“Tell you what,” Lance said. “I’ll think about going with you—for one of those bread rolls.”
Calista reached into the sack, grabbed a roll, and abruptly tossed it above his head. Lance darted away and caught it before it could land in the mud.
“If only you could catch like that at wingshot games,” Calista joked.
He bit into the roll and spoke around a mouthful of bread. “How would you know? You never go to watch me play. Thanks for breakfast.”
He broke into a sprint toward the school building. Calista stood watching him, feeling hurt at the comment. It was true she had never been to one of his games. She hated the crowds that gathered there, the fathers shouting at their sons to score, score, score; the mothers gossiping with each other in the stands.
Calista bit into a bread roll as she turned toward home. At least she was feeding her family. Wasn’t that enough? Didn’t that make her a good person?
She spit out the bread and tossed the roll into the mud.
CHAPTER 8
When Calista awoke after being knocked out by the chimpanzee, the first thing she saw was a room filled with sunlight. The light poured through a row of skylights built into the angled ceiling. The sloped surface and the musty smell of old wood told her she was in an attic space, which calmed her nerves somewhat. It was better than being back in that basement, around all that blood and death.
“You’re awake.”
The voice startled her. She looked over to find Artemis sitting in a chair next to the bed. He sat hunched over his knees because the roof was so low. The bruises and welts on his face gave him a fierce and dangerous look. Calista recoiled at the sight of him, tried to kick back the layers of blankets tightly tucked around her.
“There now,” the baker said, motioning with one hand, a gesture meant to calm her down but which only frustrated her further. “You should drink some water.”
Calista’s body remained tight as a wire as she watched the baker reach down to grab a tin cup off the floor. He dunked it into a bucket of water next to his chair and handed it over. The water was warm and tasted metallic, but it soothed her as she gulped it down.
“You saved my life,” Artemis said, “and I don’t even know your name.”
“Calista.”
Her hand trembled as she returned the cup. The struggle in the basement had been real after all. Those two men—the chimp and the lion—were dead, and Calista was a witness. Artemis noticed her hand shaking and gave her a comforting smile.
“You’re safe here. Those men aren’t a threat anymore.”
“Who were they?”
“You ever heard of Kristian Keldran?”
Calista felt a chill run down her back. “He controls the west end.”
“You’re right about that.” Artemis dunked the cup into the bucket again, and Calista watched his Adam’s apple bob inside his beard as he drank it dry. He dropped the cup into the bucket and hunched forward again, wringing his hands together. “Every child knows his name and what he’s done to this town, and yet the Wolf Pack does nothing to stop him.”
Calista watched his hands flex nervously between his knees. Fear grew in her belly. She had learned about the Wolf Pack in school. They were a paramilitary group that upheld law and order in the scattering of towns in this region. Citizens paid the wolves a tax for protection since there was no central government or national police force in her tiny country of Cyann. Here, people governed themselves as Valcyona had intended for all Ferals—and it worked for the most part, except when certain packs tried to seize power and had to be put down by the people. If there was one basic instinct all Ferals shared, it was a distrust of authority. The Wolf Pack knew this and had established a delicate balance of influence over the region, as had most of the other paramilitary groups that had established themselves throughout Cyann.
And yet, they did nothing to stop men like Kristian Keldran—at least, not in Peleros. Calista had heard horror stories about the crime boss since childhood, how he liked to set fire to the houses of families that didn’t pay him for his own brand of “protection,” and how he stole daughters away from families to add to his harem.
“Isn’t that why the Wolf Pack exists?” Calista said. “Because of men like Keldran?”
“You would think so, but they’ve been distracted. You see, war is coming to Valestaryn. The wolves spend more time watching the sea for signs of foreign ships than looking out for poor towns like ours.”
“What about those men in the basement?” Calista said. “Why did Kristian send them? Is it because you won’t pay him?”
Artemis nodded. “And because I don’t bow down for anyone. It offends his pride.”
