by Cara Witter
But following the funeral pyres, and with the many days of reconstruction ahead, they needed a chance to celebrate their victory as much as they could.
If dawn had been a moment of miracle, the day that followed had been one of mourning for Ithale. One of the main streets had been completely consumed in flames, and the homes and livelihoods of many families lay in ashes. Even worse had been the collecting of the bodies, the sorting of their dead friends and loved ones. Kenton had watched helplessly as Nikaenor’s mother hugged him, as the boy mumbled into her ear how sorry he was that he’d been too late.
When Kenton’s family had died, there had been no one left to murmur apologies. No one but him left to talk at all, and he never spoke about that, his mind hiding even the memories.
He, like Nikaenor, wished he could have saved them all. Instead, he helped those who remained as they gathered up the dead, placing their townspeople on a barge separate from that constructed for the Sevairnese soldiers, and in the evening sent the ships out to sea, watching with tears and fervent benedictions as the fire consumed the bodies and spread ashes on the waves.
And now, as if to show their goddess that they appreciated her miracle, notwithstanding their loss, many had gathered at the Fish Hook for drink and song. The floor on the far side had been cleared, and people who suffered and grieved danced intricate steps of a wavelike dance that, even without knowing its history, Kenton could tell mirrored the waxing and waning of the tides.
Kenton took another sip, trying to divert his mind from the sinking sensation that sat heavy in his chest throughout the merriment. Nikaenor made his way over to sit by Kenton, ducking his head with a blush as a group of young women eyed him.
Nikaenor passed the Seastone to his other hand. Kenton found it hard to keep his eyes off the stone. The rich hues of blue swirling in it were almost hypnotic.
On the far side of the dance floor, Ronan was twirling Perchaya around in a step that mimicked little eddies of water as it slipped between rocks. Despite her exhaustion, her face was aglow, and her skirt billowed out with the motion. She was a good dancer, Kenton realized. Light on her feet, graceful even though she was only learning the steps. He watched as Ronan put his hands on Perchaya’s waist, imagining how much happier she’d be if she could stay here, safe and protected, her life back to being simple and relatively carefree.
Next to him, Nikaenor sighed and looked around at his friends and family. “What do you think will happen to them? When we take Mirilina away?”
“I don’t know,” Kenton said. “Diamis won’t permit them autonomy forever. But the town is much more defensible now. It won’t stop him if he’s really determined, but the man does have priorities.” Kenton nodded meaningfully at the stone.
Nikaenor gave a grave nod. “So we have to leave. Even if my family needs me.”
Kenton opened his mouth, but Nikaenor shook his head. “I know,” he said. “I know. I’m only a danger to them here. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Kenton rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “No, kid. It doesn’t.”
“Besides,” Nikaenor said, the tiniest hint of a smirk curling on his face. “I’m not so brainless as to think you’d actually give me a choice.”
Kenton elbowed him, and the smirk spread into a sad smile. It was a pale one, a shadow of the usual happy Nikaenor.
But it wasn’t nothing.
Nikaenor’s face grew serious again, and he cleared his throat, staring down at Mirilina. “I have a problem.”
“That much is obvious,” Kenton said, hoping to maintain the light tone.
But Nikaenor’s eyebrows knit together. “What do I do with her?”
“Her?” Kenton asked.
“Mirilina,” Nikaenor said firmly.
Kenton shook his head. “Nothing. Not right now at least. When we get the others and—”
“No, I mean what do I do with her? Do I have to hold her the whole time? Saara had that nice table, and that seemed appropriate, but I can’t drag something like that to Mortiche.” His voice dropped to an urgent whisper. “She’s getting kind of heavy.”
Kenton chuckled, though he tried unsuccessfully to cover it up.
Nikaenor wiped at his forehead with the back of his free hand. “I can’t just leave her somewhere, and no one else can hold her. Plus, it’s kind of awkward. All day people want to offer prayers to her, and I just have to stand there like some brainless pedestal.”
