by Claire Luana
Callidus shook his head. “It’s easy to think that way. I do all the time. But I think you and I are more alike than we realize. We may not have Lucas’s pedigree, or Hale’s charm, or Sable’s savvy, but we keep trying, damn it. We don’t give up. If that’s my legacy, then it’s one I’m proud to leave behind.”
Wren nodded. “I think...me too.”
Callidus rubbed his hands on his legs. “Hand me my mandolin, will you?”
Wren reached behind her and pulled out the black case from where it was tucked against the wall.
Callidus flipped the buckles and pulled the polished tear-drop instrument out of its blue velvet lining. His fingers plucked the strings lovingly as he tuned each one.
“Do you think Olivia will ever forgive us?” Wren asked. Olivia had stormed out of Pike’s cabin after their meeting, refusing to speak to Wren. They hadn’t given her the binding wine, but Wren hadn’t wanted to remind anyone of that fact. Let her tell Dash. Let her tell the world. She was sick of keeping secrets. She was sick of getting tangled in her lies.
As Callidus started to pluck an easy melody, he replied, “She’s angry right now. But Olivia is a lot like Kasper. And he saw the best in everyone and everything. Give her time. She’ll come around.”
Tension unwound from Wren as she sat, listening to the rise and fall of Callidus’s tune. She had entered this room full of trepidation and doubt. And now, though she still felt scared and uneasy, there was something else there too. Determination. They would find Lucas. They would find this mercenary. They would find the Falconer. And together, they would take back their city.
Or at the very least, they’d die trying.
Chapter 23
Hale walked stiffly from the King’s Hill Quarter towards the Lyceum. His sword was on his hip. Around him marched a phalanx of Aprican legionnaires. Blond and brawny and faceless. Yet they had ten fingers and he had only nine. He thought that was the only distinguishing characteristic between them. An explosion had rocked the Lyceum Quarter just a half hour before. The Falconer up to his old tricks. It seemed the man had been right about the bread. Though Hale had known something was off, between Beckett’s strange comment and the captive baker, he hadn’t been able to put two and two together. Not fast enough.
It was a subtle thing. Hale hadn’t noticed at first, locked in the palace as he was. But here, out in the streets, he saw the infused bread’s horrible effects for what they were. Banners, posters, buttons, all declaring the wonder of the emperor and the Aprican Empire. People cheered as they passed, faces rapt with delight. It was almost too much to bear.
Maradis wasn’t perfect, and certainly King Imbris hadn’t been, but it had been a city filled with differences. A city that celebrated those differences—from the clothes on a man’s back to how he took his coffee. And now they were a faceless mass. An amalgamation of people robbed of their individuality. Hale felt sick. Bile rose in his throat as a little boy dashed forward, waving. The Falconer’s cause was hopeless. How could he defend this city when people didn’t even realize who the real enemy was?
This was what Hale had done. This was what his deal with the devil had reaped. Part of him thought of letting the poison overtake him. Let it be done. He didn’t know how he could go on like this.
They crossed a wide intersection of Third Avenue, and Hale was suddenly overcome with the need to be away. To be away from these soldiers. Away from the sound of boots and the clanking of swords. Without thinking, he turned, angling off onto the other street. One of the legionnaires called after him, but no one followed. They had their orders. Report to the site of the bomb, not follow their wayward brethren.
Hale’s feet drew him forward. He didn’t know where they were taking him until he reached the wrought-iron gates of the Holyhive Cemetery. His heart—whatever shattered remnants of it there were—twisted in his chest. Of course his feet had brought him here.
He walked to the Guild plot, the little patch of grass and stone that held confectioners, guildmasters, and grandmasters from centuries before.
Sable’s headstone was the freshest. Bright and shining. The flowers they had laid at her funeral were shriveled and dead.
Hale gathered them up and carried them back up the lane to deposit them in a trash bin. He snapped the stem of a hydrangea bush, pulling off a single sprig. The flowers were brilliant blue—cobalt, like the color Sable used to love to wear.
He sat before the stone, placing the bloom gently upon it.
