“Weigh anchor and haul in the rigging!” the captain roared, and the crew sprang to life, scrambling up the ropes and across the deck.
I scratched at the stiff collar of my starched silk jacket and ran an eye over the rigging, looking for Pem and Still. I caught sight of them perched above the captain’s quarters, barefoot and missing their vests and jackets. I sighed and set off to find their things and force them into something that resembled order before we got into the rowboat that would take us to shore. There wasn’t really a good reason for me to try so hard to make them presentable—they’d probably destroy their finery long before we ever set foot in the palace—but I was determined to put in my best effort.
* * *
Before we’d climbed even halfway up the cliffs, my heart was pounding from exertion and I was struggling to catch my breath. It was all I could do to keep my eyes on my boots and myself from falling ass over elbows down the stairs, as Vi might say. I finally had to stop a few flights later, bracing my hands on my knees and panting.
As I fished in my pockets for a handkerchief, Pem came bouncing back down the last set of stairs she, Still and Swinton had climbed. She held up the handkerchief I’d been searching for, plus a fistful of coins.
“Can we buy a juice?” she asked innocently. “There’s a juice cart just up ahead, and they’ve got fruits we ain’t never seen before.”
“Pem, what did we tell you about stealing?” I snapped, irritated more by the sweat that would inevitably stain my jacket than by Pem’s sticky fingers. I unbuttoned the irksome garment and threw it over my arm.
“It ain’t stealing if it’s from you,” she said, her voice all calm assurance and logic. “You’re our brother, so what’s yours is mine and mine yours.”
“That’d be a more convincing argument if you had, well, anything.” I laughed. “Go ahead. Buy the juice. One for Swinton and me, too, okay?”
“Swinton’s gone on ahead to make sure we can get into the palace to see the queen. Took your letter from Lizzer-whatshername and said he’d meet us outside the palace gates. Said to tell you to stop in a tavern and clean yourself up ’fore that. Don’t want you meeting a queen all heaving and sweating.”
I rubbed a hand through my sweat-damp curls and swiped all but a couple of Denorian bodle, worth roughly the same as a tvilling, back from Pem’s outstretched hand with a glare.
“Don’t be cross with me, brother. It ain’t my fault you’re so dreadfully rich you can’t manage to keep in good enough condition to climb some stairs.”
Still appeared at her sister’s side, her auburn hair escaping from her braid and curling around her face in deceptively cherubic disarray. Still’s deep blue uniform jacket hung open from collar to waist. Somehow, in the short amount of time it’d taken us to climb three-quarters of the steps, she’d managed to lose more than half of the buttons. The state of Pem’s wardrobe wasn’t much better—her buttons were intact, but the white scarf we’d wrapped around her neck before leaving the ship had disappeared.
“Pem, the juice lady has spiced crabs and dumplings, too. Let’s go,” Still said. “C’mon, Bo. I’m starving.”
“You ate not an hour ago. You can’t possibly be starving. Get your juice, but we’ll wait for a meal until we find Swinton.” It would be no small task, finding a way to make these two presentable even without the possibility of food stains, all while navigating a new city in a language I spoke only passably well. That thought snagged something in me, and I narrowed my eyes at the twins. “How’d you talk to the juice vendor? You told me you didn’t know Denorian.”
My sisters exchanged a series of looks heavily weighted with meaning. Pem piped up first. “Don’t not speak Denorian.”
“Don’t really know a language if you can’t read and write it,” Still added.
Despite the incredible absurdity of Still’s statement—which took into account none of the myriad causes a person might have that kept them from learning to read and write—I kept my mouth closed, hoping that by staring the girls down I might get more out of them than by asking the wrong questions. I’d address their prejudice when I had more time for explanation and thoughtful conversation.
The girls shuffled their feet and glanced at the passersby, as though strangers might stop and hand them a way out of the corner they’d backed themselves into. Finally, Still said, “Pem and me, we pick up on languages fair quick. We already knew a bit of Denorian from merchants and the like, and them sailors told us a few things.”
“So you were just going to keep that bit of knowledge to yourselves?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Spies keep secrets,” Pem said matter-of-factly.
“Not from the people they’re spying for. The more Denorian you speak, the more use you’ll be in this venture.”
“Oh.” Still and Pem grinned at each other, and Pem said, “In that case, I can talk Denorian just about as well as I can Alskader. Still, too. And she can read it a bit.”
I narrowed my eyes at them. “You just said—”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t read Denorian. Just said you didn’t know a language if you couldn’t read and write it. Tricky things, words.” Still’s smile was all the more wicked for the baby teeth she was missing.
With a snort, I started once more up the stairs.
