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.
Blackness 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.
“I believe we’ve heard enough for today,” Trader Yiltak said. Though her voice was iron, a twitch of her lower eyelid betrayed the crack in her confidence. “Council is adjourned. We’ll reconvene mid-morning tomorrow.”
Murmuring in scandalized whispers, the traders stood from their seats. In small clots of four and five, they filed for the door. None, not even the Srukolks, stopped to help me up from the floor. I clambered to my feet on my own.
Finally, only Trader Yiltak and I remained in the chamber.
“We have much to talk about,” she said.
“Moanet gave me—”
“Not here. Never here. You may come to the rear of our House this evening.”
She gathered her satchel and turned for the door, dismissing me. And why not? I was gutterborn. I’d do her bidding, come to her on her terms. Unfortunately for her, my days of unthinking obedience were over. I had the advantage here. The Yiltak Effigy might be unspoken knowledge among traders, but admitting to its existence would butcher House Yiltak’s status.
“Actually,” I said, “I’d prefer we met in my home. The last time I visited House Yiltak, I regretted that choice.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Insolent, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. But I suspect I’ll see you tonight. It won’t be difficult to find us. Just smell around for eggs.”
Chapter Four
TYRAK’S GRIEF PIERCED me as surely as the dagger imprisoning him might. I sat upon a grassy hill, cradling the blade. After leaving the council chamber, I’d hurried through the gutter district and found this spot, a small opening in the grove of evergreens wedged between the formal boundary of the city and the scattered shanties and itinerant tents beyond. Once nestled into the deep grass, I’d dropped my walls and explained that I wasn’t Zyri, not like he imagined.
“She loved you until the end. She still loves you,” I whispered.
I feel her ghost inside you. I can’t let her go. How did she bear it, all these years?
“Time is different for the souls on Ioene. It hasn’t felt long. I suspect she thought she’d find you there eventually.”
I was looking for her, too. And then something pulled me down and forced me inside the metal. I was terrified. It hurt so much to be bound against my will, as if each of my bones was broken to force me to fit the blade’s shape.
“I’m sorry.”
But without a real connection to another soul, I shut down. I’ve been living behind a wall. Time hasn’t felt real. It seems like our last day together was yesterday, but at the same time, I know I’ve been imprisoned for a dozen, maybe a hundred, lifetimes.
Tyrak’s yearning for his lost Zyri filled me, a bottomless need, fathomless.
“Tell me how to help you,” I said. I remembered the little girl who’d been trapped inside Mieshk’s dagger. I’d helped her choose nonexistence over the continued agony of imprisonment—sometimes the guilt of that choice ate at me. Could I have suggested a better way?
I ought to give Tyrak the option, but I was selfish. He wasn’t mine. He’d never been mine. But the long embraces . . . his touch setting my whole body afire . . . Memories flooded my mind. I couldn’t lose him so soon. Not after we were finally reunited.
No. I shook my head. It wasn’t me he’d loved. I’d never slipped away to swim with him in a hidden lagoon. I’d never felt his hands in my hair, the warmth of his lips and heat of his breath on my face. That was Zyri. She’d died a thousand years ago.
I tried to form bonds with the men and women who owned me. When they fought, I guided their hands. But the blood, Zyri. Over and over. I killed, and I didn’t really know for whom.
Wind rustled the boughs of the trees, bent the grass in undulating waves. My throat ached. Many of Zyri’s memories had faded, but her feelings for Tyrak had blazed so bright tha
t even with the veil of distance, I couldn’t help loving him, too. I traced the curve of the blade with a finger.
“I’m not Zyri, Tyrak. If we’d known I’d find you here . . . she would never have broken off our joining.”
I know. I just . . . I feel like I’m losing her all over again.
“I’m going back to Ioene as soon as I can gather support. I’ll take you. We can find her. I don’t know if you two will be able to . . . Peldin never told me whether imprisoned souls could communicate with the others.”
You could join with her again.
Just the thought made my heart leap. Zyri’s memories combined with mine: I could be her, be with Tyrak. But it wasn’t fair to Zyri. Combined with me, she wasn’t really living. She’d been as much a prisoner in my mind as Tyrak was in the nightforged dagger.
