Borund’s frown turned grim and he shifted so that he was looking out toward the sea, toward where the two promontories of land to the west of the city jutted out and curved toward each other, forming a narrow inlet into the bay.
The captain of the ship finished his report and even through the chaos of the unloading around them, I could sense the silence between the three men growing. The shipmaster’s fingers nervously kneaded the edge of the hat tucked under one arm as he watched Borund’s face.
Finally Borund sighed and turned away from the sea. Forcing a smile, he gripped the shipmaster’s arm at the elbow, squeezed once as he said a few words, and then the two nodded to each other, the captain donning his hat as Borund and William turned away.
I pulled back behind the stack of crates and waited, breathing in the salt air and looking up at the blue of the sky, the bustle of the wharf a few paces away.
When William and Borund passed by, I waited until they’d moved twenty paces farther on, then slipped into the flow of the wharf traffic behind them, close enough to hear what they said, but far enough back they wouldn’t notice me. I’d been following them for the last week, whenever I managed to catch them on the wharf.
“. . . getting worse,” Borund was saying. The grim expression I’d seen on the docks had returned. “Mathew says that all the ports are as bad off as we are. He’s barely finding enough to trade and still keep his ship. If it doesn’t pick up soon, he’ll have to ground her or sell her.”
“Perhaps you could buy it from him,” William said. “Keep him on as captain.”
Borund grunted. “Not if we can’t get more trade going through the city. We’ve had to start cutting into the reserves as it is. There’s just nothing out there. Too dry to the north, too wet to the south. And I don’t know what the hell happened to the spice and silk routes through Kandish. The entire nation seems to have vanished. Avrell announced to the guild that nothing’s come through the mountains in the last three months—no emissaries from Kandish, no caravans. He hasn’t even heard from his own diplomats, and you know how widespread his network is.”
He glanced toward William. “Something is happening, here along the Frigean coast and on the other side of the mountains. We have to find another source for our staples. Mathew says that he grabbed the last of the wheat in Merrell, and nearly all of the barley—as much as he could load into the ship without foundering. He paid a hefty price, but I think it was a wise choice.”
“Should I send it on to Richar in Kent? Raise the asking price to compensate?”
Borund hesitated, then halted, his gaze once again turning toward the harbor. The flow of people on the wharf parted around him, like water around a dock support.
Twenty paces back, I slid into place beside a cart loaded with dead fish, their mouths open, eyes filmed with white. The hawker glared at me a moment, then turned back to the passersby, shouting with a star tlingly loud voice, “Fresh fish! Just from the ocean! Fresh fish!”
At the center of the flow of people, Borund turned from the sea, his gaze traveling over the city of Amenkor itself, taking in the far side of the bay, where the buildings at the edge of the bluff rose to the mismatched angles of the roofs behind. It created a strange pattern above the slate of the water, and as I followed his gaze I suddenly realized with a sickening twist in my gut that there, among those roofs, across the bay on the other side of the River, lay the Dredge. And that on one of those roofs, almost six years ago, I’d watched the Fire emerge from the west and cut across the harbor, consuming everything.
And then I’d killed a man.
“No,” Borund said, and I tore my gaze away from the buildings and from memory to see that Borund was now staring at the people moving about him, watching them as they haggled and cursed and rushed along the wharf. His voice had sharpened somehow, and his gaze flickered from face to face. But he didn’t turn toward me. “No. Don’t send the grain on. Tell Richar we have none to spare. And tell Mathew to purchase whatever he can find, no matter the cost.”
Borund caught William’s eyes and something passed between them, William’s back straightening.
“Very well,” he said.
Borund sighed and glanced up at the sun, the skin around his eyes wrinkling as he squinted. “I feel the need to check the warehouses suddenly. Take inventory. See exactly what and how much we have in stock, ready for use.”
William stepped forward and they began walking away. I stayed behind. I’d followed them to the warehouses once before. There were no people around, no places to hide. And both William and Borund had disappeared into a single building for four hours while I waited in the rain.
I glanced down as they vanished into the crowd and caught sight of a small fish at the edge of the cart, its one eye slightly sunken into its head. Its scales had dried in the sun.
I cast a quick look toward the hawker.
Five minutes later, I was deep in the back streets, headed toward my niche, the dry fish held loosely in one hand.
Two days later, I settled into the edge of an alley across the street from the inn where William had first taken me to see Borund. It was early yet, the sky still blue, with thin bands of clouds, but within the hour it would be dark. I stared at the door to the inn, listened to the noise from inside spill out when someone entered, and tasted butter. Tasted it so badly I had to swallow.
I couldn’t see far inside the inn, but Borund and William never showed up this early when they came. After a moment, I sat back on my haunches, leaned against the alley wall, and waited, closing my eyes.
William instantly rose to mind. His black hair, tugged by the wind coming in off the sea. His green eyes.
The liquid guilty sensation returned in the pit of my stomach, but this time I didn’t force it away. It was strangely exciting. Different.
I found myself smiling for no reason.
And then the scent of oranges intruded.
