I skid on a puddle of wet—not blood. Not blood, I tell myself as I recover my balance, even if it’s a lie.
The boy shrieks in fear.
I twist as a sailor grabs him by the arm. I don’t think, don’t register the sailor’s short sword. Instead, my hand swings around and the bone knife glances off his neck, sliding sideways and cutting through flesh and muscle. He screams, shoving the boy away, his sword flashing through the air. I’m going to die. I scramble back, slippers sliding, and my bad foot turns, sending me sprawling on my back as someone shouts behind me.
The next moment, there’s someone over me, blades flashing, and then the sailor cries out again, a gargling, horrible sound that rattles through his throat. He falls back, his sword dropping from his fingers.
“Can you get up?” the man above me says, stepping sideways, his eyes scanning the deck.
“Bren?” My voice is light and shaky. I cannot quite believe he is here.
He nods once, never looking at me. “See if you can stand.”
He sheathes his dagger, his sword still in his other hand, and reaches out to help the boy to his feet. The boy. I push myself up, my ankle throbbing.
“Keep moving,” Bren says, as if blood weren’t dripping from my knife, as if the sailor weren’t collapsed on the deck beside us, blood spreading out around him. But then there’s blood dripping from Bren’s sword too.
Don’t think about it.
“How are you here?” I pant out, staggering forward, Bren pacing me with the boy in hand.
“I got your message,” he says grimly. “Figured I’d watch to see if you needed backup. Good thing I did.”
He turns suddenly, shoving the boy into my hands, and then his blade flashes up to block another blow. The metal gleams crimson in the sunlight. The attacking sailor snarls, shoving forward, but Bren presses back. How many sailors are there? And where are Garrin’s men?
“Rae, go!”
I grasp the boy’s shoulder and push him onto the gangplank. He’s shaking and unsteady, but I can’t carry him with my ankle hurt. “Go,” I tell him. “To the carriage—as fast as you can!”
“Kelari!” Garrin calls. His men sprint across the dock toward us. He runs behind them. I wave and urge the boy on. He makes his halting way across, weeping as I hold his hand and try not to stumble.
There is not a thing I can do to help Bren except get to safety. It seems an impossibility when my feet touch firm ground. I glance over my shoulder to see Bren do something—I’m not sure what—and the sailor pitches sideways, losing his footing and toppling over the railing. Bren spares me a sparkling grin—how wrong that looks, amid all the bloodshed—and turns back to the fight.
It is almost over now, and I am grateful to see Matsin still standing, his voice carrying as he shouts an order. Captain Grefan is no longer visible, cut down or wounded or fled, I cannot say. The remaining sailors and single river guard seem to be backing away. They drop their weapons, one by one.
“What happened?” Garrin demands as his men come to a stop beside me, looking up.
“Where were you?” I demand.
“I went back to the warden’s office to see what other galleys—” Garrin shakes his head, his gaze flicking from the blood saturating the bottom of my skirts to the crimson-streaked decks. “What happened?” he repeats.
I transfer my blood-streaked knife to my left hand and wrap my good arm around the shoulders of the little boy, aware he is shaking as badly as I am. “We found some children. And then Diara and the crew attacked.”
Garrin closes his eyes, gives himself a little shake, and then looks toward the ship with renewed determination. “Take the children to your carriage. I’ll handle the rest of this.”
“Thank you,” I say, because I don’t think I can turn around and look at the remains of the bloodbath. I continue to the carriage, the bone knife still in my hand. The children have gathered by its side, though not a one has set foot in it. I lead my charge over to join them.
“Up we go,” I say, my voice unnervingly cheerful, and the children allow me to herd them into the carriage box. I stay outside a moment longer, wipe the blood from my knife with trembling fingers using a fold of my skirt. The hem is heavy with the stuff, dripping. So much blood. I shove the knife into its sheath halfway clean, scrub at the spatter of blood on my hand. Blood from a dead man. One whom I wounded, and Bren killed.