And as for me . . . Paono had been right. I’d begun to lose myself.
“I can’t. It’s not the right way.”
Then what good will it do to return? I’m trapped in this blade, forced to live through its possessor. I’ll never be with her again.
Hearing the anguish in his voice, I could scarcely breathe. I thought of Paono. Sometimes, he and Tyrak were one in my mind. But Paono and I would never be like Zyri and Tyrak. He’d chosen Katrikki. And as for Raav, I hoped I still had a chance with him. But Zyri and Tyrak had been friends for years before their first kiss. Raav and I didn’t have that foundation. Maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe we could still build something as strong as they’d had. I just didn’t know.
“Don’t give up yet,” I said. “The souls of the Vanished are bound to Ioene. Maybe you’ll be able to sense her once we’ve returned.”
I was a channeler. Like you, but not nearly as talented. I know the limitations of the aether and binding. I might feel her, through you. But I’ll never connect to her again. Not like we were.
I pulled the dagger to my chest, laying the blade against my breastbone. Tyrak. He’d never be mine, but I loved him all the same, a pale ghost of Zyri’s feelings.
It hurts.
“I know,” I said. “I’ll find a way. You’ll be with her again.”
But as I said the words, I swallowed. Even if I could reunite Tyrak with Zyri’s spirit, would I? Sitting upon the hill as the sun sank toward the horizon, I doubted myself. I had him to myself, now. Could I let that go? I shivered, hating my greed.
Lilik, he said, almost as if trying out my name. How soon? I want to see Ioene.
Running a thumb over the dagger’s pommel, I considered.
“I don’t know, Tyrak. Soon, I hope. But there are so many obstacles.” The Waikert. The Council. The uncertainty of the storm season. Mieshk.
I watched a line of wind-torn clouds turn pink in the light of the setting sun. In my hand, Tyrak hummed with muted pleasure.
“Can you see the sky?” I asked.
It’s—no. Not on my own. Through the years, I’ve had a sense of my surroundings because my wielders’ impressions are shared with me. But with you, it’s like I see through your eyes, feel through your heart.
I swallowed. Tyrak depended on me to experience the world. But compared to the times he’d lived in, my life was so . . . common. Could I manage to make it seem more vibrant by seeing more fully, listening more carefully? Or would my life always seem boring to someone who’d grown up in Ashkalan.
Remembering the Vanished city, I glanced toward the streets of Istanik. Silhouetted against the purple sky, the spires atop the trader households were already aglow with multi-colored flame. I jerked upright, realizing I’d lost track of time. Da and Jaret would want us to share a family dinner, and after that, I needed to prepare for Trader Yiltak’s visit.
“We have to go,” I said.
Lilik?
“Yes?”
What happened in Council Hall, when the man hit you . . .
Shame flooded my cheeks. I should have seen it coming.
No! His voice was so loud I nearly winced. Never blame yourself for someone’s cruelty. Never.
I held my silence, waiting.
It won’t happen again, he said. I’ll make sure of it.
“How?”
I will protect you as long as you carry me, by teaching you to protect yourself. We can begin right now.
Hearing those words, I wanted nothing more than to stay on that hill for hours. But I had a family that loved me. I couldn’t abandon them.
“Just let me go home and check in. I don’t want them to worry.”
A full moon silvered the fountain square, turning the spray of falling water to a crystal shower and glinting off wet cobblestones. Falling down three tiers of granite, the fountain hissed and burbled, splashing into the dark pool beneath.
As I strode into the square, I smiled in gratitude for my family. Before I’d managed to get out my whole, rehearsed explanation about needing time alone, Da had offered to take Jaret to the evening market. He’d always known how to read me.
Though, now that I thought about it, maybe the offer wasn’t just motivated by his understanding nature. Da’s cooking really wasn’t very good. He’d prepared a stew of sorts, but it didn’t smell all that appetizing.
The thought brought a smirk to my face. Tomorrow, I would have to fix them something nice.
