Chapter Thirteen
I DIDN’T TELL Da or Jaret about my meeting with Mother. How could I? No matter what I said to reassure him, Da would be worried I’d accept her offer. And as for Jaret, the sooner he forgot her reappearance, the better.
All that evening, I sat with my family in our small home and talked of unimportant things. They seemed to sense my need to just relax and forget the situation for a while. I couldn’t remove the Ulstats from our harbor tonight—if ever. And I was just so tired.
Though the opportunity came up more than once, I didn’t tell them about Raav’s arrest. I didn’t want condolences or comfort. Tonight, I just wanted to escape.
As the fire crackled, the stew pot bubbling, Jaret confounded me by beating me four times in a row at storms and ships. Disgusted that he’d improved so much over the past months, I challenged him to sheep and wolves, a variant using the same stones but played with a different starting position and slightly different rules. Da laughed when Jaret humiliated me for the fifth time, and I pretended to be angry, swiping the board clean after my defeat.
Tucked into my bed that night, I listened to my brother and father’s breathing. The quiet sounds were my anchor, proof that I still had a place of comfort, even though they’d changed slightly while I was away—Jaret’s voice had started to drop, an early change for an Istaniker. His voice cracked sometimes and brought a dark flush to his face. I hoped that the months ahead would be easier on him than the beginning of adolescence had been for me. With no mother around, I’d been lost and afraid, and had finally turned to Nan for advice. If Da had known the turmoil I’d endured, I’m sure he’d have done his best to help me. Thankfully, those days were far in the past.
I drifted off, vaguely uneasy, but with the closeness of my family to make up for it. Tomorrow, I had more work to do. But tonight, I slept soundly. I’d had a mother once, and the woman she’d become now wanted back into my life. But the last thing I would do would be to let her—or anyone—hurt this perfect home.
Never ever.
It was noon by the time I reached the doors of House Yiltak. The sun beat down mercilessly; days on Stanik Island were rarely oppressively hot nor intolerably cold, but the heat today was cruel.
Months ago, I’d felt like a cockroach as I lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it fall against the Yiltak’s door. Now I slammed the metal ring against the cast-iron plate beneath it. The sound reverberated through the building, vibrating the steps beneath me.
A small copper pane slid aside, showing Trader Yiltak behind the door. Unlike Frask Ovintak, the prime trader of House Yiltak had no need to impress with sentries and butlers. Just her confidence was enough to convey her power.
“I wondered how long it would be before you came knocking,” she said, unlatching the door.
Without waiting for a formal invitation, I stepped over the threshold. “Raav Ovintak had nothing to do with his brother’s betrayal,” I said.
“Oh, I know,” she responded. A curt nod to a nearby servant sent him scurrying down the long hallway. With a sweep of her hand, she directed me toward an adjoining antechamber. Within, a pair of chairs carved of cacao wood faced each other across a mirrored table. I stayed well clear of my reflection, not wanting the reminder of my mother.
“Then you’ll give him a fair trial? I doubt Praviili knew anything either. Frask is—”
“First of all, Lilik, if I hear you refer to a prime trader in the familiar again, I’ll have you put in prison alongside your darkling Raav,” she said with a look that invited no argument.
Though her words tempted me to retort, I clenched my jaw to contain the impulse. A familiar gutter saying was, “Never argue with a trader.” I wanted something from the woman, and I’d only make my job more difficult if I provoked her.
“Second of all,” she continued, “don’t presume to lecture me on the inner workings of a trader household. I know full well that Frask holds the power in his House. Most likely, he’s battered his mother into submission. I severely disapprove of the man, but it is not within my power—not even as the controlling voice in the Council—to change his behavior.”
Only slightly chastened, I nodded.
“Now, as to Raav and his mother, it doesn’t matter if they are innocent. Currently, they are the only leverage the Council has over Frask, and Frask is the only leverage we have over the Ulstats, at least until we figure out what to do against their new weapons. So, until this blockade . . . or maybe we ought to call it what it is: a siege . . . Until it’s broken, Raav and his mother will remain in the prison.”
