I shrugged and sat on the top step. Unlike most buildings in Istanik, Council Hall had just one entrance and exit. If the traders wanted to hold a session, they’d have to get past me. And I wouldn’t remain silent anymore. If they refused me again, the whole city would hear.
While I waited, I thought about Paono, all alone on Ioene. I hoped he’d found allies. I doubted that everyone from Mieshk’s camp actually wanted to remain with her, especially after they’d learned that we’d found a way home. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
As the sun crawled up the sky, my frustration grew, my thoughts humming like bees in my skull. Another Nocturnai? How could the Council be so stupid?
And I still wasn't sure what Nan had been hinting at. Did she think I’d ask the gutterborn to steal ships from the traders? What chance could we possibly have? Anyway, that idea seemed way too radical for Nan. Though when I thought about it, she rarely talked about herself. Were there things about her I just didn’t know?
A small cloud passed over the sun, the sudden absence of midday heat reminding me of the time. Shading my eyes with my hand, I checked the clock on the front of the courthouse. Past noon already. Had the traders decided not to meet today?
Turning toward the doors, I glimpsed amusement on one of the guard’s faces before he jerked his eyes from me. Disappointment settled in my gut like wet sand. I’d been so intent on blocking entrance to the hall I hadn’t considered that the traders might outwit me. They’d probably arrived hours ago.
Climbing to my feet, I stomped to the door, ignoring the chuckles of the guards. From within the chambers, I heard raised voices. I pounded on the doors. The sound echoed within, stilling the argument.
“Stubborn,” the guard said. “But not very bright, are you? If you haven’t figured it out by now, they’re ignoring you on purpose.”
I glared at him and knocked again. After a moment, the doors cracked open, revealing a harried-looking page. Around twelve or thirteen, the insignia on his tunic announced him as a younger sibling of House Vaskilt, likely in training to serve as clerk to his brother or sister when they ascended to House prime.
“I will address the Council,” I said. “It’s not a request this time.”
Though the page had been a different person every day, the scenario hadn’t changed. As I held the boy’s eyes, I slid my arm into the gap between the doors. He wouldn’t shut them in my face. Not again.
“Lilik Boket,” the page said with a sneer. “What a surprise.”
Snarling, I pushed past him and started down the long corridor that accessed the main chamber. At its end, I paused, controlling the impulse to straighten my clothing. Old habits. I no longer cared to grovel before the traders. I’d rather sail for the Outer Isles than fall back into that old role. But I must remember to be respectful, at least. I still needed something from them.
“Please follow me,” the page said belatedly, apparently having decided it was better for the traders to pretend I’d come at their invitation than to lose face by failing to defend their council chambers from a seventeen-year-old girl.
While the page preceded me into the main chamber, I glanced around. Here in their private hall, they made no attempt to hide their wealth. As I took in the nightforged lanterns, velvet wall hangings, and polished marble columns, I wondered how they could continue to justify the defense tax. Clearly, they could fund the army without the help of the gutterborn.
I had to credit their wisdom, however. Traders might wear embroidered silk and hire guardsmen to escort them through the city, but their relative modesty in public spaces effectively disguised their true fortunes. By doing so, they’d avoided open rebellion for over a century.
Sitting in tiered rows of chairs, the council members shifted when I strode up the central aisle to the speaker’s podium. A trader I didn’t recognize stood before the plinth, but at a signal from someone in the rows of seats, she nodded and yielded the floor to me.
I turned to face the Council. They sat according to status. In the front row, I recognized Trader Yiltak, Moanet Yiltak’s mother. The seat beside her was empty, likely reserved for Moanet. On the opposite side of the aisle, the closest pair of seats were unoccupied. I noticed ornate Us carved into the chair backs. Seats for the head and prime heir of House Ulstat, I assumed. Mieshk would have occupied one of those chairs had she returned from Ioene. Because her family came from the island of Araok, more than a day’s sail away, Mieshk’s father was likely absent during many council sessions. I wondered whether he’d learned about the events on Ioene yet.