I stumble one foot to the side and empty the contents of my stomach upon the stone wharf. I’m shaking still. Shock, I decide, latching onto what I’ve learned from Mama.
“Kelari?” a voice asks. It’s one of the older girls, watching me from the door of the carriage.
“Coming,” I rasp, and spit to clear my mouth.
When I look up, I spot Bren standing by the railing of the galley, Matsin a few paces away, talking to him. The fighting is over, and both of them are spattered with blood but appear relatively unharmed. Matsin gestures toward the dock once, the gesture half invitation and half order. Does he mean to detain Bren or only offer him safe passage off the ship? Or question him first?
I step forward, one hand on the side of the carriage, as if there were anything I could do from here. Bren glances across to me, grins, and tosses his sword to Matsin, hilt first. Matsin just manages to catch it, talking a half step back in surprise. It is all the distraction Bren requires. He jumps the railing, diving straight down into the narrow space between ship and dock. I swallow a cry. He’s already gone. Matsin, swearing, drops the sword and leans over the railing, then straightens to look over at me. He shakes his head and turns away, frustration in every line of his body.
Serves him right.
I turn back to the carriage and climb up to join the children. Inside, we sit silently together. I can’t seem to find any words, nor do they ask any questions. They’re still terrified, their instincts numbed. I look down and find myself staring at the creases of my fingers, dark with blood, and beyond that, the hem of my skirts, equally dark, my slippers wet with it.
I clench my hands together.
“One of your friends died,” the girl across from me says. “A soldier.”
I nod, but she’s wrong. I don’t know him at all, not his name, or if he leaves behind a wife, or children, or a grieving mother. I was only thinking of Kirrana, but now someone else has been lost, and there is no bringing him back.
I force myself to take another deep, gulping breath, and look around, and realize I’m only partly right. For there are five children around me, wide-eyed and terrified, but alive and free as well. Even if I have failed Kirrana, and lost the soldier’s life, and failed Seri, I have done this much.
It’s something.
Chapter
52
We wait in our carriage, watching through the windows as three more quads arrive from the palace. A new captain from among the river guard shows up with his own quad to help impound the ship. Whether or not he is in the slavers’ pockets, he apparently knows when to keep his sword in its sheath. The dock as a whole has been shut down, not a single boat allowed to load or unload cargo, or depart.
Bren would have had to swim past the docks altogether to leave the water safely. My fingers go to my chest, to where the pendant he gave me lies hidden beneath my tunic, strung on a thin gold chain so it won’t stand out. He could have drowned. The thought leaves me as empty as it found me, my mind still frozen in that moment when my knife cut into the sailor’s throat, as easily as cutting through goat meat.
No. I shove all such thoughts away and force my focus back to the carriage. I cannot do anything about Bren, or the dead. But I can help these children. I share my name with them, and then check each for injuries, having them stand and turn in a circle to look for anything that they might have missed in the fear and frenzy of their escape. Other than a number of bruises and scrapes, some of which are older than others, they seem unharmed.
Matsin has a street vendor deliver freshly made flatbreads stuffed with spiced potato
. The children devour them down to the very last crumb, and then curl up on the benches and on the ground between them, and rest against each other. A little boy puts his head in my lap, and an older girl sits beside me, leaning against my shoulder. I put my arm around her, not sure if I am comforting her or she, me.
Garrin finally looks in on us. “We’re headed back to the palace, kelari.”
“We’ll need a Speaker for the children,” I say, having managed to think this far ahead. “As soon as possible. And . . . they should be asked about what’s happened to them before they’re given the Blessing.”
He nods. “I’ll have a rider go ahead to arrange it.”
Sure enough, when we roll into the palace courtyard, a Speaker hurries through a side door toward us, a guard by her side.
I help the children down from the carriage as the Speaker introduces herself. “I’ve everything ready just inside here,” she says. “Come, my little ones, and we’ll have you taken care of.”
