by Jae Waller
“You can skip the underlayers in summer,” she said. “As long as you wear a bodice and white dress, you’re considered decent.”
“Did Tiernan suggest this last night?”
“Yes. He wasn’t sure you’d want to wear them, but I knew it bothered you in Crieknaast.”
I stared at the log wall. “It hasn’t sunk in yet I’m going to Caladheå.”
“I’d go to Crieknaast for you if I could.” Marijka pulled the lacing tight. “I should be there. I try to see sense in the Council’s actions, but when they won’t even let medics in to do our jobs—”
“Maika—” I pressed my hand to my chest. “I can’t — breathe—”
The pressure eased. “I’m sorry, Kateiko. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”
“Nei, it’s okay. Take out whatever you need.”
She laughed and knotted the lacing. “There. Should I put up your hair?”
I went suddenly, completely still. Nili and Hiyua were the only ones outside my bloodline who’d touched my hair. No rule said itherans weren’t allowed — it just didn’t happen. Leifar tried once and quickly learned better.
I always felt like I saw Marijka from a great distance, like she was one of Orebo’s stars giving its light to the world and none of its secrets — but for a moment, the light had cleared and I saw her. Beneath the endless patience, she was as frustrated as me. I wanted to give back something of myself, even if she’d never know what it meant.
So I nodded. She brushed my hair with a goat-horn comb, working through the tangles, and pinned the pale brown locks to my head. The slight tug on my scalp made my eyes prick with tears.
My parents always braided their hair. Sensible, modest, standard for daily wear. As an antayul, my only options were a braid or no hairstyle at all, so I left my hair loose even though I was forever fighting to keep it tidy. But the Rin were far away now. I had to learn a new set of customs. Rivers keep flowing, far from their source.
I wrapped my arms around Marijka’s small frame. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s the least I can do,” she said. “I hope you find good news.”
•
Gwmniwyr’s black tail swished as he plowed a path through the snow. Anwea followed behind, breathing white puffs of air. She and I seemed to have met a compromise. Neither of us wanted to be in the cold longer than necessary. My hands felt thick and clumsy on the reins.
“Explain Caladheå,” I said to distract myself. “Last I heard from the Iyo, it wasn’t capital of anything.”
Tiernan considered that. “What do you know about the settlement of this region?”
“By itherans?” I paused to think. “My friends in Vunfjel said Sverbians landed on the east coast, migrated across the continent, and settled in Nyhemur two hundred years ago. The Ferish landed on this coast much later. They built a trading post near Tamun Dael, the Tamu-jouyen’s settlement up north, but it’s gone now.”
He nodded. “Most posts failed. Barros Sanguero, lord governor of the New Ferland Trading Company, tried to claim the land where Caladheå sits now. He built a stronghold near the Stengar river mouth to protect the company’s port.”
“Protect from what? Bears?”
“Other merchants,” Tiernan said, but I saw the flicker of a smile. “The Ferish used brutal means to control trade routes. Sanguero was by far the worst. A Sverbian-viirelei alliance killed him ninety years ago during the First Elken War.”
“I know about the war. There was a . . . schism? Is that the right word in Coast Trader? Some Rin and Iyo refused to fight, and split off to form the Dona-jouyen. But every other jouyen in the Aikoto Confederacy got involved.”
He glanced up from adjusting the reins. “Right — you mentioned a Rin boy went to find Suriel after fighting in the war. I had forgotten your nation was involved.”
“We mostly fought in the north. The Okorebai-Rin and a hundred others died near Tamun Dael.” I ducked a hemlock branch drooping with snow. “My family helped build Caladheå after the war. They lived there awhile to protect the Iyo.”
“Nyhemur sent settlers, too — Sverbians who hoped a strong port could fend off further Ferish invasion. Sverba declared Eremur a province so it could establish its own military. Caladheå has been the capital ever since.”
I thrust out a hand. “See, that’s what I don’t get. The Iyo let others settle in Iyun Bel, but it’s still their land. How do you declare a province on top of it?”
