“I lost everything.” The young man turned desperate eyes to me. My heart ached. I couldn’t let him face the city. Not like this.
“He’s my betrothed,” I blurted. “Just arrived from the ports in Anisel. Darling, I didn’t expect you to follow so soon—the seas around Ioene are treacherous this time of year! I told you I’d be safe.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kostan
The common room of the Graybranch Inn
BETROTHED? WHAT WAS this?
“I suppose your... brother will pay for your betrothed’s stay as well, Savra?” the innkeeper asked, rolling his eyes.
The young woman’s green eyes flicked to mine again, and once again I felt the surprise in my chest. She inhaled and swiveled in her chair to face the innkeeper.
“Yes, Fishel, thank you,” the young woman, Savra, said. The pair locked eyes. After a moment, Fishel scooted his chair away from the table and paced to the counter at the back of the room.
I swallowed. Clearly, Savra had mistaken me for someone else. But how? How could someone be confused about the face of their betrothed?
“I—I’ve had a long ride,” I said. “My horse... needs grooming and food. He served me well in reaching here.”
My mind was drifting on a sea of fatigue, and I wondered whether this was some strange dream. But when Savra’s warm hand fell over mine, little shocks traveled up my arms. That didn’t happen in dreams, did it? As quickly as her touch had come, she pulled away, shy. Once again, our eyes met.
A heavy book slammed down on the table between us, falling open to a page filled with a scrawled guest list.
“Your future brother-in-law’s account will cover your stay for quite some time,” the innkeeper said, a trace of sarcasm touching his words. “Now, will it be one room or two?”
Savra opened her mouth to speak, swallowed, then started again. “Two, please. We aren’t yet wed, Fishel.”
With an exasperated sigh, Fishel leafed through the guest list to the first page with blank lines. He lifted a quill and looked at Savra with a smirk. “And your betrothed’s name is?”
“Kostan,” I said, rescuing her before exhaustion took me and I slumped forward onto the table.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Savra
Upstairs hallway, Graybranch Inn
FISHEL LATCHED THE man’s—Kostan’s—door with a quiet click. It hadn’t been easy to wrestle his big frame up the stairs and onto the narrow cot, and a drop of sweat trickled down my cheek. But the heat in my cheeks was from something else entirely. As the innkeeper stepped around me, heading back downstairs to busy himself with whatever chores Kostan’s arrival had interrupted, I kept my eyes on the floorboards.
What had I been thinking, declaring Kostan my betrothed? The impulse had been so sudden; I hadn’t considered the reasons... or the consequences. I mean, yes, he’d seemed to need help, but he was a complete stranger. And an Atal at that.
Maybe he wouldn’t stay long. I wasn’t sure I could face him and handle the embarrassment of what I’d done. But the thought that I might not see him again terrified me. What was wrong with me?
Now that the door hid him from sight, at least I wasn’t plagued by the nearly irresistible urge to stare. I needed to continue my day. First, I’d locate the Hall of Registry. If the doors were open, I’d attempt to present the ledger declaring my scribe’s assignment. If not, I’d spend the day getting familiar with the city.
I traced a finger over Parveld’s bracelet. During Kostan’s shocking arrival, I’d slipped it onto my wrist. It felt comfortable there, warm against my skin. I guessed it wouldn’t hurt to leave it on for now.
Downstairs, my saddlebag-turned-satchel still rested on the table with the scroll holder beside it. Snatching them both up, I stuck the leather tube down inside the bag and slung the arrangement over my shoulder. As I walked to the door, I heard Fishel’s boots behind me. Setting my hand upon the latch, I turned to look at him.
“Could you give me directions to the Hall of Registry?”
He folded a tea towel over his arm as he looked at me. “The registrars? Why?”
Right… foreigners didn’t receive writs. Fishel knew I was a Prov, of course, but he needed to be able to deny it if an argent mage questioned him. “Well, depending on how the negotiations go between Parveld and the elites, I’ll need to hire a few caravaneers to transport the casks of our wine, correct?”