“Kelari,” Garrin says as I make to go with them. “You’ll be needed above. Matsin will report, I’m sure, but the family will want to hear your story as well.”
“But the children . . .”
“They’ll be fine now,” he says firmly. “The Speaker will see to them. You can come check on them after if you wish.”
I nod and turn back to them. “I’ll see you shortly. You’ll be safe now. Nothing can hurt you here, not once you’ve had the Blessing.”
The eldest girl nods. “Thank you, kelari.”
“Ready?” Garrin says. “They’re waiting for us.”
I nod to the children, and then wave quickly before turning back to him. “Yes.”
It seems a long way to the royal wing. Garrin has to repeatedly slow himself to allow me to catch up, but at least that grants Matsin the extra minutes he needs to catch up with us himself.
At the entrance to Kestrin’s suite, Garrin pauses and looks back at me. “You had better change, kelari. It won’t do for an attendant to come in covered in blood.”
No, I don’t suppose it would. And I don’t want to wear these clothes any longer than I must.
“Be quick,” Garrin says, and turns his back on me, letting himself in.
“Kelari,” Matsin says hesitantly.
I look up, nod. “I’ll be right back.”
In my room, I grab a change of clothes and hurry to the washroom. I leave my bloodied slippers and soiled clothing in a corner, the hems stiffening and the spots darkening to black, and pour water to lather and scrub my hands and feet, the scent of lavender rising from the soap. I don’t have time to actually bathe, but I want the blood off me now. My ankle is slightly tender from the fall I took while trying to flee the boat. Beyond that, I am unharmed. It seems an impossible thing.
I dress quickly, pausing only to clean my bone knife before strapping it back onto my calf. I do not want it on me, do not want to remember what I have done with it, but I would be a fool to pretend it didn’t save my life—all of our lives. At least in its calf sheath, I do not have to look at it. That done, I wrap Niya’s sash around my waist again, pretending that the scattered brown spots on it are anything but blood. I almost take it off again, but Niya gave it to me as a protection, and I don’t dare leave it behind. I make myself let it go, and ease on my new riding boots. They may not be quite appropriate for the occasion, but they will give my ankle the support it needs, and that’s all I care about right now.
Ready, I hurry back to the royal apartments. The royals have gathered in Kestrin’s apartments, and this time the king has joined us as well as Melkior. Kestrin gestures me to a sofa, and I ease myself down gratefully as Matsin launches into his report. I listen, but as he progresses to the attacks, I find I don’t want to hear this at all. I hunch my shoulders and stare at the carpets underfoot, looking up only occasionally to track the reactions of the royals. Mostly, I am grateful for the way Matsin brushes over the violence.
Melkior listens with an expression that morphs from disbelief to outrage. Alyrra and Kestrin grow progressively more grim as they listen, and the king . . . it’s hard to say what the king thinks. He maintains a steady calm, but his expression hardens slightly over the course of Matsin’s recitation. I can only hope that means he too is infuriated by the betrayal of the river guard and their attempt to kill us, or keep us captive in the hold.
“We lost one man,” Matsin finishes. “Selej en Tharo. I’ll inform his widow tonight, and request permission to offer her three years’ pay compensation.”
“You may,” the king says, and Matsin nods his thanks.
I repeat the man’s name to myself, a mantra of what was risked and lost. Selej en Tharo. Selej en Tharo.
“I don’t understand how they expected to get away with it,” Kestrin says, sitting back. “Garrin was there—were you not, cousin? They must have known you would notice that Matsin, Kelari Amraeya, and their quad had not left. They could not have expected to kill you too. It makes no sense to me.”
I look up, taken aback. He’s right, it doesn’t make sense.
But Garrin shakes his head. “All Grefan would have had to tell me was that Kelari Amraeya and her escort had already departed. If Diara commandeered the carriage and had it driven away, I wouldn’t have thought to ask. I was at the river warden’s office, and didn’t realize what was happening until it was already over, and Matsin and his men had fought their way free.”