Tiernan shrugged. “With fundamental disregard for others’ rights, I suppose. The political situation is . . . tense.”
“I’d be tense if someone moved into my yard and expected me to obey their dumb laws.”
“You can thank the Ferish for those. They control the Council these days.”
I frowned. “How did that happen?”
“Sheer numbers. Famine hit Ferland and thousands of immigrants landed here in a matter of years. There were so many that a group calling themselves the Rúonbattai formed to try to drive them out.”
“Thousands? Just how big is Caladheå?”
Tiernan gestured ahead. “See for yourself.”
My words faded as we crested a hill. I reined in Anwea and just stared.
A flat plain sprawled out ahead, ribboned by a river feeding into a bay. Caladheå ringed the coast like creeping lichen. Timber structures hunkered among rust-red buildings, linked by twisting grids of roads. The white sails of ships in the bay were furled like flowers on the edge of bloom. Far to the east, hazy mountains nudged the sky, little more than bumps on the horizon.
I pointed at a massive stone building with a domed tower. It overlooked the city from a hill on the east edge, its snowy grounds surrounded by a stone wall. “Is that Sanguero’s stronghold?”
“Yes. The Colonnium houses Council Hall and Eremur’s military headquarters now.” Tiernan pointed southeast. “Rutnaast, the town Rhonos mentioned, is in the far corner of the Roannveldt plain on the shore of Burren Inlet. If you were still wondering.”
I grimaced. “Thank you.”
We rode down a steep slope and across the tip of the plain. Ice floes drifted around thick pillars supporting a stone bridge over the Stengar. A crude guardhouse stood on the near riverbank. Soldiers with glinting spears waved us on, stamping their feet to keep warm. Two elk reared on their grey leather breastplates. Tiernan quietly explained grey uniforms distinguished city guards from the military proper, who wore black.
Riding into Caladheå felt like a slow descent into deep water. We were in the old Sverbian quarter, Tiernan said. Itherans swirled around us as we wound past timber buildings. Men drove horse-drawn sleighs, women carried packages tied with twine, children in wool hats and mittens squealed as they threw snowballs. A scrawny girl clutching a bundle of folded papers yelled, “Two pann! Caladheå Herald! Two pann a newspaper!”
The place stank. It was easy to see why by looking into the gutters. The reek of piss and goat dung melded with meaty tallow, sour vinegar, fermented cod, decaying offal, things I couldn’t identify. I could only imagine how bad it must be in summer.
Tiernan stopped at a building that reminded me of Crieknaast’s inn with a steep roof and white window frames. A creaking sign carved with a barren tree hung over the door. I slid down from Anwea, hoping no one saw me stumble when my skirt caught on the stirrup.
“The Blackened Oak,” Tiernan said. “It was the Golden Oak until it burned down.”
“Did you have anything to do with that?”
He gave me a disapproving look. “What do you take me for?”
The scent of rye bread and roasting goat in the pub was a blessing. The long tables were unmarred, but the stones around the fireplace were scorched black. The air seemed oddly clear. I realized there were glass lamps on the walls instead of candles.
A man with pale skin and a bushy yellow beard woun
d across the crowded room, wiping his hands on a stained apron. “Hijke, Tiernan! You’re the last person I expected to show up with a young lady.”
A rare smile crossed Tiernan’s face. “Good to see you too, Nhys.”
“It’s been, what, six months? I thought you’d forgotten where the place was. What brings you back?”
Tiernan nodded at me. “Kateiko is trying to find out if a family from Crieknaast survived the uprising. Have you heard any news?”
“He’s convinced I know everything,” Nhys whispered to me. “Truth, I do, just not about this. Hang on.” He went behind the bar and bent over to search under it.
I glanced around while we waited. Three hooded figures gambled with black shark teeth. A man in a patched cloak slumped across a table. He was so still I mistook him for a pile of rags. Two girls in white fur cloaks sat next to longbows taller than they were. A boy with a striped hat and twitching hands moved his lips as if talking to a ghost. A woman with short brown hair fed scraps to a shaggy dog while a group of men argued in Sverbian, pounding the table so hard the plates rattled.
