopped them. Bannal remained staring into his cup of coffee, his eyes burning blue. It was only much later on that Kefier realized he was probably Dageian.

Chapter Two

Last week, Sume had been a cook, a dishwasher, and an occasional errand girl serving on a Kag ship. That, coming from a simple village girl from Akki, had been overwhelming enough. Sume knew no less than ten women from her hometown who would have jumped at that opportunity.

Tomorrow, she would be wed to a Gasparian lord. A concubine, true, but wed all the same. The older women assured her it was a great honour, and she had nothing to fear.

Sume felt a great disconnect, this leap from one to the other. And it wasn’t as if they’d waited for her opinion on the matter. She could still recall how that serving girl, the one with eyes like fire, had showed up in her room the morning after the dinner party and told her that the old lord wanted her in his bed. She hadn’t even known how to reply to that, let alone know what to think. The woman insisted that she had no choice—it was all up to Ylir. Apparently, by Gasparian law, he owned her.

That had been when the whole situation still felt comical. Now...

Now, she was sitting in front of a mirror while two servants worked out the knots in her hair, wondering what her father would think. Lord Mhagaza seemed to regard him as sort of a hero, a daring warrior with a heart of gold. She couldn’t wrap her head around that. She’d heard things, growing up, but she had never even really considered that her decrepit father was Goran Kaggawa. That the same man who would be found vomiting in the neighbour’s potted plants was the same man who could kill a man with a flick of his dagger. That face in the mirror—that eighteen-year-old staring back at her with haggard eyes—if she really was Goro Kaggawa’s daughter, shouldn’t she have come up with a brilliant plan to escape by now? They said Goro had no less than five tricks up his sleeve at all times. And furthermore, since her father was this famous youngest member of the Seven Shadows, shouldn’t she be completely revolted? She shouldn’t be sitting here right now, considering if maybe this wasn’t the right choice for her family. Concubines could hold land, they said. They were given salaries. It was all right to send it to her family, should she so choose.

It was pitiful. But then, so was that look in Dai’s eyes when he admitted he’d stolen something, the one that had threatened to break her heart. No matter how hard I work, even if my fingers bleed, I could never earn enough coin to take that look away. Her brother killed men. Her brother, writing to her that one night six months after he’d left, had said, “I still see his blood on my hands every time I close my eyes. It made me sick, sinking that knife. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, if he had a family, what he did for a living. I wanted to say I was sorry. I was doing this for my family, too. Someday when you get older, you might ask me if there were other options, and why I didn’t take them. And I’ll tell you, it’s because I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk your lives against my pride.”

Dear goddess of the high seas, she was actually considering this. And the worst part of it all was that it made sense. If she married above her stature, it would elevate Dai’s. Maybe she never did find a dragon, but this was so much better. Even Oji never got this close. To her family, to Dai, she could yet be everything he and her father could never be.

She got up and took a quick draught of the tea the women had left on the table. It tasted faintly of peppermint and did a lot to calm her nerves. She smiled at them, and they left. Once they did, she bolted the door, and without really thinking about it opened the window and jumped down.

It wasn’t as dangerous as she imagined it to be. Gasparian architecture demanded alcoves every couple of feet or so, and so it was almost like descending stairs in the darkness. She felt her heart hammering in her chest. If she could make it past the stables, maybe she could make it all the way back home. Maybe. It was difficult to say, and it was too dark for her to even think coherently.

She’d gone ten steps, maybe twenty, when she heard someone clearing his throat behind her. She whirled and came face-to-face with Ylir. She knew it was him even though it was too dark to see. His scent, probably. The thought made her cheeks burn, which irritated her.

“I thought you left,” she said, before he had the chance to say something first.

He coughed. “And I thought you were smart enough not to do this. You do know what happens if one—especially a woman—offends a Gasparian lord, do you not? It involves tickling and swords, and it’s not as fun as it sounds.”

“I wasn’t escaping. I wanted fresh air.”

“Fresh air,” he said. There was a note of humour in his voice. “Here? You can do so much better. The air here smells like horse dung and desert sand.”

“I don’t have much of a choice, master. Not that I did with anything else.”

“Look, about that—” He sighed, and she drew back, feeling his hand on her shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting the request at all.”

She stared at him. “Do you actually believe your own lies, or do you think I’m just too stupid to fall for them?”

“I brought you there as a—companion. Something to make me stand out against the backdrop. I knew Mhagaza was interested in the Seven Shadows, but I didn’t realize he would take the kind of interest he did with you. By the time he approached me, it was too late.”

“Too late?” she breathed. “That’s the best excuse you can come up with?”

“You want me to state the obvious then? If I had backed out, we’d both be dead. You’ve already thought this through, same as I have. You know what he’s offering you is better than anything you could ever have back in Jin-Sayeng.” He sounded frantic, which was unlike him and made her want to push him over a ledge.

“It’s cold. I’m going back to my room.” She started to climb back up and heard him following her. He followed her all the way through the window. She realized, from the way he was dressed, that he’d only just arrived. He was still wearing his riding boots and cloak.

“I mean, seriously…” He slumped on her bed as if he belonged there. “What was your best prospect back home? That merchant’s son you were always with? What he would have given you was hardly any better than where you were.”

Sume bit back her desire to smother him with a pillow and glanced back out into the night. “Tetsung was a friend. A kind one. One I wouldn’t have in this place, if I stayed here.” She swallowed. “This isn’t the life I expected to have.”

“Oh?” he asked. “And what kind of life was that?”

She couldn’t even meet his eyes. “I don’t know,” she conceded. “A quiet enough life.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Maybe I’m lying. Why should I be honest with you when you’ve been less to me?”

Ylir took a sharp, indrawn breath. “Tell me,” he whispered.

“Silly things,” she grumbled. “Of dragons and ships and…discovering the world, the way my father and brother had the chance to.”

“Marrying Mhagaza doesn’t have to end there. Make him favour you. Make him love you. He will grant you the resources to do everything you’ve dreamed of, and more. Your life is just beginning.”

Sume looked up. “You don’t know how angry it makes me to be told I have to whore myself out to get what I want.”

“We all whore ourselves out.”

“Some of us more metaphorically than others, I assume.” She sighed. “Anyway, I think I stopped dreaming when my mother died. The kind of dreams you actually believed would someday come true.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Your mother,” he finally said. “Was it that woman they were talking about, back there?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “I knew she wasn’t born in Akki. That she had no family left. I also know that I found her hanging dead from the kitchen rafters when I was little. One rarely considers such a thing a happy ending.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t. You’re just a man.” She wanted to strangle him, now. That would be more satisfying than merely smothering him. She sat down at the other end of the bed. “You better leave.”

“Probably.” He laughed, then. “Can’t imagine what Mhagaza’s men will do to me if they find me here. I’ve heard stories.”

“Have you?” She was still holding it in. “You could’ve warned me.”

“I didn’t want to scare you.”

She laughed. “In case you haven’t realized by now, I don’t scare easy.”

“No, you don’t,” he agreed. And then he was quiet again. She found the courage to turn to him. This man, whose stature and bearing had intimidated her back on the ship, now seemed so young. His hair was in disarray, there was stubble on his cheeks, and his shirt looked slept in. She suddenly remembered something, and before she knew it she’d reached out to touch his shoulder.

He turned to her, his eyes angry, and she quickly pulled away. Her fingers burned. She didn’t understand. If he was so convinced that their situation was irreparable, then why come here at all? Did he mean to offer her comfort? Or did he want to convince himself that she was happy, or about to be, or at least not entirely miserable with her situation?

Men, she admitted, were idiots.

She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She was eighteen, by the spirits and the goddess or whatever it was out there that could hear her out here. Choices, unfortunately, had never been part of her life. She closed her eyes and prayed for Dai to understand what she was about to do. Spirits and goddess protect him, shield him from life a little longer yet. She was probably never going to see him again.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Ylir kneeling next to her. He had one hand on her knee. She felt the heat rush to her cheeks. The door was still bolted, and it was very late. There was no reason for anybody to come knocking for her at this hour, not when she was supposed to be wed tomorrow. Why in Sakku’s name am I thinking like this? She felt him rise a little, leaning forward, lines of tension running along his jaw, and didn’t know why she felt powerless to stop him.

His lips met hers as she fell back against the bed. Everything felt slow, and the taste of him was—she couldn’t explain it, her mind was blank. She felt his hands slide up her neck, and he pulled away long enough to graze his lips right where his fingers encircled her skin.

“Let me make this up to you,” he murmured.

She woke up. Pushed him off, just as he was starting to play with her dress. “You better leave,” she said.

He looked confused. A child, she thought, getting angry—he was nothing more than a child. She straightened her clothes, got up, and pointed at the window. “Leave. Now.”

“They won’t catch us,” he said, finally gathering his wits about him. “I’ll seal the door. For all they know—”

“Sakku, it’s like you have straw in place of brains. Get out. I mean it. I don’t want this, not tonight, not—”

“If you marry Mhagaza tomorrow, we might never get the chance to—”

“Do mages land on their feet, like cats? Because I swear to Sakku if you don’t shut up and leave right now I’m going to push you through that window.” The tone of her voice must have got to him, because he finally got up. He sulked along the wall for a few moments, hoping perhaps that she would change her mind, which made her thought that strangling was so unsophisticated; it was probably easier to cut him with a knife and drop all the bits in the lake for the fish to feed on.

The next time she looked up, he was gone. She slid the window back into place and bolted it. And then for the longest time in that long, long night, she stood there with her forehead on the glass, her thoughts a thousand miles away.

The dream begins like almost every dream she has had for the past two years. She wakes up in her room, legs stretched over the child-sized bed, and gazes at the exterior wall. It is made of red clay, patterned with a darker stain that bled across the surface when scratched. In one of the corners, there is a deliberate fingerprint at the end of a long stroke. Her gaze lingers over the familiar mark like a starving dog over a plate of food.

Outside, a rooster crows. She gets up, wary, and walks over the raised step leading to the main hall. Dai smiles at her from the kitchen. “Come and eat.” The door is on the wrong side, from what she remembers, and there are strange plants growing along the terraced entrance, but she doesn’t care. She sits at the table and glances at her father from across it.

“Today is your wedding day,” Goro says, smiling toothlessly. His words are not as slurred as they were the last years of his life. She smiles back at him, pressing her hand over his own wrinkled paw. His eyes disappear beneath the folds of skin on his face.

“Do we meet his family now?” Dai asks. “Are we having the koragaya? Mother says I get to dress up, and if there are other kids in his family—”

Her father interrupts him with a snort. “Silly boy. Today is her wedding day, which means we had the koragaya weeks ago. Don’t you remember?”

“But you’re both wrong,” Sume says, smiling still. “He hasn’t got family. He’s all alone in the world.”

“Oh.” Dai looks disappointed. He pouts a little, playing with the smoked fish on the table. He looks back at her. “You aren’t marrying Tetsung, then?”

She laughs. “Goodness, no!”

“I can’t believe it,” her father says, pulling her to her feet. “My little princess is getting married. You’re all grown up.” His eyes brighten and his hair, suddenly, is as black as it had been before her mother’s death. He whirls her around once, like how he says they dance in the Kag, and she bows to him. She can feel the hollow tapping of the bamboo under her feet.

She puts on her mother’s old wedding dress and goes out into the rain. Her father holds her arm and walks her to the end of the street, right at the corner where the soldier’s widow had set up her store. “Sume!” she calls, mole on her cheek, her smile as friendly as always. “Don’t forget to visit!”

“I’m not moving away, auntie,” she says.

Goran shakes his head and pats her arm. “But you are. Remember? As soon as the ceremony is over, you’re boarding the ship.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t argue. She takes her father’s hands into hers and kisses them. “Then I’ll visit. And I’ll write. I’ll write a lot.” She looks at him and then back down the street where their little house stood. She sees Dai lounging aimlessly by the window, flicking marbles through the cracks on the stone. She remembers making paper boats with him when they were younger and floating them down the canal when it rained like this.

“Goodbye, Sume,” Goran says. “We’ll miss you.”

“I miss you already,” she replies, grinning. But she bears it. She doesn’t cry. She walks on, alone in the rain and in a wedding dress, all the way to the temple. Her groom is waiting for her by the steps.

“Are you ready?” he asks, holding out his hand. “Let me make it up to you.”

She smiles back at Ylir and wakes up.

It was dawn. For a long, painful moment, she believed she was still in her bed back home, and turned to close the wooden shutters. Only then did she realize that she was in a large, foreign room, and that today was the day she would pledge herself to a Gasparian lord as his concubine.

The women arrived to get her ready. Her dress was nothing like in her dream—it was stiff and yellow, dotted with pieces of gold. Beads were strung to her hair and paste was applied to her face and her eyes. When she looked into the mirror, she could barely recognize herself.

One of the women stood close to her and pulled off her veil so she could see her face. “Little girl,” she said. “Be happy. Were you a man, born to the choices in your life, you might be dead by now.” And Sume, thinking of her brother, of Dai, could only nod to stop the tears from flooding her eyes.

The ceremony was brief. It was not, after all, the wedding of a man to a first wife who would bear him immediate heirs without question. Papers were signed and a holy shaman came to bless their heads with the flat of his sabre. Mhagaza took her hand and led her back to the crowd, bowing to his other wives as he walked.

She didn’t smile at any of them. They were whispering in a foreign tongue and the looks they were giving her were far from friendly. So when they entered the dining hall, and she saw Ylir among the crowd there, her heart fluttered. She struggled against this feeling all the way to the table. One of the attendants seated her at Mhagaza’s left side. His true wife, a proud-looking woman about as old as Mhagaza himself, sat at his right. She distracted herself by wondering what the woman was thinking about all of this. He had four other concubines already—she would be used to this by now. But was it a good thing, getting used to one’s husband having other women in his bed?

Sume turned to the other concubines, each seated at intervals along the table and beside Mhagaza’s children of varying ages. Some had chosen to hide behind lace veils, though this was not required of them. She had been told that being chosen, as she was, was a considered an honour in Gaspar. But there was something in those women’s eyes that made her want to reach out and hug them the way she used to do whenever her father would go missing and she would catch Hana crying outside in the dark. The thought came as a surprise to her because Hana, unlike these women, unlike her, married for love.