“But Frask doesn’t care what happens to them. What good will it do to keep them locked up?”
“They are held under the accusation of treason, which means their assets are forfeit. For now, we’ve placed their coin in a common Council account. The home has been seized, and the ships which were in port are being guarded by Council-appointed men.”
“And you think holding his inheritance hostage will sway Frask? He had to know he was giving that up when he threw in with the Ulstats.”
The servant who’d been sent on an errand returned with a tray. Rather than the melted chocolate her daughter had offered me, Trader Yiltak had requested tea. Remembering Nyralit’s etiquette lessons, I raised my cup and inhaled deep of the aroma.
“To your longevity, Trader,” I said before setting the cup down. Drinking before her would be incredibly rude.
She raised her brows. “You’re well-mannered for one with a common birth.”
I let her wonder where I’d learned the proper way to drink tea with a prime trader, offering no response while I waited. After she sipped, I took a long drink.
“At any rate,” she said, “yes, I do think it will sway him. He’s prime heir. Still. And given his hold over Praviili . . . Trader Ovintak—” She looked at me pointedly. “—no amount of bad behavior will change that. Every year under his command, the status of House Ovintak has decayed, to the point that many Council members won’t even receive him in their homes. So, he turned to House Ulstat.”
At this she sneered, set her cup down, and crossed her hands atop her knee.
“What he did not anticipate,” she continued, “was his family’s arrest and the Council’s seizure of his assets. You see, right now, there is no House Ovintak. Certainly, the name could be restored if he were to surrender, but if, for instance, the mother were to die before we resolved this situation, there would be no formal heir. The assets would be divided amongst the Council members. Frask’s Ulstat friends will have far less interest in him without the Ovintak fortune. If that’s even an appropriate description of their current finances.”
A dart of cold stabbed my chest. “Wait,” I said. “Back up. You’re saying you’d execute Raav’s mother—Trader Ovintak?”
“I’m not saying anything . . . yet. But if the blockade continues, the Council will have to consider options. Likely, we’ll need to prove our resolve. Raav might be an adequate example for this.”
Abruptly, the world fell away. Was she actually hinting that Raav would be killed to get his brother’s attention?
“But he didn’t do anything,” I said, knowing my plea would go nowhere.
“Other than suffer the misfortune of being a younger sibling to Frask Ovintak, no, he didn’t. But as you well know, we can neither choose our birth nor change the consequences of it.”
“What about the Ulstat delegate? The one I tackled for you?”
Trader Yiltak stared at me as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her long legs at the ankle. “She’s being used elsewhere. A plan that I don’t care to disclose. So, Lilik. About our bargain . . .”
How could she act so casual after what she’d just admitted? I stared at her, cold fingers of shock around my throat. Were most traders really this ruthless?
“You understand that the bargain’s useless now,” she continued. “With the Ulstats at our harbor mouth, it doesn’t matter what I believe about the nightstrands.
”
I wouldn’t be so easily distracted. “Let me speak to Raav,” I said.
Her mouth twisted as she appeared to contemplate this. “I don’t see why I should.”
“Because it’s the decent thing to do? You’re condemning him without reason. Doesn’t he at least deserve the chance to speak to his friends?”
“Perhaps. But you know what our society thinks about the mixing of trader and commoner. Frankly, Lilik, you’d only harm his cause.” Her eyes were hard, but behind them I thought I saw a hint of remorse for what she had to do.
Pinching the handle of my teacup, I stared into the honey-colored liquid. “He needs shoes,” I said.
Trader Yiltak’s face softened. “I’ll see what I can do. But if you really want to help him while furthering your other cause . . . You’re a clever girl. Clever enough to return from Ioene after the Nocturnai’s ship sank. Perhaps you can put your mind to helping us with the Ulstat situation.”
I blinked. Her last sentence had been as close as a trader would ever get to asking for gutterborn help. “I don’t know what you think I can do,” I said.
