Laying the slats against my leg, I wound the linen tight to secure them. I saved a strip of bandage about the length of my arm which I tore into long, narrow strips. Finally, I downed the evenshade and chased it with some deep swallows of water. It would damage my reflexes, but the pain was already harming my abilities.
“How long ago did Caffari leave? Can I catch her before they move on the House grounds?”
The woman glanced at my injured leg. “Unlikely,” she said. “But you might keep Daonok from getting my friends killed.”
I took a deep breath. Fair enough. Raav would have to decide for himself how to respond when the attack came on the house. He was persuasive—and charming enough to make someone as horrible as Ashhi desire him for more than his fortune. If he wanted to, he could probably convince Caffari’s people which side he was on.
Assuming he was still against the Ulstats. He wouldn’t give his loyalty to Trader Ulstat so easily, but I couldn’t forget the way he’d kissed Ashhi.
The evenshade started to fuzz the edges of my awareness, but it also stole the pain in my ankle. Suppressing a groan, I stood. I glanced at the broomstick I’d used as a crutch. No time to limp my way across town. I’d just have to hope that whatever pain the evenshade hid from me, it didn’t mean permanent damage. With a nod at the thief, I shouldered the rucksack and started for the central square.
I kept to the shadows as I made my way to the gallows. I no longer needed the cloak; the fires from the miner’s camp were spreading into town, and gutterborn were getting out before the flames penetrated deeper. Families formed caravans of wagons. Children peeked out from beneath blankets in the back, only their frightened eyes showing. The elderly rode in the carts as well, coughing in the smoke that rolled in from the outskirts and melded with Ilaraok’s already foul air. Walking beside the wagons, men and women carried makeshift weapons and regarded strangers with suspicious eyes.
Head down, I trudged with the flow of evacuees. Even if the guards were looking for me, they wouldn’t find me among the throng. I was just another dark-haired commoner moving with the traffic.
Nearer the central district, a doomsayer had dragged a wash tub into the middle of the street. She stood upon it, holding a burning baton. The flame at the end of the stick spouted an arm's length into the air, far higher than it should have. She intoned warnings, wild-eyed prognostications about creatures emerging from the ocean’s depths and crawling through the city on masses of tentacles. Utter nonsense. But disasters were always good business for the doomsaying cult.
When I reached the narrow alley Caffari had led me down before, I ducked my head and darted inside. Unlike the main street, there would be no hiding in the crowd here. A single occupant, an old man with a puckered eye socket and a scar across his cheek, sat huddled against the wall. A wooden bowl, the universal signal among Kiriilti beggars, rested before his feet. I had nothing to give him but a warning.
“The city’s burning,” I said, pausing to crouch in front of him. “Go to the water, old friend.”
He looked up at me, his good eye watering, and shrugged. “What’s the use? I’m alone and hungry, and even the sun has left us.”
I laid a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the greasy feeling of unwashed clothing. “None of us are alone. And things will get better.”
Good to hear you say that, Tyrak said.
I stood and moved on, but felt heartened when I heard the man stir. When I glanced over my shoulder, he was hobbling toward the harbor. I hoped it would be safer for him there. If not for the warm glow of the evenshade, I’d likely have been too cautious to approach him. I needed to hold onto that courage for kindness when the tonic faded from my blood.
As I approached the square, I pressed closer to the wall, sliding through the shadows. If I’d been at the hideout when the others had left, I would know where Daonok and the other thieves waited. I’d be able to watch for Daonok’s signal. Instead, I had to hope my new plan would work, and that Daonok was clever enough to adapt.
I exited the alley and headed down a last, short street to reach the square. As I approached, I scanned the shadows for Daonok’s men. I spotted no one, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. If they were easy to see, they wouldn’t be very good at their trade.
Slipping into a niche between buildings, I lowered my rucksack to the ground, careful not to make too much noise. I pulled the cloak free and slipped it over my shoulders. On tiptoes, I crept to the very edge of the square and peered toward the gallows. The guard had increased. At least a dozen men and women stood with weapons ready and alert eyes scanning the darkness. I jerked my head back before someone noticed me. With the extra guards, I could be sure there were more archers with a vantage on the square, too. But I couldn’t worry about that—my best defense would be to move quickly once I was exposed.
