by Claire Luana
“Yes, well…” Callidus looked at him crossly. “Pike is there meeting with some of the Centese representatives. To see about them supporting an effort to retake Maradis.”
“Why don’t they just meet in Centa Kana? Isn’t that the capital?” Thom asked.
“The Apricans have spies everywhere,” Rizio said. “In every government. Going through unofficial channels is the only way we can talk without risking exposure.”
“How long till we get there?” Wren asked.
“Another day if the winds are fair,” Rizio replied.
“And Pike will be willing to meet with us?” Wren asked. After everything that had happened with Sable, she didn’t think anyone from the Confectioner’s Guild was a favorite of Pike’s right now.
“I believe so. You have assets to offer.”
Assets? Wren wrinkled her brow, doing a mental inventory. Their infused foods, gold, their wells...perhaps some contacts at other Guilds...it seemed a meager offering to secure Pike or the Centese government’s assistance. Callidus and Rizio were both staring, their dark eyes boring into her. “What?” she asked, stepping back inadvertently.
“Will you show Rizio the ring?” Callidus asked.
Oh. Rizio didn’t want the Guild or even her. He wanted Lucas Imbris, the missing heir to the Alesian throne. A legitimate face to lead their resistance. Her hands felt heavy as she lifted the chain from around her neck, slipping it over her head. The ring hung between them, swinging softly like a pendulum.
Rizio examined the ring, turning it over in his hands.
She knew what he was looking at; she’d memorized every inch of the ring by heart. A stylized falcon’s head grasping a milky white stone in its curved beak. On the band of the ring, the falcon’s wings were etched, wrapping around each side. The falcon was the Imbris family crest. Lucas’s note had said that the ring would lead her to him. But Lucas must have been overestimating her prowess as a detective. To her, the ring seemed to be the most generic clue she could imagine.
“Interesting design,” Rizio said, handing it back to her. “Have you talked to the jeweler?”
“No. I have no idea who made it. It didn’t come with an instruction manual.”
“His mark is right on the inside,” Rizio said.
“What?” Wren asked.
She, Callidus, and Thom crowded closer, drawn like moths to a flame.
“I’ll show you.” He took the ring back and turned it over, pointing with his pinky to the inside of the ring, where the metalwork held the stone. “See this little leaf? It’s not just a decoration, it’s the craftsman’s mark. I don’t recognize it, but someone in the Forgotten Bay might. Actually, there’s a jeweler I know named Hiryo who might be able to help.”
Wren looked up, delighted. “That’s the first real clue we’ve gotten. Thank you!” Hope swelled in her. Lucas. Could it really be that simple? Find the craftsman, find Lucas. And if they could find Lucas, they would have a chance. To take back their city. And their lives.
Chapter 19
Hale’s pinky finger throbbed. Except it didn’t. Because it was gone. He couldn’t stop running his fingers over the bandage, over the emptiness where a finger once had been. It wasn’t the missing finger that bothered him, so much as the fear that Daemastra would decide he needed more precious parts.
Hale’s footsteps dragged as he headed towards the workshop. The place had taken on new meaning to him—its horrible secrets laid bare. He hadn’t been able to sleep at all last night, part for the throbbing in his hand, part for the realization of what those jars in the ice box were.
Do you know where magic comes from? Daemastra had said. It’s in your bones. How much bone would it take to produce a canning jar full of powder? A lot. More than a person could spare—and live. Hale’s mind rebelled at the thought, at the realization of who this man was. Who he now served. He should run. He should run and never look back. But he already had strange black lines creeping across his bicep, from the tiny red dot where Daemastra had stuck him. He needed the antidote if he wanted to live. And gods help him, for whatever reason, he wasn’t ready to let go of this flaming mess of a wreck he’d made of his life. He was too cowardly to die. So he dragged his feet, but he walked. Back into the lion’s den.
Voices sounded inside Daemastra’s workshop—raised voices. Angry voices. Hale slowed, pausing by the door. Daemastra’s calm, even tones contrasted with Willings, his words laced with panic and anger.
