The Complete Season 1

by Michael Underwood

  They danced for hours, with a few breaks to sip charant and talk to some of the other dancers. The caller was inspired, and the dancers were wearing a wide enough range of clothes for Michiko to feel comfortable in hers (although Bellona was probably a little beyond the pale), and Michiko met some local Twaa-Fei people who seemed nice and urged her to come back again next Mist-Day. All in all Michiko was feeling much happier when they left the dance hall, which was probably why she made the mistake of agreeing to accompany Bellona to the Autumn Leaf for dinner.

  They hadn’t even gotten their noodle bowls before Michiko remembered why she usually hated Bellona. “So good to cut loose like that after a long week,” Bellona was saying, sipping from her cup of iced chrysanthemum tea. “Of course, it was much worse for you with your failure at the Gauntlet.”

  Michiko put her cup down and stared at Bellona, wondering how she could become so insufferable so quickly. Had she carved a sigil enabling niceness that had just worn off? But Bellona didn’t notice. Her eyes were darting around the public area of the teahouse with eager anxiety, cataloging those present and absent, searching for opportunities. Through her annoyance, Michiko wondered if maybe Bellona had needed the break much, much more than she had.

  Bellona raised her hand in a quick little wave, and Michiko glanced over her shoulder to see whom she was greeting. Ojo was sitting alone at table in the back, brooding over a cup of tea. He did not look like he was having a good Mist-Day. He also did not look like he’d noticed Bellona’s wave.

  When Michiko turned back to their table, Bellona seemed to have come to the same conclusion. She was frowning slightly, and Michiko wondered if she was going to go with pitying (“Poor Ojo, so distracted since Penelope left with his unborn child”) or scornful (“Those Quloi think they’re so much better than everyone else!”).

  She didn’t expect her to attack. “You never did manage to drive a wedge between the Quloi and the Rumikans, did you?”

  Michiko was so surprised, she didn’t manage an answer, and then the waiter was there with their noodles and she closed her mouth on whatever she had been about to say.

  Bellona didn’t seem to care if they were overheard. “You were supposed to find ways to warn Kris about the Quloi agenda, and you didn’t. Now Kris is a warder—also thanks to you—and the Rumikans and the Quloi . . .” Bellona paused to fix a smug expression on her face. “You don’t even know what the Rumikans and the Quloi are up to, do you?”

  It wasn’t just the words. Bellona’s tone was snide and demeaning, and she didn’t even seem to expect an answer from Michiko, as if her response would have no meaning at all. Face burning, Michiko stabbed at her bowl of noodles. Bellona continued, looking around the room while she spoke as if Michiko wasn’t even there, and yet she was clearly only talking to make the Kakutan feel bad.

  “The Rumikans are selling aerstone to Quloo. For less than market price, I might add. How shortsighted. But they must know that this will be addressed in the council.”

  Michiko was baffled. “Why would it be addressed? Surely any nation can trade as it wishes with any other?”

  Bellona looked furious at first, then she burst out in a forced laugh. “Of course, I shouldn’t have expected you to have as fine a sense of the clockwork of power!” She leaned forward. “The Rumikans are providing critical aid to the Quloo. Aerstone is practically a military resource! But what would a Kakutan know of such things? You haven’t won a war or even a diplomatic challenge in centuries.”

  Michiko could not help but remember the Golden Lord’s words—her grandfather’s words. Mertika would never value her. For all of Bellona’s friendliness, she had never thought of Michiko as her equal.

  Chapter 9

  Ojo

  Ojo was holding a teacup, but it was filled with arak. A particularly powerful arak that Shun had handpicked for him after seeing his face, which was why Ojo was nursing it so carefully. Tonight should be triumphant, and he should have nothing to stay sober for once he received confirmation that the trade convoy had arrived safely, but he could not feel confident enough to get himself sloshed.

  He desperately wanted to, though, and more every time he replayed the conversation with Chigozie in his head. Ojo had thought that the information about Rumika’s new processing methods might calm heads among Quloi’s ruling elite, but judging from Chigozie’s reaction, he was entirely wrong.