He sighed. “It’s not a good time to be out, Savra. Better you rest here until the city returns to normal.”
“How soon do you expect that will happen? I can’t delay my business indefinitely.”
He pressed his lips together but seemed to recognize my determination. “Follow Spire Street until you pass the leatherworker’s with a hardened jerkin hanging from the sign. Take a left, wind your way up toward the Heights. The Hall of Registry is near the juncture where the Merchant’s Quarter meets the Splits and Tanner’s Row. If you reach the iron gates at the entrance to the Heights, you’ve gone too far.”
“Thank you.”
“Savra,” he said as I squeezed the latch. “Parveld... he’s a good man. I owe him much and don’t wish to disappoint him by failing to protect you.”
“I’ll be back by midday,” I said. “It’s just a single errand.”
Out in the street, I stopped and turned a slow circle. When covered in darkness, the city had appeared damaged but reparable. The harsh light of morning showed the true devastation. In the Splits, earthen streets had been a small salvation. Unlike the destroyed cobblestones in the wealthier areas of the city, the ground beneath my feet was merely cracked and uneven. I glanced back at the stable and wondered whether I should saddle Breeze.
No, that was just my selfish desire for comfort and companionship. Once back to the cobblestone areas, it would be just as hard for him to pick his way through the rubble as it would be for me to trudge across it. Maybe harder.
Hitching up my satchel, I set off up Spire Street.
Along the narrow passage, children lingered close to the stoops of shanties and shacks. Occasionally, I spotted eyes peering out at me from behind shuttered windows. Where houses had toppled, no one remained. I wondered where they’d gone. To friends? Out of the city?
Jumbled cobblestones marked the transition into the Merchant’s Quarter, and I kept my eyes alert for the leatherworker’s sign. Patrols of protectors marched through the area, eyes hard. Though the doors to shops were shut and barred, I suspected the chaos made extra opportunities for thieves.
Which made me wonder whether I should try to contact Stormshard now. From Havialo’s accounts, they were something of a band of thieves themselves, though with more noble intentions.
But how? Should I stand on a corner and yell for a member of the a renegade group? Clearly, that wouldn’t work. Better if I could attract their attention in other ways.
In any case, first things first. The registrars.
When I spotted the leatherworker’s shop, I turned left. As Fishel had mentioned, the road began a winding ascent toward the Heights and the massive homes of the Atalan elite. As I climbed, the streets became less deserted. A few cloth sellers had braved the toppled buildings and rubble-strewn alleys and called out as I passed.
“Tin scrip, steel coin, foreign currency. All accepted with a writ to prove legality!”
“Finest silk from faraway islands!”
“Get your clothing sewn while you wait!”
Further on a jeweler stood outside his store, holding a few necklaces high. “Low prices for our troubled city. Get them now before Steelhold reopens and increases demand. Almost a steal!”
And when I passed closer, he hissed and looked sideways. “Have a few pieces of Maelstrom-gold in the back room,” he said in a false whisper. “And a mage who can attune them. Get yourself an advantage, no matter your Function.”
Snapping my head away, I hurried on. I’d seen enough Maelstrom m
etals to last a lifetime. I wondered what the jeweler would think if I told him.
Finally, I spotted a marble-walled building with the words Hall of Registry carved into the facade. I certainly hadn’t needed to worry about passing it. Fishel must have truly been concerned for my safety to tell me when to turn around. What happened to Provs who wandered into the Heights?
Unfortunately, the doors to the Hall appeared locked. I mounted the steps anyway, earning a few strange looks from the street sellers and the scattered pedestrians braving the city. The massive doors were iron-bound and carved from dark hardwood. Glass windows had been set in the wood. Cupping my hands at the sides of my face, I peered through.
In the darkened interior, a clerk glanced up from a desk.
I waved.
He stared at me a moment before continuing his work. I rapped on the door. He ignored me.
“Excuse me,” a gruff voice said.