Maybe it makes no difference, she thought, biting her upper lip when Mhagaza patted her hand. He had a pleasant enough face when he smiled. He offered her a plate of roast goat, which she refused. She had eaten nothing since that morning, but she couldn’t muster up the appetite. She caught herself looking across the room, trying to spot Ylir. He was nearly as dark as a Gasparian, but he was shorter, too, so it shouldn’t be so hard. She couldn’t see him. Once again, that feeling came and went. She shouldn’t care. What did it matter if she saw him again? He was nothing more than the only friendly face in a sea of strangers. An irony, in that.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she almost jumped from her seat when she heard that voice behind her. “My Lord,” Ylir yn Ferral said, approaching Mhagaza’s seat with a bow. “You’ve received my gift?”

“Yesterday, Ferral. A most splendid gelding. I am at awe that you bought him on such short notice.”

“I’m flattered you think so, my lord, but our company has many contacts. All I did was ruffle up a few favours.” He smiled that smile, the one that said, I’ve got you. There’s no point fighting it. She remembered last night’s kiss and involuntarily gave a shudder.

He was now holding a bottle of wine and nodded at Mhagaza. “If you’ll allow me to pour both of us a cup, my lord, I would be most honoured. This vintage is from Hafod. It is said that it was made for kings.”

“An exaggeration, no doubt. Let my man sample it first.” Mhagaza clapped his hands. A servant dropped to his knees in obeisance before taking a cup. Ylir uncorked the bottle and gave him some. He drank deeply and bowed again.

“In the meantime, you will have to tell me stories about Hafod. You’ve been there, of course?”

“Of course, my lord. It is a wonderful country.”

“Indeed. It is my dream to visit it one day. But ah! There is so much to do, so much bawling landowners to placate and wives giving birth.” He rubbed his beard and smiled. “Mayhaps before the next whelp arrives, eh, Ferral?”

“Perhaps, my lord.”

“My lord,” the servant said, bowing. “I feel nothing. The wine is clean.”

Mhagaza nodded and Ylir poured him some. “Azchai!” Mhagaza barked, after one sip. “Come here and try this out with me, for old times’ sake.”

“Don’t want to be alone if your food taster made a mistake?” Azchai said with a grin. He held his glass out. “This looks like excellent wine, Ylir. Mayhaps slightly better than the drink we shared at your master’s abode in Cael.”

“Drinks of such quality are best enjoyed on occasions like these,” Ylir nodded. He finished his own glass, clapped his hands and bowed. “Thank you, my lords, for your hospitalities. I will leave you to your guests. My lady,” he added, brushing against Sume.

Let me...

She closed her eyes. It was going to be a long night. The last she needed was distractions.

Chapter Three

Ylir sat in his room, right by the door, and watched the candle melt on the table. It was almost halfway done. His palms were cold. I shouldn’t have waited so long, he thought. But the kind of spell he had left in Mhagaza’s room needed time to work properly; if he wasn’t careful, it could just as easily target her. It had been years since he’d made such a mistake, but he wasn’t so sure of himself anymore. He closed his eyes and saw Burg’s insufferable face frowning at him. If things go wrong, he could always blame the man.

The scream came, high-pitched. Was it her? It had to be. He leaned against the door, even though every bone in his body told him to open it now and run to her. He waited a little longer before throwing his cloak around his shoulders and heading out into the hallway.

As he expected, he was not the first person there. A dozen guards and some of the princes were crammed close to the ornate door that led to Mhagaza’s chambers.

Ylir spotted Makin and ventured close. “What’s happening?”

Makin’s eyes were big. “I don’t know.” He glanced inside the room. “They’ll tell us soon.” He drew himself up and asked a woman something in their tongue. She nodded, looking pale and frightened, and Ylir got the impression that it was her—not Sume—who screamed.

But his thoughts didn’t get very far. An old man with a forked beard walked out of the room. He looked at the crowd and shook his head. Most were on their knees except the heir, Rajiat, who was pacing back and forth. He turned to Ylir. “You,” he said in a low voice. “You brought that girl here. You’ll pay.”

Ylir barely paid attention to him. His eyes were on the still figure on the enormous bed. They had covered him with a white sheet, but he knew Mhagaza’s shape and size. He glanced at the girl. She was clad in a thin tunic and sat, almost calmly, in the corner. The guards were approaching her.

“Did she stab him? Hurt him in any way?” he asked, turning to the court physician.

The old man shook his head. “He died of a—how do you say in Kag? Heart condition.” He glanced at Rajiat, Lak’an of Al-ir, now. “If the girl is to blame, it was only because she must have—ah, excited him so.”

Rajiat reddened. “We don’t know that. He was not poisoned?”

The physician coughed. “I would know poisoned, my lord. He died peacefully, as if in sleep.”

Rajiat drew a deep breath and entered the room. He pulled the sheet off and looked into his father’s face for a long time before he glanced up at Sume. “You did not hurt her, li’kon? Because so An-albaht help me, if you did, you will pay for it.” He called for the guards. “Take her to the dungeons until we can decide what to do with her.”

Ylir stepped forward. “My lord, she is—was bound to your father. The creed demands you show her respect.”

“Then bind her with velvet ribbons if that’s what it takes. She’s no mother of mine.” He snarled, saying this, and reached for her arm, as if to drag her to the ground. But Ylir stood between them. He felt eerily calm, now—a far cry from his state the past few hours. He didn’t do anything, didn’t raise his hand in return, but the look in his eyes gave Rajiat reason to pause.

The guards overtook them. Sume didn’t struggle and allowed them to lead her out of the room without another word. He tried to catch her eyes, but she wasn’t even looking at him. “I’ll see her executed yet,” he heard Rajiat murmur.

He resisted the desire to kill the young man where he stood. “You do that, my lord,” he said, “and war from Jin-Sayeng will rain down on your people. After all that has happened, it will be ample enough reason.”

Rajiat’s eyes were red. “Let them come,” he replied. “We’ll slaughter the lot of them. My father was a fool.” He returned to the foot of the bed and knelt with his head to the floor.

In the end, how could a woman who was raised to know the difference between right and wrong, and honour and duty, justify being happy that her husband of seven hours was dead?

The answer, of course, was you couldn’t, not under those circumstances. Mhagaza had not been unkind to her in the short time she had known him. His offer had been made out of a desire, almost, to elevate the position of the daughter of a boyhood hero. He was a lord, she was a peasant. Even in those last moments, he had been gentle. She had heard stories, of course, of young girls and older men—terrible stories not worth thinking of at a time when she was one step away from hurling herself over the terrace. Instead, he’d had wine laid out for her, and he spoke to her of nothing—of taking a trip to Jin-Sayeng with him, of having children, of her family back home. When the time came, he carried her to bed like she was a doll, and he placed his hand on her breast, and he tenderly kissed her collarbone.

And then he collapsed and died a few minutes later.

She still couldn’t wrap her head around that. They blamed her, of course, and she wasn’t entirely sure that they were wrong either even though she didn’t know what she’d done. He died with her arms around him. The thought of having to bed him for the rest of her life repulsed her, but no man deserved his fate. She wasn’t happy at all. She could breathe easier now, could now look at her own fingers without seeing red, but she mourned him. For the two days they kept her locked up behind her chambers, she prayed for the sake of his soul, prayed that he would find his way home.

On the third morning, the door opened. She didn’t look up at first, so she was surprised to hear Ylir’s voice. After what she’d seen in Mhagaza’s bedchamber, she had expected him to be long gone. She almost said so, looking up, but then she stopped when she saw his face. One of his eyes was puckered shut, black and dripping with blood.

He laughed, seeing her reaction. It was disconcerting. “This?” he said. “Rajiat’s price for your freedom. He was going to have you killed. Now he’s decided to release you, under the condition that he stick a knife in my eye.”

She gaped at him in horror.

“Well, it didn’t kill me. That surprised him.” He spat. “We should go soon. I won’t be able to hold them off for very long.”

She followed him, one life folding into another. She would have laughed if she wasn’t so afraid.

Chapter Four

Leaving Al-ir was not like Sume thought it would be, but then nothing ever was, in her life.

Azchai of Barun had arranged horses for them. When he saw Ylir’s face, he hesitated. “You’ll die out there,” he said. “Give me another hour and I’ll get men to drive you. In the meantime, have that looked at.”

“There’s no time,” Ylir growled, grabbing the reins. He handed a set to Sume. “In any case, we don’t have an hour.”

“The son’s temper is like the father’s, without the restraint. Was this really necessary?” Sume noticed that he was trying not to look at her.

“They would’ve had her killed. Word will get to Jin-Sayeng. A war with them is the last thing I want for our operations. It would not be profitable.”

Azchai licked his lips. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Ylir whirled towards him. “My brain’s leaking through my hands, Azchai. Stop the cryptic talk. What are you trying to say?”

Azchai glanced at the silhouette of the palace behind them. “It’s well-known that Al-ir, being so close to the Jin-Sayeng border, occasionally receives attacks from the commonfolk. Peasants, you know. Bandits. Clans south of the border that have nothing better to do.” He rubbed his beard. “Mhagaza disposed of them as he saw fit, and neither the Jin-Sayeng royals nor His Holy Lak’an ono Lak’an ever really said much about it. The Jins now claim that several months ago, a group of armed Gasparians attacked the border guard and two of the border villages. I believe you saw the outcome of that.”

“Yes,” Ylir snapped. “I know all this. Now get to the point.”

“It seems as if His Majesty is now paying attention to local events. We received word from him a week or so ago that if violence from Jin-Sayeng escalates, we are to think about beginning an invasion. Jin-Sayeng’s king—if they even have one—has been gone for years. If we make it look like Jin-Sayeng started the attacks, it would be easier to ask for support from the surrounding kingdoms, and make Xiaro think twice about helping them. Those two are like quarreling brothers—on their own, they’d easily strangle each other to death, but threaten one and the other will take up arms against you.”

Sume tightened her grip on the reins, making the horse spook from her a little. She couldn’t believe how this man could so casually speak of waging war on her people as if—as if they were nothing, as if they hadn’t suffered enough already! She struggled to keep her mouth shut.

Azchai, oblivious of her growing distress, continued. “That was why Mhagaza wanted to marry her. He didn’t agree with the thing. Thought his land couldn’t handle war for now. Maybe someday, he said, but—I don’t know. He wasn’t fond of the peasants, but it’s a different story with the royals. You could almost say he worshipped them. I don’t think he fancied the idea of barging through Shirrokaru as anything but a tourist.

“But you have to see my point here, Ferral. War with Jin-Sayeng could benefit us all. We’ll protect your refinery. The iron you gather will be even more valuable in a time of war. We’ll be rich, Ferral! Don’t you understand that? And now—”

“Now, you’re letting us escape.” Ylir took a deep breath. “Why not kill her now? Then you’ll have your war.”

Azchai stepped back. “Come now, Ferral,” he said. “I don’t want to make you angry. Our partnership is crucial in this.”

“Partnership? You could have told me all this when it was still relevant. Now Mhagaza’s dead.”

“Yes. Now he is dead and war is easier to ignite with the son in charge.” He glanced at Sume. “Take the girl, Ferral. Think of it as a gift from me. She’s not important. I’ll take care of Rajiat. You get better. Write me a letter in a few days’ time and we’ll sort this out.” He squinted as a dry wind bore down on them, then walked away.

Kalthekar was an hour’s ride from the Al-ir estates. Ylir had all but stopped talking by the time they arrived. Sume saw him riding at an angle, his head drooped over his horse’s mane. She forced her own mount to a stop and approached his side. “Ylir,” she started. She touched his shoulder. When he didn’t stir, she touched his face. His skin was hot. A trail of dried blood snaked over the horse’s bronzed skin and down its leg.

She pushed him deeper into the saddle before leading both horses down the street. They walked until she saw a building with a sign and a hitching rail for horses. Once she had tied the horses, she tugged at Ylir’s arm. She caught the upper half of his body as he crashed to the ground. He was heavier than he looked—heavier than her father had been—but she managed to wrap his arm around her shoulder and drag him to the door.

An old lady barked something in Gasparian and rushed to help her. Together, they managed to get him up the stairs and on a narrow bed. She pushed his head back onto a pillow. The old woman gasped, seeing the caked blood, and ran out. His eye had stopped bleeding, but a thin, clear fluid was running along the corner.

“Oh Ylir,” she asked, draping one hand over his face. “What have you done, you idiot?” She propped her elbows on the edge of the bed and glanced at the window. A trinket left on the shelf caught her eye. She left Ylir’s side to take it. It was a Jinsein charm—a square piece of an ebony-coloured wood, hung on a thread—given to little children to ward against drowning and getting snatched by fairy hags. Dai had one. That it was in a Gasparian inn surprised her, but then, they were close enough to the border for raids, so it must be close enough for visitors. She wrapped it around Ylir’s wrist.

The old woman returned with towels and a bucket of warm water that smelled like it had been steeped in herbs. Sume thanked her and started cleaning Ylir’s face. He didn’t awaken, though his face flickered a few times.

The injury was not as bad as she’d imagined, though it was enough to stir her stomach. Rajiat’s knife had caught the edge of his eye, closer to the bone where there was now a pool of crusted black blood. The swelling made it difficult to see if he had enough injury in the eye to lose it. It didn’t matter. There was nothing else she could do for it for now. “You sold me,” she said in Jinsein. “And then you almost kill yourself trying to get me back.” She started to say something else, and instead found herself laughing at the complexities of men, the absurdity of it all.

The fever lasted four days. The doctor said the fever would be the worst part, and that to help him out she needed to keep cleaning the wound with herb wash while burning incense over the window to keep the evil spirits at bay. He would keep the eye, but there was a tear in the corner that might, in time, blind him.

Ylir woke on the fifth day. After a few moments of looking around the room, his gaze fell on Sume. “So,” he cracked, pointing at the thin fabric wrapped around his eye. “Is this going to stay?”