One by one, I opened the flasks of lamp oil and poured a wide strip across the street. The smell stung my nose, and I pulled a fold of the cloak up to filter it. Once the flasks had been emptied, I grabbed my ball of linen strips and soaked it in the puddled oil. I shoved the wet mass into one pocket and put the flint and steel into another.
The crossbow still hung from my pants. I pulled it free and loaded a bolt.
With the fire advancing through the edge of the city, buildings on the far side of the square cast long shadows across the open space. After a quick glance to identify landmarks—I didn’t want to run for the wrong alley later—I circled back and made my way along side streets, emerging in an alley mouth on the opposite side of the square. The well I’d hidden behind before stood about twenty paces away. A band of shadow connected my hiding spot with its position.
With a deep breath, I dashed across the open space. Dropping beneath the low wall surrounding the well, I held my breath. After a few heartbeats, I peeked up over the wall to get a look at the gallows.
The guards hadn’t seemed to notice me, thank the tides. In the stocks, Geren’s eyes were closed. Maybe they had actually let him fall asleep. But the healer’s eyes were open, her gaze keen. She was looking straight at me.
I examined the spool of rope suspended over the well. A wooden crank would lower the bucket. But would it do it quietly? I had to hope so.
Setting the crossbow on the cobbles, I unfastened my cloak and stuffed it into the bucket. The thin fabric wadded easily, filling just half the container.
My heart pounded as I reached for the crank and ever so slowly began to turn it. The bucket dropped, creeping down into the well. The spindle made no noise, and the only sound was the quiet splashing when the bucket hit the water.
I breathed a sigh of relief then began reeling the bucket back in.
Unfortunately, the weight of the water pressed upon the crank. Wood rasped against wood, squealing.
“Hey!” a guard called.
An arrow skittered across the cobbles and hit the low wall right next to me. Jumping up, I cranked as fast as I could. The bucket came whizzing from the depths, and I yanked the cloak out as soon as I could reach it.
I slapped the wet garment over my shoulders, snatched my crossbow, and sprinted for the shelter of the alley. Whirling, I saw four guards detach from their posts and run for me.
Come on, Daonok, I thought. This is your chance.
I yanked the flint and steel and oil-soaked bandage from my pockets. Dropping to a crouch, I flicked sparks onto the ball of linen. One speck of flame took, and the fabric began to smolder.
With the tinder cupped in my hand, I jumped up and sprinted across the square. Arrows sparked when they hit the cobbles on either side of me, but I wove back and forth, Tyrak’s reflexes augmenting my own. At the mouth of the street where I’d spilled the oil, I turned. In the glow from the burning outskirts, I knew the guards would recognize me. I turned my face to the sky to make sure the light hit it full force.
“Daonok!” I yelled for good measure before spinning and dropping the burning rag into the oil.
The guards drew close
r, and I waited while the flame found its way into the oil. A curl of smoke reached my nose an instant before the alley behind me ignited, bursting into light and heat. Tongues of fire stretched to the tops of buildings, higher than I’d expected even with what I’d seen of fires in the last hours. The heat nearly knocked me from my feet, and I felt the hairs on my bare arms curl and smolder.
Still, I waited, hoping to glimpse Daonok. I pulled the wet cloak around my body and yanked the hood over my head. The guards were too close. I had to go. I whirled and stepped into flame. An arrow whizzed by my head.
“Wait!” a man bellowed. “Don’t attack her. I want her alive.”
When I broke from the curtain of fire, the searing heat blurred my vision. I blinked to clear it, stepping forward only to stop short. At least ten men blocked my passage. Ruffians, holding clubs and stones. In front of them, the beggar grinned.
“Tough times,” he said. “Trader Ulstat put word out around the square. A fine reward for a girl who happens to look a lot like you. As for your smuggler friends, when they heard the whispers, they just melted away. That’s the way it goes with criminals, I guess.”