* * *
The warren of narrow streets that led to the palace were crowded with signs advertising doctors, pharmacies, herbalists and cure-alls. Groups of smiling, well-fed people bustled up and down the street. The wholesome scent of roasting vegetables and grilled meat wafted from vendors’ carts, and we saw children as excited about bags of cut fruit dusted with spices and salt as Alskader brats were about the fried doughnuts coated in colorful crunchy sugar that bakers sold at home. The fashion here seemed to be more invested in comfort and functionality than in Alskad, and much more colorful. Most people wore knit sweaters or jackets with close-fitting sleeves and buttons up the back. The fashion for both men and women seemed to lean toward wide-legged trousers or knee-length, kilted skirts, but I saw more than a few people in the tighter pants that were popular in Alskad.
I kept one hand on Still’s shoulder and the other on Pem’s, but even still, walking through the streets with them was like trying to walk two house cats on leashes. They were constantly distracted and trying to wander off in opposite directions. When we finally made our way through the city and to the palace, I stopped in my tracks, gaping up at the masterpiece of architecture that was the Denorian palace. This building, with its arched gate spiked with portcullis-like teeth, black minarets and domes gleaming even in the drizzling rain and black stone walls looming high overhead, was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Guards in snowy white coats stood in neat formation outside the gates, which stood open, people streaming freely in and out.
We found Swinton leaning against the doorjamb of a tavern in the shadow of the palace wall. Unlike the three of us, he was still perfectly turned out. His hair was in a neat tail, his dark gray coat remained spotlessly brushed and his snowy cuffs peeked out from beneath his jacket just a finger’s width. He grinned at me, and just for a moment, I hated the ease of his beauty.
But by the time he’d crossed the street, mussed the girls’ auburn curls and kissed me on the cheek, my irritation had dissolved like spun sugar in a rainstorm.
“Best find ourselves a place to clean up, and make quick work of it. We’re eating the midday meal with Noriava and her court.”
“On a first-name basis with the queen of Denor already, are you?”
“Jealous?” Swinton made a wicked face at Pem and Still, who could hardly have cared any less about our conversation.
I had to admit—at least to myself—that I was, a little bit. I grimaced and looked down at my boots, scuffed from the climb up the stairs, despite my having polished them just hours ago. Or, rather, I’d tried to polish them rather inadequately, u
ntil Swinton took them from me and patiently showed me how.
He’d teased me only a little in the process, but there were times when I worried about what he must really think of me. I wanted to show him how capable I could be on my own, but I feared he’d always see me as some pampered princeling. And how could he not?
Swinton squeezed my arm. “The woman who owns this place will rent us a room for an hour, so we can get cleaned up. C’mon, then.”
“How have you managed to get into the palace, see the queen and rent us a room in the time it took us to walk up from the docks?” I asked incredulously.
“You’re slow,” Pem said.
“Out of condition,” Still added.
“Right shame,” Pem agreed.
“Enough, you two. You should be ashamed at the state of your kit. You were clean and tidy not two hours ago.” With a grin and a wink that made my stomach drop into my boots, Swinton said, “In the short time I’ve known you, my dear, I’ve come to learn that I have quite the way with monarchs.”
My guts turned at the thought of meeting another monarch on such uneven terms, but I remembered how Swinton had charmed Runa in a matter of no time at all. With him by my side, I knew I would be just fine.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Vi
“I can’t seem to define bravery anymore. I knew it once, what it was and how it would look on me, but now, it’s like a light wavering in the distance.”
—from Vi to Bo
I woke to the sound of rain pattering against a tin roof. My eyes were crusted from too much sleep, and I felt as weak as a newborn seal pup. The last thing I remembered was the world falling out from beneath me, and Lei’s little fingers crusted in blood. When I tried to sit up, pain shot like lightning up and down my back. I couldn’t even speak; my throat was so dry that my voice came out in a rasping croak hardly louder than the creaking of the house’s timbers.
Nothing in the room was familiar—not the loose nightgown I wore, not the spare pinewood furnishings, not the tin washbasin and pitcher that sat atop the dresser. The one thing I recognized was the only piece of art that hung on the wall, an image of the goddesses distributed by the temple on the high holy days when folks brought their tithe. Dzallie, the Warrior, stood in the center, her ancient, gnarled hands holding the enormous broadsword of Alskad as she stared up at the broken moon over their heads. On her left, Rayleane, the Builder, presented Alskad’s crown, her eyes cast downward at the globe on which the three stood. Magritte, the Educator, with the mantle of Alskad draped across her arms, was the only one of the three who stared straight ahead, her lovely face stern and impassive.
I’d grown up with that damned image in every corner of my life. A copy hung above the cot in the tiny cell I was once allowed to occupy in the temple. Richer versions decorated the living spaces of nearly every one of the anchorites. A copy hung in nearly every shop and home I’d ever visited in Alskad, and it wasn’t until now, until seeing it just this minute, that I realized I hadn’t seen this depiction of the goddesses in Ilor before. I racked my brain, trying to remember if there’d been a copy at the Whipplestons’ or Plumleen Hall or even in the temple, but I couldn’t remember having seen it even once.