She didn’t answer him immediately. She went out, found the landlady’s husband, and returned with a plate of lentil soup and flatbread. “Eat first,” she told him. “You’ve lost too much weight.”

He sat up, making room for the tray. “This tastes like cardboard,” he said after a while.

Sume frowned. “You’re making too many jokes. The doctor will probably say that you’re fine.”

“How did I afford a doctor?”

“There was enough money in your purse,” she said. She paused. “I ah—I also had to sell the horses. I wasn’t sure if you were going to sleep longer or if I needed it to pay for your funeral.”

“Gasparians burn their dead.”

“I’m sorry, it was the nicer way to say ‘dispose of your corpse’. I don’t think you can afford a cremation.” She pulled a chair closer to him, trying hard to contain what she was feeling at the moment. She had thought he was going to die. “I wrote to Azchai like he said you should. I thought it was better that way. We’re still in Al-ir and we weren’t going anywhere. He said he’d convinced Rajiat to call off the pursuit an hour after we left. We’re safe.”

“For now.” He leaned back against the wall and laughed. “I should thank you now, shouldn’t I? You didn’t leave. You could have taken the money and left. They’ve got wagons here, crossing to Jin-Sayeng. Provided tensions haven’t escalated so far.”

“I know. Can’t say the temptation didn’t cross my mind.” She glanced up at him. “You shouldn’t talk so much. You’re tired and you need rest.”

He grimaced. “I’ve rested long enough. Can you get some parchment and ink? I need to pen a letter to my man at the site. No, my fingers...better you do it.”

“Am I addressing it to Burg?”

“Burg.” He smirked. “No, not him. He’s gone.”

She held her breath. “Dead?”

“Nothing like that. He quit on me. Address the letter to Gaven, please. He’s heading the operations now. Tell him I’ll be back within a week, to rally up the men and be prepared for hostilities. If Rajiat’s men arrive, wait for me and don’t hurt them. Don’t hurt anyone. Ab’s balls, my thoughts are all over the place! Just—just write what sounds good.”

Sume finished writing the letter and returned to his side. He had eaten most of the soup and bread, but he was breathing very hard. She removed the tray and helped him back onto the pillows. His gaze didn’t leave her all through that time, and only then did she realize that his eyes—at least the one she could see—were brown. She could not recall what she used to think they were before, but brown now, for certain—nearly copper. She traced the confusion back to his enchantments and tried not to get angry at him this time. “This is real now, isn’t it?” she asked. “What you look like, I mean.”

“It was always real,” he murmured.

“Don’t play with me. I know you’ve been enchanting the men you do business with. Mhagaza described you older. That time in the palace, in my room, it was an enchantment too, wasn’t it?”

“What? No, it wasn’t. Sume—I’ve been too sick all this time. Do you really think if I’d done that, you would have stayed? The minute I lost strength, you would have left me for the wolves. Even killed me yourself.” He smiled and placed his hand over hers. “Let me start from the beginning. My name—”

“I know,” she said. “It’s Enosh.” She watched the reaction on his face and suddenly regretted speaking so soon. Was he about to lie to her? It was probably a good thing if she had let him, because then she would have a reason to walk out. But maybe she wanted to give him all the chances she could.

He was silent longer than she was comfortable with. “You had dreams,” she admitted at last. “You said, stay back. I’m just Enosh. It sounded like you were fighting someone.”

“Fighting a thing.” His face tightened. “You don’t want to know. So call me that, if you want. Just not in front of anyone else. I meant what I said. Back in the palace, that was me. You’ve got the power to undo me, now.” He took a deep breath. “What will you do with it?”

She kissed him. Sunlight, she thought, her lips quivering because she had never done this—had never willed herself to kiss someone before. He tasted like sunlight. She pulled away, and he lightly pressed his thumb along her jaw. He looked thoughtful.

“You didn’t have to save me. Not like this. You could have gotten yourself killed. Rajiat wasn’t going to hurt me.”

“Gods, woman. You’re scolding me at a time like this?”

“I just wanted you to understand that I’m not being grateful. The father had a kind soul, Enosh. The son wouldn’t have fallen too far from the tree.”

“How long will you last in life, thinking like that?”

“This long at least.” She pressed her hand over his face and smiled. “Go back to sleep. I’ll send that letter and get you some food.”

“And then?”

“And then? You pathetic fool!” She laughed softly, stroking his cheek, and closed the door behind her.

“A Jinsein,” Enosh remembered telling Thiar. “You hire Jinseins?”

“Not usually on purpose, no,” was Thiar’s drawl reply.

He pursed his lips and looked down at the man from the balcony. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five—average-height, wiry muscles, curly hair, and dimples that belonged to a life softer than this. Enosh wasn’t pleased. A Jinsein among Kags? He knew the Kago interbred frequently, but he wasn’t buying it. Jinseins were notoriously clannish. And the man looked pureblood—the last thing he needed was someone with divided loyalties in his retinue.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Not him.”

Thiar looked displeased. “Just from his race? He’s one of my better men, when it comes to that. Father was a merchant. Could help you do sums along the way.”

He had to stop from laughing. “I don’t need help with our accounts, Sir Thiar. We just need solid, hired men who aren’t idiots.”

“Oji’s done jobs for us as far as Dageis. He doesn’t need supervision and he’s about as trustworthy as you can get. Can’t help that he’s a Jinsein, and if that’s your problem with him then there’s nothing we can do. Gaven could do your job, but he’s in Cael right now. Maybe Rok—”

A young man had appeared and began talking to the Jinsein. Enosh allowed Thiar’s babbling to fade in the background and leaned closer to the balcony. The man was a Gorenten. There was no mistaking the angle of the jaw and the turn of the nose. The Jinsein slapped him across the shoulder and he looked up while he laughed. His eyes were the blue-grey of the sea on a stormy night. Enosh knew that from as far away as where he stood because he still remembered saying that the night he was born.

His first thought was, No. It couldn’t be. And then, he’s back in Gorent. He’ll be chief. He and Ailat must have at least a child or two by now.

But he didn’t know that, because he’d never written (didn’t think it made a difference, figured his brother wouldn’t bother to read or reply). He drew back and checked that the glamour was still working. The realization that he’d done that jolted him. That man down there, he couldn’t be Kefier, couldn’t be his brother, because for one thing he was embarrassingly taller than Enosh was now and that was just unacceptable. His stomach turned. Eight years ago, he would have gone down to him, would have grabbed him by the shoulder and wrapped his arms around him to hide the tears. Eight years too long. What was he doing here?

He must’ve been silent longer than he thought, because Thiar suddenly appeared next to him and coughed. “That one,” he said, because Enosh was staring at Kefier. “He’s not exactly signed on with the faction. Oji there took him in a few years ago. He might be good for the other job on your list here—transporting the substance through Gaspar? We don’t exactly know yet who can handle it or not.”

Enosh tried hard to look nonchalant. “You’ve already suggested a group for that. We’ll try them first and take it from there. Anyone who can’t stand the fumes must be well-compensated for their time.”

“You don’t have to do that. These men know what they’re signing up for.”

“No, but their families don’t. Funerals can be expensive.” Kefier was walking away now, and it took all his strength not to run after him. He tightened his jaw and walked away.

That was two years ago, and as much as he didn’t want to think of that day, it was difficult not to on a rare afternoon such as this, with torrents of rain pouring over the eaves in Kalthekar. Because the air was normally so dry, the effect was like a steam bath, which to his misfortune was one of those things they didn’t have much of in Gaspar. If he was in Hafod, perhaps...

If he was anywhere but here...

Enosh closed his eyes and sucked in a lungful of the clammy air. When he had allowed her to call him by that name, he had no idea how much it would undo him. It was ridiculous. It was only a name. Yes, most people hadn’t called him that in years, not since he had told Jarche to stop because his head was messed enough as it was and if he didn’t forget, even for just a little while, he would lose it all.

Now he was sitting on that hard, narrow bed, watching the horrible Gasparian rain and trying not to think of the rains back in Gorent. It wasn’t just ridiculous: it was petty. That tinge of homesickness did not belong in his thoughts. He ought to deal with it like he dealt with Kefier—accept that he’d done as much as he could and then let it go. If his brother had gone and gotten himself killed in those mountains, then that was that. The importance lay in the bigger picture.

He heard the door open and pulled himself up. “Did you find—” he started. And then he saw who it was, and the colour drained from his face.

“What’s the matter, my boy?” Yn Garr asked. “Not happy to see me?”

Enosh drew a deep breath. “I just didn’t expect you to be here.”

Yn Garr regarded him for a few moments. “You look much better than I thought. Healthier.”

“I’ve been on the mend.”

“Have you? Good. You can then explain to me what you’ve been doing the past few weeks. I didn’t send you here to vacation with your Jinsein whore.”

Enosh’s face remained deathly calm. Only his twitching fingers, curling into his palms, betrayed his emotions. “I had to maintain relations with Al-ir. The men you sent very nearly undid all my work. But I’m sure you already know that.”

“I know that. I know everything you think I don’t know, Enosh.” He felt a twinge, hearing the man speak his name. “Does this maintaining of relations have anything to do with the Lord of Al-ir’s death? How did that fit into any of your plans?”

“I didn’t kill him.” As he said it, he realized he had spoken too quickly. Yn Garr’s presence always did that to him. He swallowed and tried to straighten himself. “I’m almost well, Yn Garr. I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

“To do what?” Yn Garr snarled. “Gaven’s running things just fine without your help. A half-blood.” He glanced around the room with a look of distaste. “Take your sweet time,” he added. “Send word when you tire of your whore.” He strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Enosh turned to the window and the rain and thought, this isn’t fair. I’m not a child anymore. But even after all these years, something about the old man sent his insides quivering. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Yn Garr had promised he would one day be an equal. Yet here he was, lecturing him like they were back in Gorent, as if all he had done for him in the years between then and now amounted to nothing...

The doorknob clicked, and he froze. But it was only Sume. “It only took a couple of markets, but I have them. Dried lavender leaves.” He didn’t let her finish. He got up, closing his mouth over hers hungrily, and locked the door behind her.

“Enosh...”

“I’ve waited long enough,” he whispered, grazing his teeth over the tip of her ear. She murmured an assent. He led her to the edge of the bed, never once taking his eyes off her, and pulled her dress over her head. Her skin looked milky-white against his own. “You’re beautiful,” he said, surprised that he meant it.

She flushed and crossed her arms over her bare chest. “You probably say that to everyone.”

“Not everyone.” He ran his fingers along her collarbone. She shivered. He suddenly remembered the way she looked that night she offered herself in exchange for her nephew: her eyes fierce, her jaw set, the wind whipping her hair. He was convinced that if he tried hard enough, he could still smell the sea-salt on her. The thought of that stirred him. He pushed her back to the bed, kissing her, his hands on her breasts and then down. She uttered a soft gasp, but didn’t try to stop him like last time.

When the time came, he didn’t think she would bleed. He had never seen that in a woman before and tried to pull away in a moment of panic. But she held him, dark streaks running down her thighs, and whispered something in Jinan. Then she kissed his neck, her hands on his shoulders, and urged him on. He did, confused, wondering if her expression was pain and feeling entirely out of his element. Realizing it was her first time only made it feel as if he was the one stripped off his defences. Honesty from a woman, from another person, felt like knives across his skin. He knew something was wrong about the way he had lived the last few years. Entrusting your life to someone else, seeing them nurture and care for it was water on parched land. It was necessary for him to have choked all sources of it to have made it so far, to have gained the influence and made the fortune he did, but it had left him grasping.

Now he wasn’t. Now the woman was more than a night of pleasure for him, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He carried on like a man drenched in darkness, grasping for light, and when it was over, he rolled to the side, closed his eyes, and felt like the wind had been taken out of him. He felt her move and then, unexpectedly, her arms around him. That was new, too. He didn’t know what to think.

“We’re going to have to find a new inn,” he said, feeling uncomfortable in the silence.

“This bed too small?”

He chuckled, turning to face her. “Creaky, too.”

She grew serious. “I saw him leave. The Kag. There’s no other Kags in the inn, so I figured he was visiting you. Your master, was it?”

“Nothing escapes you. Yes, that was the glorious Yn Garr. And yes, I would rather he not know where we are until I’m ready to face him again. I am not—as you can tell—at my best.” He tried to smile at her.

“I’ll talk to the innkeeper. Enosh—” She finished by leaning over him and kissing him softly. He could feel her heart beating. He still didn’t understand, but when she left, he found it hard to think of anything else. It was beyond disconcerting.

They stayed thirty days in Kalthekar. He’d had enough lying bedridden in a run-down inn and pulled enough money from his accounts to ensure long days of sampling excellent Gasparian fare. The nights they spent in a tangle of satin sheets and hot baths.

It was the longest he had ever hidden from Yn Garr’s prying eyes. For a time, he was almost convinced that this was all he needed—that he could live like this the rest of his life. He could buy a couple of horses, catch a ship in Aret-ni, and travel to wherever their hearts desired. People had been content with less.

But a morning came when he woke up, and she was still asleep, and he found himself staring in the mirror, at the aging face that so resembled his father. Had it already been fourteen years since his death? More? I am closer to your dream of bringing glory back to our people than you ever were, he thought, running his hands through his hair. Yet look at me pissing it all away because I cannot bear an old man’s scrutiny.

It was easier when he was younger. Back then, it was easier to gauge what Yn Garr wanted—a memorized line here, the proper arrangement of a spell there. Now that he was older, Yn Garr was starting to treat him like an incompetent buffoon, no better than the Boarshind he loved to hire because they were cheap and dispensable. Worse, even. He took a deep breath and with fumbling hands found the letter he kept in the drawer. It had arrived two days ago by an unknown courier who left as soon as he found him.

You’re no longer heading the operations at Al-ir. I’ve fixed that little problem. Forget about it and report to camp. The directions are here. Report to Gaven for your orders.

Report to Gaven.

