The Storyteller

by Traci Chee

  Or took.

  Sefia squeezed his hand, her touch firm, as if to reassure him that she was there. She was with him.

  He opened his eyes again, his vision blurry with tears.

  Kaito Kemura, the son of a Gormani chief, had been the most belligerent person Archer had ever met. If the people of Gorman were anything like him, they would rather have seceded from Deliene than bow to a regent.

  “I suppose this is the doing of the Guard you were telling me about,” Dimarion said to Sefia.

  She nodded.

  The Guard. The name made Archer’s fists burn. The Guard was responsible for his kidnapping, for his disfigurement, for setting him on the path that would lead him to his fate. If he could have, he would have killed them all. And gladly.

  But fighting the Guard meant fighting the Alliance, and fighting the Alliance meant joining the war. And his own death.

  “Is Arcadimon Detano one of ’em?” Reed asked.

  “I knew they had an agent in Deliene,” Sefia said, her voice sounding smaller than usual, “but I never heard them speak his name.”

  Archer wiped his eyes. “So the Guard controls three kingdoms now.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  That left only two kingdoms for the Guard to defeat, and they planned to conquer both in a conflict Sefia’s parents had called the Red War.

  The war Archer was supposed to win. The war that preceded Archer’s death.

  Haven, he reminded himself. He would be at Haven. With Sefia and the bloodletters.

  “Well then.” Draining his glass, Dimarion stood. All of a sudden, there seemed to be less room in the cabin. “It won’t be a surprise to hear Arcadimon Detano is making an announcement tomorrow. Here, in Jahara, at noon.”

  “Noon?” Reed muttered a curse.

  The pirate captain smirked at him. “You’d have known this if you’d come to see me as soon as you arrived.”

  “He’s going to join the Alliance,” Archer said. That was what he would do, if he— No, he couldn’t think like that. He may have been a murderer. He may have been a legend before he’d reached the age of nineteen. But he wasn’t a commander. He wasn’t a conqueror. And he didn’t want to die.

  “Course he is.” Uncrossing his arms, Reed turned to Dimarion. “Think we can load up and get outta here before the announcement?”

  The pirate captain shrugged delicately. “If we don’t, we’re not getting out of here at all.”

  * * *

  • • •

  They turned in a short while later, and after a few hours of restless dreaming, Archer and Sefia joined the others on the deck of the Current. It was before dawn, the sun still simmering below the horizon. At the early hour, this part of the Central Port was mostly deserted, the houseboats and sailing ships silent but for the creak of their timbers.

  The dozen redcoats they’d rescued were nervously stuffing their uniforms into burlap sacks. Sure as they were of what the regent would say, they didn’t want to attract undue attention.

  They had a tense energy about them that reminded Archer of the bloodletters before battle.

  But if all went according to plan, he’d never lead anyone into battle again.

  “How come you don’t need a guide?” Haldon Lac asked as he straightened his cuffs.

  “We’re with Captain Reed. He doesn’t need one.” Archer exchanged a knowing look with Sefia. Meeks had said the same thing to them the first time they were in Jahara, sauntering into the fighting ring at the Cage like they could’ve brought down the impressors simply by demanding they stop.

  “I heard he can tell where to go from the sound of the water against the pilings,” Sefia added.

  Lac’s perfect mouth fell open in shock. “You don’t say!”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Archer patted him on the shoulder. Haldon Lac was dumb as a brick, which irritated Sefia, but Archer found the boy’s stupidity endearing.

  “But how does the water know where he wants to go in the first place?” Hobs asked. He was an odd fellow, always asking funny but bizarrely logical questions about why birds never lost their way at sea and whether the chief mate could hear every splinter from the timbers that composed the Current or if he needed a twig of respectable size.

  Archer liked him too.

  “He must communicate with it in his mind,” Lac declared. “I’ve heard of such things.”

  “Did you hear them in your mind?” Sefia asked.

  The boy looked puzzled. Archer almost felt bad for him, but sometimes his comments were an open invitation for mockery.

  “Actually,” Reed said, coming up behind them in his walking coat and wide-brimmed hat, “I whistle to it.”

  “Captain!” With a little bow, Haldon Lac tried to make a farewell speech, but Captain Reed ushered him quickly down the gangplank while the other redcoats followed, laughing quietly. On the docks, Meeks’s guide sized them up dubiously and sighed.

  Archer, Sefia, and Reed watched them disappear into the maze of the Central Port.

  “Good riddance,” Sefia muttered.

  “I liked them.”

  “You’re nicer than me.”

  “You’re nicer than you give yourself credit for.” Archer took her hand as they wound into Jahara, their footfalls echoing on the wooden walkways.

  Soon, they’d have the Book back. They’d teleport to the bloodletters and rescue Frey and Aljan. And once they were all back together again, they’d sail to Haven. And he’d be free.

  * * *

  • • •

  Sefia and Archer followed Captain Reed as he led them unerringly among the crumbling piers, past glass buoys tied with twine, and sunken carracks, their decks submerged and only their masts peeping above the waves, until they reached an immense warehouse with the black wings of the messengers’ guild insignia flying over the entrance.