“Nightcaller Boket,” said Trader Yiltak. “How considerate of you to join us.” She fixed me with an insincere smile.
“Thank you for hearing me so promptly,” I returned, refusing the bait. “The information I learned on Ioene is vitally important to the Islands.”
“So we’ve been told. Repeatedly. And here you are to reiterate the same story.” She stopped short of rolling her eyes, but only just.
“Given the lack of action from the Council, I figured you must not have heard the whole story.”
“Perhaps you’ll allow me to summarize,” she said. “Shortly after the Nocturnai’s arrival at Ioene, the volcano erupted, sinking the ship and marooning the expedition. Mieshk Ulstat assumed control of the survivors. We assume she felt that trader leadership was necessary, given the circumstances.”
Trader leadership? Maybe she meant trader exploitation. I glared at the smug faces of the House heirs and primes, grabbed the sides of the podium, and clenched the wood as if my hands wrapped Trader Yiltak’s neck. “It was mutiny. Her henchmen forced the captain from his position.”
“Yes, Captain Altak and the strandmistress leveled the same accusation. But you must understand our position here. A divide was opened within the ranks of the Nocturnai. Only members from one of the two parties returned home to tell the tale. In the interest of fairness, we must try to take an objective view of the events.”
“Objective? Or a view that supports your desire to keep enslaving—”
Trader Yiltak raised a gavel, preparing to rap it upon the rail before her.
“Allow me to finish, please.”
Still white-knuckling the podium, I clenched my teeth and nodded.
“According to the accounts we’ve heard, Mieshk blamed you for the eruption. Is this true?”
“It is. But she was trying to divert attention from herself. She was feeding nightstrands to—”
Trader Yiltak raised her eyebrow, cutting me short. “Yet you fled.”
“I did.”
“Because you were guilty?”
“Because I can’t argue with a trader and win. You’re proving that right now.”
Near the rear of the chamber, an elderly trader leaned to whisper to his heir. The young woman nodded.
“Respectfully, Trader Yiltak,” the man said in a voice querulous with age.
Trader Yiltak pivoted to face the speaker. “Yes, Trader Srukolk?”
Srukolk . . . Heiklet’s family. The man must be her grandfather. Judging by the younger woman’s rigid features, the mask broken only by the tightness of grief around her eyes, I gathered the other was Heiklet’s mother.
“If we wish to take the objective view, we should allow the girl to speak without being accused. Judgment can come later.”
A few traders sitting near the Srukolks nodded their agreement. Trader Yiltak’s lips thinned as she scanned the rows of chairs. “Fair point. So—” She turned back to me. “—after you fled, a few others abandoned Mieshk to join your renegade group.”
“A good choice, since they were the ones who made it home,” I said.
Trader Yiltak’s brows raised, and I realized my mistake. Though it had only been around twenty days since Heiklet died, the events of her rescue felt like a different life. At the same time, memories of her filled my heart. So small and brave.
“Traders Srukolk—” I wanted to look anywhere but into their eyes, but I forced mysel
f to meet them. “None of us would have made it home without Heiklet. She was our . . . she was my friend. I’m honored to have known her.”
Heiklet’s mother looked past me, silent. The loss of a child was beyond my imagination. I wished I could do more.
After a long silence, I continued. “We didn’t want to fight Mieshk’s group. They attacked us.”
“That’s your story. But I understand that your group escaped unscathed while one of Mieshk’s followers was killed. Those facts make it difficult to determine the aggressors in the situation.”
“Have some respect, Trader!” one of the traders sitting near the Srukolks called out. “As we’ve just discussed, neither side went without . . . losses.”
In response, Trader Yiltak nodded. “Yes, that is so,” she said.
I didn’t know if it was anger or embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
As Trader Yiltak drew breath to speak again, another woman stood. She looked oddly familiar. “You agreed we should move on,” she said.
“Fair. As long as we all recognize the potential for many interpretations of this young woman’s story. So . . .” Trader Yiltak returned her gaze to me. “We’ve invited you into this chamber to explain your claim that the nightstrands are souls of . . . What did you call them? A lost civilization?”