I walked to the fountain. When Paono and I were young, we used to throw stones into it. We’d sit on the edge of the pool and talk, our voices held close by the mist in the air. I missed him so much. A year ago, I could never have imagined us apart.
Around the fountain square, buildings shouldered close, shutters pulled over windows, doors barred and locked. Unlike the courthouse square, home to Trader Council Hall and the courthouse, the fountain square belonged to the gutterborn. We worked together to scrub the fountain clean, to sweep the cobbles. It was our pride, the heart of our slum. No matter what rags we had to wear, what scraps we had to eat, we could always feel proud of our fountain. Of course, Paono and I had probably caused plenty of consternation among the older commoners, especially those who had to dig out the rocks we threw into the plumbing.
Because the fountain square was far from the trader district and market quarter, patrols by the city guard were rare. But fountain square was sacred; even the most unsavory gutterborn would think twice before bothering me here, even at night. I wasn’t a fool, however. Before I let my guard down, I inspected the shadowy recesses and darkened alley mouths. My time on Ioene had made me cautious.
Good, Tyrak said. You need to be careful. All the time.
At my side, the dagger was a comforting weight. I slipped it from my satchel, running my thumb over the filigrees on the guard and pommel. Not wanting my bag to get soaked, I set it next to the low wall surrounding the fountain and covered it with my vest of oiled leather.
Barefoot would be best, Tyrak offered. Easier to feel the ground and adjust.
Nodding, I slipped off my battered sandals. The stones were cold, damp with the spray from the fountain. Minuscule pieces of grit bit into the soles of my feet, ever so slightly uncomfortable, but adding traction on the slick cobbles.
Are you ready? Tyrak asked as I stepped away from the fountain.
I am, I thought, attempting to project my thoughts as Peldin had told me I could.
Lilik! I heard you! Well done.
I nodded, a little embarrassed at the praise. I couldn’t keep talking to the empty air. Already, the Trader Council had all but declared me a fraud. The last thing I needed was an accusation of madness.
All right, he said. First you should feel how the dagger sits in each hand—you won’t know when you might need to fight with your left. But after, take the weapon in your right hand. We’ll start there. It’s important to think about your grip. This blade has cutting edges on both sides, but the slight curve means you’ll want to slash with the longer edge.
The blade cut the air, nightforged steel gleaming in the moonlight, as I passed it from hand to hand. Ending with my right hand wrapping the hilt, I felt the
ridges of gold threadwork beneath my palm. The roughness gave security to my grip, and I spun the weapon in my hand a few times before settling the guard into the cradle provided by the webbing of my thumb.
As I felt his presence snug within my hand, one of Zyri’s memories forced its way into my mind. She sat with Tyrak upon a bench near a natural spring. Autumn had come, and the nights were longer, but day flowers still bloomed, drenching the air in their heavy perfume. She leaned into him, head resting on his shoulder. When he moved, the muscles shifted beneath her cheek, reminding her of his strength.
Turning to her, he cupped her face in his hand, his skin warm, roughened by hard work. His thumb caressed her lips, parting them slightly.
“Zyri,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Lilik?
I shook free from the recollection. “Yes?” I said aloud, forgetting my efforts to direct my thoughts to him.
Just now . . . were you doing anything? I felt Zyri.
Shame flooded my veins. What should I say? I’d been reliving one of their intimate moments. It wasn’t fair to him or her, yet I couldn’t help remembering. I wasn’t sure I could make myself stop. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
It’s—I’m sorry Tyrak. It was a memory. They come, sometimes.
She was really within you, he said as if finally believing it. Do you think there’s a chance she’s still . . .
I don’t think so. She wanted to be free, and I released her. But Zyri changed me. I saw so much through her eyes, I sometimes feel as if I became more like her.
Tyrak was silent for a moment. Beneath my hand, I sensed a sort of melancholy. A longing that echoed my own.
My other bonds weren’t like this, he said. I mean—aside from our ability to communicate, the connection was thin. I could feel my wielder’s intent, and often I could guide their hand. But I never knew the person. It’s different with you. I’ve heard about a connection like this, but only in whispers. Rumors. They called it a shadowbond.
Shattering of the Nocturnai Box Set Page 28