“So why haven’t they killed you yet?”
“You’re full of questions,” he said with a grin. “I can tell you’re a smart girl.”
He sat back, bumped his head against the ceiling, and hunched forward again. “My assassination would bring unwanted attention from the Wolf Pack. A few of those guys served with me in the Forge. I know what you’re thinking—why don’t I reach out to them and ask for help, right?” At Calista’s affirming nod, he continued. “I guess it’s because I’m stubborn, though after last night, that’ll probably change.”
“But you said a war was coming,” Calista said. “Why? The other races are terrified of Feral fighters. Aren’t they?” she added in a thin voice.
Artemis’s copper-colored eyes bored into hers, his stare even more frightening thanks to the bruises and cuts on his face. “Corgos, king of Taradyn, and his twisted cousin, Kovax, have set their sights on our people. There are rumors they’re building some kind of superweapon, and that all the Feral armies in the world won’t stand a chance against them when it’s finished.”
Calista was glad for the blankets as another chill washed over her. Unexpectedly, her stomach growled. She clutched it.
“Hungry?” Artemis said, his mood brightening with an abruptness that caught her off guard.
He was out of his chair before she could respond. Calista wanted to hear more, but the man insisted she eat. He left the room and came back minutes later with a tray of goodies that she immediately tore into.
“Maybe this is fate,” Artemis said when they had finished eating and Calista was sucking the butter and sugar off her fingers. He stood, put his hand on the ceiling next to one of the skylights, and stared uncertainly at her, his face awash in sunlight that made the swollen parts glisten. He looked like he wanted something out of her.
Calista searched for her sandals, uncomfortable beneath his gaze. “I have to be home soon,” she said, “or my mother will get angry.”
“Yes, I’ve seen your mother before.” Artemis looked up at the clear blue sky beyond the glass. “She comes into the bakery now and then, but she never buys anything. That’s how I know you’ve been planning to steal from me for a long time. You look just like her, you know. Same searching eyes, taking stock of other people’s possessions. When you were in here last night, you were scoping my house, gathering intelligence for the day when you would finally catch me off guard, am I right? You’re a thief, and a damned good one from what I’ve seen.”
Calista blushed at a sudden, shameful feeling. Stealing was a burden, but it was also a skill she felt proud of. Never had she thought of it as a crime.
Artemis spoke in a wistful voice as he watched a flock of birds fill the skylight. “I won’t judge you. I was a thief, too, when I was your age. Most cubs are unless they come from money. I’ll bet you dream of getting away and seeing the world beyond our shores. I always did.”
Calista considered getting up and leaving. This was getting too personal. Plus, her mother would chop off her tail if she didn’t show up soon. She moved to push herself off the bed, still somewhat dizzy.
“Stay right there,” Artemis said in a firm voice, halting her. “Don’t you dare move a muscle.”
Calista hesitated for only a split-second before springing to her feet, hands
tightening into fists. She was right; he wanted something from her. Retribution, maybe? Because she had tried to steal from him?
“Or what?” she snapped at him. “Yes, I’m a thief. But I saved your life.”
Artemis watched her through a stern expression that vanished a second later, leaving a proud look. Calista only grew more confused.
“You’re different from the others, aren’t you? You’ve felt it all your life, that you’re capable of dealing with problems that make others squeamish and afraid. Because of that, you never blended in, never made friends with other girls. I’ll bet a dozen gold pieces you’ve always felt more comfortable around boys—not because you particularly like them, but because their games of pretend battle and warfare always made more sense to you than playing with dolls and makeup. I’d also bet that these neighborhood boys gave you a tough time when they realized you were faster and stronger than them. That’s why you enjoy stealing. Because you can do it alone, and it’s a better test of your skills. Every time you get away with it, you feel like you matter.”