Nhys came back with a folded paper. He smoothed it out and gave it to Tiernan. “Check this. Probably won’t help. Less than half the names be in there.”
I peered over Tiernan’s shoulder to see blocks of tiny meticulous symbols. “What is it?”
“Crieknaast obituaries,” Nhys said. “Got it from a woman who slipped past the soldiers.”
Tiernan was silent, then the paper crumpled in his grip. “Only the militia are listed. So the Council is censoring the newspaper now. Gods’ sakes, there could’ve been children in that crowd.”
“Please don’t remind me,” I muttered.
“No one else from Crieknaast has come by the inn,” Nhys said. “You want news, there be only one place to go.”
“I knew it might come to that.” Tiernan ran a hand over his hair and sighed. “Is Rhedoch Quintere still the regional liaison?”
“Aye, far as I know.” Nhys looked at him closely. “Did Rhonos tell you—”
“Yes.” Tiernan’s eyes flickered to me. “We will go to the Colonnium anyway.”
I drew a sharp breath. “I thought you didn’t want to go near there.”
“There is no other option. If you want the truth, we will get it.” He turned to Nhys. “Do you have space to keep our horses?”
Nhys nodded. “I’ll send the stablehand to tend them.”
I put my hand on Tiernan’s elbow. “You don’t have to do this.”
“We will get it,” he repeated.
•
I buried my hands in my pockets against the cold. The eastern district of Caladheå felt subdued compared to the bustling Sverbian quarter. I jumped every time a sleigh swished past, leaving deep tracks between rows of brick buildings. Nearly everyone in this district had dark hair and was shorter than Tiernan or me — Ferish, I assumed. Some women were small enough I could’ve used them as armrests.
A long, straight avenue bordered by skeletal trees led up the hill toward the Colonnium. I paused halfway up to look back at the sprawling city and the ocean beyond. Seagulls floated on the icy breeze, their calls haunting the air.
Looming iron gates that looked too heavy to move stood open at the top. Rearing stone elk rose from pillars at each side, their hooves lashing out in eternal combat. Guards stood stiff and motionless. They all wore fawn-coloured breeches and deep blue coats with the elk sigil embroidered on their sleeves. Their spear tips formed a perfect row. I shuddered at their blank expressions as we passed.
“Why aren’t they wearing armour?” I whispered.
“Colonnium guards are the highest-ranked soldiers in Eremur,” Tiernan said. “They live and train within these walls. The lack of armour is meant to prove their bravery.”
“That’s stupid.”
The Colonnium stretched across the grounds, its domed tower rising up against pale sky, arched windows glittering among cream-coloured stone. The entire Crieknaast market would fit in one of the wings flanking the tower. Colourful flags fluttered on iron poles. I felt like a speck of dust as we crossed a vast snowy lawn and passed by an erupting fountain. I sensed moving water underground, kept warm by machinery I couldn’t fathom.
Tiernan stopped me on the wide stone steps. “You will have to uncover your head.”
Arguing wouldn’t get me out of it. Frosty air stung my neck as I lowered my hood. I felt a rush of gratitude to Marijka for putting my hair up.
Tiernan pushed open the heavy doors. I stepped into a marble hall ringed with pillars that rose toward the soaring ceiling like ancient trees. Across the room, sweeping stairs led to a set of grand doors. The entire place felt cold. Cold white walls, cold light filtering through glass panes, a cold taste of steel. Even the candles in iron brackets looked like icicles. Guards stood at every entrance.
A man seated behind a desk beckoned us forward. “Please declare yourself and relinquish all weapons,” he said in a flat voice with the trace of an accent.
Tiernan unsheathed Hafelús and placed it on the marble. “Tiernan Heilind. Mage.”
The clerk’s manner changed instantly. He rose and drummed his fingers on the desk. “I’ll have to summon a guard to escort you—”
“I know. I have been registered as a mage for over a decade. Get on with it.”
The clerk rang a tinkling silver bell. I set my flail and knives on the desk. He gave me a look and rang the bell again.