Maybe he was overthinking things. But shouldn’t that have said, Gaven will have your orders? Or, I’ve left your orders with Gaven. Report. He didn’t like the way Yn Garr used the word so abruptly. Of late, he had started wondering what his role was in the man’s grand schemes. He had power over most of his holdings, it was true, but Yn Garr continued to act without his knowledge. Continuing with the excavations despite knowing what Enosh came all the way out here for—that was not just a deliberate act meant to piss him off. He wished it was. But there was something else in there, and his only proof was that he had known Yn Garr long enough.

He heard a faint rustling. He returned to lie beside her and felt himself smile, despite everything, when she turned to lay her hand on his bare chest. He leaned his head on hers. “Go back to sleep,” he heard her whisper. “You are too restless.”

“I am more than that,” he replied, closing his eyes. His lips brushed over her cheek. “Promise me you’ll stay.”

“The sun hasn’t risen yet and you’re already thinking the strangest things. Where would I go?”

“I mean it. I’m really getting used to having you around. I—I wouldn’t know what I’d do if you’re not here tomorrow.”

“Oh, Enosh.” She kissed him, long and lingering.

Gaven was waiting for them when they reached the river camp. One of his hands was bent and there were dark bruises creeping along the back of his arm, but he still looked insufferably smug. A half-blood, with ancestors that ran the alleys like rats, Enosh thought, looking at him. Not a man with the blood of princes in his veins, of someone destined to unite the northern islands under one rule. He felt the familiar anger stirring inside him and fought to keep it down.

“So you’re overseeing the excavations now,” he said, nearly spitting the words out.

Gaven threw a scroll at him. “Straight from Yn Garr’s hands.”

He drew aside and unrolled the scroll. He read it once, and then twice. A cold bead of sweat formed along his forehead. So, he thought. This is what the old man had in mind. I was right all along.

He turned to Gaven, who had tipped his head forward. “Should I start the preparations?”

“Go ahead,” he said. He turned to Sume, picked up her hands, and kissed them. “You’re brave, aren’t you? You’ll wait for me until I’m done indulging that insufferable old man.”

“What’s happening?” she asked. After those long days and nights in Kalthekar, it felt strange to see her back in this—his world. She didn’t belong there. I feel like I could drown…surrounded by land. It was unfair how her words back then had so precisely echoed thoughts he had never voiced out in all those years.

He twirled her fingers in his and kissed them, one by one, and imagined her standing at the edge of the sea before he said, “We’re heading out today to Lake Enji. I am to lead a hundred and ten hired men in an attack against Bannal and his mages and not die, so Ab help me.”

Chapter Five

“You’re an hour late,” Moon said, appearing in an alley behind him. She smiled and reached up to touch his arm.

Kefier frowned. After over two months in Enji, he still found it easy to get lost. The grounds were vast, easily the size of a small city. There were places to eat at and stores to buy from, and some of the mages had their own quarters separate from the main keep. “That’s because you were probably lying about the streets not changing when my back is turned.”

She laughed. Despite everything, he was looking forward to these small meetings. It provided a break from his monotonous days. “I got this from the toothless guy around the corner. Think she’ll like it?” He produced a wooden carving of a mountain lion.

Moon bent over to look at the figure in his palm. The details were intricate, and even the fur and whiskers were rendered with surprising care. “Teamu is really good with these, isn’t he? Have you seen his dioramas? They’re so lifelike.”

“What makes you think they’re actually not—you know—alive?”

She slapped him on the shoulder. “Come now, Kefier. That isn’t actually how being a mage works, you know.” She affectionately leaned towards him as they walked. “Teamu’s skilled, no question about it. But he’s more a scholar than a mage nowadays. When he was younger, the agan that ran through him allowed him to change the direction of the wind. It wasn’t the most sophisticated of gifts.”

“In Dageis, sail-ships relied on people like that. If he was any good at it, he would’ve been well-respected.”

“Ah. Because Dageis is such a wonderful place, with the agan peddled left and right like a common thing, and mage-ships floating freely in her waters. You do know about the mage-ships, right? Nothing but prison boats made for the sole purpose of allowing mages to practice their blood rites.”

He winced, as if struck, and felt the memory of pain running across his back. “Of course I know,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry. It is an old argument among mages. We have had many, over the years, flee to Dageis, wanting the freedom they think they can find. There, the agan is not mistrusted as in Jin-Sayeng, or made out to be nothing but parlour tricks like in the Kag. And it certainly isn’t like here in Gaspar, where they think of the agan as a gift bequeathed from the gods.”

“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.”

“Some of us just want a normal life. You remember how worked up old Dalgon got, taking us home?”

“His fears weren’t exactly unfounded.”

“May the gods bless his soul for it. But imagine that, every moment of your life. People waving palm fronds over you as soon as they learn you’re a mage. Having to hide what you are if you want to be left alone. So they run to Dageis, which is fine if Dageis wasn’t completely the opposite of everything else. Marked by the agan and you are as ordinary as can be. Unmarked, you are no better than a worm. There must be a better way, don’t you think?”

He didn’t really know how to answer that. They had reached one of the side buildings behind the keep and his mind leapt elsewhere when he noticed that the door was open. Bannal looked up from the armchair in a corner, his lips turning upwards in the semblance of a smile.

Kefier frowned in response. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting, as you are.” Bannal glanced at where Xyl sat on a cushion. “She had been telling me about her grandfather. Stories that won’t interest you, I imagine.”

“The hell it won’t. Haven’t you pestered her enough about this? She doesn’t belong here, Bannal.” His voice rose, and he felt Moon’s arms on his.

“Kefier, don’t,” she whispered.

Bannal looked bored. “We’ve gone through this before. Do you know how illusive these creatures are? Unless you’re willing to accompany me back to where you found her—”

“Which I already told you I won’t.”

“Then we have nothing to talk about.” He got up and brushed his robes. “You may proceed with your visit, if you wish. I am done here for now.”

Kefier didn’t step away from the door. “She doesn’t belong here, Bannal, and neither do I.”

“You’ve been welcome to leave since the moment you got here.”

“Not without Xyl. And not without telling me who Yn Garr really is. You know more than you let on, Bannal. The man got my brother killed.”

“I really don’t care about what happened to your brother. You’ve given me fragments of information, nothing more. Perhaps if you had remembered more of what Yn Garr came to your village for, I’d have more answers for you. As it is, I believe we’re at a stalemate.”

He swallowed. Bannal glanced at him and that faint smile of his grew wider. “Maybe it’s you who knows more than you let on, hmm?”

He flushed and stepped aside. “Get out of here.”

Bannal drew his robes around him and left. “You shouldn’t push him like that,” Moon murmured.

“He reminds me of Yn Garr,” Kefier said, snorting. “Presumptuous. Arrogant. Only cares if he thinks he’s getting something out of you. I hate men like that.” He sat next to Xyl and offered her the statue. She gingerly plucked it from his fingers. “The old man wasn’t bothering you too much, was he?”

“He was all right,” Dai answered for her, appearing from the curtained-off area that served as a kitchen of sorts. “Didn’t press as much as he used to. I told him she gets upset. He was asking about the rituals her grandfather used to do.” He pressed his lips and paused for a second. “He said we could go, any time.”

“Not without Xyl. I’m not leaving her here.”

Dai glanced at her. “They treat her right.”

Kefier took a deep breath. “I took her grandfather’s life, but she never left me. I would have never gotten out of those mountains alive if she hadn’t come with me. I’d have starved to death, or wandered into some animal’s lair.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind when you hear what you want about this Yn Garr character.” Dai hesitated, looking like he had more to say, but he was interrupted by screams from across the yard. Kefier shut the door behind him and strode out of the apartment. A mage hurried past, muttering about an attack. As soon as he said it, an explosion shattered in the distance and thick, black smoke billowed across the sky.

Kefier returned to the apartment. “Gather your things,” he told Dai as calmly as he could. “We may have to get out of here early after all.”

Moon stirred from her seat. “You’re not thinking of trying to escape, are you?”

He turned to her. “Are you going to stop me?”

“Kefier, the wards out there will tear you apart! Whatever that is outside, the spells will take care of it. I’m sure—” Before she had the chance to finish her sentence, the door flew open. Kefier saw Sapphire standing there, staff in hand. Her face was deathly still.

“You don’t look like you came for a friendly visit,” Kefier said.

“No,” she replied. “Lord Bannal requires your presence in the main tower.”

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Her eyes flickered towards Moon. Moon bit her lip and shook her head. “No,” she mouthed, sitting down.

“Then you both will leave me no choice. I’ll have to drag you up there myself.” She started to lift her staff.

Kefier knew it was no place for a fight—not with Dai and Xyl standing close by. He wasn’t even sure if he could count on Moon to stay out of it, let alone provide barriers for the others. He lifted his hands, showing they were empty. “I’ll come,” he said. “Bannal better explain himself this time around.”

“I’m sure he will,” she said flatly. She led him outside. Overhead, the sky was turning a deep red.

A large mirror adorned the far side of Bannal’s office. Kefier noted the unnatural shimmer of his reflection as Sapphire pulled a seat out for him. When he refused to take it, she pushed against his shoulders until he complied. “Now your sword,” she said.

He looked up at her. “You took it when I first came in. You haven’t given it back since.”

“You’re hiding one inside your shirt.”

Kefier hesitated. Eventually, he pulled it out from the sheath under his arm and muttered, “It’s a dagger.”

“And one Teamu should have never sold you if he knew any better.”

“Knew any better. Why, because I’m a criminal of sorts?” He started laughing and gazed down the hall at Bannal, who had been silent by the mirror the whole time. “Come on, Bannal. Get on with it. I’ve got nothing to do with whatever’s happening out there, but if it’ll please your majesty, you may get into my head, now.”

“I’ve got no such plans,” Bannal replied. His lips were a thin line. He gestured at a pile of books on his desk. “You wanted to know more about Yn Garr. These—and others on the shelves—are various memoirs on the undoing of the efforts of Naijwa the Fair. What survived of them after all these long years.”

It took him a moment to process that. “You’re telling me this now.” He swallowed. “Sapphire mentioned the reason they were in Hilal was to extract Naijwa’s journals.”

“A thing we did not know existed until recently, for she had put powerful wards to protect the knowledge and we had missed it in all our years of searching the area. Somehow, Yn Garr managed to beat us to it. Possession of this knowledge makes him a very dangerous man—even more than before.” Bannal shrugged and picked up one of the books. Leather-bound, it was very thin and looked like it had been retrieved from the ashes of a fire. “He’s after these, now.”

“I’m sorry?”

“These memoirs. He has several, himself, else he would have never found your kusyan’s grandfather. I don’t know what he learned from the kusyani, but from Xyl’s stories I can say with confidence that he went to Gorent after. Immediately after. He commissioned a boat which was wrecked, as your memory showed correctly. It didn’t matter. He got to his destination.”

“What did he come out there for?”

Bannal smiled and sat down. “I think you know.”

He leaned forward. “Listen, if you think you got me up here just to play games with me—”

“No, no, boy, you’re too hasty. Control that temper before it consumes you. You know—you just don’t know exactly what it is you’ve seen. I’ll supply the pieces of the puzzle if you can tell me what happened the last time you saw this man.”

Kefier wiped his lips. A moment later, Bannal pulled his chair closer. He lifted one hand. “If you can’t explain, allow me to see.” There was another moment of silence. Bannal smiled. “You know you want to tell me. You’ve been dying to tell someone for years.”

He finally gave in. He closed his eyes and felt the sting of salt-breeze on his lips.

They were standing on top of a broad, sandstone rock overlooking the ocean. The dense forest loomed behind them in the distance. Kefier sat down, allowing his legs to dangle across the rock. “If I fall here,” he asked. “Would I die?”

“You might,” Bannal said grimly. He glanced at the mountaintops across the horizon. “Where are we?”

“Sagun Island. That’s Agantuan, right there. Nobody lives here now. In the old days, they said, there was a village, but the spirits wouldn’t allow it to stay. After that they came here to worship, but we never did that in our lifetime, nor our grandfathers in theirs.” Kefier took a deep breath and forced himself to glance behind him. The forest was empty, but he could feel the hairs on the back of his arms rise.

Bannal gave a quick snort. “I don’t know why we’re here. We don’t have a lot of time, boy—of what importance is this memory?”

“And you call me impatient. I hid out here when I was a kid—when I needed to avoid the elders, or I just tired of being the good-for-nothing younger brother.”

“I feel for you,” Bannal said, in a voice that said he was anything but sympathetic. “Now can we just get on with this?”

“There was a girl,” he continued.

“There always is.”

“You were young once, weren’t you, Bannal? Hard as it might be to believe now.” He gave a short bark of laughter. “We married. I was only a boy, but in Gorent, you could, and I was lonely, and she wanted—I don’t know what she wanted. But one evening I saw my brother talking to her, saw her place her hand on his. I was angry, wanted to confront him. I knew he’d gone out here with that man to hunt—even though he wasn’t allowed to—so I followed him.” He got up and dropped down the rock, hitting the beach with his bare feet. “Follow me.”

They walked the length of the shore, clambering over rocks where they could. Everything seemed exactly where he remembered it, or maybe he just thought that because he was there. But he knew where to place his feet and hands, even told Bannal where to find the places where the rocks jutted just so, or a tree branch sat conveniently in the way. Eventually, there was a break in the landscape and Bannal gave a quick gasp at the sight of the crumbling temple at the edge of the cliff.

“Our ancestors had a glorious history,” Kefier explained on the way. “But then you could say that for so many places before the Dageians came. In our time, we worship under the sun now, for we’ve come to learn—so the elders say—that glorious things attract attention. We were not allowed to set foot here, let alone on the island.” He stopped talking when they reached the edge of the precipice. Here, the climb was slower, and Bannal, despite himself, was beginning to pant with exertion.

Eventually, they reached flatter ground. Bannal glanced at the setting sun, his face streaked with sweat. “I see Yn Garr,” he said after a moment, his teeth grinding at the name.

The man was walking out of the temple, blood streaked across his forehead. He glanced at the distance for a moment and then disappeared down a path to the left. Bannal moved to follow, but he stopped when he saw the boy Enosh struggle to open the door. He was carrying a container of some sort—a box made of cast iron with carvings along the front. It was small, but he seemed to be having difficulty carrying it.