Calista’s mouth fell open a crack, yet she couldn’t find the words to voice a response. The baker knew her as if he had watched her grow up, had witnessed her clumsy interactions with other girls her own age, her attempts at making friends with boys on her street if only to take part in their pretend sword fights, and the pain of being rejected by those same boys when they figured out Calista was naturally swifter and more aggressive than the whole lot of them.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked the baker. “And why do you care?”
“I care because I want to train you,” Artemis said, dominating her view as he took a step toward her. “I want you to learn how to fight so you don’t have to be a thief the rest of your life. So you don’t end up in some Wolf Pack prison over jewelry stolen from the wife of an alpha, or wasting your talents on the streets of Peleros, concerned only with staying alive and finding your next meal. Because that’s where you’re headed, Cali. I see it as clearly as I saw it in every other soldier I trained who might have chosen a different path.”
Calista could only mumble a reply as her mind swam with possible explanations for the man’s sudden interest in her. “You’re… recruiting me for the Forge?”
“Yes. You’re a natural, Calista. My years of training soldiers have taught me how to spot one. When I look into your eyes, you know what I see?”
“What?” she said weakly, feeling dizzy again.
The baker’s eyes crinkled around the edges, a subtle smile. “I see Tiberian Steel.”
ONE NIGHT, as her family sat down to eat dinner at the rickety wooden table in the cramped space that served as a kitchen, dining, and living room, Calista burned with the memory of what she had experienced in the baker’s house. Her sister sensed it immediately, even though Lance had been the only person she had told.
“Ooh, Cali’s got a secret,” Marcely said.
Lance gave his sister a nervous, knowing glance. He had been fidgeting in his seat all throughout dinner, causing Calista to wonder if he was on the verge of ratting her out. She kept silent as her mother gave each of her children a heated look.
“Finish your meals and be quiet about it. I need to de-stress after a long day of…” Doing nothing, Calista wanted to say. “…cleaning up after you kids,” her mother finished, rubbing the back of her neck as if all the pain in the world had suddenly appeared there in a condensed knot.
“Yeah, eat your pastries, Mar,” Calista told her sister. “No beauty queen was ever as skinny as you.”
Her sister scowled over the frosted pastries stacked on her plate. They were of the fluffy, disc-like variety that sported a dollop of fruit jam in the center. Marcely had already put on several pounds from eating all the delicious treats Calista brought her. Not that the extra weight was an undesirable thing for Marcely; she looked better, healthier. But it drove their mother crazy, and that was all that mattered.
“Marcely, dear,” their mother said, “maybe you shouldn’t eat so many of those…”
“Don’t tell me what to eat,” Marcely shrieked, leaping out of her seat as if a wasp had stung her bottom. “Calista’s the one you should be bugging. She’s been smooching with Delan out in the fields. My friend Ellysa saw her!”
Glad for the opportunity to take her anger out on someone other than her prized eldest daughter, Calista’s mother turned her smoldering, orange gaze on Calista.
“You did what?”
Calista nibbled on a celery stick. “You heard her. I smooched with Delan in the fields.”
Now it was her mother’s turn to leap out of her seat. The motion caused the tin plate in front of her to rattle, scattering pellets of saltcorn. “I knew you been up to no good, always leaving the house with that smile on your face. You nasty little scamp. What would your father say—”
“Enough!”
The command had come from Lance. He, too, had bolted up from his seat and was now glaring furiously at his mother and Marcely. Everyone was standing except Calista, who was too stunned to move.
“Father left us,” Lance reminded her, “so who cares what he thinks?”
“You stay out of this,” their mother said.
“Don’t worry. A week from now, I won’t even be here to listen to this anymore.”
Lance looked at Calista. The tightness around his eyes meant he was serious. Calista’s mouth opened in shock.
“Lance?” Their mother’s voice lost its edge. She looked pleadingly at her son. “What are you saying?”
“I—I joined the Forge today, is what I’m saying. We’re shipping off to Taradyn in a week. I’m sorry, Ma.”