  “Are you telling me they can make raw aerstone more productive?” Chigozie had asked incredulously. “And they haven’t shared this technology?”

  “They are offering us access to the product for trade,” Ojo told him. “This could be exactly what we need! This could save us!”

  “If we can afford it!” Chigozie responded.

  “They don’t know how desperate our situation is,” Ojo reminded him. “Perhaps a discreet word to the Rumikan warder, with whom I’ve built a strong working relationship—”

  “Absolutely not!” Chigozie had looked as angry as Ojo had ever seen him. “We must not let anyone know how weak we are right now. Ojo, I hope you can see that.” Chigozie frowned into the reflecting pool. “You better not have hinted it to your new Rumikan friend.”

  “No, of course not,” Ojo had assured him. And he had believed it to be true at the time. But now he was thinking back through all his conversations with Kris, wondering if his comments about what a great thing it was that they were doing had suggested desperation.

  And the convoy still hadn’t arrived. Ojo didn’t want to borrow trouble, but he couldn’t help worrying. He did the calculations in his head: perhaps one of the ships had been lost in a manak attack. Where would that leave them? Or maybe it was a storm that had driven them off course—but surely one or two ships would have gotten through? He had promised himself that he would give it three hours before returning to the reflecting pool to check in again—still two hours to go.

  Ojo took another sip of his drink. He wished he had someone to talk to. His eyes drifted around the room, and he noticed for the first time that Bellona and Michiko were sitting at a table not far from him. Strike that. He wished, specifically, that he had Penelope to talk to. She was so clearheaded and strategic, she would tell him how silly he was to be worried about useless things, and convince him to hope again.

  Chapter 10

  A-Sky

  The Engwehin Rocks were not technically under Quloi control, but they were close enough to the embargoed area around the island that most ships from other nations avoided them. But it was the fastest route back to Tsukisen from the Tanigawa Maru’s trading voyage to Kakute. Tsukisen’s famous neutrality theoretically allowed them passage, and Captain Komatsu ordered the colors hung to avoid any mistakes.

  Even so, she proceeded with caution. The uninhabited scatter of small islands was a classic site for ambush. An official Quloi patrol was the least of her worries; there could be Herroki pirates lurking among the crags, and even without hostile ships, the currents were treacherous. Many a ship had—

  Komatsu’s thought was cut off midsentence as the Tanigawa Maru came around a promontory into the heart of the rock cluster. There indeed were many ships. Or rather, parts of many ships.

  For a moment the creaking of the tackle was the only sound, and the crew froze in shock at the sight before them. Splintered wood and twists of rope were scattered across the strait, all of it drifting lower into the Mists as they watched. So much debris suggested multiple ships, a convoy, maybe a fleet. Komatsu counted at least five large pieces of hull, with the tip of another just protruding from the Mists as it sank. Whatever had happened here had happened recently.

  Just before Komatsu shouted the order to come hard about, she caught a glimpse of color streaked across a thick spar. Torn and already damp with mist, the Rumikan Chimera flag fluttered desolately from the wreckage.

  Episode 6

  Spiraling

  By Marie Brennan

  Chapter 1

  Kris

  Kris could have used bladecraf
t. The servants and guards who rushed into their path at the Quloi embassy would have gone flying with just a few shifts of Kris’s sword, clearing the path to Ojo’s door. But those people didn’t deserve to be hurled about, simply because they didn’t understand that this was an emergency—that Kris could not wait; they had to see Ojo now.

  So they kept their blade sheathed, and used their body instead. Eeling past secretaries, hip-checking one determined guard out of the way. Someone grabbed Kris’s arm and regretted it a moment later, because learning bladecraft didn’t preclude learning how to break holds, too. And then they were at the door to Ojo’s office, which opened before Kris could touch it, and the familiar bulk of Quloo’s senior warder filled the opening.

  Ojo raised one hand. The growing clamor behind Kris died down. “Please go back to your work,” Ojo said to the crowd. “I will speak with Warder Denn privately.”