The boy Ke-if appeared from where he had been hiding among the rocks. Kefier sat down and looked away, but that didn’t stop the memory from unfolding. “You’re not allowed to be here,” he heard the boy call out, the uncertainty thick in his voice. That wasn’t really what he wanted to say. The words at the tip of his tongue had been, you would betray your own brother. And then he had only felt like crying.

“You’re not allowed here, either.” Enosh’s voice was flat, like he was talking to a wall.

Ke-if’s attention drifted to the box. “Are you stealing from the temple?” He hadn’t meant for it to sound as harsh as it did, but by the time he’d realized it, it was too late. A dark shadow crossed Enosh’s face as he carefully placed the box by his feet. He had a temper, their father used to say. He needed to control it. But never, in Ke-if’s life, had he seen it directed towards him, and it frightened him.

He stepped back. Enosh’s hand reached for his collar. “Who are you to tell me what I can or can’t do?”

“I’m just saying—”

“I’m chief. I own the village and the islands. This island. This place is my birthright. You don’t steal what’s yours.”

He grabbed Enosh’s hand with both of his and tried to shake him off. “Wake up, Enosh! This is that man Gorrhen’s doing! He’s filled your head with this dog crap!”

“Shut up.”

“I’m father’s son, too! Are you too dumb—”

Enosh screamed, drawing him close for a moment and then flinging him to the ground. Sharp rocks cut into his face. “Father’s son?” Enosh asked, approaching him, palms out. “You mean, father’s son on that Kag whore.”

“Don’t say that. She was the only mother you knew.”

“My blood is pure Gorent. My mother is the sea.”

He spat, tasting blood in his mouth, and struggled to get up. “Listen to yourself talk. Someone offers you a bucket of bile, you slurp it up like soup. No matter how he puts it, Enosh, we know the truth. This village is falling apart and by the next time the Dageians decide to invade—”

Enosh slapped him with the back of his palm. His senses whirled, but that didn’t stop him. He stood his ground and faced the taller boy. “Chief of nothing, I’ll tell you what’s not yours. Ailat married me, not you, so why do you go off with her like you don’t care?”

“I don’t. What do you know about women, anyway? I had her first, you bastard.”

He lunged, trying to block the ringing in his ears from those words. Enosh met him with the sort of blows you didn’t give a brother you loved. Somewhere between a sharp pain, the smell of turpentine, and the breathless feeling in the pit of his stomach, Ke-if saw the sea and realized that Enosh was trying to kill him. His brother’s knee was on his chest and his shoulders were scraping the edge of the cliff.

Ke-if panicked. With a strength he didn’t know he had, he reached out, trying to force themselves back on flat ground. His elbow connected with Enosh’s jaw. Enosh fell back. Ke-if felt the box at his foot; he picked it up and threw it. It shattered against a rock. Something dark and lumpy rolled out and blinked up at them.

The memory broke up. Bannal shook Kefier. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t—” He covered his head with his hands.

“Try!” Bannal roared.

Kefier looked up. Blank blotches, like shards of broken glass, littered the memory, but it began to play again. The boy, Ke-if, was holding a dagger. He approached the blob and struck it.

Someone screamed. The memory began breaking again, and they were suddenly plunged into darkness. He knew, when he saw, exactly where they were—fifty feet from the mouth of a cave in Hartmur. Oji was there, too, looking at him with an odd expression.

Bannal grabbed him by the neck and swore. “You’re losing your grip! What exactly happened? Take us back to Gorent!”

“I don’t know how!” he screamed. Bannal lifted his staff, but just before he could utter any spells, they saw the same creature at the end of the tunnel. It was larger now, the size of a man, and it spotted Kefier before he—in the memory—was aware of it. The single pupil rolled back and with a guttural scream, it sent tendrils flying over the tunnels and straight at them. At the other end of the tunnel, Oji whispered, his voice like a thin echo, “We have to get out, Kefier. I have to go home!”

They were suddenly back at the edge of the cliff. Kefier dropped to his knee, struggling to contain the images. In the distance, the cliff edge was crumbling. “Leave it alone! You’ll undo all we’ve accomplished!” Enosh’s voice was shrill. His own knife found its way into Ke-if’s arm.

Ke-if was struggling to free himself from his brother’s grasp. “It’s an abomination. Kill it! There must be a reason our ancestors locked it away!”

“It’s my birthright! Stay out of it!” At that moment, the rock underneath them gave way. Ke-if jumped and landed on a ledge, but when he turned to grab Enosh, he saw Enosh’s body disappear into the sea.

Darkness surrounded them.

“What happened next?” Bannal asked impatiently.

“What do you mean?” Kefier snapped. “I ran to the shore. Tried to find his body. There was blood, but I couldn’t see anything. I spent the whole night. The whole night and much of the morning.”

“And Yn Garr, who called himself Gorrhen?”

“Didn’t see him again. What did I care about that stupid old man for? My brother was gone.” He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were back in the room and his hands were wet. He grimaced and turned to Bannal. “That’s it. That’s all I can offer you.”

Bannal flipped the chair around and leaned over him. “No, Ke-if. Look at the mirror.”

He looked. It shimmered and images began to form. A man was standing by the lake shore, talking to a group of soldiers. Boarshind soldiers, he realized with a start. And the man, no doubt about it, was Ylir. “The Boarshind are behind your attack,” he said, after a moment.

Bannal nodded. “That. You do not recognize their leader?”

“Ylir yn Garr. He’s one of the Boarshind’s more prominent clients. What are you getting at, Bannal?”

Bannal smiled. “You really are an idiot. You haven’t figured it out by now? The man Gorrhen, whom you’ve wanted to know so much about—your brother’s mentor, and Yn Garr, who you say hired your company’s services for a time, are one and the same.”

“Well, yes, I figured as much.”

“And this man, Ylir. His protégé. You do not recognize him at all?” Kefier sat up. “Your brother didn’t die, Ke-if. Yn Garr just took him away.”

And then he was breathless, like in the memory, because even though he had every reason in the world to distrust Bannal, it was the easiest thing to believe him. He looked at the image on the mirror. Of course it was Enosh. He was a man now, but he still had his deep brown eyes and those really ugly ears. There’s a nice grave I have to tear down when I get back home. If I ever get back home.

Kefier closed his eyes for a moment and then turned to Bannal. “Tell me how you know all of this.”

“Any fool could’ve come to the conclusion after you triggered traps intended for Yn Garr’s pup. I’m sure we all recall your memorable arrival on the island. Yn Garr has been a thorn at my side for a long time, but the past few years he’s been deferring a lot of his responsibilities to this Ylir—known elsewhere as Hertra Ylir yn Ferral. A few years ago, Ylir attacked a group of our mages travelling along the border of Kiel. Only one survived and the journal in their keeping was stolen. He attacked us a second time, but I was in the party and drove him away; we made efforts to bolster our defences thinking it won’t be a matter of time before he makes an attempt on the island. We didn’t think it would be so soon, though.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“So that you’re aware how dangerous these men are. Underneath that honeyed exterior, Ylir is ruthless, and I highly doubt that he will care should he also learn that you’re his brother.” Bannal walked back to his desk and pulled out a roll of parchment. “That said, they’ll probably turn any of my men into an arrow pincushion should they take one step on the mainland. I need you to take this to him—only to him, you understand. You should be able to convince him to meet up with you alone.”

Kefier didn’t take the scroll. “What if I don’t do this?”

“Well, we’ll be trapped here until they get tired of attacking or we all die.” Bannal didn’t really look like he believed that. “If you decide to do anything but this simple task I’ve asked—well, let’s just say that I don’t think your Jinsein boy or your kusyan would appreciate that.”

“You’re actually using them.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to save my people. Can you say the same thing?”

“I wouldn’t know. Weren’t you paying attention? I was never chief.” He got up. “So all I do is take this scroll to him and come back with his answer to your terms.”

Bannal nodded. “For his eyes only.”

“Then you’ll let us walk free. Dai and Xyl with me.”

“If they stop their attack, of course.”

He took a deep breath and nodded. “Get the boat ready, then. You’re coming with me, Sapphire?”

She gave a mirthless smile. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Chapter Six

They took the boat sometime after sunset, when the attacks had ceased for the night. Sapphire had to put up a barrier that, according to her, allowed their small party to leave undetected. Even though Yn Garr had an army at their doorstep, he had few mages at his disposal. Sapphire was convinced that it was unlikely they would expect anyone to leave.

“In the old days,” she was saying, zapping the mosquitoes that swarmed them with sparks of energy from her fingers, “This wouldn’t be an issue because our mages would have been trained for warfare. That, at least, was something we took from the Dageians. But Bannal’s mages are scholars. We know so much of how the world works, and the mysteries of the flow of agan, and we know how to defend ourselves against small bands of robbers, but we never expected—are you listening to me, Kefier?”

He wasn’t, really. As he worked the oars, he was gazing up at the grey sky fringed by treetops. Enosh, he remembered, loved twilight. His brother was a bit of a poet, an old romantic. The best thinking happens in the dusk, he’d once said. Kefier never really blamed Ailat for choosing him. That was an old, childish wound, one he had not thought about for years.

My brother is alive. Amidst his confusion, the feeling was intoxicating. He remembered afternoons at the beach searching for shells while their father whittled figures from sticks. Swimming races and Enosh pretending to let him win. Breakfasting in their hut in the rain, their father singing while he roasted fish on hot coals outside. He even recalled waking up in his mother’s arms on a quiet morning with Enosh beside them and just lying there, listening to them breathe.

“Kefier.” Sapphire was looking at him, a strange expression on her face. “Are you going to be all right?”

“What do you mean?”

She paused for a moment, considering her words. “This errand isn’t as simple as you think. There is a very high possibility that Ylir yn Garr won’t be thrilled with the news you bring. Lord Bannal wants this done, but I think we might have to fight for our lives to get out of there. Ylir might have been your brother once, but I doubt you know him as well as we’ve come to over the years.”

“He employed Boarshind men the last few months before I left. They said he was fair.”

“Not to his enemies.” She tapped her fingers along the side of the boat. “I hope you realize that this isn’t as simple as fighting over a dead woman’s journals. You remember that creature we saw? Out in the plains?” Kefier nodded. She gave a grim smile. “I didn’t tell him about that incident.”

“That’s surprising. You seem like you worship the ground he walks on.”

She snorted. “Bannal is as bad as the rest of them. Had I encountered the creature alone, then he would have known about it immediately. Better if we captured it. But the kusyan and the boy were there. Moon was there. Telling the story as it was, he would have attempted to probe their minds, regardless of the consequences.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with him doing that to me,” Kefier laughed.

She remained serious. “You’re strong. You held your own. Moon’s not, on that regard. He could have melted her mind into a puddle. I didn’t want to risk that.”

“Ah. So you are still human, after all.”

“Be quiet and pay attention. Surely you know of Sarohkitram, the beast Naijwa conjured in Hilal hundreds of years ago. The Kag is rife with legends of it.”

“One that I know of. She created creatures that still roam the Kag to this day.” He swallowed and remembered Faci, Xyl’s grandfather. He had spoken about her too. “I also know that she was angry about something and destroyed her hometown.”

“She was in love with a Dageian man, maybe even Dageis itself. What mage wouldn’t love Dageis? It is a home unlike what so many mages know. But Dageis declared war on Gaspar and when she returned, she learned that her father and brothers had been sent to fight and were dead. The villagers killed her mother. Her temper was a force to be reckoned with, so they say.”

“Like all women.”

She glared at him. “She was also pregnant. She didn’t think twice about it—she was angry at Dageis and thought it appropriate that a child of Dageis would bring about its destruction. So she gave birth to her unborn child early, and she used her skill in the agan to turn it into a beast. It was a distorted creature—the texts say it had a heart that beat outside its body and was strapped against what would have been its spine. It spurted a dark liquid—its blood, perhaps—which turned the ground black where it landed. To move, it crawled like a spider with human hands and feet.

“It killed everyone in Hilal. Not at once. It ate those it caught while people tried to flee in fear. Those who tried to get close to it found themselves overwhelmed—by what, exactly, they couldn’t say, but I think we both know now what they meant. Your thoughts start running into each other. I think it affects people differently—Moon fell almost immediately, but I held on. You didn’t seem as bothered.”

“I smelled something rank,” he said. “Not unlike a dead body. But stronger, like a chemical.” He swallowed. “It made me want to throttle anyone beside me.”

“The beast ate, and each time it ate it grew. Naijwa was going to take it all the way to the border and unleash it on the Dageian soldiers. By then, I think, she’d grown mad, or else how was she planning to seize control of a beast that was clearly no longer hers? It killed her, of course. Almost an appropriate end. I have studied this story for most of my life and I have never felt remorse for that unbelievable bitch.

“Raggnar rog-Bannal arrived before the beast could leave town. He and his mages used all their skill to contain the beast. It couldn’t be killed. At least, they couldn’t figure out a way how—the limbs fused each time they were hacked off and its blood was poison that reeked like acid. It grew stronger with each mage it killed, too. But eventually, Raggnar sealed parts of it with powerful magic. This proved more manageable, and his mages left to hide each piece, knowing they will attempt to combine should they ever be brought back together. Accounts of all of these were destroyed, or hidden.

“This—this is what Yn Garr has been after. Over the years, Lord Bannal has been trying to thwart his every step, gathering the records before he could. It seems as if Yn Garr beat him to a part of the creature first. That box your brother retrieved from the temple in Gorent contained a piece of Sarohkitram. It was entrusted to Jaeth, a mage who was also chief of Agantuan village. Your ancestor.”

Kefier pressed his hands together and was silent for a while. The boat lost momentum and drifted in a circle, like a lily pad. “I don’t understand. That creature we saw—it didn’t look like just a piece.”

“When we returned to Enji, I tried to draw my own research before I presented anything to Bannal. I’ve come to the conclusion that parts of the beast functioned independently and grew stronger when they consumed anything. That explains the creature we saw. Its prominent feature is an eye, and indeed, it was the creature’s single eye that Jaeth was entrusted with. Somewhere along the line, someone fed it, and it grew limbs and got to be as big as what you saw.”