It didn’t seem to bother Trader Yiltak that my forced entry into the building was about as far as I could get from an invitation.
“The Vanished,” I said.
“And they speak to you?”
I held up my palms. Against the natural light falling through the chamber windows as well as countless wall sconces and chandeliers, my scars’ glow was faint.
“I am a channeler. A soul priestess.”
“A bold statement,” Trader Yiltak said.
“It’s only the truth. Respectfully, Trader Yiltak, I’d hoped to discuss plans for returning to Ioene. We must rescue the remaining voyagers and stop Mieshk Ulstat. I need people to fight. Ships.”
“An army to defeat a single trader heir and a small collection of deckhands. Yes, we heard the same request from Trader Ovintak’s younger son.” Trader Yiltak gestured toward the woman who’d looked familiar. I understood now. Raav had inherited many of his mother’s features. And beside her, the man of about thirty years must be Raav’s cruel brother, Frask.
From the beginning, I’d known Raav was a trader while I was gutterborn. Any relationship between us would be taboo. But until I saw his family inside Trader Council Hall, it hadn’t seemed real.
I realized only after Trader Yiltak cleared her throat that I’d been staring.
“Mieshk is powerful,” I said, swallowing. “She’s . . . changed. Her followers are zealous. They truly believe she’s an ancestor-god.”
“Yet you must understand why Raav Ovintak’s request for six ships to accompany Zyri’s Promise back to Ioene seems outlandish. The Nocturnai included less than a hundred voyagers.”
“Think about the advantage of a nightforged sword over mundane steel. She wields that level of power many times over. She can bring the mountain down upon her attackers.”
“Which brings up another point . . .” All eyes turned to Frask Ovintak. Seeing the cruel twist in the man’s lips, I couldn’t help remembering Raav’s stories of being beaten by Frask when he was young. Of course, Frask wouldn’t attempt something like that now—judging from what I knew of Raav’s body, my memories of running my hands down his muscular arms, Frask would stand little chance in a brawl against his brother. Nonetheless, even though their mother would hold the title of prime until she died, Frask controlled the House in all but name. By all accounts, he ran it ruthlessly.
“Mistress Nyralit told us you’d have us actually stop the Nocturnai,” Frask said. “We might as well hand over the Islands to the Waikert.”
“Nightforging is not what we thought. Every time a nightcaller captures a strand, she’s imprisoning a soul.”
Frask stood, his face dark with anger. Nearby traders shifted away, clearly uncomfortable with the break in his calm. “Nightforged weapons are our only defense against annihilation.”
What should I say? Picking a fight with Raav’s family would only make things worse for him. For us.
I jumped when Trader Yiltak banged her gavel, causing several traders to hide their amusement at my gutterborn nerves.
“Frask Ovintak speaks to my point, though with less evenness than I might hope,” she said. “Nightcaller—or should I say Channeler—” Her mouth twisted condescendingly. “—Boket. You say the nightstrands speak to you. In fact, you claim to have been granted memories of their ancient civilization. According to you, we must return to Ioene, defeat a rogue trader, and remain to—as Mistress Nyralit put it—heal the island.”
“Yes, Trader, that’s right.”
“So I must ask . . . where is your proof? Right now, all we have is the word of a gutterborn girl accused by at least one trader of causing the problems upon Ioene.”
Silence followed her question. Within the crystal facets of the chandelier, a single candle sputtered. From outside, the giggle of a passing child filtered into the chamber.
“The sail on Zyri’s Promise,” I said.
“Was nightcrafted by Katrikki Korpit, a nightcaller of the Nocturnai.”
“It’s far more advanced than anything we’ve made in five centuries of Nocturnais,” I countered.
“Then the young Korpit should be congratulated. Though due to rumor of strange associations upon the voyage, her father has ordered her confined.”
At this, Trader Yiltak cast a glance at a man in the second row. He nodded, solemn. Katrikki’s father, I guessed.
“She provided the conduit, but the nightstrands went into the sail willingly,” I said. “No disrespect to her skills, but it wouldn’t have worked otherwise.”