A pair of protectors stood behind me. One laid a hand on his sword’s hilt. The other pulled out his cudgel. He slapped the end against his opposite palm.
“Yes?” I said.
“You’re violating curfew.”
I blinked. “I thought the curfew ended at dawn.”
“Don’t play stupid. What’s your business?”
“I—I came for my writ. I received my assignment and traveled here from Cosmal.” I reached for my scroll holder. “I’m to be a scribe.”
The cudgel came down hard, cracking against my knuckles. “Doesn’t matter what your Function is. You’re out when there’s a curfew.”
“But I—”
Again the cudgel came down, thudding against my shoulder. I staggered and nearly fell.
“Okay, I’ll go back to my... lodgings,” I said, hands up to defend my face.
“What do you think?” the man with the cudgel said. “Shall we take her in?”
“Where are you staying?” the other asked. “We’ll have to investigate. And I’ll need to see your permission to enter Jaliss without a Function writ.”
“But I came to the Hall to get my writ.”
“It’s no excuse.” The cudgel-bearer shook his head. “She’s got the look of a Sharder about her, wouldn’t you say?”
He didn’t look at his partner as he spoke, but rather pinned me with his dead-eyed stare. I raised my hands in a plea. “Listen, I’ll go. I didn’t mean to disobey. I didn’t hear the curfew had been extended.”
“You know,” the other protector said, moving his hand from his sword pommel to a pair of iron handcuffs. “I think we’d best just take her to the holding cells until we sort this out.”
I didn’t know what else to do.
I ran.
Bounding down the stairs, I bit my lip and willed my feet to land on sturdy blocks. After the quake, the steps might be unstable, and if I went sprawling, I was caught.
I exhaled in relief when my feet landed on blocks of slate at the bottom of the stairs. Kicking away a stray cobblestone, I lunged forward, heading down the street. Behind me, the protectors shouted for help.
I risked a glance over my shoulder; the men were coming down the stairs.
An arm came out of nowhere, smacking me in the ribs, lifting my feet off the ground. I screamed as the smell of an unwashed body entered my nose. Laughing, the man cracked knuckles against my head.
“I sure hope there’s a reward,” my captor said. He’d been hiding in an alley beside the Hall—his cloak still pooled in the darkened recesses. He leered, exposing yellow teeth. Food crammed the crevices at his gum lines. “Never thought I’d be helping protectors, but without the flow of tin scrip, and my home fallen in atop me, guess I’ll do anything for the coin to buy a mug of ale.”
He held me with one arm, my body tucked against his waist while I squirmed. Jabbing out with my elbow, I connected with his gut, but he just laughed. I heard the protectors’ approach, metal clicking, leather creaking.
Another crack as the cudgel came down, and I winced, waiting for the flood of pain. But the arm around me loosened. I fell to the ground as my captor crumpled, head bleeding from the growing knot where the club had hit him.
“Now,” the protector said, staring down. “As I said, we’ll just take you to the holding cells.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Kostan
A simple bedchamber
WHEN I OPENED my eyes, I was tucked into a narrow bed in a room smaller than my palace closet. I didn’t remember lying down. Savra and the innkeeper must have all but carried me to bed. I groaned in dismay, thinking of the extra effort I must have cost them. I sat up and groaned again—it felt as if every muscle in my body was afire.
How long had I slept? Guessing by the bone-deep fatigue that still pressed on me, just a few hours.
Wooden shutters were closed over the window. Yawning, I unfastened the latch on the shutters and let them swing open. An inn like this couldn’t afford glass for the upper story, and smoky air flowed into the room, already warm and tinged with scents of the Splits. A square of hot sunlight fell on the blankets covering my lap.
Another waft of air puffed through the window, smelling of garbage. I wrinkled my nose and clapped the shutters closed again.
On the small table beside my bed, a candle lantern burned. A tin pitcher and ladle stood beside it. Otherwise, the room was empty except for my single boot which stood on the floor next to the bed. I stared at the leather, once polished daily by palace servants, now scuffed and scratched. A man with one shoe. What was I going to do? March up to Steelhold and demand another boot along with the title of Emperor?