  Kris heard the whispers as the embassy staff dispersed. That charge through the corridors wouldn’t do Rumika’s image any good, Kris knew, but . . . “Is it true?” they asked as Ojo ushered them into the office and shut the door behind them both. “Do you have news about the fleet?”

  They weren’t alone in the office. A stocky, middle-aged woman in the round-collared silk robe and close-fitting cap of a Tsukiseni ship captain stood up, glancing first at Kris, then at Ojo, as if asking for permission.

  The Quloi warder nodded heavily. “Warder Denn needs to know. Tell them what you told me.”

  Kris’s shoulders tensed. News, yes—but not good news. Ojo wouldn’t look like that if it were good news. The fleet was already long overdue.

  The Tsukiseni woman spoke crisply, with none of the languid affectation of that island’s aristocrats. “I am Komatsu no Chikafuru of the Tanigawa Maru. My ship recently passed near the Engwehin Rocks, and we saw a large scattering of flotsam—the broken pieces of aerstone hulls.”

  The meaning of her words circled like a manak, waiting to strike home. “You mean—but that could have been from any ship.”

  “There was too much for a single ship. And when we examined the pieces, they clearly came from several different vessels, judging by the construction of the planking.”

  Ojo said quietly, “She reported it to me because the flotsam was in Quloi skyspace. But one of the fragments bore a piece of the ship’s name—ly Mutable.”

  The Eternally Mutable. One of the seven Rumikan ships sent to bear the shipment of aerstone to Quloo.

  Kris sank blindly into a chair. They barely listened as Ojo thanked the captain and dismissed her, saying he’d be in touch if he had further questions. Kris ought to have interrupted then, asked their own questions—but they couldn’t think of a single one.

  With the two of them alone in the office, Ojo simply waited, giving Kris time. But no amount of time would be enough. “How?” they whispered numbly. “How can the ships be . . . gone?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Ojo said.

  “They can’t have just broken up for no reason.” Kris’s pulse accelerated as they considered the possibilities. “Was there a storm? Or manaks? No, manaks could never take out a fleet that large. A mist-fiend?” Quloo was sinking. Could it possibly have sunk far enough to be vulnerable to the predators of the lowest reaches?

  The smack of Ojo’s palm against his desk stopped the rising flood of Kris’s words. Their own voice sounded like a stranger’s to them, tension forcing it high and shrill.

  “Kris.” By contrast, Ojo’s tone was soft and gentle. “Calm down. Right now, all we know is that something has gone wrong. Speculating without evidence gets us nowhere. There may have been another ship that passed through before the Tanigawa Maru, or one near enough to have some idea of what might have happened. Rest assured that I’ll share with you everything I learn.”

  This was supposed to be a victory. Rumika’s grand entry to the world stage. An alliance with mighty Quloo, and Kris’s own blade sealing the deal. How could the other warder be so serene, in the face of such a disaster? “But the fleet is gone, Ojo. The whole fleet! If any of the ships had survived, we would know by now! What am I supposed to tell Rumika?”

  Ojo’s calm facade cracked. “That is your concern, Warder Denn, not mine. I have to explain this to Quloo. If you would like to conduct your own investigation, by all means, be my guest—I want to know what happened as badly as you do.”

  Storms. Manaks. Mist-fiends.

  Or something else.

  Kris whispered, “Treachery.”

  Chapter 2

  Ojo

  Ojo closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. For the first time in his life, he found himself wishing he had a different birthright. The ability to dowse for aerstone created more problems than it solved—leading all of Quloo into disaster, by encouraging them to find and exploit every last vein, until the island itself began to sink.

  If he were Ikaran, though, he could at least have controlled his own mind. Shut out the distractions and worries, cleared his thoughts in the blink of an eye. Ojo, being Quloi, had to sit at the edge of the ritual pool for several long minutes before he felt ready to carve the sigil of communion.

  His concentration faltered again as the image rippled and solidified. Instead of Chigozie, he saw four guildmasters in wraps of sober pattern and color, two men and two women. All were familiar to him. None of them boded well.