“Well, it’s as you predicted. Without you here, I’ve fumbled everything. It’s all gone so wrong. More wrong than I ever imagined. I’m not supposed to live this life without you,” he said.
He almost expected to hear the velvet of her voice, the whisper of a ghost. But there was nothing.
“I don’t know what to do, Sable. What would you do?” He let out a little laugh. “I know what you’d do. You wouldn’t let it stand. When you saw wrong, you couldn’t help but want to fix it. But I’m not like you. I never was. I’m not as brave. I don’t fight for the plight of the weak who can’t fight for themselves. I’m a gambler. I care about money. And luck. And comfort. And I cared about you. But now you’re gone.”
He sighed. “Don’t you see? I can’t do this without you. I need a sign, Sable. I need a sign from you.”
At that moment, a cry pierced the quiet of the cemetery. The cry of a hawk. Hale craned his neck, searching the gray sky for a glimpse of the bird. It sounded again. There it was. Not a hawk. A falcon.
The bird circled. And dove.
Hale’s eyes widened in shock as he watched the raptor dive towards the earth, pulling up at the last moment with a prize in its talons. A fat golden mouse.
A bubble of disbelieving laughter escaped him. He looked up at the sky and closed his eyes, soaking in the feel of her imagined presence. “You never were subtle, were you? But I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
Wren sat against the mast of the ship, her cloak pulled tightly around her. She’d been in their little room below deck for hours and needed some air, to be away from Thom’s incessant cough and her worry for Lucas. She didn’t know now how that story would end. If she’d ever see Lucas again. If he’d ever forgive her for the part she’d played in his family’s downfall.
“Can I sit here?”
Wren looked up to find Olivia standing above her, uncertainty playing across her lovely features.
“Of course,” Wren said.
Olivia sank onto the deck behind her, leaning against the mast.
A glimmer of hope lit inside Wren. She and Olivia hadn’t said two words to each other since Pike, Callidus, and Wren had shared the truth of the Gifting with her. Was she finally ready to talk?
But Olivia said nothing, seeming content to pull her knees against her chest, staring out across the sea.
“How’s Dash doing?” Wren asked, twisting around to face her.
“He’s as well as could be expected,” Olivia replied. “He’d be better if you’d let him out of that cabin.”
Wren bit her tongue, holding back her protestations that it wasn’t her call. If Olivia blamed Wren, so be it. Whether it was fair or not. “I don’t know if we can do that,” Wren said. What to do with Dash was one of many problems that weighed heavily on her conscience. She didn’t think they had it in them to abandon him somewhere, or sell him into slavery, or kill him. Maybe Pike was ruthless enough to do that. But she and Callidus? No. But where did that leave them? Abandon him in a cell to rot? How long might this rebellion last? Or even more dangerous—trust him?
“This is his life,” Olivia said. “You can’t just keep him in a cage like an animal.”
“He was never supposed to come. If he hadn’t been so damn zealous in his duties...”
“It’s who he is.”
“You know him now?” Wren turned her head to examine Olivia.
“I think I do.”
“And you trust him?”
“Yes. I told him everything,” Ol
ivia said coolly.
Wren winced. Another person who knew the secret of the Gifted. She sighed. What did it matter anymore? Perhaps Callidus was right. Perhaps it was time to let the truth be free.
Olivia went on. “He wants to help us. Think of the knowledge he has as a member of the Aprican legion. He could help us take down the emperor.”
“Or he could double-cross us,” Wren protested. “How do you know we can trust him? That he’s not lying? Playing you?”
Olivia’s voice grew soft. “I…I just do.”
Wren closed her eyes. Gods, this was bad. It seemed that Olivia was falling in love with the man.
“I know what you’re thinking,” continued Olivia. “That I’m a foolish girl who fell for a man whom she just met. Whom she hardly knows—”
Wren cut in. “I don’t think you’re a foolish girl. I just don’t want you to get hurt if he turns out to be a different person than you thought. He has a reason to lie. To play upon your sympathies.”
“So did you, Wren,” Olivia said. “When you first came to the Guild. But I chose to trust you.”
“But—” Wren protested.