“Hmm. Well, maybe I’m wrong. Regardless, you came here to plead for Raav’s release. I’ve told you how you might achieve that as well as remove blockades to our continued discussions on Ioene. It’s up to you whether you wish to act. Now, I’m sure you have a full day ahead of you . . .”
I knew a dismissal when I heard one. Recalling my manners, I left a swallow of tea in the cup. “May your coffers never empty,” I mumbled. Mistress Nyralit had taught me well, for all the good it had done.
When I exited the antechamber, a servant opened the front door. I stepped out into the blazing sun and flinched when the heavy iron slab clanged shut behind me.
Chapter Fourteen
FROM THE FRINGE of the gutter slums, a trail led along a blanket of relatively-flat farmland, some of the only fields on Istanik which needed no terracing to cultivate. A wooden fence ran the length, more to discourage wild animals than to keep people from wandering into the fields. Istanikers weren’t always honest, but we all depended on the farmers. Even the unfortunates who lived in the barracks strips respected that.
After about half an hour’s walk, the trail crested a small hill and then switch-backed down a steep bluff to one of Stanik Island’s ocean beaches. In years past, it had been one of my favorite places to come with Paono. We dug clams, threw rocks into the crumbling surf, and swam on the warmer days. With the heat today, I’d decided the beach would be a good place to spend the afternoon.
Once upon the sand, I sat on a log and removed my sandals. The ground was scorching on the bottoms of my feet, so I quickly rolled up my trousers and dashed for the tide line. Plunging into ankle-deep water, I waited for a wave to wash ashore, cooling my legs and tickling as it withdrew.
To the left, the coast curved out to a point, upon which the closer of the harbor guardstones towered. The flame burned yellow today, no imminent threat, but they might as well have left the red flames in place. You’d have to be blind to ignore the warships hulking just off the harbor entrance.
In truth, though I’d come here to cool down, I also hoped to get a look at the Ulstat force. Upon the ships’ decks, cannons were placed every twenty paces or so along the rail—though I’d never seen them before, it wasn’t hard to understand how they worked. A large cylinder sat on a wheeled base, chained to the deck with some slack. Beside each, metal balls were stacked within a frame of planks fastened to the deck. All told, the Ulstat vessels had around thirty of the weapons. If each of them fired their stockpile of balls, Istanik’s waterfront would be entirely destroyed. I wondered how far the cannons could hurl their ammunition. If the traders were to build some sort of wall upon the harbor floor, something that would prevent deep-keeled ships from approaching the quay, it might protect the city. But of course, that would cripple trade. Not a workable solution.
As far as I could tell, the best way to get rid of the Ulstat threat was to remove their cannons. Unfortunately, the heavy chains fastening them to the deck looked rather hard to sever. But without the balls, their weapons were useless. It wouldn’t be too hard to throw them overboard, given access to the decks. Or maybe even easier, we could send someone to find and destroy their black powder.
Soldiers trained as scouts or spies might be able to get aboard, especially at night. I wondered whether the Council had plans to try something like that.
You’re not thinking of trying to sneak aboard one of those ships, are you? Tyrak asked, his guess uncannily accurate.
I wasn’t planning on it.
In truth, I probably would try eventually, if it were my only chance to save Raav and Paono. But Tyrak didn’t need to know that.
Enjoying the caress of the water on my legs, I waded to the edge of the dry sand and unbuckled my belt. With a measure of reluctance, I laid it—and Tyrak’s dagger—upon the sand before stripping off my overtunic and trousers. Clad in only my underclothes, I splashed into the surf and dove.
By the time I left the beach, it was later than I’d planned. The water had felt too good on my skin, and especially with the sun beating down, I’d had no desire to trudge back into the city. But now that the sun brushed the horizon, I’d have to hurry if I wanted to be received at House Korpit before dark. As I left the farms behind and entered the slums, I cut right, heading along the barracks strip on the street separating the soldiers’ buildings from the gutterborn homes. Not the safest route, but it was quickest. I hadn’t left myself many options.