A voice called out. “What, Gélus, I’m coming—” A guard strode through a high archway, her spear tapping on the polished red-brown tile.
“You’re needed for an escort.” Gélus’s hands shook as he shuffled papers.
The guard pointed her spear at him. “You realize this is an utter waste of time.”
“Yes, madam.”
“And this flimsy thing would do nothing if one of them,” she swung her spear around to point at us, “decided to go on a magical rampage in Council Hall.”
Gélus’s papers scattered across the tile, soaking up slush tracked in from outdoors. “Yes, madam, but it’s the law.”
The guard sighed and kicked a paper toward Gélus as he crouched down. She turned to Tiernan and me. “I am Pelennus, and I’ll be your escort. Where are you going?”
“The Northeast Liaison,” Tiernan said.
“I’ll show you to a waiting room. You might even get out in time for the spring fair.”
“Quintere will see me.”
She shrugged. “If you say so.”
As we walked down a long gallery in the south wing, I couldn’t take my eyes off Pelennus. She had a proud face with auburn hair pulled into a tight bun and wore the same uniform as the male guards. She was the first woman I’d seen in Eremur not wearing a skirt. Her steps were perfectly timed with the tap of her spear.
“Quintere’s probably in the pavilion,” she said over her shoulder. “He hasn’t been back to his office all day.”
The gallery opened into another wide hall, its floor inlaid with a pattern of white tiles. I glanced up and realized the entire ceiling was covered with a swirling mosaic. Pelennus strode to a set of glossy wooden doors and knocked.
A man with a pointed black beard answered. “What is it? The captains will be here any — oh. Heilind.” His face paled. “Come in.”
The glare of sunlight on a polished table stung my eyes as I stepped in. Flames crackled in a marble fireplace. I took off my gloves, grateful for the warmth.
Quintere walked past a row of padded chairs lining the table. He pushed aside a plate of half-eaten bread and cheese and began sorting through a pile of maps. “I have a meeting soon, so this will have to be quick. What do you need?”
“A list of the civilians killed in Crieknaast last week,” Tiernan said.
Quintere stopped, holding a handful of papers in midair. “I�
��m not meant to give that out.”
“The Council cannot suppress it forever. Not unless they plan on killing all the witnesses, in which case we will not need a list.”
“It’s just until this inquiry is over. People might get upset if they think—”
“Think what?” I said before I could stop myself. “That the military butchered almost as many people as Suriel? I think that justifies being upset.”
Quintere looked stunned. “Those are my orders.”
“I am not going to interfere with the inquiry,” Tiernan said. “We are simply trying to find out if a family is alive. You owe me that much, Quintere.”
“That may be, Heilind, but I can’t give out classified information to civilians, especially not to viirelei.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” My hands curled into fists. “All I want to know is if some people died so I can mourn them properly. Isn’t that more important than hiding the truth?”
Quintere set down the maps, adjusted a paper on the polished table, and took a round metal device from his breast pocket. “The captains are late. I’m going to step outside and ask your escort if she knows where they are.”
It felt like something had been ripped away from me. “You’re just going to leave?”
He gave a slight bow. “I’m sorry I cannot be more help, miss.”
“Fucking coward,” I muttered as soon as the doors shut. “What’s he afraid of?”
Tiernan gave me a hard look. “He just bought us a few minutes.”
“What good does that do—” I fell silent as he seized the paper Quintere had singled out.
His eyes scanned back and forth. “No one by the name Dåmar or Thylanniga is listed.”
I clamped a hand over my mouth. “What about Ingard?”
He paused a moment too long. “Did he tell you his second name? Or his father’s name?”
A chill washed over my body that even the roaring fire couldn’t stave off. “Nei, he never said — aeldu save me, if he—”
“Wait. His father died in the mine collapse. There may be—” He rifled through the pages, pulled out a tattered sheet and held them side by side. “Ingard Gjellind was killed in the uprising. That boy’s father would be Gjelle, but there is no Gjelle listed as dying in the mine.”