  Sefia had been here only once before, but she’d been intimidated by the sheer size and frenetic energy of it then too. Inside, it was packed with messengers hurrying about their business, guild enforcers with bronze wings embroidered on their clothes, nervous customers whispering rumors as they milled about like chickens in an overcrowded henhouse.

  Speculation about the regent’s announcement was on everyone’s lips as Sefia, Archer, and Reed took their places at the end of a line.

  Warships had been spotted to the southeast. Deliene was going to join the Alliance. It was going to be a war of three kingdoms against Oxscini alone. Against the redcoats.

  The war on the reds, they were already calling it.

  The Red War.

  The generations-in-the-making, world-altering endgame of the Guard.

  “Next,” someone called, and they stepped up to the counter, where the messenger Sefia had left the Book with sat behind a barred window.

  “Name?” the woman asked perfunctorily.

  “Cannek Reed,” said the captain.

  With a nod, the messenger looked toward the ceiling, drawing on her extensive memory. Both messages and packages were transferred via simple question-and-answer. If you could answer the question, you could pick up whatever someone had left for you.

  After a moment, the woman looked down and asked, “After the maelstrom, why didn’t you choose to stay on land, if you knew you’d die at sea?”

  The black gun. The white dandelion. The explosion of the ship.

  Reed glanced at Sefia. A wry smile touched his lips. “I had a choice. Control my future, or let my future control me.”

  They were the words he’d told her when she learned the truth about the Book—that it was a record of everything that had ever been or would ever be.

  Somehow, the words had taken on new meaning, now that she knew she had to change fate itself.

  Satisfied with Reed’s answer, the messenger nodded and
retreated to one of the back rooms where the packages were kept.

  “Do you still believe that, Cap?” Sefia asked.

  “I better.” He chuckled. “I’m goin’ right back onto the water after this, ain’t I?”

  Within minutes, the messenger returned with a rectangular parcel wrapped in paper and twine.

  Sliding a coin across the counter, Sefia scooped up the package, pressing the Book to her chest. It felt so familiar, like a piece of her had been missing all this time and only now was she complete again.

  But as she stuffed the Book into her rucksack, she caught sight of a familiar figure on the warehouse floor.

  The boy was around Archer’s age, with floppy curls and large eyes that seemed almost owlish behind his round spectacles—Tolem, the Apprentice Administrator. She’d seen him only once during her time with the Guard, but she hadn’t forgotten the way his glasses kept slipping down the bridge of his nose, the way he kept pushing them up again.

  And she hadn’t forgotten his Master, walking beside the boy with unnatural grace. The man was slender as a rail, with eerily symmetrical features, except for a milky scar in his right eye. In perfectly tailored clothes, with a tiepin through his cravat, he looked as unreal as a painting among the scruffy messengers and worried customers.

  “Dotan,” Sefia whispered. What was he doing here? Had the Guard figured out where she’d hidden the Book?

  She wasn’t afraid of much, but the sight of the Master Administrator sent a chill through her veins. The man tasked with poisons, torture, and the Guard’s dungeons hated her. Hated her so intensely that when she was at the Main Branch, she could feel him watching her, his malice so strong it was like a foul odor.

  And now he was looking straight at her.

  “A Guardian?” Captain Reed asked, narrowing his eyes. He flung back the tails of his walking coat, drew his long blue revolver—the new one called the Singer, after their old chanty leader, Jules—and fired.

  People screamed. Beside Dotan, Tolem ducked.

  The Master Administrator, however, barely lifted his hand and the bullet halted in midair, dropping harmlessly to the warehouse floor.

  Reed cursed. He hadn’t fought a Guardian yet. He didn’t know what they could do.

  Dotan lifted a slim finger and, in a voice more penetrating than any Sefia had ever heard, called, “Enforcers, protect your guild!”

  Enforcers? Sefia blinked, bewildered. Only the guild could command its enforcers. Unless . . . the Guard controls the guild? In Deliene alone? Or all of Kelanna?

  Even as she thought it, large guards with bronze wings embroidered on their clothes shoved through the thinning crowd. Archer met one of them, disarming her and hurling her flat onto her back. Picking up the woman’s truncheon, he knocked another senseless in two quick strikes.

  But he wasn’t quick enough to dodge as Dotan swiped his hand through the air. The magic caught Archer at the ankles, slamming him to the floor.

  That brought Sefia back. Seeing Archer in danger brought Sefia back. “Run!” she cried, pulling him to his feet. Blinking, she summoned her magic and flung aside enforcer after enforcer as she and Archer raced for the exit.

  Risking a glance behind her, she saw the Master Administrator crossing the warehouse as if he were floating on a cloud, with Tolem trotting along beside him.

  And Captain Reed was standing before them, firing the Singer again and again, emptying the chambers as Dotan deflected each shot.

  “Cap! What are you doing?” Sefia palmed the air, sending a blast of magic at the Administrators.

  Dotan shoved his Apprentice out of the way, taking the full force of her magic. The Administrators had never been fighters. He flew backward into the wall, where he dropped, groaning.