I opened my eyes and sat forward. Twilight had settled onto the street, the sky gray now, the clouds tinged with the last of the sunset. Even as I inched forward, catching sight of Borund and William moving toward the door to the inn, the deep sunlight faded and died.
Borund halted at the door to the inn to talk to someone—another merchant by the man’s dark green jacket, the amount of gold embroidery on his sleeves roughly equivalent to Borund’s. But this merchant was accompanied by two other men. The merchants clasped arms, hands gripping forearms, and nodded to each other. William kept back a pace as they talked, but his attention was on the conversation. I watched him as he scanned the street around them, keeping a careful eye on the two men with the other merchant.
Perhaps I’d refused Borund’s offer too quickly, I suddenly thought. I’d followed them for days, watched carefully to see if I was being followed still, tracked. But there’d been nothing. Neither Borund nor William had done anything aside from checking the docks, checking their warehouses, meeting with other merchants and with shipmasters on the pier.
I almost stood and moved across the street, moved to catch William’s attention, but Borund ended the conversation with the merchant. He turned and motioned William inside, rough laughter breaking out from inside the inn as William opened the door. Borund nodded once toward the merchant with the green coat, who smiled and nodded back, and then the door closed and the laughter cut off.
I was just about to settle in and wait for Borund and William to leave, when the green-coated merchant turned.
The smile had vanished. In the last of the fading light, I saw the merchant’s eyes narrow, his face harden with hatred.
A shudder slid through me and without thought I dipped beneath the river. In the rushing noise of the street, the merchant was mostly gray, but with faint traces of red at the edges.
Like Erick had been the last time I’d seen him.
I pulled back sharply, stared wide-eyed at the merchant across the street. For the first time since I’d killed Bloodmark and fled to the docks, I wondered what it m
eant. There’d been no need to wonder; I never expected to see Erick again, and I’d met no one else with the strange mix of red and gray.
But now . . .
I shifted forward, watched the merchant intently. He had a thin face, but soft somehow, not gaunt. His eyes were dark, but in the light I couldn’t tell what color they were. His hair was dark as well.
For a moment, he searched the street, his eyes halting as he caught sight of a thin man leaning against a wall close to where I crouched. He pressed his lips together as if considering, then nodded once toward the thin man before turning away.
With a sharp gesture, the green-coated merchant called the other two men to his side. They left, moving swiftly.
I turned my attention toward the thin man leaning against the wall.
For a long moment, he did nothing but stare down at the cobbles of the street. Then he smiled and pushed himself away from the wall, moving sedately toward the inn. As he moved, he pulled a slim knife from his belt and tucked it up one sleeve of his shirt.
A shiver sliced through my gut, but before I could react, the man had opened the door to the inn, some type of music now mingling with the sound of voices spilling out. Then the door shut and the man was inside.
With Borund. And William.
I hesitated at the door to the inn, barely conscious of the fact that I’d crossed the street at a dead run, or that I’d slid beneath the river, deep. I shuddered at the memory of the last time I’d entered the inn, of how the people and voices and scents had overwhelmed me. But the memory lasted barely a breath before I pulled open the door.
It was as bad as the last time. Music, laughter, voices, belches, clattering pottery, creaking benches, all of it crashed into me, surged forward like a rolling wave on the bay, slapping into one of the dock’s supports. And with it came the instant disorientation of the crowd, movement without purpose, without order, and the strong blanketing stench of sweat and smoke and ale.
But this time I forced everything into the background with a mental shove and focused, sifting through the noise and chaos.
The entire room . . . solidified. The blur of motion became bodies, servers weaving through the patrons with trays aloft, patrons clapping each other on the back or tossing back drinks. A man with garish clothing belted out a song while playing a strange instrument, and two women dressed like prostitutes but who weren’t wove through the edges of the crowd, trailing filmy cloth, dancing. All noise bled into the background wind, making the foreground eerily silent. And the stench was damped, as if it had been shoved close to the floor—still there, lingering, but not strong.
A man staggered toward me and I stepped out of the way a second before he would have jostled into me. A look of annoyance crossed his face for a brief second, but he bumped into the next man through the door and stole that man’s purse before leaving. My movement placed me in the midst of the crowd.
I spat a curse. I could no longer see, the people too close, blocking my view.
But I caught the scent of oranges.
Focusing on that, I sifted through the crowd, barely touching anyone. But the deeper I moved into the room, the greater the cold sense of urgency in my gut grew. I remembered the man’s knife as he slipped through the door of the inn, could see his slow smile as he pushed away from the wall.
I gave up trying to go unnoticed and began shoving my way forward. The cold sensation flickered, then curled into a wisp of the Fire.
I staggered out of the press of bodies into an open area of tables. Gasping, I grabbed the back of a chair and scanned desperately for the thin man, for Borund and William.
I found Borund almost instantly, sitting at a back table. Moll, the woman who had served him before, was just setting down a platter of roasted meat and vegetables. I couldn’t see William. Or the thin man.
I dove deeper into the river, going as deeply as possible, thinking of Garrell and the girl with the green ribbon. I hadn’t been able to help the girl. I’d been too late. But I could help Borund.