“Dai said that the men fed it with children.”

“It is not as strong as the whole beast or we would have never survived that encounter.”

“But it’s dead now, isn’t it? We saw the dragon kill it.” Kefier leaned back and picked up the oars again.

Sapphire licked her lips. “I don’t know. I’m worried about this attack. If Yn Garr had lost his one asset, he wouldn’t be here.” She turned to the shoreline. “We’re getting close. I don’t think they’ll see us land, but be ready when they do. Kefier, you understand now? Your brother is working for Yn Garr. Whatever they have planned involves releasing Naijwa’s beast back into the world. I love my sister, but if Moon was in his place, I would stick the dagger into her heart myself.”

Enosh saw him standing in the distance with one of Bannal’s mages. For a long moment, the fact wouldn’t register in his brain. Kefier was standing there. Kefier, his brother, whom he had last seen huddled in the dark under a meat vendor’s stand. He had named himself Doras, but his brother was intelligent enough to recognize him as Ylir, despite his disguise. That had given him a moment of pride. His enchantments weren’t easy to break, especially when he was trying as hard as he’d been that day.

Being Enosh was a different story altogether. That he had thrown away the moment Yn Garr took him from the island. Or so he thought he did. When Kefier stepped out of the brush behind his men and into the sunlight, his arms fell limp, a thousand feelings rushing into him at once. He wanted to embrace his brother. He wanted to shake him. He wanted to sit with him in a corner away from all of this and ask what he’d done the past years they’ve been apart. Tell me about this girl, he wanted to say. Does she love you back? Is there anything we can do? If we dress you up a little, and she found out you are brother to an apprentice of one of the richest men in the Kag, maybe...

Kefier came up to him. “We come with a message from Bannal.” He looked straight at him, something few men did.

“I didn’t realize you worked for Bannal now.” Enosh glanced at the woman in blue robes and gave her a cursory nod. She stared at him as if he had an extra head. “He really is an interesting character, isn’t he? So what does he want? The last time we spoke, he attempted to strike at me with a sword. I trust he’s learned his lesson since.”

“He gave me no such order.” Enosh saw him hesitate, eyes dancing. They were the colour of the sea. A good omen, their father had said when they all realized that the colour was there to stay. “However, I was to speak with you alone, away from your men. The message is meant for your ears only.”

A moment of silence followed the audacity of his words. Even Enosh found himself smiling, wondering what Bannal had done to dupe Kefier into thinking this was a reasonable request. He was about to point this out when Gaven strode into the clearing and started clapping in applause.

“Well done, Kefier, well done,” Gaven said, his face twisted into a sneer. “You’ve finally moved up in life. And here I thought you’ve gone and done us all a favour by getting yourself eaten by the wildlife. Now you’re Bannal’s errand boy? Wonderful. Just stand back, Sir Ylir, we don’t want blood on your beautiful leather boots, now.” His hand was on his sword.

Enosh held out his hand. “Stand down. Nobody asked you to get involved.” He had pulled his brother out of this mad man’s grasp back in the Kag. The last thing he needed was to see all that work unravelled. When Gaven didn’t step back, he stood and physically blocked the space between them. “I’ll speak with him.”

“It’s going to be a trap,” Gaven snarled. “That man can’t be trusted. You realize he killed a man who saved his life, who took him in when no one else would?”

“Those are old rumours that need to stay inside the faction where they belong. Don’t drag that mess into my business.”

“I’m now responsible for this operation just as much as you are. The last time I checked, you have no authority over me.”

“Nor you to me,” Enosh said, his voice dropping. “Stand down, Gaven. Have you not heard stories of the men who have crossed me before? Don’t make the same mistake they have.”

Gaven licked his lips, and he could see him wrestling with the idea of cutting him down to get to Kefier. But the moment passed. He stepped back and nodded. Enosh gestured to Kefier.

“When you’re done, he’s mine,” Gaven called to their backs.

They strode up a path through the forest. Enosh felt oddly composed now, despite the nagging irritation at what Gaven had made him do. Kefier was being very quiet. They started up a hill overlooking the rest of the camp and here he stopped to gaze back at him. “I didn’t realize Bannal employed outsiders. From what I understand, he prefers to be closeted with his mages.”

“Enosh,” Kefier said, looking up.

The sound of that old name from his brother’s lips felt like a dagger to his heart. He tried not to show it. “So,” he replied softly. “You know, now.” He dropped the glamour and saw Kefier’s eyes flicker, looking at him now as himself, as he had always been. “How long have you known?”

Perhaps Kefier had expected him to react differently. He read disappointment in his eyes, and then suspicion, and then anger. “Long enough,” Kefier said at last. He was fishing for words. “So you’ve known even longer. Well, of course you would have. You would have known me the moment you saw me. I didn’t have the luxury of doing whatever that is you just did. Dageian magery, is it?”

“Close enough.”

“Stuff Gorrhen taught you? Oh, I’m sorry. It’s actually Yn Garr.” Kefier’s face tightened. “I never cared that you ran around with him for whatever reason. But you’ve been alive all these years and you never sent word. I thought you were dead.”

“It was better that way.”

“Better how? Everyone blamed me for your death. A murderer can never be chief, let alone a bastard, even if he was the only one of the lineage left. Nor could he stay in the village. They made Hilkiah chief and the first thing he did was get rid of me.”

“So you left.”

“They sold me to a passing Dageian ship. I was a mage-thrall until Oji got me out and then I was a mercenary until—” He trailed off, his hands quivering. “You were alive, and you didn’t send word,” he finally mumbled. “You wanted to leave so bad? You could have taken me with you.”

Enosh took a deep breath. “I was...indisposed.”

“I’m sure.”

“Ke-if, I was nearly dead. The fall left me a vegetable for years.”

A pallor crossed Kefier’s face. “You could have still let me know, when you found me,” he said after a moment. “Unless you were ashamed of what I’d been, of what I am, compared to what you are now.”

Enosh didn’t answer, and Kefier realized he had hit the nail on the head. Enosh, smart, intelligent Enosh, the apple of their father’s eye, was ashamed of him. Was it even a surprise? Bad enough that he wasn’t as smart, that he struggled with the things that came as easily as breathing to his more talented older brother. He then had to get himself mixed with lowlifes—with murderers and thieves. And now? Lisa was just trying to make himself feel better when she told him those words. You’re not like them. He was. The whole world knew he was. Nothing he did could ever remove that taint.

Kefier took a deep breath and shrugged. “I have this to give you, and then you need to give me your word that Sapphire and I can return to the island unharmed.” He reached into his pack and pulled out a small scroll, bound with golden thread.

“Likely he’ll want a response, yes? My ink pots and parchment are in my pavilion. Come.” Enosh took the scroll, but didn’t open it. They made their way up the hill. His tent was set up where the ground stood flat. White smoke billowed through the chimney pipe. In the distance, the silhouette of the island seemed like a painting.

He pulled the canvas aside. “Come on in.” Kefier glanced at him for an instant before ducking into the entrance.

It wasn’t that dark inside the pavilion, but it took Kefier’s eyes a moment to adjust, anyway. It was larger than it looked on the outside. Fur rugs were piled in one corner, serving as the bed, and a short desk stood on the other side. There was also a stove with a steaming teapot on top of it.

A figure stirred from the far side of the tent. A woman, he realized with a start. He suddenly felt embarrassed. “Oh, you should have warned me we would have a visitor,” the woman said, turning. In that light, her face half-hidden by shadows, Kefier thought he saw a ghost and stifled a gasp.

She turned to exchange a few, soft words with Enosh before she turned to him. “Ke-if,” she murmured. She came up to him. He couldn’t stand that and bowed. “Oh, Kefier,” she said again, allowing him to bury his head in her lap, her fingers weaving through his hair. Enosh watched motionless from the corner.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, haltingly, in Jinan. “I meant to tell you about Oji but I was afraid. I wanted to go to Akki. I made it all the way to Fuyyu. But I couldn’t find the courage to face you.”

“Then you met me, anyway.” She smiled from the corner of her lips. “And now fate has brought you here once more.”

“Fate,” he repeated. He remembered holding Oji in his arms as he died. His hands shook. He pulled away to look at her face and saw a question in her eyes, one he was afraid she would voice out and he would have to answer.

But Enosh cleared his throat, and the moment passed. “We’ve got business to take care of. You can catch up later.” Sume got up. As she walked past Enosh, her fingers trailed along his shoulder, and he patted her hand in response. So. Kefier had thought she was involved with that young man from Fuyyu, but clearly she had made her way to the Boarshind and caught Sir Ylir’s attention. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. His friend’s sister and his brother. He wasn’t even sure what to make of anything anymore since he’d learned what he learned the evening before. The few hours’ of sleep he’d managed to catch before they headed to camp that morning seemed only to add to this dreamlike haze to everything.

“Let’s see what Bannal has to say,” Enosh said, pulling the knot off the scroll. He unrolled the parchment and silently read the contents.

Sume appeared beside Kefier, a cup of tea in her hand. She placed it beside him. “You’ll stay the night,” she said, not really making a question of it. “Some of the men went out hunting, and if we’re lucky, there’ll be wild boar for dinner. Surely you can’t be expected to return so soon?”

“These shores are cursed,” he said. “If the boar they find have been drinking from the water, it is said that parts of us will shrivel up. Or grow where they shouldn’t. “

“Everything is cursed in one form or another,” Enosh said, snorting. He didn’t even glance up. “The mages of Enji have kept invaders at bay for centuries by inventing these stories. I walked barefoot around the lake when we first arrived. You don’t see eyes growing out of my legs.”

“Well,” Kefier said. “Not yet.”

Enosh frowned, tugging at his sleeves. He opened a jar of ink and started to pen a response.

Kefier slumped back against the tent wall and watched Enosh’s fingers fly over the parchment. The years behind them faded. He had the sudden impression of being back in a hut in Gorent, waiting while his brother busied himself with the inks and books that meant the world to him. Exhaustion gripped him. His head dropped to the side, and he caved in to the darkness around him.

It felt like an instant later when he woke up to a blast. His senses swirled. The only thing he was aware of was the taste of dirt in his mouth and the strong, steely scent of the blood on his face.

Chapter Seven

In the darkness and confusion, Kefier heard Enosh screaming Sume’s name and forced himself to get up. The movement was too fast. He crumpled to the side, his head reeling, and felt himself gag. The blood, he realized with a start, wasn’t his.

Somebody grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him to his feet. “Bannal sent you to kill me,” Enosh said, and only he, in all the world that Kefier knew, could add so much venom to his voice without raising it. There was blood on him, too; lacerations marked the side of his neck and his left ear was in shreds. “Help me find Sume, or I swear to Ab you will die here today, no matter who you were.”

“I don’t know what happened,” he said helplessly.

“I know you don’t, else you wouldn’t have stayed. But he used you. The scroll was soaked in fire-spells.” His face tightened. “Sume left right before it happened. I don’t know if she was caught in the explosion.”

“I’d never intentionally hurt you. Or her.”

“No. I don’t think you ever intentionally did anything in your life. When Bannal sent you to me, what did he say exactly?”

“Only what I’ve told you.”

“And you didn’t think beyond that. You never think. If you had ever used one lick of your brain, way back, we wouldn’t be here. We’d be—Agartes be damned.” He trailed off, glancing in the distance. There were boats on the lake. The men in the camp below seemed oblivious. “No,” he murmured. “No. That spell wasn’t to kill me. That spell was to mask their arrival—no! All my work, undone in an instant! Open your eyes, you idiots!” And he pushed Kefier out of the way, heading for the shore.

Kefier found his feet. His first instinct was to chase after Enosh. But a hand on his shoulder stopped him from lurching forward. “Kill him.” Sapphire’s voice was clear as daylight.

He turned to her. “Did you know about this? “

She shrugged. “I warned you. This isn’t as simple as Bannal wanting a truce. You should have figured it out yourself.” She tugged at her sleeve, producing a dagger. “You can get close to him yourself before Bannal gets here.”

The sight of the blade made him feel ill. “I won’t do that.”

“Don’t you understand? Bannal’s mages will kill you unless you can prove you’re on their side. He used you to get this far, but now he has no more use for you.” He caught a flicker of emotion in her eyes.

“Tell me what this is really about.”

She turned away. “It’s about you deciding whether you want to live or die. Maybe you don’t care.”

“You didn’t before. Why all the concern now?” He stepped away and saw her visibly flinch. “He’s still my brother.” He heard something shift behind him and turned to see Sume limping towards the clearing. Blood from her arm dripped to the ground.

Her expression was composed, but her skin was white as a sheet. “Where’s Ylir?”

“He went down to the shore. He’s fine.” He placed a hand on her elbow. “You need to sit down.”

“I can deal with this,” she said, but a moment later she knelt beside him. “What happened?”

“The man who sent me had laid a spell-trap. His mages are on their way here now.” He looked at the distance again, then at Sapphire, and swallowed. “You need to get out of here before they arrive.”

“They might already be here,” Sapphire broke in. There was a hint of amusement in her tone. “You and your strays.”

Sume looked up at him. “Did you come here to kill Ylir? Are we enemies, Kefier?”

Saying that name—the name her own brother had given him—sent a chill down his spine. He didn’t know what to tell her. He didn’t really know what he was doing here, come to think of it. Ever since Oji’s death, his life had spiralled out of control. “We’re not enemies,” he said. “I didn’t know that this would happen.”

She nodded, and he had the sudden impression that even if he had stated his reasons, she wouldn’t have cared about hearing them. “Help me go to him, then,” she said. “My legs are wobbly.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She gave him a look. Ab in heaven, she was Oji’s sister. “If you’re not my enemy, you will help me. Kefier, I need to be with him.”

“He can take care of himself,” he said, with some doubt, but he allowed her to lean on him as she got up. Sapphire started to say something, and he shot her a look to silence her.