“Lucas chose to trust you—to risk his life for you—even though he’d only just met you.”
Wren took a steadying breath, trying to banish the pain that squeezed her heart at the mention of Lucas. Her hand drifted to the ring beneath her dress.
Olivia continued. “Sometimes you can sense something about a person. Even if your head tells you it’s crazy, your heart knows otherwise. That they’re worth taking a chance for. I felt that about you. I feel that about Dash. He’s a good person. He wants to help us.” Olivia’s blue eyes were bright with fervent belief.
Dash had been kind to them when he’d been free. He was Tamrosi, not Aprican. Word of the emperor’s dark magic might be enough to put anyone off his cause. Wren found herself nodding. “All right. If you trust him...I’ll talk to Callidus about releasing him. But no promises...” But Olivia was already squealing in delight, her hands clutched to her bosom, her eyes bright. “Thank you.”
Wren nodded. “I’m sorry it took us so long to tell you the truth.”
“I’m still mad, but I get it,” Olivia said. There were tears sparkling at the corners of her eyes. “Wren?”
“Yeah?” Wren said, fighting the lump rising in her own throat.
“Thanks for kidnapping me.”
A startled laugh escaped Wren. “That’s what friends are for.”
Chapter 24
Nova Navis was a barren, windswept moor of high cliffs and gray glass. Wren stood at the rail, watching it grow larger on the horizon. Her body swayed with the rolling and tossing of the sea, her hair tangled in hopeless knots in the whipping wind. They were nearing the rocky shore now, and the sailors crawled over the deck behind her, pulling on ropes and lines while Pike shouted orders.
Callidus appeared next to her at the bow, followed by Thom, who held Callidus’s arm for support. His coloring was still off, but he looked better, his eyes brighter, his back straighter.
Olivia and Dash lingered on the bow of the ship, Dash having changed into a brown sweater and olive trousers, along with sturdy boots. Wren hoped it wasn’t a mistake, letting him out of his tiny cell of a cabin. But Olivia was right. It was time they started trusting her. And how much trouble could he really get up to out here in the middle of nowhere?
“How are you feeling, Thom?” Wren asked.
“Sick of lying in bed,” he replied, letting out a muffled cough.
“Maybe a little fresh air is exactly what you need.”
“Fresh air and a fire sounds great,” Thom said.
Some of the sailors were headed to the shore to make a bonfire and forage for supplies. Saad, Pike’s first mate and unofficial ship doctor, had thought it would be good for Thom to head to shore and dry out some of the damp.
Wren stifled a sigh. Thom needed to get better. His illness was one more weight on her already-heavy conscience.
“So that’s Nova Navis,” Callidus said. “Doesn’t look like much.”
“Good wool,” Thom said.
Wren let out a laugh. “What?”
“It’s what my ma always said. She was a laundress. Held up better than the rest. Colors kept bright. Good wool. Maybe I’ll get me a sweater.”
“I think we should all get sweaters, don’t you, Wren?” Callidus crooked one substantial eyebrow at her.
She smiled, wrapping her arm around Thom’s arm and leaning into him. “You can have all the sweaters you want when this is all over.”
“Do you think it will ever be over?” he whispered so softly, the wind almost carried the words away.
Wren and Callidus exchanged a look. Even though Thom was her age, she felt the need to protect him somehow. Shield him from the truth. Callidus apparently felt the same.
“When this is over, you’re going to buy Salted Cream from your former master. And I’m going to open up a confectionary next door. We’ll have lunch on the grass by Lake Viri every afternoon. And Callidus will come visit us after his guild council meetings and eat ice cream with us.”
A splash from the bow of the boat startled them.
Pike and his crew had dropped anchor in a horseshoe bay that was somewhat protected from shore. The anchor chain clinked as it slid off the deck into the gray water. The Black Jasmine was just sliding into view on the horizon.
“You ready to go badger hunting?” Pike strolled up, a rolled cigarette smoking in his hand.
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Callidus replied.
The little skiff ground against the rocky beach of Nova Navis. The two men who had been manning the oars jumped out, frigid water splashing around their ankles as they heaved the rowboat the rest of the way up onto shore. One of the men helped Wren out, followed by Callidus, Pike, and Thom.
