“What forces? What is wrong? What even happened last night?”
“The process of miernes detection is not an exact science, my dear. I have told you before, it is more of an impression, a sense.” He glanced around the room. It was nearly empty, aside from a man who had been sitting at the bar, bent over a flagon since the night before. He could have been a statue for all that he’d moved.
“Surely, a man of your experience can read quite a bit into an impression,” Meri responded, sitting across from him and leaning forward. Cryden was quite susceptible to flattery, she’d learned. Which was fine; she’d used to work for tips.
“And, suddenly, you again are interested in the world? Last night—or very, very early this morning, rather—has changed you.” Meri raised her eyebrows, beckoning him to continue. “So, I have previously explained to you how being a cautaton allows me to sense the miernes? That different miernes leave different impressions based on the type, and how these impressions are stronger based on the power of the draw?”
Merigold nodded, meeting his eyes. She did truly need to learn.
“Well, there have been some extremely strong draws of late. Not just here. Over the entire country. I felt it, my dear lady, as I traveled to find you. And, I felt it here—well, in Hunesa—last night. Quite strong. Too strong.” Cryden rubbed his eyes, and then waved to the proprietor. The man ignored him.
“Is that why you went into some sort of trance? Zoned out?”
“Zoned out? Oh, yes. That. I certainly did feel a great power last night.” Cryden smiled slightly.
“And you were nonresponsive, practically a corpse. Don’t you remember?”
Cryden’s smile grew wider.
“What happened?” Merigold remained confused. Cryden had been paralyzed, even spilling his valued wine on his even more valued clothing.
“We can call it your first lesson. A test, if you will.” He tapped the table in a quick rhythm with his fingers, then leaned back as if brimming with pride.
“What? A test?” Meri’s jaw dropped. They could have been killed!
“I wanted to put you in a situation where you had to use your wits instead of your powers. You can fight. You can kill. That is well-established. However, if you seek to become a pasnes alna, particularly in my order, intelligence, wit, and cleverness are just as important. More important, in fact. Did I not tell you that very little of use can be accomplished by killing?”
“Few problems can be solved with violence,” muttered Meri, echoing Cryden’s words from last night and glaring at him with all the vitriol she could muster.
“What?”
“That is what you said. Few problems can be solved with violence.”
Cryden smirked and then again waved to the proprietor, who began to saunter over with the urgency of a tired tortoise. He considered the conversation over, clearly but Merigold refused to let it go.
“So, you pretended to be lost in the magic—surrounded by men with weapons and a woman armed with her own magic—to teach me a lesson? Couldn’t you have just… taught me in the conventional style?”
“I didn’t exactly pretend. I was perceiving a great deal of power from the direction of Hunesa, and it did consume a large portion of my focus. But, I was segmenting. Something that you will learn to do if you are to be successful. The biggest part of my consciousness was scouting and learning what I could learn about whatever powers ran rampant through the night. But I was still more than aware of the surroundings of my physical body. Had there been reason to worry, I could have returned to my body in an instant and neutralized any threats. There were no worries.”
“Cryden, you still could have told me,” Merigold muttered, knowing not what else to say, but hoping to at least inflict the pain of guilt. It had worked well with Ragen, but Cryden was apparently immune.
The proprietor finally made it to the table, and Cryden ordered some fried potatoes and greens for breakfast. Enough for three, he said, very specifically, banging his hand on the table to punctuate each syllable. The innkeeper eyed them suspiciously, probably with good reason, and ambled back toward the kitchen. Cryden looked back at Merigold, his gaze intense and worldly.
“My dear lady, a test is not a test without stakes. Had you known it was a test, you may have held back. Knowing that you could rely on me, you likely would have panicked, or given up, or simply failed. I gave you a situation where you had to succeed. And, my dear lady, you did succeed. Quite marvelously, I might add. I was actually impressed.” He smiled that sardonic smile.
