by Aaron Pogue
“What? Why?”
Ben Strunk shrugged. “No one knows. Some family politics.”
Auric. It had to be. Blake had removed a potential embarrassment from the family name, and now he’d be rewarded. That explained the bathhouse, tying up all his loose ends.
Corin slammed a fist down on the table. “Honor him? Tonight, you said? Where?”
“A gala at his father’s house.”
“Where is this house?”
“I’d planned to go. Shall I just take you there?”
“Aye! But tell me now. Where is he?”
“King’s Way,” Ben said. “West of the palace. Half a mile from the playhouse. You shouldn’t have any trouble spotting it; they have half the city out for decorations.”
“When? When does the gala start?”
Ben leaned back in his chair, thinking. “Oh…in perhaps an hour. But I hadn’t planned to show before midnight. You know, for the sake of fashion.”
“That will do for me,” Corin said, clapping Ben on the shoulder. He bounced on his toes, anxious to be off. “Bring a blade or two. Things could get nasty.”
“Oh, silly pirate. I don’t think you understand how galas work.”
Corin shook his head. He broke away, heading for the door. “I’ve waited long enough,” he shouted back. “It’s time he’s answered for.”
Ben Strunk jumped to his feet and shouted after Corin. “Wait! What’s this toy you bring me?”
“Your legacy! Gift from your father in another version of the dream. It’s dwarven mastercraft, commissioned by a god.”
Ben’s eyes grew wide at that. He nodded a true artist’s appreciation for such a priceless work of art.
Corin couldn’t linger any longer. He broke for the alley door, but he heard Ben behind him. “You hear that, boys? Dwarven mastercraft. A perfect treasure. I’ll wager that and sixty livres blind on my next hand.”
King’s Way ran along the crest of the city’s highest hill, and it featured the stylish mansions of the highest families. The Vestossis owned more than a block of it, not even counting the royal family, but Corin didn’t have to ask to know which one belonged to Giuliano’s father. Ben had been right; it was obvious.
Torches flared all across the steep, sloping yard as workers rushed to finish decorating. Silken streamers sought to soften the appearance of the spike-topped gates. A band was setting up out on the porch, and from the screech and whine of strings, Corin guessed another was already tuning up somewhere inside. The whole scene was chaos.
And chaos was his friend. Corin picked out the darkest spot along the wide front gate, then camped within its shadows, waiting for some disturbance from the house—or, more likely, some passing beauty on the street—to distract the guards on the front gate. Then it would be an easy enough matter to scale the fence, climb the hill, and find his way into the house.
In the end, it was a disturbance from the house—a shouting altercation between some serving maid and a noble lady. Corin grabbed two handfuls of silk streamer, heaved himself up to the top of the gate, and caught one clear look across the lawn to the front porch.
And spotted Iryana.
She was not in chains. She wasn’t bruised or beaten. She wore a sleek black dress and gold enough to buy a ship and crew. Corin gasped aloud. He wasn’t close enough to have been heard, but he was in obvious sight, hanging from the gate like that. A servant spotted him and pointed. Iryana and the serving maid both turned his way. The guards on the gate shouted, “Halt! Who goes?”
And Corin ran. He went two blocks, then slipped into the shadows and waited for the chasing guards to lumber past, heads whipping left and right as they searched for him. He waited until they’d gone another block; then he eased back out onto the lane and crept toward the house again.
Iryana was still there. She lingered halfway down the drive, wringing her hands and staring out into the dark night. She’d seen him. She must have seen him. And she’d always been a clever girl. He could count on it. She’d find some chance to slip away—
While he watched, she turned and shouted something back into the house. Then she stomped down the hill to the front gates and waited by the street, tapping one heel. Corin watched her, hoping she’d come farther, desperate to catch any signal she might give him.