“Oosten is dead!” Willings said. Hale froze. Oosten, the huge guinea pig they’d tested their formula on?
“Did you perform the tests as I instructed?”
“Yes, of course. But you’re missing—”
“How did he perform?” Daemastra seemed as if he were speaking to a small child.
Willings let out a frustrated hiss. “He performed remarkably.”
“Good. Then the experiment was a success. We know the formula works.”
“The formula kills people,” Willings protested. “Are you going to drink that stuff? Because I sure as hell won’t.”
“The formula is missing a key ingredient,” Willings said. “Two, if I have my way, but only one that really matters. We need to make it permanent.”
“I thought it was permanent.”
“No.” Hale could almost hear Daemastra’s eye roll. “I told you. In its current form, the formula is only temporary. It puts a tremendous strain on the body and mind as it transforms it. When it returns to its weakened state...I thought it might be too much for some. We need the magic of time to make it permanent.”
Magic of time? Hale wondered. Which Guild was that?
“And do you have a plan for getting this last ingredient?”
“The Spicer’s Guild. One member in particular if my research is accurate, which it very usually is. The guild head.”
“You disbanded the Spicer’s Guild. They all fled the city,” Willings pointed out.
Daemastra clicked his tongue in frustration. “Well, that wasn’t my intent. I thought by disbanding them, they’d lose their legitimacy and we’d be able to scoop them up without questions. Unfortunately, they were craftier than I gave them credit for. A mistake I will not make again.”
“So where are they? Do you have a plan for getting this Gifted?”
“I am working on it. In the meantime, keep training our Golden Guard and preparing them for the transformation process. As soon as the formula is concocted, I want to be ready to administer it.”
“Very well,” Willings said, storming out of the room.
Willings started, almost running into Hale. Hale’s cheeks heated, as he had obviously been caught eavesdropping. “I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said lamely.
Willings only sneered at him. “Down in the mud with the rest of us, aren’t you, Firena? What would your precious Guild say if they saw you now?” He pushed past Hale, and Hale moved stiffly into the room, trying and failing to ignore how much Willings’s comment stung.
“Hale.” Daemastra smiled at him, flashing his too-white, too-straight teeth. A fleeting thought flashed through Hale’s mind as he wondered if Daemastra had stolen those teeth from poor Gifted, too. Was there any original part of this horrid man? Or was he a strange amalgamation? “How are you feeling?” Daemastra asked.
“I’ve got black running down my arm and I’m missing a finger, so I’ve been better,” Hale snapped. He was here. That needed to be enough for the man. He didn’t need to be polite too.
Daemastra’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes glittered dangerously. “Well, I can help one of those things.” He turned and retrieved a small vial from a cupboard. “Drink this,” he said, handing it to Hale.
Hale did as instructed. If the man wanted to kill him, he would have done it already. The liquid tasted bitter, like chewing raw dandelion leaves.
“Good. Now. About the sample I took from you,” Daemastra said.
Hale tensed.
“It wasn’t what I’m looking for
. Your luck is...limited,” Daemastra twisted his too-smooth face.
Hale let out a bark of laughter. “You could have just asked. My magic only works on cards or dice.”
Daemastra nodded, frowning. “Helpful if you need a little extra coin, but that’s not what I’m looking for. The formula needs good luck that influences all situations. Who in the Confectioner’s Guild has such magic?”
Hale stilled.
Daemastra continued. “Need I remind you that if you don’t tell me, I can choose to withhold tomorrow’s antidote. And then I’ll just find out anyway.”
Hale licked his lips. They suddenly felt dry. “Wren,” he said softly.
“Of course. One of the three who have fled the city.”
“They’ve fled the city?” Hale’s eyebrows shot up. He tried to keep his features neutral, showing only surprise, not the relief that was welling deep within him.
“You didn’t know?” Daemastra seemed amused. “On the outs, are we? Well, yes. For now, they’re gone. But I have a feeling they’ll be back.”
Hale sent up a prayer to the Sower. It seemed like he had been doing that a lot the past few days. Pike and Wren were the two Gifted Daemastra needed to complete his formula.