Panic and bile rose in my throat. Where was I? I struggled once again to sit up, to free my legs from the restrictive linens, to get away, but between my injuries and the tight sheets, it was like I was tied to the bed frame. I tried to push away the panic, to calm myself, but no amount of slow breathing could stem the tide of fear as it washed over me. I counted truths with each breath. I’d seen the Shriven fall into the gorge. Curlin and the brats had been around me when I fell.
But not Quill. Quill hadn’t been with us. He’d been with the other rebels, still fighting the Shriven.
I pushed down a fresh wave of panic, reaching for logic. There was no way the rest of the Shriven had managed to find and capture me, and then gone on to bind my wounds and take care of me. The Shriven wanted me dead. They’d been shooting at me. My memories of the end of the fight were punctuated by pain and fog and moments of bright, golden focus.
Footsteps outside the little room sent my heart into my gullet, and I fought even harder to wrench myself out of the bed. My eyes shot around the room, looking for anything that I could use as a weapon, but there was nothing within reach, nothing I could use unless I could get out of bed. Even then, I didn’t know if I’d be able to stand. Every muscle in my body was loose and weak. Even keeping my eyes open was a struggle, despite the adrenaline coursing through me.
I’d managed to get one foot free and pulled myself halfway up on one elbow when the doorknob turned and the door opened with a great rush of cool, damp air. Frantic tears blurred my vision for a moment, and the shadowy shape that came through the door turned my veins to ice. The shaved head, the black outline of tattoos snaking from scalp to fingertips, the thickness of a belt crowded with weapons.
I heaved my other leg out of the sheets and swung myself around, battling through the pain. I refused to let the Shriven take me without a fight. I wouldn’t let them use me against Bo. The second my feet touched the bare stone floor, pain shot through me like a bolt of lightning, and I screamed. The world went black and my head spun.
“Vi, don’t worry. It’s okay. You’re okay.” I knew that voice. How did I know that voice?
Hands at my shoulders steadied me and laid me gently back on the pillow, and I didn’t have the strength to fight. When I managed to open my eyes, I saw a familiar face, twisted in concern, leaning over me.
“Curlin?” I asked.
“And Aphra,” she said.
“Where in Dzallie’s name are we? Are you hurt? Where’s everyone else? Where’s Quill?”
Curlin grimaced and looked behind her. Aphra, standing in the doorway, gave a brief shake of her head. The dog we’d saved from Aphra’s estate pushed her way into the room, followed by her gangly offspring, now half-grown. They nosed around the bed before settling themselves in a pile on the floor.
“You need rest,” Curlin said. “We’ll bring you some more pain medicine, so you can sleep.”
I pounded my right fist on the mattress, making the pups’ ears prick and their mother huff. “I don’t want to bloody sleep. I’m fine. Tell me what happened. How long have I been out?”
Aphra leaned against the footboard, her arms crossed over the plain rail. “Four days. We got you here three days ago, and you’ve been in and out ever since. This is the first time you’ve been awake for more than a minute or two. The healers didn’t know if you’d ever truly wake up—they still can’t figure out what that Shriven bitch drugged you with. You were hallucinating and half-dead when you got to the bridge. You need to rest.”
Curlin shot Aphra an admonishing look. The terror I’d felt on waking was giving way to a splitting headache. I wasn’t so sure that my skull wasn’t cracked. Curlin handed me a glass of water, and I took a grateful sip.
“Just tell me two things,” I pleaded. “Where are we? And more important than that, how’s Lei?”
“She’s dead, Vi.” Curlin’s voice was strained with the effort of holding back tears. “She died last night. She fought like hell, but she was gut shot. There was nothing we could do. Maybe if we’d had a Denorian healer... But there’s no use in wishing.”
Before I could react, Aphra spoke up. “And there’s something else we need to tell you, Vi.”
Curlin cut her off. “Now’s not the time.”
“She has the right to know,” Aphra countered.
“Know what?” I asked, fear rising in my blood.
Aphra bit her bottom lip and stared at her hands, clasped in her lap. “I don’t know how to tell you this. It’s...about Bo.” Aphra paused, looking at me, her eyes full of concern. “Vi...he’s dead. He and the queen were both shot during the queen’s birthday celebration in Penby. I’m so sorry, Vi.”
Bo had been stolen from me. Lei had died on my watch. I had failed, so miserably and utterly, and now I would be the thing I had always thought myself to be. Diminished.
I curled in on myself, turning away from Curlin and Aphra and pulling the covers up over my shoulders. I stared at the blank wall, only dimly aware of the world around me. The world that so blithely went on—birds singing, sun shining, people laughing—in the wake of all this darkness.
The bed shifted as someone sat down beside me. A hand stroked my hair, an attempt to comfort me, but I was stone. Stone cannot be comforted. Stone doesn’t feel. I was endless dark, heaviness, cold. I was nothing. I heard Aphra’s voice, Curlin’s, but their words were nothing. Meaningless.
Curlin’s calloused hands pulled me onto my back, tried to make me sit up, look at her, pay attention. I was dimly aware of pain in my arm where she grasped me, but as soon as I noticed it, it was gone again.
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