He was so intent on her, he was nearly trampled by the little trap carriage that came dashing up the street behind him. It settled to a halt just by the gate, and Iryana climbed up inside. Corin couldn’t hear her instructions, but the tone was sharp enough to draw blood. The driver cracked his whip, and they were gone.
For a half a heartbeat Corin didn’t move, torn between his errand here and his concern for Iryana. She had not seemed broken. She’d barely seemed restrained. But—no matter what he’d told the druid—this girl was at least half the reason he had come for Blake.
So in the end he chased her. He couldn’t guess where she might go, so he abandoned subtlety and set off at a full sprint. The gate attendant cried out when he saw Corin in pursuit. He leaned out in the street and shouted after the missing guards, but Corin was already past and gone. Corin reached the apex of the hill just in time to see the carriage down below turn left onto a crossing lane. He didn’t slow.
Lungs and legs both burning, he pounded down the hill and made the turn just in time to see the trap force through a crowd of late-night revelers. The driver never eased up. Perhaps Iryana hadn’t seen him. Perhaps she’d planned her own escape, and he’d arrived just in time to see her slip away. He made the block, then leaped onto the platform of a priceless statue to search left and right for some sign of the carriage.
He found it parked beside a tailor’s shop half a mile off. He frowned, then cast another glance around, but this was the only carriage of its sort in sight. And even as he watched, Iryana came stomping from the shop and flung herself into the cab again. Corin sprang down to the street and ran that way, but she was already giving her directions. He’d never catch her now.
The trap stopped at a jeweler’s two blocks down. This time she did not even go in. She spoke some word to the driver and then sat waiting in the carriage while he went and rapped on the door. The shop was closed, but when he returned to report this, she sent him back to rap all the harder. He raised a racket that might have woken half the street, and in time the jeweler came to open the door for him.
Corin watched this all play out as he crept slowly closer. Once the driver was inside, Corin had his chance to approach unseen. But something stopped him. He moved close enough to give chase again, and that was all. He hid within the shadows of a closed-up bakery and watched the girl he’d come to rescue.
She tapped her fingers on the carriage door. She fiddled with the bangles on her arms. She huffed in irritation and rolled her eyes toward the storefront. She was the very picture of an agitated lady.
Corin stared at her, perplexed. Where was the beaten slave he’d come to rescue? Where was the helpless damsel in distress? But she had never been helpless, had she? That was half of what he’d loved about her. She was fierce and proud and more than able in any circumstances.…
And here and now, by all appearances, she was a proud Vestossi lady.
Corin shuddered at the thought of it. She couldn’t be. She was an untamed spirit, a wild wind, a mystery. She was no Vestossi trinket.
But something strange was going on. He puzzled at it until his head began to ache, but he could find no explanation. He’d almost made up his mind to just go forward, to confront her and discover the whole truth, but the driver beat him to it. The young man emerged from the shop, bearing a small black box. He handed it up to Iryana, and she accepted it with little grace. She said some word, and the driver climbed into his seat and cracked his whip.
For a moment, Corin worried that the errands were all done, that the carriage was returning to the mansion and he’d missed his chance to unravel these new mysteries. But the carriage bore her half a block before it stopped outside a quiet little
wine shop. She climbed down from the cab and paid the driver some small coins. He rolled away, back toward the house, and she went alone into the shop.
Two burly guards stood watch over the street. They nodded a familiar greeting to the desert girl. Corin took small hope in that. Perhaps these were Vestossi guards, and this a Vestossi shop. Perhaps she wasn’t really free at all, but always under supervision. Every living body in this part of town could be bought and owned with Vestossi silver. It might be a wide prison, a pretty prison, but it could still be a prison all the same.
He told himself that must be true and went to rescue her. He found a side door on a narrow alley and slipped in behind the kitchens. He went ten paces down a narrow corridor and emerged into the patrons’ lounge. He almost laughed in his surprise.
