Idriel's Children (Odriel's Heirs Book 2)

by Hayley Reese Chow

  Lanterns dotted the rocks, bathing the stone and water around them with their warm glow while all manner of voices echoed across the bay. Calls from one watercraft to another, laughter trickling out a window, and the indistinct barks of a heated conversation bobbed along the calm bay. The sun had already set, but the waterways were still crowded with short slender canoes as well as the keelboats that carried supplies and livestock.

  Shad directed them through the maze of pillars to a shadowy tavern tucked into the bottom of a squat island on the edge of the city. The battered sign swinging from the door read The Scorched Tooth in faded blue letters. While a lantern glowed from the window, none of the talk and laughter of Aquilond’s heart reached this far rock. Makeo pulled their small vessel up onto a creaking, uneven dock, and Witt hopped out to tie them fast.

  Aza stepped out after him and wrinkled her nose at the inn, hunched and rickety as a doddering old man. “Well, this looks… cozy.”

  “So quick to judge, Shadow.” Shad's left ear twitched. “You three stay here while I make the arrangements.”

  But when Shad padded up the steps to the old doorway, Aza followed.

  “I said stay with the boat,” he said over his shoulder, his fur puffing in annoyance. “The owner can be a bit… paranoid.”

  “All the more reason to bring insurance.”

  “They won’t let you in.”

  “Have a little faith, Shadmundar.” Aza smiled, gathering the shadows as she disappeared. “Besides, who’s going to open the door for you?”

  She reached out and twisted the tarnished brass handle before pushing open the squealing door.

  Shad fixed her with a pointed glare before slipping past the doorjamb. “Rivka?”

  Aza peeked in behind Shad to see a dusty, old tavern looking back. Circular tables and chairs cluttered the small room, while a low fire sputtered to one side. An empty bar crossed the back wall, and the staircase slumped up to a shadowy second floor. It was deserted. Aza wondered again how long it had been since Shad had last visited this place. Maybe the owners were long gone.

  “Rivka,” Shad called out again, louder.

  Stepping in the doorway, Aza gently pushed him forward with her boot. He glowered at her with twitching whiskers. She only had one foot in the tavern before the whistle of a weapon had her dodging for cover. A hatchet whooshed by her to clatter on the stone floor. Shad bolted away with a yowl.

  “Shadmundar, whoever’s with you best go ahead and show themselves,” said a husky feminine voice from above. A bald, muscular woman in a patchwork robe took a step down the staircase, another hatchet gripped in her meaty hand. “A magus? Or a Shadow Heir perhaps?”

  “Peace,” Aza said hurriedly. She released the shadows, and color flooded the world again as she blinked into view. “I meant no harm.”

  Shad sat on his haunches, his ears flattened into a peevish I-told-you-so.

  “No harm?” Rivka took another step down the stairs. “You’re Odriel’s Assassin. You’re full of harm, whether you mean it or not.”

  Aza opened her mouth to respond, but Shad cleared his throat. “Rivka, we’ve come on Everard’s business.”

  “Ah.” Rivka’s squinty eyes shifted from Shad to Aza. “Then why isn’t he with you?” Taking another slow step down, she raised the thin line of an eyebrow. “And why do you look like a battered stray? You used to be such a handsome cat.”

  Shad sighed. “Both an unfortunate sign of the times.”

  Rivka grunted and tapped her hatchet thoughtfully on the dull wooden banister, her shoulders relaxing. “Shame to misplace the last sane magus.”

  “Only temporarily I’m sure,” Shad said dismissively. “Regardless of his whereabouts, I assume his accounts are still good here?”

  “Of course.” Rivka straightened with indignation, taking the last few steps quickly. “You won’t find me crossing a magus here, there, or anywhere. Just be quick about your business and take your trouble with you.” Bustling off toward the bar, she beckoned to Aza with a hand jangling with bracelets. “Come in then, Shadow, no use letting the night in. And the Maldibor and the other can come in, as well.” She jerked a thumb toward the batwing doors that no doubt led to the kitchen. “Fausta’s already preparing dinner.”

  Aza closed the door with a soft click and let the tension ease out of her in a slow breath. “Sharp ears, then?”