“A desperate move by them, though,” Kestrin says slowly.
“That, or an overconfident one,” the king says. “Did you notice anything on board the galley that would have marked it as one used regularly for transporting slaves? If we are to investigate Berenworth, it would be useful to know if there are any markers of a slave boat.”
Matsin hesitates, glancing toward me. “The room we discovered was hidden behind a false wall in the stern of the cargo hold, tarin. Beyond that . . .”
“There was a ward above the door, as well, tarin,” I say. “I believe it is what hides the children from being traced. Perhaps, knowing what it is, a mage might be able to trace those who have been snatched past such a protection.” The king will know that the Circle isn’t to be trusted—Kestrin and Alyrra will make sure of it. Perhaps Kestrin can inspect the ward himself.
The king nods. “Garrin, see that the ward is removed from the boat and brought here for assessment.”
“Tarin,” Garrin agrees.
I look down, relief flooding through me. If the king himself is involved now, surely the snatchers will be stopped. This work will continue, and Berenworth will be properly investigated, and even if the thrice-cursed Circle isn’t brought down, the snatchers themselves will be stopped.
“Melkior, I’ll want an investigation into how the river guards could be so corrupted that they would attack our own palace guards,” the king adds. “A full review of the river guard should be conducted.”
Melkior agrees, and then asks a few more questions of Matsin, and one or two of me, and the nobles discuss the need to impound the rest of Berenworth’s ships at the dock and search each one.
“I’ll use my own men,” Garrin says. “If I am still to be involved? I’ll make sure each hold is fully searched, and I trust my men to do a good job of it. I am only grateful that Kelari Amraeya insisted on such a careful search this first time.”
“It is between you and Melkior,” the king says. “Though it might be easier for you if you step back.”
“Easier, yes,” Garrin says, rubbing a hand over his head. “But I’ve seen those children now, and I—I should like to be involved.”
He hadn’t seemed particularly caring of the children, but then, he may not have many children in his life. It is not as if children are a part of the court. Perhaps Garrin simply doesn’t know how to interact with them, even if he cares. And there were certainly other concerns pressing on him.
“As you wish,” Melkior says now. “I should be grateful to have you at the helm of such an investigation. It will e
ase the way considerably.”
Garrin dips his head. “It is my honor.”
And as simply as that, I am no longer needed. Everything I have been pushing myself toward these last few weeks has been achieved in this: the establishment of a formal investigation into the snatchers, led by one of the highest nobles of the realm, with the support of the whole royal family.
It’s out of my hands now. I’m grateful—I never again want to set foot on another ship with a room full of slaves, or find myself unable to run fast enough again, or spill blood upon my hands.
Except that Kirrana is still missing. I press my lips together. But the other galleys will be searched now, and surely, surely she will be on one of them.
As the meeting is adjourned, I push myself to my feet. I feel unsteady and strangely heavy; it’s the shock wearing off, I expect. Alyrra gestures to me, and in a quiet voice asks if I am well. I nod, pause, try to nod again and realize I can’t.
“You should rest,” she says, watching me, a hint of sorrow in her eyes. “You’ve been through a great deal today, and it might not all seem real yet. I’ll send for Mage Berrila to check on you. Please don’t worry about attending me the next few days. And if you wish to stay with your cousins—or go home—I will of course understand.”
“Thank you, zayyida,” I say, and push myself forward. I’m not leaving yet, not before Kirrana is found, but I don’t have the energy to discuss that now.
In the hallway, Melkior and Garrin converse in lowered voices. As I pass them on my way to the attendants’ suite, Garrin turns toward me. “A few words with you, kelari?”
Melkior nods to us both and strides away.
“Verin?” I ask, unsure what more Garrin could want.
“Like you, I hope your friend might still be recovered. Do you have any ideas, any possible leads?”
I take a shaky breath, gather my thoughts. “I believe she might be on one of the other galleys, which you already intend to search. Beyond that, I know little.”
The Theft of Sunlight Page 38