No matter how I wished to start a new life in Jaliss, become a scribe and get to know Kostan better, I now knew I’d stop at nothing to find my father and join Stormshard. Regardless of Havialo’s judgment of the renegade group, I believed in my father. I would use my talent to help Stormshard undo the Empire for good.
It took all my willpower to wrench myself away from the meal. When I abruptly stood, Kostan looked up at me with no attempt to conceal his disappointment.
“I’ve had a terribly long day,” I said, a pathetic excuse.
His expression softened. “I understand. It’s been hard on all of us. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Maybe,” I whispered. And though I knew it was hopeless, I found myself eager for the morning.
Chapter Forty-Two
Kostan
The common room by morning
A COUPLE OF hours after dawn, I was sitting in the common room when Savra descended the stairs looking like the sunrise itself. I jumped from my chair before I realized she might not wish to join me.
As she stepped off the last stair and yawned, Fishel backed out of the kitchen. “I’m brewing coffee to go with your rolls. Don’t expect this to happen again until Steelhold remembers those of us outside the wall.”
Savra turned the man a gentle smile. “You’re too thoughtful.”
He shrugged. “Gives me a reason to feel useful.”
As Savra shuffled to the table, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, my heart beat faster. So she would join me after all. She pulled out a chair and sat across from me.
“I’m sorry for leaving dinner so suddenly,” she said. “I didn’t tell the whole truth because it was so awful. I saw the protectors slice the head from an innocent boy yesterday.”
Her words were like a kick to the throat. “Storms. Savra, I’m so sorry.”
I wanted to reach out and touch her cheek. But a flood of self-loathing squashed the impulse. Those protectors were my responsibility. How could I even think of offering comfort when I might as well have swung the sword?
And to think, in the minutes just after I’d awakened, I’d considered telling her my whole story in hopes she’d accept me anyway.
As I sat back in my chair, wondering if I even deserved the meal Fishel was preparing, the bells on the door latch jingled.
The door swung open revealing Azar, Vaness… and Ilishian.
Chapter Forty-Three
Savra
The common room by morning
KOSTAN’S CHAIR FLEW back when he stood, almost toppling before he caught it. Feet pounding the floorboards, he ran to the newcomers.
There were two young women and a man whose age I didn’t wish to guess. Their cloaks were stained, the hems ragged. One of the women, a striking figure with coal-spun hair and eyes like the deep blue of an iceberg had boots so scuffed at the toe that I could see her socks beneath. More, the boots were obviously mismatched, one at least two knuckles longer than the other.
Still, was it their bearing that made me think they were anything but the beleaguered travelers they appeared? Or just an instinct?
When Kostan swept the blue-eyed girl into his arms, clutching her tight and whispering in her ear, my gaze fell to the table. Of course he had someone already. What had I been thinking?
Fishel snorted, clearly finding humor in my “betrothed’s” reaction to the girl’s arrival. Meanwhile, it was all I could do to keep tears of shame from welling.
***
“Well then,” Fishel said as he set a tray with a teapot and cups on the table where Kostan sat with his friends. At least he hadn’t given them my coffee. “Anyone for barley porridge?”
The man who’d arrived with the newcomers pushed back the hood of his cloak, exposing a bald pate and gray eyebrows. “We aren’t staying long.”
At this, the innkeeper bristled. “Pardon me if I ask whether you’ll be paying for the tea, then.”
The second young woman, a light-haired girl, laid a hand on the man’s arm. She pulled a small purse from beneath her cloak and plucked out a steel coin. “Of course, sire. And a question: do you have a private chamber where we might speak to our friend?”
Meaning, could they please talk to Kostan without me, a wastrel Prov, listening in? “Oh, you can have the whole common room for your... private conversation,” I said, chair squealing against the floor when I stood.
“Savra, wait,” Kostan said. He stood and took a step towards me. “These are my companions from...” At this, he seemed to struggle with his words, eyes darting over his friends’ faces.
“This ought to be good,” Fishel muttered.
“Members of the Merchants’ Guild need not explain their interests to every acquaintance we make,” the man said.
“From the Merchants’ Guild,” Kostan finished limply.
“Pleased, I’m sure,” I said, putting all the dignity I could into my words. “I wish you well in your endeavors. Perhaps your merchant friends can find you accommodations fitting your station.”
With that, I stood and headed for the stairs, my wounded pride throbbing in my chest.
“Savra, can we talk later?” Kostan asked.
Steel-gray eyes looked up at me from beneath his wavy fringe of hair. I wanted to nod. But instead, my gaze shot to the blue-eyed girl. “I wouldn’t want to distract from your reunion.”
A look of confusion crossed his face, followed by comprehension. “No, wait. It’s not—”
“Kostan,” the girl interrupted, “you aren’t safe. It’s just you and me now. The others… They’re gone. You need to get out of sight.”
The man gave a sharp hiss to cut off her words, but the girl shot him a glare. She laid her palms on the table and stared the man down. “Considering the situation, I hardly think being overheard by an innkeeper and a tavern stray will put us in more danger than we’re already facing.”