  Rivka smiled, showing off a gleaming gold tooth. “Oh dear, we keep everything sharp here.”

  Aza’s lips curved. She could like this woman.

  Producing a bottle and a tall stein, Rivka poured herself a drink, and then lifted her chin at the nearest table. “C’mon then, cat. You know I hate small talk. What’s your business?”

  “I need to cash in a few favors.” Shad padded over and leapt onto one of the tables. “We need an Austerden bound clipper that will drop us in Tazgar.”

  “Easy enough.” Rivka took a swig from her mug. “Are you taking that Maldibor with you?”

  Shad nodded.

  “Well, that might make things more interesting.” Her gaze slid to Aza. “But I suppose with a Shadow Heir on your side, you can look after yourselves just fine. I’ll send Merryn to arrange it.”

  Shad nodded. “Much appreciated, as always.”

  Aza resisted the urge to fiddle with her knives. “Have you heard of any violence in the north of late? Gangs? Cutthroats?” She paused. “The Lost?”

  Rivka rested her solid forearms on the bar. “Your clothes smell like the smoke that’s been in the eastern breeze these last two days.” She set her mug down with a thunk. “But you’re the first to walk through with that brand of trouble.”

  The door creaked open, and Makeo paused at the threshold. “The girl, Merryn, sent us in.”

  Rivka nodded to him, her long fingernails clicking on her mug. Makeo ducked in through the doorway with Witt close on his tail, just as a tall, rangy woman walked in from the batwing doors on the other side.

  She carried a tray of four steaming bowls of stew, earthen mugs, and two large loaves of bread. Setting the tray down on Shad’s table, she retreated back to the kitchen.

  Rivka gestured to the food. “I’ll add dinner to Everard’s tab. Take any rooms you like upstairs when you’re ready.” She pointed a long white nail at Shadmundar. “But come find me before you retire, cat. I want your ears.” With that, she turned and followed the other woman out.

  Shad’s ragged ears twitched.

  “Finally.” Witt rushed the round table and fell upon a bowl. He’d scarcely put the fat spoon to his mouth, when his face contorted in pain. “Hot, hot, hot! Why did they serve it so hot?”

  Aza shook her head as she sat next to him, still feeling strange in the empty room. She passed one of the bowls to Shad. “What kind of tavern is this?”

  Shad bent to lap at the milky broth with his pink tongue. “A tavern with only a select clientele. Specifically those looking for privacy, or who have a lot of money to change hands.”

  Ah, well that would explain Rivka’s… edge.

  Makeo put a log on the fire before he pulled up a chair. “And which are you?”

  Shad didn’t look up. “Both. Everard has coin and enemies in every city. As his servant, so do I.”

  “I’ve never been in a tavern before.” Makeo tore off a hunk of bread and took in the room. “Is this not normal?”

  “The food’s good, the fire’s warm, and the beds are empty.” Witt shrugged his bony shoulders. “That’s all that really matters.”

  Aza drank from the bowl, letting the creamy stew coat her tongue. “That and catching the first clipper out tomorrow.” She sipped dark cider from her cup. “You think she’ll be able to make it happen?”

  Shad nodded. “If Rivka says it will be done, it will be done.”

  “Why did she ask if Makeo was coming?” Aza asked.

  Shad paused, his gaze meeting Makeo’s. Makeo shifted in his seat as he answered. “Probably because there are many who still believe t
he Maldibor to be child-snatchers.”

  Aza snorted. “Because you take in runaways?”

  Makeo shook his long muzzle. “They need no better reason than the teeth and claws.”

  “But the Maldibor were heroes in the last war,” Witt said through stuffed cheeks.

  Makeo’s ears flattened. “As I’m sure the elder Heirs can tell you, most people remember the last war differently than we do.”

  Aza’s lips twitched. The Heirs and the Maldibor had that in common. Since her mother had killed Valente Conrad’s father in the Battle of Gyatus, the man had dedicated his life to spreading lies about the Heirs. While some understood the Heirs were sworn to protect them, others feared their power. She scowled. Let the Lost take them. After all her family and the Maldibor had sacrificed to keep Okarria safe, the pissers deserved it.

  Witt swallowed his mouthful of food, unfazed by the heaviness that had settled over their table. “So, what’s your village like?”