Calista rose from her chair with enough force to knock it over. She dashed around the table, wrapped her arms around her brother, and buried her face against his chest.
“Don’t go. I was kidding before. You can leave Peleros with me. Just don’t go to some stupid war.”
At that point, their words had no effect. Lance had made up his mind.
HE STILL RESEMBLED the boyish athlete from her fondest memories of him, only he was taller and there were hollows on his gaunt face now. Dark patches under his eyes spoke of missed meals and sleepless nights, the stress of a mind filled with thoughts of conflict and death.
But his eyes, Calista noticed in the flickering glow of the oil lamps, were still the same—warm and reassuring, like a bed of burning coals. His tail had reached full maturity and lashed behind him like a weapon.
“You’re back in Valestaryn,” Calista said. “I went to Taradyn looking for you. They told me you were dead.”
He nodded. “Low mages killed every man in my unit. I survived because I ran.”
Calista sensed a mixture of emotions in his voice, including shame at having run away, but there was not a hint of fear. Death no longer frightened him.
“Why did you run?” she asked him.
“I knew you would come back. I came here and joined Artemis’s unit, and I counted the days.”
Calista looked back at the baker. Artemis stood nearby with his arms crossed, patiently waiting for them to finish. Something brushed her scalp, and she turned to find Lance picking a clump of dirt out of her hair.
“What happened to our people?” she asked him.
He glanced at the other soldiers, who stood solemnly watching them. They were mostly men in their twenties and thirties, with two women and one old man whose right eye was sealed shut beneath a mess of scars. Calista was afraid Lance would say something along the lines of: We’re all that’s left.
Instead, he asked her a question. “You’ve heard of the Towers of Light and Dusk?”
“Yes. Kovax and his cousin, the king…”
Lance shook his head. “You haven’t been following the news. Corgos is dead. Kovax blamed it on a Feral assassin, but we think he murdered the king so he could take power. He’s Emperor Kovax now, and he’s more dangerous than his cousin ever was. He has full control of Taradyn, and his soldiers a
re building a tower in Jasparta, on the coast of Erath.”
“But the Cabal of Erath,” Calista stammered, “and—and the Erathian alpha families…”
“Gone,” Lance said. “His low mages killed all the alpha families. Kovax ordered their children slaughtered and enslaved the armies of every ruling family with barely any losses to his own armies. Somehow, he’s become more powerful than anyone ever imagined. People say it’s these towers he’s created.”
“But what are they? Fortresses that cast spells?”
“Something like that. From what we could gather, Kovax is building a superweapon capable of wiping an entire city off the continent. That’s where our people went. Into the tower, to burn alive so Kovax could store blood ether in his damned crystals, the ones that power the weapon.” His expression changed to one of hatred. “All of our people, dead…”
“That’s enough,” Artemis said. He approached Calista and Lance and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “You’re with your people now, Cali. What’s left of us, anyway. We need your skills for the upcoming battle. It’s that or certain death. Will you join us?
“Yes,” Calista said with a nod. “I’ll fight with you.”
The other soldiers traded looks of relief, even pride at having Calista join their unit. She found the one-eyed man smiling warmly at her.
“We need to rejoin the rest of our men,” Artemis said. “The only reason we stayed in Peleros so long is because of you.”
“But how did you know I was coming?”
“Word got back to us about your victory over the sorcerer Iolus. We know about Milo and Emma Banks… and Ascher. He was a good soldier—one of us—but it was the demigod magician, Emmanuel, who alerted us to your impending arrival. I think he knew what you were truly seeking.”
“He didn’t tell me you would be waiting for me,” Calista said, feeling a surge of affection for the strange magician. “He didn’t tell me about Lance.”
“No, because he didn’t know the specifics of our history together. But he told us about a girl with a fiery spirit and a hell of a bad attitude who was searching for a home. A girl named Calista, the one and only.”
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