Kenton shrugged, still grinning. “At some point, you’ll have to put her in your pack. You won’t be able to travel very well constantly holding her. Plus, I think having an army of worshipers trailing behind might draw more attention than we’d like.”
The dance paused, and Perchaya pulled Ronan over to where Kenton and Nikaenor were sitting. “You two seem to be enjoying yourselves,” she said.
Nikaenor gave her a half-smile. “Hopefully Ronan didn’t break too many of your toes. He’s such a clod.”
Ronan gave Nikaenor a mock-pained expression, but Kenton could see dark circles under his eyes. Kenton might not be the best observer of people, but he could recognize pain and exhaustion when he saw it. The gods knew he’d spent enough of his life in that state.
Perchaya shook her head with a laugh. “No broken toes here. Although I think I may sit out the next few.”
“Just as well,” Ronan said. “I have my turn at the post in a bit.”
Kenton nodded. Despite the thick moat surrounding them, the townspeople had wisely decided to post lookouts around the town, with horns and whistles and gongs and bells—anything they could muster that would make enough noise to alert the townspeople when the soldiers returned. The people of Ithale might be giving thanks for a miracle, but their weapons remained close at hand.
“Do you think we’ll be attacked tonight?” Nikaenor asked.
“No,” Kenton said. “Erich lost too many, and he’s at too much of a disadvantage. If he returns, he’ll take the time to gather reinforcements, perhaps a ship.”
“If?” Perchaya asked.
Kenton nodded. “If he isn’t more interested in us.”
Ronan glowered, and Kenton expected a reprimand for bringing this down on Ithale, which would have been earned. But instead, Ronan balled his fists. “It doesn’t matter what they return with. We’ll stand against them. They won’t step a foot into Ithale as long as I’m standing. I’ll defend this town to my last breath.”
“Don’t,” Nikaenor said.
Ronan looked sharply at him. “What?”
Nikaenor shook his head. “Don’t. I want you to live. You need to look after the inn—Mum can’t handle it alone. And the girls, and Tam. I can’t be here to help them, but you can.”
“The best way I can protect them,” Ronan said, “is to keep Sevairn from—”
“No,” Nikaenor said. He spoke with uncharacteristic authority, such that even Ronan looked surprised. Nikaenor still held the stone and looked up into his brother’s face. “No. We’ll stop Diamis. Leave it to us. Don’t waste your life, and don’t lead others to it, either. I want to come home and find the inn still standing and my family still living in it.” He swallowed. “What’s left of it, anyway. You know that’s what Dad would have wanted.”
“They’ll raze the town if they manage to return,” Kenton said. “I see your point, Nikaenor, but if they don’t defend it—”
“I know,” Nikaenor said. “But you have to be smart about it, Ronan. You can’t throw your life at it, when you’re needed for more than that.”
Ronan faltered, looking at the swirling stone. Then he nodded. “Randareth enet Mirilina,” he muttered before leaving the inn.
Kenton turned to Perchaya, but found her attention pulled to something across the room. “Nikaenor,” she said, “how do you think Esta’s doing? She seems quiet.”
Kenton followed her gaze to w
here Esta was sitting next to her clapping sister Emaline, who jumped up at that very moment and started twirling her braid to the music. Esta remained with her hands folded in her lap.
Nikaenor sighed. “I don’t know. It must have been pretty terrifying for her, being threatened by that filthy soldier.” His voice held a quality of contempt that Nikaenor reserved only for Diamis’ representatives, and now it had grown even more bitter.
Perchaya squeezed his arm. “I’m sure she’ll return to her usual self. But I’ll go over and sit with her for a bit.”
She started to leave but was interrupted as Noreen came bustling over to them with a tray loaded with little clay bowls filled with water. The woman’s face was swollen from crying, but she’d plastered on the smile of someone who was accustomed to going about business no matter how she felt. “Here you all go. This is for the Urtain.” She handed them each one, hurriedly curtsying to the Seastone and ruffling Nikaenor’s hair, all in one motion. She left as quickly as she came to pass more bowls out to other patrons. Aralie and several other girls were likewise engaged, handing out little gray bowls all around.