  Makeo stared at his empty bowl as if hoping more food would magically spring from the ceramic. “Not so different from Catalede, just smaller.”

  Not meeting his gaze, Aza tossed Makeo half of her loaf of bread, and he nodded to her.

  “And just the Maldibor live there?” Witt asked.

  “No, our village acts as a sort of refuge for orphans and runaways.” Makeo swabbed his bread around his empty bowl. “Some eventually make their way in the world, but many stay and make their home in the village.”

  “Hmm…” Witt’s brow furrowed, and he looked at Aza. “But didn’t your mom say most of the Maldibor got killed in the battle with Idriel?”

  Aza glared at him, her fist tightening as she resisted the urge to hit him.

  Makeo’s ears flattened again. “Yes, there were many more orphans than usual,” he murmured. “After the battle, there were only a few cursed Maldibor men remaining. But even if all had died, our sisters still carry the curse to their children.”

  “Well, that’s interesting,” Witt went on, oblivious to Makeo’s visible discomfort. “That’d be incredible to have a Maldibor at Catalede. Might finally give Aza a challenge.” He winked at her, and Aza punched his arm.

  Makeo chuckled softly. “I’m not sure about that. Aza and I used to tussle when we were children, but I’m afraid I only bored her.”

  Aza frowned as the image of the Maldibor village wrapped its nostalgic arms around her. For a moment, she was skipping once again through the cabins in the forest of huge-trunked trees. The grassy town square, the fires, the music. And there was Makeo, laughing as he fended off her mock attacks with a sturdy stick.

  “Well, don’t feel so bad; it seems like no one can hold a Shadow’s interest for too long. That’s what makes their selective company so delightful,” Witt said with an obnoxious smile.

  Aza sniffed, pushing the bowl away. “I prefer my own company.”

  Shad’s tongue darted over his dark nose, his voice seeming soft next to Witt’s loudness. “But the students seem to like you a great deal.”

  Witt nodded, his eyes shining with mischievous snark. “She maintains a mysterious aura many are drawn to.”

  “Sheep scat.” Aza set her spoon down on the table with a clack. “It’s not me; it’s our title they flock to. I’m just a passing curiosity.” Greens asking for help, braggarts wanting to fight, Zephyr’s flirtatious friends. She pressed her lips together, and her eyes found Makeo’s once more, her voice softening. “But I always enjoyed visiting the Maldibor as a girl. I loved to dance on the dark moon nights.”

  The music, the laughter, the food, and the stories… the glow of her best memories quirked her mouth with a bittersweet curve.

  Witt feigned a look of hurt. “But you never dance at Catalede!”

  Ignoring Witt, Makeo leaned forward ever so slightly. “So, why did you stop coming?” His casual words belied the intensity of his gaze.

  Aza’s smile melted away. She missed that girl she had been. Back when the shadows were just a fun trick to make Makeo laugh. Now the shadows seemed to be all she was. Just darkness lined with good intentions.

  “I wasn’t a girl anymore.” She rose from her seat with a shrug, fleeing the dull ache of memories long gone and the echo of her mother’s voice reciting The Heir’s Way.

  And forever more, the Shadow Heir only danced with death.

  Chapter Eight

  To the Sea

  By the time they got to the oceanside docks the next morning, the water markets crowded the bay like a teeming anthill with people stepping from boat to boat to glance at the wares. The salty scent of fish coated the stiff breeze as the mariners haggled and hawked their goods in booming voices roughened by the sea. The city swayed with the waves below it as sharp-beaked storm eagles watched carefully with gold-ringed eyes from their perches on the towering stone pillars.

  Following Rivka’s instructions, Shad led them to an immense whaler with three thick masts and a spiderweb of ropes connecting them. Two small whaleboats hung from each side of its impressive length, and a few passengers strolled the deck with wide smiles.

  Its three-dozen crewmates lumbered to-and-fro, carrying the last crates, barrels, and sacks of cargo into the hold. Shad instructed Makeo, Aza, and Witt to wait with the supply packs Rivka had gathered for them and approached a man in a wide-brimmed hat reading over some kind of paper. Shad nodded to where Aza looked on with the others, and the man crossed his arms.