Chickadee, he thought, wishing Wren could hear him, wherever she was. Stay far, far away.
Olivia had been trapped in this postage stamp cabin for an entire day. If she had to go another day, she thought she might lose her mind.
“You’re making me dizzy,” Dash said, lounging back on the hard bunk, his fingers intertwined behind his neck. “Come sit down.” He patted the bunk next to him.
Olivia sighed and plunked down by his feet, slumping over to rest her head in her hands. At least the company wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She supposed if you had to be trapped in a tiny cell on a rolling ship, doing it with a handsome Tamrosi man was the way to go.
“How are you feeling?” She leaned over, placing her hand against Dash’s temple. His skin had been flush when they’d first been brought to the cell, but the color seemed to have receded. “It seems like your fever’s gone down.”
Dash looked at her, his brown eyes like pools of molten chocolate. “I’m not sure. Perhaps you should keep checking.”
Her body flushed and she pulled her hand back.
Dash let out a husky laugh before scooting to a seat, leaning back against the wall of the cell. “I’ll live. Thanks to Thom, anyway. I’m healthy as a horse.”
“Good.” Silence fell over them, but it was warm, like a comfortable blanket. They’d spent the last day talking, sharing about their pasts and families, likes and dislikes. Their conversations had circled deeper—fears, dreams, hopes for the future. Everything Olivia learned about Dash made her soften to him more. He had been born the son of a blueberry farmer outside Terrasia, the Tamrosi capital. His father had died in the Red Plague two years earlier, and they’d had to sell the orchard in the following years to make ends meet. Dash had joined the Aprican army the next spring and sent the majority of his pay home to his mother and two younger sisters. He counted himself lucky that he’d never had to kill a man in battle, and he hoped he never would. He’d gotten the faint scar on his cheek from falling out of a hayloft at the age of seven. He hated pickles, he hummed lullabies in his sleep, and he had the edge of a tattoo peeking out from the cuff of his shirtsleeve that Olivia longed to see the rest of.
“Shall we play a game?” Dash asked.
“A game?” Olivia raised an eyebrow. “What kind?”
Dash stroked his beard, considering.
He had good hands—strong and broad, with neatly-trimmed nails and deft fingers. Olivia found herself watching his hands far too often. She scolded herself. If he caught her staring, she’d be mortified.
“Have you ever played I Spy?”
Olivia wrinkled her nose. “In here? It’ll be a short game, won’t it? I spy with my little eye something brown.”
Dash pretended to ponder. “Is it wood?”
“How did you know?” Olivia slapped her knee in mock surprise. “You’re a master at this.”
Dash laughed—the sound warm and deep. “I spy with my little eye...” He caught her eye and held it. “Something beautiful.”
Olivia pulled in a sharp little breath.
A key jangled at the lock and Olivia tore her gaze from Dash’s, grateful for the distraction.
The door opened and a bare-footed sailor entered the room, bearing a tray with two dinner bowls. A thin figure was silhouetted in the hallway behind him. Wren.
Olivia’s lip curled. Her former friend who had betrayed her, stolen her away from her home and city and Guild. Who still hadn’t told her why.
Wren stepped into the room. Her face was wan, her auburn hair tangled as if from salty air.
“How are you feeling?” Wren asked quietly.
The sailor deposited the tray on the little corner shelf and went to stand by Wren, crossing his arms before him. Her bodyguard, it seemed. As if Wren needed protection from Olivia or Dash. She was the one who had attacked them!
“A little cabin fever, but well enough,” Dash replied.
Olivia ground her teeth. She’d already said her piece to Wren. No need to repeat it now.
“Olivia,” Wren said carefully. “I know you’re very angry, but I was wondering if you might tell me what you think of Emperor Evander?”
Olivia exchanged a look of disbelief with Dash. This again? “Why do you keep asking me that?”
“It just... It matters to me,” Wren said. Typical Wren non-answer. Olivia was trying to recall if there was ever a time when Wren had been completely honest with her. She wasn’t sure she could think of one.