Kenton eyed the bowl uncertainly. It was small and unmarked, holding enough water for one decent swig. Perchaya also looked confused, balancing it gently between her fingertips. “What did she say this was for?” she asked Nikaenor.
“The Urtain,” he said. “Kind of like a water toast.”
“Oh.” She peered down into it again for a second, then looked back up, meeting eyes with Kenton. Her lips quirked into a small smile, her green eyes bright. The room suddenly felt even warmer than before, the air unaccountably charged for that barest of seconds. Kenton set the bowl down quickly, a few drops of the water splashing over his fingers.
He swallowed and started to ask another question about the Urtain, but the music stopped, and Noreen’s voice loudly brought a hush to other conversation in the taproom. “Quiet down, everyone! Tonight we have much to celebrate. Even though there is grief in our hearts, our goddess is here among us. So, tonight we honor our heroes, our friends, and Holy Mirilina with the Urtain.”
Thunderous stomping and clapping broke out in the room, along with some whistles. Kenton reached for the bowl but stopped when he saw that no one else was doing anything with theirs.
Noreen signaled for the noise to die down again, which it quickly did. Her voice faltered with the next part, but she charged on. “Firstly, we honor the fallen. Our brave townsmen, women and children. May they swim freely in the blessed waters as they do in our memories. Urtain!”
“Urtain!” The crowd shouted in unison.
“We honor Delyn the blacksmith, who led our men in a successful ambush, who fought courageously at the head of Ithale. Urtain!”
As the crowd shouted “Urtain!” again, Delyn took a step forward out of the crowd and bowed solemnly in the direction of the Seastone. Then he bared a fierce grin and lifted his meaty fist in triumph, much to the jubilation of the crowd, who began stomping and cheering again. The man looked more than a little battered—he walked with an obvious limp from a wound he had taken to the thigh, and there was bruising along the right side of his face. Even with all that, he had the fiery demeanor of a man about to enter the battle, not one who had already seen it through. Kenton had to respect that.
When the noise level dropped again, Noreen continued. “And now for the first time that I can remember, we honor with Urtain one who is not of Foroclae. But it is she that brought to us the goddess’s will, who inspired us to defend our town. We honor Perchaya, our Lia Braendai! Our Bringer of Light! Urtain!”
“Lia Braendai! Urtain!” The crowd shouted fervently. Aralie grabbed her by the arm and Perchaya was pulled reticently out in the middle of the room, a shy smile competing with the blush spread across her face. She dropped to a curtsy, and the crowd cheered again wildly, many chanting “Lia Braendai!” over and over again.
Bringer of Light. There were no words more fitting, Kenton thought as he watched her stand in front of the cheering townspeople, blushing madly but smiling just as bright; her hair glowing golden in the lantern-light, her gloved right hand tugging slightly on her left as she always did when she was nervous or uncomfortable. With that thought came a wistful ache in his chest, and he knew something that should have been obvious long before now.
He was in love with Perchaya.
This revelation shocked him to the core, stole his breath. It was obvious to him now, and he felt ridiculous that it caught him so off guard, like being shocked by the sudden realization that one breathed.
He had cared for her from the beginning, certainly, as one he was meant to protect. More as a charge than as a woman. And as she’d grown into someone he depended on, he’d loved her as a friend. They’d become partners, the awkward keepers of their band of wandering cats, always trying in vain to herd them back together—Kenton with stern insistence and Perchaya with her kindness.
Bringer of Light.
If they only knew. She’d brought a light back into his life that he’d thought had forever gone out. He’d refused to even consider her in any romantic way, first because they were traveling alone together, and he didn’t want to cause her discomfort. But no, more than that.
Because he was afraid.
Perchaya seemed to glow in the lantern light, and Kenton forced himself to tear his eyes away from her.