“So Katrikki Korpit is nothing more than an average nightcaller. Yet after five centuries of Nocturnais, you’re the first to hold this new designation of ‘Channeler’.”
Scattered coughs and shuffling feet followed Trader Yiltak’s words. I scanned the gathered traders, looking for allies. Only Heiklet’s family showed any sympathy, evidenced by the vaguely kind expressions on their faces. Kindness, yes, but condescension as well. I’d won their good will with my words about Heiklet. But that didn’t mean they believed me.
“My sentinel, Paono. He is a channeler, too—a life-channeler.”
Frask Ovintak snorted. “Convenient that he’s not here.”
“The Vanished said one of us must remain to prevent Mieshk from causing another cataclysm.” My voice held a desperate edge. I’d lost. I knew it. But I couldn’t give up. Paono was counting on me.
Sneering, Raav’s brother stepped into the aisle and approached the speaker’s podium. I took an unwitting step back, unnerved by the curl of his lip and the hate in his eyes. He knew about me and Raav. I no longer doubted that.
Frask stepped into the space freed by my retreat and pressed a clenched fist to the top of the podium. Addressing me, but looking only at his fellow traders, he spoke loudly enough that commoners passing the hall could surely hear through the walls.
“This gutter—” He coughed. “Excuse me. This daughter of an Istaniker egg-seller would have us forfeit our safety and livelihood based on nothing but her word. Miraculously, she’s seduced a number of respected citizens with her story, including the Nocturnai’s captain and strandmistress. And unfortunately—” A look of profound disgust crossed Frask’s face. “—my own brother.”
Frask’s mother nodded, her upper lip twitching.
“I did nothing but tell the truth!” I protested. “The others were with me when I used Zyri’s memories to find Ashkalan. It’s a city built by the Vanished.”
Stepping away from the podium, Frask straightened. Tensed. I whipped my hands up to defend my face. Too late. His backhand snapped my head to the side, and I fell, smacking against the marble floor of the hall. Traders gasped.
Black
ness closed down on my vision, and for a moment, my mental walls fell away, leaving me open.
No! That filth! Tyrak said, his anger seething as it pressed into my mind.
Dizzied, I slumped, cool tile against my aching cheek.
“Trader Ovintak, you’ll take your seat now,” Trader Yiltak said coolly. Cracking my eyelids open, I struggled to force my walls back up. My concentration was too scattered, and Tyrak’s outrage flooded me.
“In a moment,” Frask said. As he shifted behind the podium, he stomped down on my outstretched fingers, grinding them into the floor. I squealed between gritted teeth.
You have to stand. Get clear.
In the back row, Trader Srukolk stood. “Stop this! We are civilized people, Trader Ovintak!”
“You may leave the chambers, Heir Ovintak,” Trader Yiltak said, emphasizing his subordinate title.
I tried to scoot away, but my fingers bent under his boot, a fresh wave of agony.
“Civilized . . .” Frask said. “My apologies.” His boot lifted from my hand. I gagged in relief. Finally, my walls slammed home, and I managed to roll away from him.
“I have just one question for Nightcaller Boket,” he said, teeth gleaming when he snarled at me. “I’ve heard rumors from some of the commoners who returned with you from Ioene. They tell a strange tale, something about a figurine. You and this life-channeler—”
“Paono,” I snarled.
“Before you left Ioene, you and Paono had to get this figurine away from Mieshk. It was giving her power, and apparently, it was your fault she had possession of it. Pardon me if I am confused here, but one of the voyagers claimed to overhear you calling it the Yiltak Effigy. Now isn’t that strange?”
“That’s enough, Frask! You are excused.” Trader Yiltak stood to her full height. Sitting, Moanet’s mother was the most impressive presence in the chamber. Standing, she left no doubt about how her House had risen to the most powerful in the Islands.
“Of course, Trader Yiltak. Please forgive me if I’ve overstepped.” After inclining his head, Raav’s brother stalked down the exit corridor. The doors opened, admitting the clamor of the courthouse square, then shut behind him.
Shadowbound Page 2