I fought the impulse to raise the crossbow and shoot him through the throat. That wasn’t me. And it would be a waste of a bolt with ten thugs backing him up. Instead, I cinched the hood around my face and burst back through the fire, dashing into the square before I threw off the cloak. The fabric was hot now, steaming.
Looking up, I skidded to a stop.
From atop the gallows, Trader Ulstat grinned. His hand rested on Geren’s shoulder. The noose wrapped the boy’s neck. In front of the platform, a guard had Caffari in hand. The smuggler struggled against his grip, stopping when he laid his blade against her throat.
“Plan would’ve worked if you’d come back on time,” Caffari spat. “And if your former . . . friend, Raav, hadn’t worked so hard to defend his new wife.”
I gritted my teeth. There would be time to have this out with Caffari later—if we survived.
My finger found the trigger for the crossbow. You know how to aim? I asked Tyrak. I didn’t even know if the weapon could hit Trader Ulstat from this distance. But it was worth a try.
Do I look like a bow? I know how to pierce and slash. Not shoot.
“All right, Councilor Boket. Ready to negotiate?” Trader Ulstat called. “You’re quick. Might be able to outrun my men. But then your friends would die.”
I glanced to the left and noticed a pair of guards creeping closer. Pulling Tyrak out, I sidestepped away.
“I have no reason to trust you,” I called back.
Trader Ulstat nodded at a guardsman standing beside the stocks. “Let the healer go as a show of good faith.”
The guard jabbed a key into the padlock, unfastened it, and lifted the wood from the woman’s neck and wrists. Like a coiled snake, she sprang, landing a fist in the man’s gut. He backhanded her, sending her crashing to the ground.
“Brave, but unwise,” Trader Ulstat said. “Still, she’s free to leave when she recovers consciousness.”
“Let Geren go, and we’ll talk,” I said.
Trader Ulstat shook his head. Instead, he started fiddling with the noose. A tear slipped down Geren’s face.
Like a sudden breeze, I felt a gentle brushing at my walls. Blinking, I opened a narrow gap.
Lilik . . . Do as he says. There are ways to win this that don’t risk an innocent boy.
My knees buckled. I would’ve known Nyralit’s voice anywhere, but hearing it in my head, I knew she was truly gone.
I dropped my crossbow to the cobbles.
Chapter Twenty-Three
AS MY WEAPON hit the pavement, the trigger released. The bolt sailed across the square and clipped a guard in the arm. Caffari jumped at the distraction, elbowing her captor in the gut. Spinning, she punched him in the chin. The guard staggered back, dazed, and she yanked his short sword from his grip. With a vicious slash, she opened his throat. The other guards moved toward her, weapons raised.
There are men coming up behind us, Tyrak said. Hide me. No time to run.
Not that I’d leave while Skink’s neck was in the noose. Trader Ulstat still had the boy firmly in hand. I ran forward, ankle twinging again. The evenshade was wearing off. Good. It had made me stupid.
As the men closed in on Caffari, she sprang from their path, catching hold of the gallows platform. Swinging a leg over, she hoisted herself up and jumped for Trader Ulstat and the boy. The man backpedaled, but he wasn’t her target. Mid-stride, Caffari yanked a knife from her boot. In one smooth motion, she grabbed the rope connected to the noose, sliced it in two, and heaved Geren over her shoulder. Two long strides took her to the edge of the platform, and she leaped to the ground, landing in a roll that somehow spared Geren the impact. A few heartbeats later, she had him in her arms again and was dashing from the square.
Feet shook the ground behind me. At the last moment, I crouched, pretending to surrender. As the men surrounded me, I slipped Tyrak from his sheath and jabbed him down between the layers of linen holding my ankle splint in place. The wooden bulk of the supports would hide his shape.
I hoped.
Moments later, a sack fell over my head while rough hands yanked my arms behind my back.