This felt like a violation to Merigold, but she couldn’t find any holes in Cryden’s logic. And, Dear Yetra, she did feel accomplished after last night. Capable. A feeling she’d rarely had since leaving Dunmore on that night with Saren. She actually felt alive, for the first time since… well, since she’d lost so much.
“I’m uncertain whether to be upset or to thank you,” Meri said cautiously. “Now, must I fear that everything from here to Agricorinor is a test?”
Cryden chuckled. “My dear, everything in life is a test. A test of your skills. A test of your knowledge. A test of your endurance. Even a test of your relationships. So, yes, I will be testing you at every turn, but so will every other damned thing in the world.”
Her life had been so easy before, in Dunmore. She’d had her worries, of course. Did she have a nice dress for the Ascension festivities? Would she find a good man? Did they have enough food for the luncheon following the Yetranian weekly service? Would she ever get to see Rostane and the Plateau, or the wider world?
Trivialities, all of them.
The world had been testing her since, and Yetra knew that she had failed.
“Cryden, you mentioned that you sensed great powers at work in the night. What are they?”
“Again, you surprise me. I expected you to dwell on the test.” He glanced at the kitchen, now tapping his fingers impatiently. The man was apparently hungry.
“Don’t be evasive,” Meri told him.
Cryden’s face darkened, but it did not come with that feeling of anxiety and danger. Another lesson learned last night was that Cryden could alter the environment, or the emotions of those around him, by using his powers. She’d stored that information, planning to observe it further. Maybe she could learn how to do that, and maybe it would help her in some future test.
“What I felt—what I have been feeling,” he answered at length, “—was a perception of great violence, pain, and warmth. And not just from one draw. From many. What I felt, Merigold, was the creation of Feral. All over this country. Which is why, my dear, we must get to Agricorinor as soon as possible.”
Meri couldn’t help but feel a shiver. She remembered the Feral who’d attacked her, broken and bleeding but still fighting to kill her, to taste her blood. These things would not be stopped by anything short of death.
Cryden glanced to the right, noticing the proprietor carrying a tray heaped with food. “But first, my dear lady, we should eat some breakfast. Journeys should never begin on an empty stomach.”
***
It seemed that all things related to The House happened at night. Certainly, crime, extortion, and manipulation must occasionally happen under the light of the sun, but Meri imagined that such things were more at home in darkness, barely illuminated by the waning twin moons.
She and Cryden had spent the day shopping and preparing for the journey. Cryden was reluctant—and almost comically so—every time he had to pry open his purse and hand out a yet, but now they both had a full wardrobe appropriate for sailing and the subsequent overland travel in the winter, as well as a supply of dried meats and hard-as-rock bread. Cryden had lectured her on the importance of always carrying your own supplies rather than being reliant on others to feed you. Cryden had also reluctantly sold their horse and pony and changed his Ardian yets to Rafónese oros and a handful of Sestrian flins. Their journey would take them through both countries, though they’d only briefly be in Sestria.
&nbs
p; Merigold would finally get to see the world. Though, now, her heart ached to return to her old, boring, and forever-lost life.
Currently, she stood behind Cryden near the docks, awaiting their escort. There were no torches or lamps lighting this area of town, and although there were guards nearby, they ignored the pair. Cryden had said they’d either been bribed or were in the employ of The House, paid to look the other way in the case of illicit goings-on, which was basically all that happened here. Anyhow, men were coming and going from the seacraft, likely to and from various taverns if their raucous behavior was any indication.
The moons shed little light, and Merigold jumped at every bit of movement. What was to keep Resia the Blade from betraying them? A little fear? A golden, seven-pointed star? She had no trust in these people. What kind of honor could a criminal have?
Cryden stood easily, arms folded and apparently lost in thought. His light cloak, trimmed with an intricate silver pattern, blew in the heavy breeze. He looked every inch a powerful pasnes alna, very much unlike a man who tended to blend into the background. She found herself staring.