The wine shop fit the neighborhood perfectly. Its storefront was immaculate and understated, but this was not enough to hide its opulence. Inside, it was dark as sin, full of whispered secrets. Corin watched, unseen, while a hostess in black livery led the dusky woman to a corner booth. He waited while she settled herself. Then he slipped across the room, searching every corner as he went. He saw no other skulkers, no other watching eyes. It was a place that prized discretion above all. He strode right to her table and took a seat across from her.
She gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth. Gold bangles glittered on her wrist, and gemstones sparkled on her fingers. They could scarcely compete with her natural beauty, though. Corin smiled for her. “Why am I always saving you from such dark places?”
She leaned across the table, voice pitched low. “You must get out of here!”
“You’re not surprised that I’m alive?”
She scoffed. “Surprised? No. I have watched Blake tremble over it for weeks.”
Corin grinned. “You always knew how to make me smile.”
“I have no wish to make you smile! I want you to leave this city and never look back!”
“I will, and you’ll come with me, but first I need to have a word with Ethan Blake.”
“You’ll have a dagger in your gut and a kicking from the city guard! Ethan Blake is a Vestossi!”
“Aye, I know it well. But I have found a patron of my own.”
“Unless it’s someone strong enough to challenge Ephitel outright, your patron will not serve you.”
“Ephitel’s a dog. I serve King Oberon.”
Her eyes went wide at that—pools of light within the shop’s deep gloom. She breathed the words, “Did you say…Oberon?”
“I survived Jezeeli, Iryana. I learned its secrets. And now I’ve come to rescue you and settle with Blake.”
“You survived Jezeeli?”
“Aye.”
“And you learned something there?”
“Secrets out of time and long forgotten.”
She tugged at her ear. “My people have some ancient legends.…”
“If they tell of an ancient kingdom where men and elves lived side by side, of great prosperity brought low by betrayal, treason—”
“All of that and more.”
“Then, aye. I’ve lived the legends, Iryana, and I can attest that Ithale’s patron god was that same traitor.”
“Why do you think my people chose to survive the wretched sands? They thought it better to face the tyranny of the Endless Desert than bend knee to your false gods.”
Corin showed his teeth again. “I could not agree more, but I have found a better answer.”
“And what is that?”
“Revenge. Justice. I mean to make things right, for all the world.”
She stared a moment, fascinated. And then she laughed. “You cannot mean it.”
“I do. And I am not alone.”
She sighed in cruel sympathy. “You are a fool and always have been. If you know any of Jezeeli’s secrets, you know what comes of good men who face Ephitel.”
Corin grinned. “That’s just the trick: I am no good man.”
She reached across the table, took his hands in hers, and held his gaze as warmly. “You are not good enough to be a god, and you are not bad enough to best one. Take your secrets somewhere far away, somewhere Ephitel and Ethan Blake alike will never find you.”
“It’s not in my nature to hide from tyrants.”
She laughed. “No? Then what sent you to the sea for seven years?”
He licked his lips. “Well…I mean…anymore. It’s not in my nature anymore.”
“You are a good man, Corin. You’re the only one who will not see that. But I know that you are good at heart. You do not deserve what lies on the path you’ve chosen.”
“I have chosen nothing, Iryana. I only do what must be done.”
She snorted. “No one makes a slave of Corin Hugh. I know it well. I’ve tried, and I have tricks even the Vestossis would admire.”
He frowned, uncomprehending. When had she done anything of the sort? But he had no time to pursue that now. He shook his head. “There’s more to this matter than you could begin to guess. But this is not the place or time to speak of such things.”
“It’s not,” she said, serious. “I am expected at the house.”
“Forget the house. Forget the Vestossis altogether. I can take you away from here.”
“You don’t always have to be the hero, Corin. You were a pirate. Sometimes pirates get to play the selfish villain. Forget me. Save yourself.”
Corin faltered. His mouth felt suddenly dry, his lungs too empty. “Iryana—”
“I have made my peace, Corin. I’m happy here.”