I shook my head. Despairing would do no good. I would find a way to retake the throne. Starting by learning more about the situation in Jaliss and searching for information on Azar.
My body protested as I stood. My bed called me back to sleep. I took a deep breath to give me strength. I wouldn’t waste daylight hours, not with every citizen of the Empire counting on me.
My thoughts were still fuzzy as I nudged the door to my room open. The hallway had no windows, no lamps burning. At the end where a staircase descended, daylight gave the woodwork a warm glow. Walking heel to toe, I moved the length of the hall. Something felt strange as I padded along the wooden floorboards, but I couldn’t place the sensation.
When I stepped down the first step, I realized what had been nagging me. My foot didn’t hurt—it hadn’t since I woke beneath the tree branches with Evrain and Falla. And now, the sensitive areas around the brand felt... almost numb. I sat on the top of the stairs, ignoring the burning protest in my thigh muscles, and stripped the now-filthy bandage from my foot. I ran fingertips over the brand, no longer an open wound, but a series of smooth ridges. My fingers lifted away—I wasn’t sure how to feel about the change. The unhealed brand had been a part of me for so long that I’d come to think of it as a facet of my identity.
But that was over now, like so many other things. Bundling the bandage in my fist, I descended to the common room, knees aching.
The proprietor, Fishel, sat at a guest table. A bucket of peas stood beside his chair along with a pail for the pods. On the table, the shelled peas were collecting in a wooden bowl.
“Thank you for helping me to a room,” I said.
He started when I spoke. “Huh? Oh, yes, of course.”
“About the payment…”
“Taken care of,” he said, waving away my statement. Fishel plucked another handful of full pea pods and dropped them on the table. Staring at the door, he snapped off the stem end from one and peeled away the string. Cracking the pod open, he dumped the peas into the bowl.
When I crossed the room, he kept his eyes fixed on the door.
“Everything okay?” I asked. He seemed nervous, busying himself shelling peas as a distraction.
“I—well, I suppose so. I shouldn’t be so concerned with the business of others. I’m sure Savra—” He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “I’m
sure your betrothed can take care of herself.”
I pulled out a chair and sat beside him, grabbing a handful of pods. Dozens of questions about the young woman sprang to mind. As did those startling green eyes. But if it wasn’t Fishel’s business to wonder where she’d gone, it certainly wasn’t mine.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Savra
The lockup, Jaliss
THE LOCKUP WASN’T what I’d expected. Instead of a stone-walled building with cells, a fence of wooden stakes bounded a wide-open area. Around two dozen men and women were scattered in the enclosure, sitting idle and looking as if they wish to avoid attention. In one corner, a small group huddled. As the protectors unlocked my cuffs, stripped me of my satchel, and shoved me through the gate, the huddle turned to look at me.
One, a man with a dark shock of hair hanging into his eyes, snarled.
Blowing through my lips, I hurried across the enclosure. I wanted the far wall at my back. Unfortunately, when I turned to survey the yard, the morning sun shone into my eyes. I squinted against the glare but couldn’t see anything.
Only once I shaded my eyes and peered did I spot the approaching shadows. A semi-circle of six men trapped me against the wall.
I edged sideways, and the arc tightened in that direction, shoulder to shoulder.
An attempt to dart the other direction caused the men to close ranks and stop me.
My heart choked off the flow of air through my throat.
“What do you want?” I asked.
The largest man and apparent leader—the one with hair in his eyes—sneered. “What do you think? Just a little companionship. Been in here since the Chasm Span fell. The protectors are looking for someone to blame.”
“I was just trying to visit the registrars. I did nothing wrong.”
This brought a laugh from one of the other men, a ruffian with patched clothing and filth in his scruffy beard. “Besides being born a Prov, you mean. Well, you’re in good company. Care for a snuggle?”
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