And then leaping in the air as a man emerged from the shadows nearby and spoke to them at full volume.
“You the pasnes alna? Come with me.” The man, dressed in all black, immediately turned and strode down the docks, his feet making hardly a sound on the wooden planking.
Merigold followed slightly behind Cryden.
She had never imagined there were so many ships in the world as were at these docks. Though the moons provided little illumination, many of the boats and ships were bright with lamps and busy with activity despite the hour. The masts made for a veritable forest—sometimes with three or more spouting from a single ship—and the docks may as well have been a labyrinth. She had no idea how the ships closest to land would navigate their way to open water. In Dunmore, they simply had rowboats, though foragers would often simply wade through the shallows, finding it quicker and easier. Mayor Marsh had had a small sailboat that he’d used for leisure during the wet season, when Dunmore Lake was actually deep enough for sailing to be worthwhile, and Merigold had been in awe of the thing, always wishing for a chance to sail on it. Larger boats than the mayor’s sailboat hung from the side of these Enowler ships, held simply as back-ups!
It wasn’t long until they reached their destination—a three-masted ship, relatively small compared to some of the behemoths blotting out her vision.
“A caravel,” muttered Cryden, his features crinkling with distaste. “It might mean a rough ride.”
Resia the Blade greeted them in front of the boarding plank, four figures flanking her. Meri again felt a flurry of fear, questing out to sense their maenen. If this were a betrayal, then she would not be taken easily.
“The pasnes alna. I trust that this ship will do?” Resia asked, her face barely visible in the dim light.
“I assume there are no other, bigger options? Those galleons, perhaps, over yonder?” Cryden asked, gesturing to a pair of gigantic ships visible against the horizon.
“I assure you, this ship will get you where you need to go. The Graceful Whale is the fastest smuggling craft we have.”
“Smuggling?” Merigold echoed, before she could stop herself. But smuggling was almost certainly the least of these people’s crimes, she knew. And, why should she have qualms when she had killed several men herself? Murder was certainly a worse crime than smuggling.
“Yes, smuggling. Will that be a problem, girl?” Resia’s voice was harsh.
“Certainly not. I just wanted to make sure I heard correctly.”
“You did. And now, your escort.” Resia stepped aside, reveal three men and a woman.
“I would see those who will work with us.” Cryden snapped a finger and a small light formed in his hand, causing all four to step backward hurriedly, but deftly.
Two of the men had olive-colored skin, short-cropped dark hair, and slightly slanted eyes. Sestrian men. And, she would guess that they were twins, so identical were their faces and builds. The third man stood out more prominently; he was an unusual sight, indeed. Huge, towering above the rest of them, he wore an open vest that revealed an ample, pale stomach. The only hair on his head stretched from ear to chin, and he had a great, silver ring of metal tunneling through his cheek. It created a secondary entrance into his mouth, and Merigold could see his clenched teeth. It was horrifying, and it drew the eye away from the other couple dozen piercings around his head.
The woman was built like Resia—stocky and wide—with the exception being that she had a great deal of visible muscle. More than most men, in fact. Her face was… well, if Merigold was being honest, this woman had the face of a dog she’d once seen traveling with a noblewoman. The thing had had a very smashed face, being so ugly it was nearly cute. However, the “nearly cute” part did not translate to this woman, though Meri felt immediately guilty for thinking such a thing.
“The brothers are Remy and Marius. The big man with more metal than face is Ill’nath, a Pintan islander somehow marooned on land.” The man grunted and perhaps smiled, though this expression was more frightening than anything. “And, Lisan the Arrow is the muscle-bound beauty before you.”
“There were to be six men,” said Merigold, feeling her own daring. “That was the deal.”
Resia’s eyes flashed. “In case you didn’t notice, we are at war. The House included. Four is a compromise, and you will deal with this. Besides, I would pit these four against any six.” There was finality in her voice.