I searched the crowd for splashes of red, realizing suddenly that I hadn’t used the river outside when I’d seen the thin man. I’d been too shocked. Now I had no marker, no scent for him.
I latched onto a blur of red, almost lurched forward, hand already on my dagger, but realized it wasn’t the thin man. Someone else, someone watching me closely, but too far away to worry about now. Another blur of red, and another, neither the thin man.
The Fire curled higher, grew, began to move up into my chest, toward my throat. The taste of oranges flooded my mouth.
There were no other splashes of red in the inn. The thin man wasn’t here.
Unless . . .
I paused, realized that all of the men who appeared red were watching me, were focused on me.
The thin man wasn’t interested in me. He was interested in Borund.
I hesitated a moment, then closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, frowning as I concentrated. I could feel the Fire growing in my chest, tingling in my shoulders, but I ignored it, focused on the separate sensation of the river instead, on its flow as it pushed around me. I reached out and touched it, pushed it, tried to alter its focus, turning it away from me . . . and toward Borund.
When I opened my eyes again, the texture of the room had changed. Everything was still gray tinged with other colors, but now there were more of them. The three men who had appeared red before were still red, but now they were somehow removed and unclear, faded. Now, there was a new set of red, a darker red than the others.
The men dangerous to Borund.
I unconsciously stepped forward, scanning the new faces.
The Fire began moving along my arms.
At the table, Borund took a swig from his ale, his meat already half eaten. He reached for a chunk of bread.
And then I saw the thin man.
He stood just behind Borund, within five paces. As I watched, the Fire sliding down to tingle in my fingers, the thin man’s knife dropped from its hiding place in his sleeve into the palm of his hand and he began to move forward.
At the same time, someone halted just beside me and in a startled voice asked, “Varis?”
I turned, saw William’s surprised eyes, his brow wrinkled in confusion—
And then he saw the dagger in my hand. I didn’t remember drawing it.
His eyes went wide, and one hand rose as if to grab me . . . or maybe to ward me away as he’d done on the wharf when he first grabbed my arm and I attacked him. But before I could find out what he intended, I bolted toward Borund.
I think William shouted in alarm, but it was too hard to tell, his voice drowning in the background wind. The thin man now stood a pace behind Borund, had brought his thin dagger up toward Borund’s back where he sat. I could see what he intended: a quick thrust up between Borund’s ribs, like the thrust I’d used to kill Tomas, the man who’d attacked Bloodmark. If done right, Borund would barely feel it, might think it was someone bumping into him from behind, but it would kill him nonetheless.
Borund saw me at the last moment, a forkful of shredded meat raised half to his mouth. He jerked back, shock and fear registering in the breath before I crashed into him, his chair, and the thin man.
All I could think of as the three of us tilted, Borund grunting at the impact, was the dead girl’s body—the girl with the green cloth.
Then we hit the floor. The edge of Borund’s chair ground into my hip and with the sudden sharp pain I lost the river. Sounds crashed down—the splinter of wood, gasps, a scream, clattering pottery, and close, the rustling of clothes and bodies. My face was crushed into the thin man’s shirt, into his chest, and the stench of salt and dead fish blotted out even the scent of oranges. I gagged on the cloth—
Then felt the shivering touch of metal as a knife sliced into my side, not deep, but enough to draw blood.
I hissed and jerked back, one hand finding purchase on the floor, catching the thin man’s face as he struggled to pull away from me,
from Borund. His arm was trapped beneath Borund’s chair, held in place by Borund’s weight, but his knife arm was still free.
Without thought, barely on my knees and with only my own dagger hand free, I sank my dagger into the thin man’s stomach and pulled up, cutting hard and deep. Blood instantly stained his shirt and he gasped, eyes flying wide open. He flailed for a moment, and then all of the strength left his arms and shoulders and his free arm sank to the floor.
“What the bloody hell!” Borund shouted, still tangled up in the remains of his chair.
I pushed back and sat up on my knees over the thin man’s body. He was still alive, gasping harshly, head and eyes moving back and forth as if he were searching for something. His hand spasmed and he dropped his dagger.
His eyes caught mine, held there for two short gasps, and then he died.
Inside, the Fire pulled back from my arms, from my chest, and settled quietly in my stomach.
Then someone grabbed me from behind, jerked me to my feet. Others grabbed my arms. I let them, only struggling when someone attempted to take my dagger. They backed off under my glare without touching the blade.
William emerged from the crowd into the space around Borund’s table and instantly dropped to Borund’s side, helping him untangle himself from his coat and the chair. Meat sauce stained the front of his coat, blood stained the back.
As he helped Borund up, William’s gaze fell on the bloodied body of the thin man and he jerked back in distaste, cast a startled glance toward me.
The look in his eyes—fear, loathing, disgust—sent ice through my gut, as if someone had dashed frigid water up against my spine.
“What in hell is going on here?” Borund snapped the moment he was standing. He glared at me, until William leaned in close and whispered something in his ear.
Then his gaze fell on the body as well and the glare died in his eyes. He became suddenly very calm, no emotion showing at all, his back stiffening.
The Skewed Throne Page 17