  Witt eyed the massive vessel. “So, how long does it take a thing like that to sail to Austerden?”

  Watching Shad closely, Aza’s fingers moved to fiddle with her knives before remembering she had buried them all in the Hunters. The shipman’s sunburnt nose wrinkled as he looked at Makeo and Aza, and his voice rose, but the sea breeze snatched away his words.

  “My father says it depends on the weather, but it usually takes about six days,” she said absently.

  Makeo’s short muzzle twisted this way and that in the salty fish-scented air. “Have you been on a ship before?”

  Another man with a beard and fine leather jacket joined the man in the hat, a smile on his round rosy cheeks. Aza shook her head. “I’ve never been as far south as Austerden, but my father and I have discussed going one day. It would take weeks by horse.”

  Voices rose again, and the hair on Shad’s back rose, his teeth bared in a hiss. The man leaned forward with a sneer and feigned as if to kick him. Aza’s patience slipped, and she strode toward the group.

  Shad’s snarl drifted to her ears. “We’ve already paid twice the passage fare, what does our business matter to you?”

  Aza joined them, her gaze piercing the man in the hat. “Is there a problem?”

  People were always glad to talk to her father when they had a need. When they wanted protection. When they were scared. But on calm, peaceful days like this, they had a way of forgetting their manners.

  “Cap’n Sonlyn and Mate Perrow at your service, Miss.” The man with the beard—Sonlyn—smiled apologetically. “The beast may make our other passengers a little nervous is all. S’bad for business.”

  Sonlyn had said beast, but Perrow’s gaze hadn’t wavered from hers. Aza straightened. “You may refer to me as Guardian Thane.” Technically she didn’t inherit the title until her father passed, but she was sure they didn’t know that. She rested her hand on the hilt of her dagger in a dangerous pause, before speaking just loud enough to be heard above the bustle of the shore. “We’re on Odriel’s business to protect Okarria from the Lost burning the north, so unless you want your dead wife plucking out your bloody eyes, your children’s limbs torn from their screaming bodies, and your bowels spread across the town… I suggest you let us aboard.”

  Perrow’s ruddy cheeks paled, and Sonlyn’s plump lips parted.

  “T-t-the w-what? L-l-lost?” Sonlyn bobbed his head, his trembling hands plucking at his beard. “M-my apologies. Come r-r-right aboard. We’ll be on our way w-within the hour.”

  With the crew still peeking
over at them, Aza smothered the triumphant smirk toying at her lips while the captain and his stiff first mate shuffled away, wide eyes darting over their shoulders.

  Shad’s tail whipped from side to side. “Was that really necessary?”

  “I don’t have time for mincing words around petty prejudice.” Aza shrugged. “It got the job done.”

  “And now you get to spend four days with their prejudice on a floating piece of wood. Congratulations. I’m sure they feel so much better about it now.”

  Makeo edged up to her side carrying two of their packs. “Everything all right then?”

  “Perfectly sunny,” Aza said.

  He grunted noncommittally and dug something out of one of the bags before handing it to her. “Here.”

  “What is it?” Aza asked, reluctantly accepting the leather-wrapped parcel.

  “Something just in case things become…” He flashed his wolfish smile. “Less than sunny.” Before she could open it, he threw his bag over his shoulder and walked up the plank onto the ship.

  Aza unwrapped the leather to see a host of throwing knives glinting within. Her fingers moved to the empty sheaths along the belt that crossed her chest. Makeo must’ve been to the markets early that morning.

  She wrinkled her nose at the gift. She didn’t want to owe Makeo anything more than she already did. But—she ran a finger along the shining blades with a wry grin—she couldn’t fault his choice in steel. The crew whispered to each other as they snuck glances at her. She tucked the throwing knives into her sash and hoped she wouldn’t have to use them on this voyage.

  But Odriel’s Assassin would be ready, just in case.

  ✽✽✽

  True to the captain’s word, the clipper raised its puffy white sails, and they pushed away from the dock within the hour. They dropped their bags in their claustrophobic cabin, a simple wooden box with four sagging hammocks and a port window. Shad leapt into the nearest hammock and curled into a small black ball, looking content to sleep the whole voyage away, while Witt went in search of the kitchen.