Afraid of distractions, yes. Afraid that he would lose focus, that he would allow his personal feelings to get in the way of all he had to accomplish, and thereby fail them all—those he had lost, and those still living. But it was more than that. Slowly, like a cold frost settling over him, Kenton felt the full brunt of what he feared the most.
By the gods, he couldn’t abide having anyone else to lose.
Noreen gestured once more for the crowd’s silence. “And also tonight we must honor one for whom I have always had a mother’s pride, but never more so than at this time.” She wiped away a tear that had begun to spill down her cheek. “He has saved our town through Mirilina’s power. He is my son but is truly her servant. Tonight we honor Nikaenor, our Champion of Freedom. Our Del Braen! Urtain!”
The crowd screamed out this last “Urtain!” with even more gusto than before, which Kenton wouldn’t have thought possible. Nikaenor gave a quick bow, having lifted himself only a few inches off of his seat to do so, and started to sit down again, his cheeks growing redder with each frenzied second of cheering. Kenton tried to focus on Nikaenor as Ronan shoved him out before the crowd, but he couldn’t do it. His mind felt drunk, even though he knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t keep his eyes from where they naturally rested, on Perchaya. Where they had been naturally resting for a long time, even though he had been too blind and brainless to consider why. She was sitting back down beside him now, blushing and smiling. She stomped her feet for Nikaenor and laughed when Tam ran up to his brother and threw his arms around Nikaenor’s leg.
After Nikaenor detached Tam and sat back down, Noreen walked to the middle of the room holding her small bowl in front of her. The cheering stopped almost instantly. “Mirilina Urtain yith enet,” Noreen said, her voice suddenly solemn. The rest of the crowd hoisted their bowls likewise and repeated it with bowed heads. Kenton grabbed his bowl and made a quick bow of his head. He glanced back over at Perchaya, his hands unnaturally sweaty, and drank the contents of the bowl in one gulp.
And immediately started hacking up the unexpectedly salty water.
As he coughed, many of the rest of the crowd stared at him, pausing in the process of dabbing their faces with the water. A few of the younger ones giggled; many of the older ones appeared to be on the verge of that themselves.
Nikaenor grinned at him. “It’s ocean water,” he whispered, as those who had stopped went back to ending the ritual. “You don’t drink it; you put it on your face. Eyes to see the goddess more clearly, lips to speak her name in purity.”
> Kenton had downed the last of his ale by this point. He wiped his mouth and glared at Nikaenor, whose face erupted in scales across the places he’d wiped it with water. “Thanks for the warning.”
Nikaenor chuckled and set his bowl down just as the music picked back up again and the people danced and chatted as before. Kenton tried to look anywhere but at Perchaya, unwilling to face this new dilemma quite yet. He wasn’t particularly sure when he would be willing to, but it wasn’t tonight, that much was certain. He trained his eyes on the new group of dancing townsfolk, brightly colored dresses swirling to the music, boots stomping rhythmically along the wooden floor.
This time, Perchaya didn’t get up to join them. Instead, she gazed at them, her eyes so glazed that Kenton could tell she didn’t really see. The guilt she still carried stone-like around her neck was apparent to him, even when she tried to cover it up. He had never seen such grief on her face as when she had stared out through tear-rimmed eyes at the boats burning on the sea, and he hoped he would never see her ache that way again.
It was a futile hope, and he was well aware that it was unlikely to be fulfilled.
As if on cue with his dark turn of thought, Aralie approached them with downcast eyes, holding something behind her back. The crowd was dwindling, people slowly filtering out into the evening to return to their homes. Those that still had homes, at least.
Aralie stood before them, shifting her weight almost nervously before looking up at Nikaenor. “Nikaenor, I found this upstairs. I think it belonged to your friends.” She quickly handed her brother a leather pack. The buckles clinked metallically as he took it from her, a look of sorrow wiping any merriment from his face.
“Thanks, Aralie,” he murmured. She nodded and her gaze flicked to Kenton, which caused her to blush and quickly walk away.