Danger? Her words were starting to penetrate the angry buzzing of my thoughts. What danger could the Merchants’ Guild be in? Looters and opportunists taking advantage of the city’s disarray? Only after those questions surfaced did I realize what she’d called me.
A tavern stray.
I’d had lots of practice dealing with bullies in Numintown. The best choices were to either ignore them or to strike back with such strength they ran away squealing. As I gripped the banister, squeezing the blood from my knuckles, I tried to summon an insult to match hers. But back in Numintown, I’d never succeeded at striking back. I just wasn’t good at hurting others. Instead of spitting out words I might later regret, I raised my chin and turned away.
“Kostan,” the man said, “Vaness may lack discretion, but she’s right. We have a safehouse—and a plan. Do you need help paying your tab here? If not, we should go.”
As I set foot in the hall above, I heard Kostan’s reply. “Pay the innkeeper twice the usual rate. I’ve received far more kindness here than I have a right to expect.”
I’d intended to storm into my room and slam the door, but as I heard the chairs scoot back from the table, my feet stopped moving. I clenched my fists. Why did I care what happened to Kostan or where he went?
I couldn’t answer that question, but the truth was, I did. Instead of seeking refuge in my room, I forced myself to watch as the woman with the coin purse handed over enough steel coins that Fishel wouldn’t need boarders for a month. As she did, she spoke in low, almost threatening tones.
Soon after, the party filed for the door. A pace from the exit, Kostan paused and looked up. His eyes were pained as he raised two fingers in a wave of goodbye.
Chapter Forty-Four
Evrain
A trailside refuge
THE BLISTERS ON the bottoms of Evrain’s feet had broken, sealed, and broken again. They bled, soiling his socks. At least the conclave would give him a day’s rest. With luck, he’d come out of it with a fresh mount, too.
Inside the small wayside hut, a refuge built l
ong ago when the Empire actually cared for its prospectors and caravaneers traveling into the Icethorns, four faces greeted him. It was a strange comfort to see them, these people hardened by existences lived outside the law. For near to a decade, they’d been friends to him. More, they’d been closer to family.
According to the rules laid down when the founders conceived of Stormshard, only one representative of each Shard knew the location and plans of the other Shards. It was safer that way. But it meant that important decisions needed a conclave like this.
“You look terrible, Evrain,” Sirez, the leader of the Jaliss Shard, said. “Like your Shard’s been using you as a combat practice dummy.”
Evrain swallowed, holding in the flood of grief. His Shard. Gone, except for the scattered few who’d been on patrol. And even then, he didn’t know who’d survived. After that feckless Scion had abandoned them, he and Shaw had all but carried Falla the rest of the way down the trail. Those two were safe now—at least as safe as a Sharder ever could be—holed up in the hunter’s lodge near the foothills. Maybe more stragglers would turn up; the Shard had always planned to retreat to the lodge in case of a rout or disaster. They’d just never had to test the contingency.
Meanwhile, Evrain had stumbled the distance to the courier post. Showing a forged writ, he’d sent coded messages to all Shard leaders who could make the journey to this small shelter within a day. If he could convince them to support his call for an offensive, it would be close enough to a majority to count as a successful vote.
“Evrain?” asked another woman, Ain. Her Shard worked the small settlements around the First Rift, filching from imperial collectors and sabotaging the flow of directives from Steelhold.
He cleared his throat. “It’s—I regret to report that my Shard fell. The quake... almost all of them were inside the cavern when it collapsed.”
“Oh, frozen wastes, Evrain. I’m so sorry.” Sirez jumped to her feet. She wrapped him in an embrace, her body softer than it looked. Despite everything, Evrain couldn’t help noticing the press of her breasts against his chest. A flash of guilt joined his sorrow. It had been seven years since he’d seen his wife. When he’d left, he’d imagined they’d reunite before the season turned, even if just long enough for a proper goodbye.
He patted Sirez's back before politely stepping away. When he glanced at her face, Evrain’s brows raised in concern. “No offense, but you’re not looking as hale as usual.”
Sirez sighed. “It’s been difficult in the capital. Not much food with Steelhold abandoning us. No scrip. The suppliers aren’t getting their usual directives from the leadership, so food is spoiling in warehouses out on the plateau while they wait for orders—and payment.”
Evrain touched a line on her cheek, scabbed over now, but it looked as if a whip or sword had slashed her. “And this?”
She shrugged. “I spent a short stint in the lockup... Escaped when I got your message. Until then, I’d been sticking around to protect as many innocents as I could. Speaking of, I met a young woman inside. Prov. She claimed to be an old friend of yours.”
An old friend? Who? Evrain thought through his list of acquaintances. In his business, he’d made many friends among families who received what he stole from the Empire. But few knew him by name.
“Did she tell you her name?”
Sirez shook her head. “But I intend to follow up. She intrigued me. Don’t worry, though. She’ll hear nothing about you from me until I know whether she can be trusted.”
The other Shard leaders were watching the exchange with mild interest—and a hint of impatience. With a nod of apology, Evrain limped to the table. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “I have a proposal.”