  Beside her, Archer had grabbed a second truncheon and was fighting off enforcers twice his size. His injured side was dark with blood—he must have ripped his stitches in the fight—but he seemed not to feel it as he twisted and parried and attacked, a savage light in his eyes.

  As Reed refilled his cylinder, Sefia seized his arm. “Come on! What if he recognizes you from the legends and figures out the Current is in Jahara?”

  If the Guard controlled the messengers, they were more powerful in Jahara than Sefia had thought. Dotan could ground the Current. Worse, as soon as he figured out where she was moored, he could sink her.

  At that, the captain snapped into action. Turning for the exit, he struck an enforcer across the face with the Singer as Sefia shoved another aside.

  Something flew into her from behind, and she slammed to the floor. Blood filled her mouth as her teeth caught her lip.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Tolem, hands raised. On his frightened face, his glasses were askew.

  Behind him, Dotan was on his feet again. A glass vial gleamed in his hand.

  Master of poisons.

  She didn’t know what the contents of the vial would do, but she knew it wouldn’t be good.

  Scrambling up, Sefia grabbed Archer by the waist. His shirt was damp and hot with blood.

  “Cap, hold on to me!” she cried.

  The vial was leaving Dotan’s fingers. It was sailing across the warehouse, propelled by the force of his magic. Inside, a thick black liquid pressed against the glass, as if willing it to shatter.

  Then Sefia felt Reed’s arm go around her, and she opened her hands wide.

  The Illuminated world flashed past her—the web of piers and boats that formed the floating Central Port, catwalks, brigs, barges, the shapes of masts and sails all outlined in sparkling gold—until she found the only place in Kelanna she could run to, time and again—and then she, Archer, and Reed were gone, winking out of the messengers’ post and reappearing less than a second later on the deck of the Current.

  CHAPTER 4

  Not a King

  Ed could not help but worry the spot on his middle finger where he used to wear the signet ring that marked him as Eduoar Corabelli II, King of Deliene. But the only part of that life that remained to him now was this pale circle of skin, quickly going as brown as the rest of him.

  Still, he kept trying to turn the ring.

  Still, he kept having to remind himself that he was no longer a Corabelli.

  He was no longer a king.

  Instead, he sat anonymously along the upper tier of the Jaharan amphitheater, overlooking the lapis ribbon of the Callidian Strait and the dark stripe of the Delienean mainland beyond. Along the crowded stone tiers, soldiers in black-and-white Delienean uniforms were posted at regular intervals.

  It was almost noon.

  Arcadimon would be making his announcement soon.

  Ed would see him soon. It had only been a week since they’d parted, since Arc had saved Ed’s life by faking his death, but every day had felt like an age. Ed had lost count of the times he’d considered sailing back to Corabel and flinging open the castle doors, rushing into Arc’s arms and kissing him senseless.

  He shifted aside as a group of a dozen sat in the spaces next to him.

  “I don’t see why we’re here,” said one. “We could have been at the Oxscinian embassy by now.”

  Oxscini? Ed gave them a second look. In the past few days, he’d heard rumors of Oxscinian leaders being rounded up for questioning by Jaharan authorities. He’d heard some of them hadn’t returned. He’d seen Oxscinian merchant ships quietly departing for the south or changing their flags to avoid notice. The embassy had been taking people in, but if tensions continued, they wouldn’t be able to get out again.

  “It’s because someone lost our guide,” said another.

  “I may have misplaced our guide,” said the one they all seemed to be upset with. He had endearing good looks, with green eyes and a strong jaw he’d grow into in a few years, with a bluster that Ed found both admirable and hilarious. “But certainly it was a happy acc
ident. The Royal Navy may appreciate our eyewitness accounts.”

  They weren’t just Oxscinians, then; they were soldiers, redcoats. And clueless ones, at that.

  There was a rumble of excitement as a line of heralds lifted their horns and blew a series of bright notes into the crisp winter air.

  Someone announced the arrival of the regent.

  The crowd cheered.

  And Arcadimon Detano strode to the center of the amphitheater, looking as if he belonged in the night sky in his black-and-silver uniform, with the ivory crown of the regent like a crescent moon upon his brow.

  “He’s so handsome,” said the green-eyed redcoat, his gaze glued to Arc, who commanded the attention of the entire audience as he silenced their applause with a wave of his gloved hand.

  Then Arcadimon opened his mouth, his strong voice carrying to Ed as if they were face-to-face instead of separated by a hundred yards. Ed shivered. He’d almost forgotten the rich, intoxicating timbre of Arc’s voice.

  “It is no accident that I am here today, in the most glorious center of trade in Kelanna,” Arcadimon began. “Although it is technically part of Deliene, Jahara is an island ruled not by one voice but by many, and has for years been an experiment both in neutrality and in unity. It will be of no surprise to anyone here when I declare that the experiment has been a rousing success.”

  His words were greeted by riotous applause. Arc had always been a marvelous speaker. Even with all that had happened in the past—Arc revealing that he’d been sent to take Ed’s throne, Arc deciding to spare Ed’s life, Ed’s exile from Deliene, the kingdom his family had ruled for generations—Ed was comforted to know that some things didn’t change.