He forced a doubtful smile. “With Blake? You can’t be.”
“He has his qualities.”
Corin leaned toward her. “I don’t know what he’s done or said. I don’t know what threats he’s made, but you don’t have to fear him anymore. I’ve gained a share of Oberon’s power, Iryana. I can take you away from here in the blink of an eye.”
She breathed a heavy sigh. “You aren’t listening.”
He was trying so hard not to. He caught her hand. “You will be safe and free. I’ll see it’s done. Then I will come back for him.”
She shook her head, a glistening in her eyes. “I am not yours to save, Corin Hugh. I do not want saving. Go away.”
Corin sank back, stunned. “You’re no one’s.” His voice sounded distant, pale. “You are a desert wind. An untamed spirit.”
“That is no easy life. For all their sins, these Godlanders can offer comforts liberty cannot.”
“You’re not Ethan Blake’s.”
“I am,” she said.
“Perhaps…perhaps he has convinced you. After all this time—”
“I was always his. I’m sorry, Corin, but it’s true. An hour after you…recruited me to your mad quest, he took me aside and made me a far better offer. To deceive you. To undermine you. To deprive you of my people’s magic.”
“No.”
She shrugged. “In the end, you didn’t need me anyway. But I still earned my reward.”
“Money? It was all about money?”
“Oh, Giuliano is far more than money. He is security and power and prestige. These are the things a woman craves.” There was a sadness in her eyes as she said this, but not a shade of doubt.
“I liked you better when you were poor.”
She gave him a little smile. “Of course you did. You thought you could have me then.”
Corin never flinched, but the words were like a gut wound. How often had he claimed he didn’t love her? Had he always known it was a lie?
The pain of her betrayal rolled around inside his belly, fighting to get out. He sucked a shallow breath and fought to keep his voice level, to pretend indifference. “I have fought with gods and monsters to get back here. For you. To set you free.”
She shook her head. “I am more than free. I am engaged.”
Corin held her gaze. “I owe Blake a reckoning. You must understand I will not spare him for your sake.”
“Corin, do not be a fool. I allied
myself with him because he is the sort of man who will prevail. Not on noble character, not on courage or wits, but on resources. You cannot fight a Vestossi lord.”
“I will,” Corin said. “And I’ll destroy him. Do you have any backup plans?”
She sighed and regarded him with pity in her eyes. “Oh, Corin. Forget this madness. Go find yourself another ship and sail the seas while the world forgets your name. It’s the only thing that’s ever made you happy.”
“It won’t. Not anymore. I’ve developed a certain taste for justice.”
“That’s a shame. It comes at such a dear price, and there’s never enough to satisfy.”
Corin showed her his teeth. “I’ll manage. I always do.”
She leaned forward, elbows on the table, and fixed him with a serious glare. “Abandon your bravado for a moment. I like you, Corin. I always did. It made my task much harder, but now it helps. Because now I can give you true and good advice that serves my own interests as well.”
He shook his head. “This is bigger than you and me, Iryana.”
“You’re right. This is exactly as big as Giuliano, and he can crush you without even trying. He stole your boat. He tried to kill you. You were a pirate, Corin. It’s all part of the game.”
“Those are not the worst of his sins. By far.”
She scoffed. “What, me? I never was yours. You can’t blame him for that.”
“No,” Corin admitted. “No, I’ll credit him back for you. It does ease my heart a bit to know you’ve not been much mistreated.”
“On the contrary—”
“I don’t want to know. But I’ve seen good men die by Giuliano’s hand. Men who had nothing to do with his intrigues. Better men than me.”
“What, some pirates? Some hired help?”
“No. An honest hero who did nothing worse than love a woman who loved him in return.”
She stared a moment. “You don’t mean the farmboy?”
“You know of him?”
She laughed. “Giuliano’s talked of little else. He was not a hero, Corin. He was a national disgrace in the making.”