One of the men, a square-jawed drover from Guralan Province, scratched his stubbled face. “We figured as much. Sorry about your men.”
“And women,” Evrain reminded him. Of the Shard leaders, Joran was the worst about clinging to old ideas on who made the best Sharder. It had been close to a half-century since the organization opened up to women and adolescents.
“Of course. Pardon the omission.” Joran’s tone remained even, but his thick fingers, laying relaxed on the table, curled slightly.
Evrain drew breath into lungs tired from his march out of the mountains. He glanced at Sirez, who—not unexpectedly—was glaring daggers at the drover. “Shall we sit, my friend?” he asked. “Your opinion on my proposal will carry the most weight, as it concerns Jaliss.”
Her expression softened as she took a seat beside Evrain, a move calculated to insulate her from Joran, no doubt. “The city is a disaster. I imagine anything you propose will improve its situation.”
Evrain smirked. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“Oh?”
“For a century, Stormshard has nibbled at the Empire’s interests, striving to give Provs and even merchant-class Atal a better life. And while I think we’ve succeeded in that, I don’t believe we can continue as we have. We need to do more than raid caravans and eliminate an imperial agent or two.”
Sirez smirked. “So what are you saying? We storm Steelhold and assassinate the Emperor?”
She was joking; that was clear in her tone. But Evrain turned to her, setting his face in a serious expression.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Kostan
Lowtown, Jaliss
AS WE TROTTED through the streets, Vaness kept staring at my matched set of boots. I knew she wanted to ask about my brand, and I didn’t plan to hide anything. Ilishian would be displeased with me for having the cuff struck off. At this point, I didn’t care.
In fact, all I could feel right now was anger at these people for how they’d treated Savra. Even Vaness. A tavern stray? Just the memory of her words made my blood run hot. But I needed them, especially the mages. And of my childhood companions, only Vaness still lived. I hadn’t been close to the other Scions, but still I mourned their loss. I shouldn’t push away my remaining friend. So I breathed deep when the anger rose, forced it away as my Steelhold upbringing had taught.
In the chill morning air, we wound through the streets of the Splits, passing families living beneath canvas tarps, their homes reduced to rubble. Campfires burned in the middle of the streets, some of the only terrain not covered in splintered wood and scattered stone. Where buildings still stood, shutters were locked tight across windows. I could only assume that bars had been placed across the doors on the inside. Hunger showed in tight faces and greedy eyes. And the Empire’s leadership had done nothing to help.
The city might still be calm, people more concerned with digging out and taking stock, but it wouldn’t last. Steelhold might believe itself secure behind iron gates and atop a soaring pedestal of rock. But a swarm of biting ants could overwhelm the most fearsome beast. Without imperial representatives to take control of the situation—and especially, to resume the flow of tin scrip and steel coin which allowed the city to function—the Provs would rise up. Maybe even the merchant-class, too.
If it weren’t for Emperor Tovmeil’s warning of the consequences of Atal’s fall, I would join them.
At the border between the Splits and Lowtown, a muddy stream called the Silty flowed through the city. In the Heights, the Silty cascaded down low tiers of stone, confined to its channel by mortared walls and culverts. But here, it spread wide and stinking, carrying sewage and trash and other foul items. During the quake, a decrepit bridge had collapsed into the flow, damming rivulets and creating new channels on the banks. The residents of the slums had replaced the bridge with a set of planks laid from stinking islet to algae-slimed stone. As we crossed, the planks teetered. Filthy water lapped at my boots and seeped in through the tongues.
Still, I fought back my disgust. Some people had to live near the Silty. The least I could do was bear the smell without complaint.
Despite the surrounding shambles, a few enterprising Provs had emerge
d from their shanties to line the Lowtown streets. Ordinarily, protectors would make regular patrols through the area, demanding writs from anyone trying to peddle wares. If not that, the snitches would be tattling on violators, hoping for a chance to earn their way up and out of the district. But the ordinary ways had already fallen aside. A woman tugged on my trousers and pointed to her ragged cloak.
“Cold? Need a cloak to keep out the night? I’ll trade for scrip or food. Or anything else you might desire,” she said, trying to look comely.
I tapped on Azar’s shoulder and stopped walking. “Give her one of those coins,” I said.
“Kos—we can get you a cloak that actually fits,” Vaness said.
I shook my head. “I don’t want the cloak. I just want to spare her selling the last of her pride to put food in her belly.”
The woman’s eyes fell away. “I have a little boy. His da died in the shake.”
Ilishian’s mouth made a hard line. “Just do it, Azar. Better than standing here attracting attention. We can discuss this later.”
With eyes darting back and forth for threats, Azar reached into her jacket, rummaging for her purse. Ilishian closed ranks as the young metalogist plucked a steel half-talon free. The smallest coin she carried, no doubt.
But the beggar’s eyes lit. She scrambled to her feet and reached for me, gratitude shining in her face.
“Back off!” Ilishian hissed, sliding like a shadow to stand between us. “Leave now. And if you speak of this to anyone, you will be found.”
I wanted to protest but kept quiet. Angering the ferromaster would only bring his wrath down upon the woman.
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