They slowly made their way to the beach. Bodies were strewn across the sand—mostly Boarshind men, the ones caught by surprise when the mages arrived unseen. The fighting had now begun in earnest. Kefier felt Sume tighten her grip around his wrist. He scanned the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of Enosh’s black cloak.

She saw him first and called his name. “Enosh!” was what she said, a sound lost amidst the clatter of steel and the cries of dying men. He was so near that he must have heard, but he didn’t turn. He slammed through a mage’s barrier and slid his sword through the space between the man’s ribs, but even when he finally lay dead on the ground, he paid no attention to Sume or Kefier. His face, usually emotionless, was now contorted in rage. He lifted his blood-drenched sword and continued past them, his eyes searching.

An injured mage, left for dead, reached out with his staff to cast a spell from behind. Kefier saw him before Enosh did. He ran out, kicking the man’s staff away. Enosh reacted almost immediately; the karis impaled him deep into the sand. As his blood pooled around their feet, they saw a boat drifting towards them. The mage at its helm pulled his cloak back and lifted his hands.

“Kill him, Kefier!” Bannal’s voice sounded like thunder amidst the chaos. The boat drew closer. Kefier saw a tiny figure huddled on the prow, next to Bannal, and his heart dropped. There were no other children in the island. Bannal must have seen his face, because he smiled, the blues in his eyes all the more clear in the waning light. “Kill him, or they die.”

The whole world is mocking me, Kefier thought, just as he heard Sapphire behind him. “No,” she murmured. “No. They were supposed to escape.”

“You planned this behind my back, Sapphire?”

“He would have never kept his word to you, and I didn’t know if his plan was going to work, if he was going to succeed in ridding the shores of these vermin. I told them to flee but Bannal must have caught up with them. Or’anesh!” She pushed Kefier aside, sending a bolt of light hurtling towards Enosh.

It caught him unaware, smashing into his leg. He fell backwards. Sapphire was suddenly on him, her dagger flashing close to his neck. Enosh knocked the hilt of his karis into her belly and then up to her wrists. The dagger slid out of her grasp, flying across the sand.

The boat hit land. Bannal stepped onto the shore, one arm around Dai’s neck.

The next rush of movement was so entirely unexpected that it caught Bannal off guard. Sume had somehow managed to retrieve Sapphire’s dagger and hurled her small frame at Bannal. He dropped Dai. In that instant, Kefier joined her, his own sword finally free from its scabbard.

It was him and Bannal now; the mage momentarily lost all composure as he fell to the ground with Kefier on top. “He still has Xyl!” he heard Dai call out. He didn’t have time to react to that. Bannal gave a loud cry and a thin, yellowish wall appeared between them. Kefier flew back and landed on his back.

Another barrier appeared. Kefier saw it before he saw the flash of Bannal’s sword over him. A crack flickered along the barrier before it broke over Moon’s head. Bannal’s sword went through that, digging into her collarbone. Her blood sprayed over him. He caught her before she hit the ground and didn’t notice, and didn’t care, when the ground started shaking and Enji Island disappeared behind a black fog in the distance.

When Sume saw Dai, she’d reacted before she had time to fully grasp the realization that he was standing there and that they were in some forgotten corner of Gaspar, away from all they knew. Kefier saved her from having to finish the parts she didn’t think through. Moments later, she stood away from them, one hand on the boy. The other was still holding on to the unused dagger.

She dropped it when she realized it was still in her grasp. She turned to the boy who’d cried out towards Kefier, knowing him. Dai. It was Dai, but a bit taller, his voice a little deeper. She realized, with a start, that it had been nearly a year since she last saw him.

“Dai,” she murmured, pulling him close to her. He looked up, recognizing her for the first time.

“Sister.” His hands were clammy, and he suddenly looked like he wanted to cry.

Their reunion was short-lived. Kefier was on the ground, and a girl—a mage, from the cut of her clothing—ran out to him. The sword struck her. Sume turned away, but the scent of the blood rushed into her nostrils. She held her breath to stop herself from vomiting. Her senses swirled and when she felt the ground shake, she swore, thinking it was just her, and that she needed to get hold of herself.

A scream, like a dying woman’s, pierced the sky. Five feet from her, Enosh glanced up, and she read fear in his eyes. A dark shadow appeared over the horizon. Her head still swimming, she turned to Dai. He was bent over with his hands over his ears. She tried to get him to look at her, but his eyes were ground shut and he was uttering an old prayer Hana had taught them, calling on spirits who couldn’t possibly exist in this land.

She saw it, then. Wished in that instance that she didn’t; that she hadn’t been so stubborn fighting her choices in life, so that it might have ended without her ever having stepped off the shores of the town she loved. The beast was hideous—a dark mass with wings like a dragon’s and a single, bloody eye rolling around where its head would have been.

The mage, the man who was going to kill Dai—Kastor, she thought in her head with a start. It was Kastor, the man she’d met in Fuyyu well over a year ago. He seemed to have forgotten Kefier. He was watching the beast circle over the sky where the island was, before the fog had come in. It screamed again before it landed. The mage swore and began calling for his men to return to their boats, that they’d been fooled, that the attack was coming from elsewhere.

The woman mage, the one Kefier had named Sapphire, laughed. She was cradling the dead girl in her arms. “You really think you can stop that? You’re as blind as you are a fool, my Lord Bannal.”

“Be silent!” Bannal roared.

“If it’s broken through the island’s spells, then yours would be useless.”

Bannal uttered another oath before starting for the boat. Enosh blocked him. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

Sweat broke over Bannal’s face. “You—you and your master both. You don’t know what you’re playing with. That creature should not be back in this world. You really think you can control it?”

“I can control it,” Enosh said. “The blood of Jaeth runs through my veins. It fears me.”

“Jaeth carried a little piece. An eye. It is more than that, now. I saw what your master did. He used you to break into that temple and remove what Jaeth so very carefully locked away. Then he took you, too. Because you’re Jaeth’s descendant? Because you are so entrenched in the agan I can smell it on your very skin? But you didn’t even know it would be here, or you wouldn’t have risked being so far away from it.”

“You’re defeated, old man. So now you ramble.”

“Defeated?” he gasped. “All you’ve done is seal your own doom! If you can control the creature like you said, why aren’t you there now? Unless—tell me, Enosh, what happened in those years between when it could fit in a box and now? You’ve fed it, else it wouldn’t have grown. Where did you get enough people to satisfy its hunger? And a dragon, too...”

“It’s true,” Sume heard Dai murmur. He still hadn’t lifted his head. “I ran off a few weeks after you left. Because Mother was marrying Tetsung.”

“What?” She almost choked on her spit.

“I wanted to find you. But those men caught me. There were other children. Orphans, beggars, the kind whose parents don’t go out looking for them. They put us in covered wagons and took us here. To feed that thing.”

She placed her hands over his head and looked up. There were boats on the lake now—some of the mages had moved to obey their lord’s orders—but Bannal himself was kneeling, his hands being bound by Enosh’s mercenaries. “Don’t worry, my lord,” Enosh was saying. “I won’t kill you yet. Yn Garr would want to see you, first. Talk about old times.”

“That man,” Bannal murmured. “What is he planning, that you would willingly do these things for him? You’re not like these men. Coin alone wouldn’t sway you.”

Enosh smiled. “You think too highly of me.”

“Go,” Sapphire said. Sume looked up, realizing that Enosh was dragging Bannal to one of the boats and that they were at the edge of the red-stained sand, otherwise forgotten.

Kefier was beside her at once. “She’s right. That thing might leave the lake, soon. Dai...” and she stared, wide-eyed, as he pulled the boy to his feet, still unaware who he was. “We need to go. I know this is hard for you.” He spoke in Jinan, now, the Akkian accent thick on his voice.

Dai nodded. “Ylir,” she said, pressing her hand around Kefier’s wrist. “I need to make sure he’s safe.”

“He either is or he isn’t. Your presence there wouldn’t matter. It might even make things worse for him.” She hesitated, and he shook his head. “I’ll take you as far as the next village. If things settle down by then I’ll come back and tell him where to find you.” He turned to the mage-girl. “Sapphire, I—”

He stopped unsure of what to say. She was still sitting on the sand, the dead girl on her lap, as she stared out at the water. “You go ahead,” she said, at length. “They’re coming for me, anyway.”

“I don’t know what they’ll do to you.”

“They’ll let you leave. Not me. I don’t...I don’t want to leave her, anyway.” She glanced down, her fingers tracing over the girl’s eyelids.

“I’m sorry,” Kefier said, reaching out to touch her on the shoulder. She cringed for a moment, and then nodded, patting his hand once. They left her like that. The Boarshind men came before they were gone.

They went up the same path they had taken when Kefier had first come through these woods with Sapphire and Moon. Moon’s death still felt like a dream to him. That she had died to protect him made it even harder to accept. Why would she do that? Nobody did that. His own brother was standing nearby, and he didn’t even try to help him.

He swallowed. It helped to stop the tears from falling, because he didn’t think he could handle crying just now. It also helped to stop him from thinking too much. There was still Xyl to worry about, and he didn’t really know how he was going to save her. For all he knew, she was dead, too. He glanced at Dai and saw him waiting for Sume to catch her breath before reaching out to guide her up a steep section on the trail.

He cursed his thoughtlessness and went back for them. Dai looked like he didn’t want him helping Sume, and Kefier had to wonder about that, too. She had attacked Bannal—had actually thrown herself at him. “You know each other,” he said in Jinan, breaking an hour’s worth of silence.

Sume looked at him strangely for a moment before nodding.

They didn’t have the chance to talk any further. Gaven appeared around the bend, his naked sword dragging along the rocks. He smiled when he saw them. “I was hoping you didn’t get far,” he said.

Kefier stood. “Can’t you let this go, Gaven? There’s more going on here now than your petty grievances. Didn’t you see what just happened?”

“What? Oh, that. Right.” Gaven gave a slow smile. “You didn’t think Ylir was responsible for that?” Kefier just looked at him, and he laughed. “That buffoon. Yn Garr’s been sick of him for years. He needed someone he could trust, someone more capable, so he made me, he made me, he made me...” He walked several steps forward, then twisted around on one foot. “You didn’t see, but it was glorious. We were chosen, the few of us who did it. We dug a tunnel from the Kag to Gaspar. He almost lost faith in me when it got out—but that wasn’t me, that was Ylir, he was supposed to be watching it and instead he was off with her.” He glanced at Sume.

Kefier’s hand slowly went to his sword. “Go back to your men, Gaven.”

“Why? They don’t need me right now. I did my orders. We dug the tunnel, even without Ylir’s help. It ate a dragon, and we kept digging so now it’s eating mages. That’s what I came here to talk to you about.” A tic appeared under his eye. Kefier realized, as he came closer, that his pupils were very dark. “You were going to be one of us, weren’t you?”

“You’ve lost it.”

“No. Thiar told me, before you killed him. He told me about Yn Garr’s project, about the men he needed to move the beast through the tunnels. Not everyone can withstand its taint, let alone the beast itself, but he told me you passed the first test. You took Oji with you on the second test.” He smiled and rushed him with a speed that caught Kefier unaware. His sword was knocked out of his grasp and lay several feet away.

Gaven pointed his blade at him and smiled. Kefier swallowed. “That wasn’t a test. That was the blasted job they made us do or else we wouldn’t get the rest of our pay.”

“No. That was the part Oji was there for. But there was a second part, one only you were supposed to do. But you took Oji with you and now my friend is dead.”

“He wanted to follow me. I told him to wait.” He glanced at Sume. “It was an accident.”

“Him following you? Or his death?”

“Both.”

“The first, I can believe. But the second? Oh, come on, Kefier. We all know that Oji was leaving and that he wanted to take you with him to Jin-Sayeng, so what were you doing taking a completely new job right before? Did Oji even know?” He looked away, and Gaven laughed again. “That beast plays with your mind if you’re not strong enough, and it’ll kill you if it can, but not the way you said Oji died. So why did he die? What killed him? You said he was bleeding when you left the cave, so what killed him, Kefier?”

Kefier closed his eyes. He heard them waiting for his answer with bated breaths. He remembered darkness and the stench. Not a day had gone by when he hadn’t remembered the darkness and the stench, or Oji screaming, “We have to go home now, Kefier! Forget the blasted money!”, or what he thought, looking back at him, unaware of what was going on. Oji never let him do anything by himself, for himself—that was a fact. And to hear him then, panicking for no reason, what, are you suddenly afraid of the dark, Oji?, before he could finish this job that was his alone…

He heard the voice in his head, as clear as that day. What killed him? You did, son of Jaeth.

No—he thought, faltering. He remembered looking back at the darkness and thinking that all he needed was just another step, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, dragging him back. No, he thought again, shaking his head. I didn’t think it was him. Oji knew. He would have never grabbed me like that. It was dark and I had my sword out. I— He looked at Gaven’s distorted face. I didn’t want to, he thought, desperately.

The reply came. You just keep telling yourself that.

A shadow fell across them. Gaven lifted his sword. As Kefier braced himself for his attack, he heard the voice again. This one tried to kill me once. Kill him! A moment later, he saw Dai running towards him with the sword he’d dropped.

He cried a warning, but it was too late. Gaven’s blade slid into the boy’s belly as easily as a knife going through butter. Gaven snapped back, spat, and kicked his body to the side.

“That was Oji’s son!” Sume screamed, throwing herself over the boy’s prostrate body.

Kefier felt something inside him break. He grabbed Gaven’s arm to pull him away. The man turned easily, like a ragdoll, and he saw the black streaks of veins over his face and his bloodshot eyes. Stay away from me, son of Jaeth! the voice hissed inside his ears. Gaven’s face contorted before his body crumpled forward, like a falling leaf.

Stay away!

Blood began to pour from Gaven’s mouth. In the distance, Kefier heard the creature’s scream. He scrambled towards Sume and grabbed Dai. The boy was not moving. Black liquid was spreading from his wound and over his shirt. Kefier thought it was blood, but then he smelled a rank, ripe scent, like a carcass on a warm day, and he felt himself grow numb.

“He’s still alive,” Sume murmured behind him. “Get us out of here.” The sound of her voice steadied his nerves, and he nodded, shifting Dai to his shoulder and reaching for her hand.