“Four is more than enough, my dear lady. I expect a quiet journey,” Cryden said. “I look forward to getting to know each of you.”
“We must be going,” hissed a voice from the ship. Captain Jakys, the lithe noble from below the Lonely Mast, still seemed to be in an ill-temper. “Our window is closing. Get those passengers aboard.”
“This will all be adequate. Thank you for your willing assistance, Executor,” Cryden said wryly. He seemed much recovered from the morning, and his smile and sarcasm had recovered in turn.
“Always a pleasure. I trust these seeds will yield fruit?” Resia asked with some hesitation.
“Agricorinor will know of your assistance. Come, Meri. We must hurry so that we can sit for a week.”
Merigold boarded the ship, nearly losing her balance immediately. The deck seemed to bob and weave below her feet, and she grabbed onto the railing to stay upright. One of the sailors gave an unkind, mocking laugh.
“Easy now, Meri. You will get used to this. Or, you will be violently sick for a week or two,” Cryden offered, with what sounded like actual sympathy in his voice. He looked pale in the moonlight.
“Captain, where are our bunks?”
“Below. You two have the honor of the first mate’s cabin, as a well-rested first mate is apparently less important than your comfort,” Jakys snapped.
“I completely agree,” Cryden said, obviously baiting the man. The captain met Cryden’s eyes and did not back down.
“If you hadn’t some magic on your side, I would toss you overboard.”
“Lucky for me, then, that I have what you call magic,” Cryden returned, cockiness oozing from him like the smell of fish emanating from the ocean. “Now, if we are done intimidating each other and measuring cocks—mine is bigger, by the way—what is our path?”
The captain turned to the side quite rudely.
Merigold’s legs already felt weak from the motion of the sea. How could a ship moored to a dock move so much?
“We cross the Vissas Sea and take a direct route to Polanice in Rafón. Two hundred and forty leagues or so. What other path could we possibly take?” As clear as the stars in the sky, the captain was irritated that they were aboard.
“I just wanted to ensure that our thinking converged. With the correct winds, how long will this take?”
“With ideal winds, a little over a week. Realistically, though, traveling north at this time of year, it will be three or more.”
“Fantastic. We will be there before we know it.” Cryden’s voice was dry, but the captain had already turned to begin issuing orders to his men. “Come along, Meri. Let us find our bunk and see if you can find your balance.”
Merigold wobbled after Cryden, already ardently missing Ardia. Or at least the feel of stable land beneath her feet.
Chapter 6
The filthy girl, footsore and stiff, finally approached the southern gates of Rostane amidst a disorganized mash of marching soldiers, meandering peasants, and purposeful traders. Morgyn scratched at her dirty chestnut hair; she’d likely gotten lice, somehow. Certainly not the worst thing that she’d experienced, but the thought almost brought her to tears—she’d have to shear her hair off again, and it was finally growing out. A couple months of relative safety and comfort, traveling with Lady Escamilla and her army, must have made her soft.
There was no room for that in her life.
Slim and standing just over five feet, Morgyn had little trouble weaving her way through the mess of people at the gate. Security seemed tighter, and the gate guards were interviewing every person desiring to enter the city. On the wall above stood a dozen guards with crank bows leaning on the crenelations. Rostane was at war. Or, rather, Rostane was winning a war, and whoever was in charge since the little duke had been skewered wanted to keep it that way.
Heavily armed and armored guards, however, were a very minor barrier to someone who had been dodging and outrunning more motivated pursuers throughout her entire life. Besides, the gate guards generally didn’t give a shit.
Morgyn broke into a nimble run before she reached the head of the crowd. She stumbled over someone’s shoe and heard a shout, but she managed to keep her feet and remain moving forward. The guardsman were completely unprepared for a bundle of rags dodging through their ranks, and not a single one laid a hand on her. They shouted out an alarm, but only a couple of guards started after her.
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