As I hurried along the filth-stained cobbles—I didn’t even want to know what most of the dark patches were—I kept a wary eye on the barracks, attempting to put Tyrak’s instruction to use. In the gaps between the buildings, soldiers played dice, or in some cases, just sat on whatever object made a convenient stool, bottles tucked between their feet. One of the men, a wiry soldier with stubble coating his jaw, snarled when we made eye contact. I ducked my head and hurried on.
From down by the harbor I heard the sounds of workers attempting repairs to the waterfront, calls of dockworkers organizing the heaps of outbound goods that were piling up as a result of the blockade.
Lilik! Tyrak said abruptly.
I jerked, whipping my head around. What?
Listen.
From behind came the sound of boots stomping cobblestones. My jaw tightened. Rot.
Just stay calm. Glance up one of the alleys and pretend you see someone.
I did as he said, peering into the gutter district and waving. The footfalls behind me slowed, but didn’t stop. Unable to help myself, I glanced back. The underside of my tongue hurt as fear sent saliva flooding into my mouth. Three men were following me, all soldiers, and by their unsteady gaits, I guessed all of them were drunk.
My hand dropped to my dagger.
You can’t fight them. Even if you were fully trained, three on one is bad odds. Turn into the alley.
As I veered for the slums, one of the men called out. “Hey! Hey, girl!”
My heart sped, pounding against my ribs as I broke into a sprint. Growls erupted from my pursuers and their footsteps came faster.
What now, Tyrak?
Now we run, he said.
I’m already running—
My words died as he joined me again, his spirit melding into mine. Tyrak filled me top to bottom, his awareness raising mine from a low hum to a high-intensity whistle. Never slow, I nonetheless felt each twitch of my muscle like the snap of a bowstring, each smack of my foot as the pounding of hammer against anvil. Guiding my thighs, my hips, and my arms, Tyrak taught me to sprint like I’d never moved before. The ground flew beneath me as my breath filled my lungs with life-giving energy. Ahead, the alley split, to the left climbing away from the harbor, to the right, veering back toward the barracks strip and quay. Tyrak nudged us left, his confidence filling me with the certainty that I could outdistance the soldiers. That I could run forever. Alone, I was good. Together, we were unstopp
able.
As we pounded up the slope, the thumps and grunts of our pursuit fading, I concentrated on my breathing. Our breathing. Tyrak’s breath filled my lungs. His heart beat within my own. I felt greater than myself. More than complete.
When the man stepped from the stoop of a close-pressed building, I collided with him so thoroughly, all three of us—me, Tyrak, and the new person—tangled and stumbled, nearly falling to the cobbles.
“You okay—” The man stopped, stared, then widened his eyes. “Nightcaller Boket! My apologies. I saw you running . . .” He trailed off, as if unsure how to proceed.
Almost reluctantly this time, Tyrak withdrew. I felt his spirit leave me, pulling from my fingertips, my arms, my feet, legs and spine. I shivered, cold without him.
“Lilik?” the man asked.
I forced my awareness to him. “Wha—yes, sorry. I was being chased.”
The man’s face darkened. I noticed a club stuck through his belt and a pair of brass knuckles fitted over the fingers of his right hand. “Soldiers,” he said, not a question, but rather an affirmation.
“I shouldn’t have cut along the barracks, but I was in a hurry.”
“You shouldn’t have to worry about which part of the city you walk through, especially during the daylight hours. I’m sorry, Nightcaller.”
Hearing him call me that again, I gritted my teeth. I wondered if I’d be stuck with the title forever, a lifelong reminder of my lies.
“It’s not your fault,” I said as I got ready to excuse myself from the conversation.
“Well, in a way it is. We’ve organized, you see. Those of us living in or near barracks strip. Soldiers are getting worse lately. The traders aren’t doing anything about it, so seems it’s up to us.”
Shattering of the Nocturnai Box Set Page 35