The rocky shore crunched beneath her boots as she stepped over slimy strands of kelp abandoned by the sea. A sparsely forested cove stood before them, stretching up towards the higher moors of Nova Navis.
They had packed enough for two days walking, though Wren vehemently prayed it wouldn’t take that long to find the mercenary. Every day that ticked by wore at her, filled her imagination with potential horrors being perpetrated on Maradis and the other Guilds. What were Chandler and McArt and Bruxius doing? Marina and Lennon? Was Willings having his way with the Confectioner’s Guild, pillaging its coffers and its staff? And then there were her thoughts of Lucas. He was out there somewhere. Her hand strayed to the lump beneath her shirt. Would she ever solve his riddle? Would she ever find him?
Her heart thudded in her chest as she followed Pike up a faint trail through underbrush of rushes and sedges. Everything looked cold, harsher than even the slate gray of Maradis’s winter. What type of man lived out here?
“I know you said that he’s rumored to live along the coast to the south of Port Gris,” Callidus called to Pike. “But do you have any more specific notions about where to find him? We won’t be just wandering about, will we?”
“Best I hear it,” Pike said, “you don’t find the Red Badger. The Red Badger finds you.”
“Funny you should say that,” a gravelly voice called out from the trees next to Wren. “Cuz ya found him.”
Wren stumbled into Pike, who had pulled up short before her. Out of the woods, men materialized around them, arrows and spear tips pointed their way. “Easy now, fellas,” Pike said. “We come in peace.”
“We’ll be the judge of that,” the same voice said. Wren now saw that it belonged to a huge bearded man clothed in brown leather and furs, weapons strapped to every conceivable place on his sizable frame. If this was the type of mercenary they had come to hire, Wren wasn’t sure if she should be terrified or grateful. This was a man who seemed like he could stand up to the Aprican legion without blinking. She just wished he wasn’t pointing his sword at her.
“I should clarify,” Pike said. “We come with an offer for the Red Badger. And gold.”
“Very well. We’ll take you to him.”
The mercenaries, whom Wren thought numbered at least a dozen, bound their hands with leather straps and prodded them forward. “Is this really necessary?” Pike asked, to which the mercenary leader narrowed his gaze.
“Protocol. Red Badger has made a few enemies over the years. Can never be too careful.”
Wren and Callidus had pleaded with the men to leave Thom behind, but they seemed disinclined to grant any special requests.
They emerged from the stand of trees to find a flat plane of scrubby grass with a dozen horses grazing. The leader pointed to a few of his men, who split off from the group to approach each of them. Out of the trees, Wren could see their captors more clearly. They were strong and fit, with grizzled faces and lean muscles under their leathers. The men were a mix of ages and nationalities—the man who approached Wren was an older, dark-haired man who had the complexion of a Magnish clansman, while the man who approached Thom seemed no older than they were, with the blond hair of an Aprican. There was even a female warrior, as lean and muscled as the men, with her brown hair threaded in several tight braids over her shoulder. Somehow her presence, though still hostile, made Wren feel a tiny bit safer.
Wren’s eyes opened wide as the man approached her with a cloth in his hand. “Commander likes his privacy. You’ll be blindfolded until we get there.”
A person has a lot of time to think when tied up and blindfolded on the front of a horse. Wren’s breathing came in shallow hitches as she tried to rein in her circling worries. What if this badger person wouldn’t help them? What if he robbed and murdered them? What would happen to Maradis then? To Lucas? Her hand jerked up in an unconscious motion to grasp the ring hanging above her heart, but the rope restrained her. Lucas. She half-feared, half-hoped that the incessant ache inside her at the thought of him would dim with time, but it was becoming more pronounced. Like a splinter burrowing deeper. He was so calm, so reasoned. If he were here, he would take her in his arms and banish her worries with his kisses. To her shame, she found herself crying beneath her blindfold. She tried to keep her shoulders from shaking, but the feelings were pouring out of her now, and she began to sob for the first time in weeks as the sorrow and helplessness seeped into her.