A second scream sounded. Gaven seized his ankle, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. The veins had spread through the rest of his body and his skin had turned ashen. “You killed Oji,” Gaven whispered. His own voice, now. But remnants of the creature’s still echoed in the back of Kefier’s head. He stared at Gaven for a moment, his arm around Oji’s bleeding son, before he lifted his sword and skewered the man’s neck to the ground.

Interlude

Hana hates the rooster’s crowing because it wakes her infant son from his early morning nap. She has tried, unsuccessfully, to get her father-in-law to get rid of the cursed creature. Her husband, undeniably smug at times, tells her that the child needs to wake up anyway, that the crying is good for his lungs.

She does not tell him the true reason. He is a good man, and would listen—would even understand, because hasn’t he mourned with her all these months? But she thinks that this is her burden to bear. She had done this herself, to her family, so she alone must wake to the rooster’s crowing, leave her son with the maid, and take the long trek to the road, to wait for a letter that never comes.

Something is different, this morning.

She wakes up, as always. Feeds the baby, changes his diaper, looks out of the window while she rocks him back to sleep. She looks at the sky—at the deep purple that comes before the break of dawn—and feels something heavy inside her chest. “Oh, Dai,” she gasps, covering her mouth so that Tetsung won’t hear.

But he does. He opens his eyes and steps to her. Hana hands the infant to him, falls to her knees, and weeps. For how else is she to bear the anguish of not knowing if her child still walked the earth, or when she would ever, if ever, hold him in her arms again?

Chapter Eight

The fields and the forests of Enji Island, once famed for their shades of mint and emerald (mint and gold in the autumn), was now a slough of black mud and broken bodies. The tainted blood the beast spewed had withered the trees into skeletons, their leafless branches crackling against the dry wind. The towers that once graced the skyline—the only ones of their kind in those parts—now lay in rubble.

“Bannal loved your handiwork,” Enosh said, coming up from behind Yn Garr’s tall, unbent figure. “But I’m sure you saw how inconsolable he was.” He coughed. “You didn’t tell me you were sending it here.”

Yn Garr glanced at him. “You were…distracted.”

“You tell me to attack Enji, knowing full well what I think about the idea, and I do it anyway. I risk my life. Yet you decide to hide this from me.” He tightened his jaw. “I’ve confronted some of Gaven’s men. They told me they’ve been digging the tunnel beyond the original site for months, trying to get close to Enji.”

“You’ve killed them, I presume.”

“Hardly. I didn’t want to waste too much time—I’d rather hear this from your lips.” Enosh felt his sword and for a moment, seriously considered drawing it. He wouldn’t have known what to do after, though. “Talk to me, master. It can’t just be the girl. There’s been other girls before.”

“And each time I was not pleased. You should have been focused on gaining strength. Yet for a few nights’ pleasure, you risk your life and all we’ve worked for in Al-ir. You’ve made an enemy out of this Rajiat.”

“Did I? I was thinking we made a friend there, that time.” He touched the raw scar behind the patch on his eye, ignoring the dull ache, and grinned.

Yn Garr didn’t look amused. “I would hesitate to call Rajiat a friend in any conversation. You act as if I should be thankful for your failures.”

“I did not fail you, master. I have never failed you. Your decision to allow the Kag half-blood to work behind my back was—”

“Watch your tongue!” Yn Garr’s eyes flashed in the manner that used to follow the back of his hand. It hadn’t for many years, now, but Enosh still fought the urge to cringe. He watched the man step away, as if struggling with something himself, and run a gloved finger across the surface of what used to be a stone wall. Thick, dark ooze dripped from where he’d touched it, followed by the faint scent of burning leather. “It’s sated. Hiding by that grove. I need you to call out to it and take it back to the tunnel. Seal the entrance behind it, like we did in the Kag.”

“You need me to do this,” Enosh said. “Where’s your Gaven?”

“Don’t act like an idiot. If I had asked you to do what he did for me these past few months, there won’t be enough left of you to argue right now.” He made a dismissive gesture with his right hand. “When you used your enchantments on the man, you left enough of yourself to convince it he, too, was a son of Jaeth. It followed him—in the tunnels, above ground. I have to admit, I didn’t think it would work.”

Enosh held his breath. “It followed him above ground?”

“Like I said, I didn’t think it would work. I figured, if things go south, you could drive it back into the tunnels for me.”

“How thoughtful of you, master.”

“However, since he isn’t related to Jaeth, or any of the mages who helped capture the beast when it was still whole, the taint ran into him easily enough. You saw him lately, haven’t you? I won’t be surprised if that was the last time—the beast was using him as a mouthpiece.” Evidently, he found this amusing, because he smiled. “It is—interesting—to see how it played out, without risking you. Don’t think I’m not aware of how difficult it is for you. Even you.”

Enosh swallowed and looked away. “I’ll thank him later,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “What do you do, while I take it back? You said you weren’t done with Bannal.”

“I intend to use his help—willing, or otherwise—to translate the rest of the witch’s diaries.”

Enosh glanced at the rubble. “You think you can still find them under that?”

“Bannal’s ancestors knew proper spellwork, even if he didn’t. They’ll be protected.”

“You’re hoping they are.” He laughed. “I’ll humour you. What happens after?”

Yn Garr narrowed his eyes. “You know what happens after.”

“You find the rest of its parts, or what remains of them. We continue to feed it. We somehow—if it hasn’t killed us by then—take it to the border at Dageis. By which you still haven’t told me how you intend to tunnel through a quarter of the damn continent.”

“I’m not. I’ve been trying to think of a way to do that and Gaven’s given me the answer to it.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to throw enchantments on every clueless sop we encounter. I think I’d rather spend more time with it.” He felt a twinge, saying that. If he had time to analyze it further, he would have concluded it was fear.

“If it comes to that. But if we find more sons of Jaeth…”

“I am the only one left,” he said quickly.

Yn Garr squinted at him, but he didn’t argue. “There are others. The kusyan had a granddaughter I can return to. Farg, from the Shi-uin islands, must have descendants. Not all will cooperate. Not all will be as strong in the agan that you are and so they cannot keep themselves alive for very long. It doesn’t matter. This, we can work with.”

“And so we get it to the border. What then? You really think it’s powerful enough to break through Dageian spellcraft?”

The old man spread his hands. “Look around you. This was Dageian spellcraft, too.”

“Old Dageian spellcraft. You said it yourself. There must have been less than fifty mages here, and most were on the lake when you released it. Which was brilliant, by the way, but there would be thousands of mages on the plateau alone and I don’t think you can tell them to pretty please step aside while your pet has his way with their buildings?”

“Inconsequential. The most powerful Dageian mage at the time of the creature’s birth could not even kill it.”

“No, master. They can, however, kill us.” He swallowed. “Perhaps it doesn’t have to be this complicated.”

“Are you now afraid? After all these years, and all you have done?”

Enosh smiled. “Fear is not the word, master. I am more—curious—if perhaps you haven’t thought of another way. One that isn’t so…treacherous.” He looked at the grove where Yn Garr had indicated the creature now rested, smelled the rotting, corpse-scent of it, and felt his skin crawl. No, he thought. Not fear, but something even worse. He never really expected it to go this far.

He realized that Yn Garr had walked away without answering his question. He frowned and followed him. The man remained silent for a while, surveying the damage. He finally stopped to bend over and pick up a dusty, but intact, book. It was a Kag prayer-book: one of the mages must have been, at the very least, interested in the Kag religions.

“Enosh,” the man said, distractedly, “did you know that a long time ago, the priests of Yohak spoke of the life-wheel? After death, they say, a soul lingers in the spirit world only long enough to turn a wheel that decides their new body. They immediately pass on, all past life forgotten. What did you believe in, in Gorent?”

“In Gorent, we have a sun god. And deities. And whatever was left, when the Dageians were done with us.” He pressed his lips together. “All horseshit, of course, if you don’t mind me saying. But my people don’t know better. They don’t have the texts, have no way of knowing the centuries’ worth of studies by mages and scholars, which was the reason they dismissed the life-wheel belief in the first place. Now we know it is not as simple as that. Now we know that when there is death, a river of agan opens a door to the spirit world. There, the soul lingers for a certain time—waiting, perhaps, for a loved one, or loved ones, to join them first before they are reborn again.”

“How many doors do you think opened on this day? How long did they stay open while you slew those mages on the sands?” Yn Garr thoughtfully rubbed the book with his thumb, leaving behind a streak of soot. “Yet some things remain difficult to unlearn, once learned. We have no way of knowing if this theory is true. Why would a soul linger, if it is the brain—the dead body—that recalls? You are right. Maybe there is a simple answer to all of this. But I cannot risk it. What if we are wrong? Then it would be too late.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, master.”

The old man looked at him, and he recognized now that shadow of pain crossing his features. It happened every so often, when he looked at him, though less these days than it used to. “Go,” Yn Garr said, breaking the silence. “Retrieve Jaeth’s eye. The road still stretches before us. Bartleby!” And he whistled for the big, grey dog, who came bounding over the fence and into his arms.

Enosh walked away, so he wouldn’t have to listen to the sound of an old man crying.

Dai would not wake up.

Gaven’s sword had torn the flesh below his ribcage, narrowly missing his internal organs. The healer in the fishing village at Lake Maranga had stitched him up and given him enough sleeping draught to knock out a horse, and then he bade them to stay with the boy all night, declaring he ought to be alright by dawn.

But he wasn’t. His eyes remained shut, and the flesh around the wound had turned black and rancid. Kefier returned to the forest to find Gaven’s sword, but when he showed it to the healer, the man couldn’t find any trace of poison. The healer turned to Dai, noted the boy’s heavy breathing, and said, “There are better healers than me in Aret-ni.”

There were no wagons heading out of the village that day. Sume wrote a letter and gave it to a boy to deliver to Enosh, and then she watched Kefier shoulder Dai on his back without a word. Together, they took the high road, and on the fork between Kalthekar and Aret-ni, finally found a wagon that would take them. The driver glanced at her face before telling her that Aret-ni remained their only way back to Jin-Sayeng. The border gates were barred and Jin-Sayeng guards were shooting arrows at anyone who came close. No one knew if it meant real war, or if it was just a squabble between the local lords, but it didn’t matter—it was just another added burden to their lives.

Sume didn’t care. The Aina’s Breath was still docked in Aret-ni, and she was sure Enosh, once he caught up with them, would order the captain to lift anchor and take them home.

Inside the wagon, she glanced at her nephew, and was suddenly reminded that Enosh, at one point in time, had wanted him dead. It struck her that falling in love with a man like that probably wasn’t the wisest thing in the world. But then, she didn’t think she would ever be back to the world anyway—didn’t think she would ever feel freedom, or anything close to it, ever again.

She turned to Kefier. There was a composure about him, ever since he killed that man in the forest, that she found unsettling. He had just learned that Dai was Oji’s son. She had just learned that Kefier was responsible for Oji’s death. The spirits have been mischievous with our lives, she thought, and it all pounded in her head as relentlessly as the waves beneath the lighthouse in Akki. Thinking about it made her even more nauseous than she already was.

Oh, Sakku, but all she wanted was to be back home. She wanted to curl up in a ball on a cold, bamboo floor while Hana stroked her hair and told them glorious stories of days long gone. Kefier must have noticed her disquiet, because he suddenly looked at her and said, under his breath, “He’ll be all right. If there isn’t a good healer in Aret-ni, there will be in Jin-Sayeng.” He paused, studying her. “Do we need one for you, too?”

She flushed. “No. I would like Ylir beside me right now, but...” She placed her hand on her belly for a moment before allowing it to drift back to Dai’s face. “I don’t know. He’s not exactly the sort you bring home to your parents, is he?”

Kefier didn’t laugh. In the short time she’d known him, she knew he usually did. She closed her eyes and came to a decision. “Tell me,” she said. “Everything about this. About what Ylir was doing, who he’s working for.”

He hesitated. “Where do I begin?” His voice was low, uncertain. She thought of Gaven’s words and accusations. And then, without trying, she remembered Oji’s, heard them in her head as clearly as if he was standing there next to her. I am so sorry that I had to leave, little one. But our lives are not ballads, timed perfectly to tune, a rhyme or a reason to each of our steps. Sometimes, the wind turns, and we go where we are taken. We make do. And there can be joy in that, too, believe it or not. There can be more than we can ever explain.

She pulled Dai closer and then, with her back turned to him, leaned on Kefier’s shoulder. “Start with my brother’s death,” she murmured.

So he did.

The story will continue in Legacy of the Lost Mage: Aina’s Breath…

Pick up the beginning of the critically acclaimed series, now out from

Praise For Author

“A powerful new voice in epic fantasy. Villoso deftly creates an intricate and compelling world of high fantasy intrigue and adventure dominated by a crafty, whip-smart heroine determined to unite her kingdom at any cost.”

- — Kameron Hurley, author of THE LIGHT BRIGADE on THE WOLF OF OREN-YARO

“Deeply compelling and wonderfully entertaining, THE WOLF OF OREN-YARO feels at once timely and timeless. K. S. Viloso’s lush and finely crafted world envelopes readers from the first page, as she takes us on an adventure full of heartache, hope, and triumph. It’s a fabulous read!”

- Josiah Bancroft, author of SENLIN ASCENDS on THE WOLF OF OREN-YARO

"Both intimate and epic, THE WOLF OF OREN-YARO compels you to read on, because it's a story about people not characters, civilizations not settings, and deadly power plays not sanitized throne-room politics. It drags the tropes of queens, kings, knights, and the soldiers of yore into the streets, throws them to their collective knees, and demands that they face their fates like the leaders and power brokers of all real revolutions. So, don’t come to this wanting to leave with your hands clean. Villoso is too honest to let you off so easily.”

- Evan Winter, author of RAGE OF DRAGONS on THE WOLF OF OREN-YARO

Books In This Series

Legacy of the Lost Mage (The Agartes Epilogues 5th Anniversary Edition)

Jaeth's Eye

Aina's Breath

Coming Soon!

Sapphire's Flight

Coming Soon!