  “Warder Kante,” the older of the women said. “What news do you have for us?”

  “Guildmaster Nenge,” Ojo said. She was one of the most senior members of the Bright Chamber, and one of the most uncompromising. Not a bladecrafter, but if duels of will alone existed, Ojo would have gladly sent her to face down Lavinia. “Where is Chigozie?”

  “The Bright Chamber held a vote,” Guildmaster Izebry said. “The four of us have been appointed to handle all matters relating to the current crisis.”

  Ojo’s heartbeat thudded in his ears. He knew what those innocuous-sounding words really meant. There had been a shift of power in the Chamber. These four—Nenge, Izebry, Amewezie, and Edokwo—led the High Skies faction, which had long advocated for Quloo to take more drastic steps to solve the issue of the sinking.

  They were the exact people he had hoped to defang with the Rumikan trade deal. And now they were controlling Quloo’s government.

  Nenge said, “I ask again: What news do you have?”

  He gathered his thoughts. “My inquiries so far have only established a few things for certain. The ships sank near the rocks of Engwehin. Since we’ve restricted access to our own skyspace, there weren’t many other ships anywhere in the vicinity, and none observed what happened. They can confirm, however, that there were no storms. The favorable winds at the time were high enough that the fleet was unlikely to be sailing close to the Mists, making a mist-fiend attack unlikely. And manaks, of course, would generally avoid so large a—”

  “Warder Kante,” Izebry said, interrupting him. “We are not interested in what it could not have been. What might account for the fleet’s disappearance?”

  Ojo’s jaw tightened. “Foul play,” he admitted. “At present, it seems to be the only possibility. I heard about the sinking from a Tsukiseni captain; I’m looking into the possibility that she was involved and informed me in order to throw off suspicion. I don’t think it’s likely, though. The Herroki are also suspects—we know their captains are more willing than most to sail low, which means they could have entered and exited the region without being noticed.”

  “Pirates,” Nenge said, her lip curling in disdain. “They are scavengers, happy to pick off weak targets, but they would never be bold enough to attack such a fleet. No, this must be the work of a larger power.”

  “I am also looking into Mertika,” Ojo said grimly. “They would very much like to see our alliance with Rumika destroyed.”

  Izebry laughed. “Alliance? A trade deal is not an alliance, Warder Kante. Especially not when a large portion of our end took the form of support for their candidate. Rumika already has wh
at they wanted; perhaps they saw an opportunity to profit from that aerstone twice.”

  If communion had required concentration to maintain, rather than lasting until it was banished, Ojo would have lost it in that moment. “You think Rumika is behind this? That’s absurd.”

  “We have to consider the possibility,” Izebry said.

  “Ridiculous. I know Kris—Warder Denn. They are far too honest to ever support such a thing.”

  Nenge brushed this off with a sweep of one ringed hand. “Warder Denn is not their entire country. If I were the Rumikans, I would have sent someone exactly like them: young, naive, trusting . . . and easily trusted. All the better to hide the real plan.”

  “They’d be stabbing themselves in the foot if they did,” Ojo snapped. “It does them no good to have a warder in the Circle if that person is seen as an ineffective patsy.”

  But even as he argued—even as the four guildmasters raised their suspicions and he did his best to strike them down—Ojo knew he wasn’t even fighting a losing battle. This wasn’t a battle at all. No matter how much logic he brought to bear, no matter how much evidence he could muster in support of Rumika’s innocence, the guildmasters wouldn’t listen. Because that wasn’t the point of this conversation.

  They were the leaders of the High Skies party. They had wanted decisive action from the start. And now, thanks to the fleet’s disappearance, they would get it.

  Chapter 3

  Bellona

  The lowest island of Twaa-Fei stank. Although the middle island hovered well above, the close-packed buildings strangled the wind when it tried to blow through. The air between them filled with smoke and the scents of the thousand cargos that entered Twaa-Fei, from produce to lamp oil, from lumber to pigs. And the people themselves . . . Bellona breathed shallowly through her mouth. Had sailors never heard of bathing?