A cavernous building, the refinery spread in darkness before me. Huge mounds of stone piled on the floor. Far across the room, mules stamped in their stalls, squealing and wild-eyed. Bats squeaked in the rafters, a sound that raised the hairs on my neck. But no matter how I tried to pay attention to the rest of my surroundings, the enormous furnace kept drawing my attention.
In the massive belly of the oven, coal burned so hot that it flared white. The iron of the furnace glowed a dull red in the cracks and seams as if the entire thing would soon melt. And in a huge cauldron which hung above the furnace and flames, molten ore bubbled and steamed and sent splatters of red-hot slag out into the surrounding cleared area.
With every spray of molten stone, I thought of Ioene and the magma deep inside her. Had the magic of Ioene’s fire come here, carried by the waves of Mieshk’s growing power?
I was locked to a post, back tight against it, my arms pulled up and back. Lengths of chain fastened my wrists to bolts high in the rafters. The angle wrenched my shoulders, and the ache in the sockets radiated into my chest. My ankle throbbed, but I couldn’t take weight off of it. The moment I sagged lower, my shoulders threatened to dislocate.
Tyrak did what he could, easing the hurt and propping up my strength. But I felt close to cracking. Only the gentle touch of Nyralit’s spirit kept me grounded.
It had been about an hour since they dragged me into the building, fastened me to the post, and yanked the sack off my head. Trader Ulstat had not followed his guards to the refinery; most likely, he wanted me to suffer for a while before laying out his newest demands.
Nyralit had remained quiet. She seemed to sense my desire to come to terms with her death. But we needed to talk now. At least, I needed to talk.
I can’t believe you’re gone. I kept hoping you were just injured, I said. Tyrak joined his thoughts with mine, adding agreement to my statement.
In truth, I hoped the same at first. I wanted it to be a dream. But I’m gone, moved on to a new existence. I had a good life. I take comfort in that.
The heat from the furnace and the fumes from the molten rock stung my eyes. But the tear that slipped down my face was for Nyralit alone.
You had an amazing life. What was it like going from daughter of a trader to strandmistress of the Nocturnai? I asked.
She sent me a thread of amusement. It was a bit more complicated than that. I was a nightcaller first, on a long-ago Nocturnai. My talent was average, and our expedition was nothing extraordinary. But eight years later, when the next Nocturnai was organizing, the strandmistress took ill. The sickness stole the feeling from her legs and left her unable to walk. Tragic. But for me, it was a miracle. I had four older siblings and scarcely any inheritance
to look forward to. The Nocturnai was desperate and took me on as strandmistress. It was Vidyul’s first voyage as captain, too. We were so young. Twenty-four and twenty-six. He was much the same then. Slimmer, with eyes full of fire. It took tremendous determination to rise from commoner to captain of the Nocturnai. I loved him within the first week we were under sail.
The melancholy heartache that filled her voice made my chest hurt. Can you . . . Is he there with you?
Pride joined Nyralit’s words. Vidyul is alive, Lilik! I’m certain of it. If Zyri’s Promise had sunk that night, his spirit would be here, tied to Araok Island. It gives me joy to know he beat Trader Ulstat. When you find him, tell him that for me.
Of course, if I ever reunited with Captain Altak and his crew, I’d have to tell them about Nyralit’s death. What would I say? The captain and Nyralit had been in love for so many years. I didn’t think I could give him the news.
But Nyralit’s words sent a shiver of hope through me. Zyri’s Promise was still afloat. My friends were still alive. Even if I didn’t get out of this, there was still a chance someone would manage to oust Mieshk.
I will, I said. I’ll tell him.
We tried to have a child, you know. We never succeeded, but I’d like to imagine she would’ve been someone like you.
I’d like to imagine I can live up to that compliment. You would’ve been a wonderful mother, Nyralit. In a way you’re a mother to every nightcaller who sailed.
She sent me a warm tendril of gratitude.
What’s it like? The aether.
Oh, Lilik. There’s madness all around. The Ulstat spirits and their loyal servants are full of hatred and anger, and a deep-abiding shame for the people they were.
I’m confused about one thing, I said. Leesa said that the aether here is split. She summons worthy souls to her domain. So why are you among the Ulstats?
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