She let out a frustrated hiss. “Emperor Evander is...” She paused. Her mind felt foggy and confused when it came to the subject of their new ruler. She’d felt so strongly before, but now... She put her hand to her temple. “I’m—I’m not sure.”
A look of relief broke across Wren’s face, lighting her up like a sunbeam. “Good. That’s good.”
Dash was frowning, watching her closely. “What’s going on?”
Olivia shook her head, trying to clear it.
“I’ll explain everything in another day. Tomorrow we’ll be arriving at Forgotten Bay, in Centu. Olivia, I think you’ll be able to come out of this awful cabin by the time we arrive.”
Olivia wanted to get out of this cabin more than anything, but... She looked at Dash. “What about Dash?”
Wren pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, Dash, but you’re still an Aprican legionnaire. We can’t risk releasing you.”
He didn’t seem surprised.
“That’s not fair,” Olivia protested. “I don’t want to be released until Dash is.”
“Olivia, don’t be mad. You’re part of the Guild. He’s the enemy.”
“He’s been a better friend to me than you as of late.” Olivia crossed her arms over her chest. She knew that was a tad bit melodramatic, but Wren still hadn’t apologized to her for what she’d done.
“We’ll discuss this tomorrow. You might find you’ve had a change of heart,” Wren said. She nodded to the sailor. “Let’s go.”
Dash stood, retrieving the two bowls and handing one to her before sitting down beside her.
“You would really do that for me?” Dash asked softly. “Give up your freedom? Stay in this cell?”
Olivia took a bite. The stew was watery, but it had a pleasant flavor of curry and cardamom. “They can’t hold you indefinitely. Maybe I can help them see that.”
“That would be the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me,” he admitted. “But I won’t let you do it.”
“Good thing you don’t have the power to let me do anything,” Olivia countered. “I make my own choices. I’m my own woman.”
Dash nodded, his gaze intent upon her. “What if there was a way we could both be free?”
Olivia’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth. She let it fall. “What do you mean?” she whisp
ered.
“If I could get us out of here when we get to Centu, would you come with me? We could find our own way back to Maradis. Get you home.”
Her heart skittered in her chest. Dash was asking her to run. It was madness. She’d only known him for a few days. But she trusted him more than she trusted Wren and Callidus and even Thom right now. “Yes.” She found herself saying, a smile stretching its way across her face.
Chapter 20
Rizio called down to Wren, Thom, and Callidus when they caught sight of land. They emerged from their narrow berths, donning boots and cloaks before making their way into the frigid misty air above deck.
Thom was moving slow—his face pallid and clammy. He had developed a ragged cough over the last day.
Wren shoved down her worry. So long as they kept filling him with soup and tea, he’d get over whatever it was. He was young and strong.
Wren’s first glimpse of the Centese archipelago was distinctly underwhelming. Desolate islands of slate stone thrust up from the glassy sea—their barren forms shrouded in mist. The hush of the morning was broken only by a call of a stray gull as the Black Jasmine glided silently towards land.
The ship drew closer to the nearest island, heading directly towards the sheer rock face.
Wren and Thom exchanged a look of concern. Why was Rizio heading directly for the island? Though the sea was calm, there were still bound to be rocks in the shallow water at the island’s edge. Wren’s pulse quickened the closer they got to the island until it was almost too much to bear. She looked back at Rizio standing calmly at the wheel, the collar of his wool jacket turned up against the cold. She needed to say something. He was going to kill them all!
But then he spun the wheel and the ship turned, gliding into a narrow opening between the rock as the sailors scrambled to bring in the sails. The passageway was nearly invisible from afar. No wonder this place was called Forgotten Bay.
The only thing more surprising than the hidden entrance to Forgotten Bay was what she saw once inside. The island cradled a sprawling metropolis of ships and humanity. A spiderweb of docks stretched across the water, creating a veritable floating city. Ships with their tall masts were nestled next to wooden outbuildings with colorful tile roofs and open squares where vendors in narrow boats hocked their wares.