The Last Lies of Ardor Benn

by Tyler Whitesides

“Swear it,” he whispered. “Swear by whatever you love most in this world.”

  “I can’t promise that we’ll catch up to them,” she said. “But I swear I’ll get you as high as I can.”

  “And you’re a woman of your word?”

  “I swear it on my love for this place.”

  Tears began streaming down Legien Dyer’s face. “Thank you,” he said, voice so soft it was barely perceptible. Then he lunged forward, a dagger clutched in one hand. He fell upon the hatchling’s still form, stabbing. Stabbing. Nemery let out a cry of horror, latching on to his back, trying to wrench him away.

  But the older man was too determined. He had plunged the knife half a dozen times before finally giving up, leaving it buried hilt-deep in the dragon’s neck.

  Nemery wrestled him back, Legien Dyer slumping weakly into the blood-spattered ferns, sobbing. She crawled back to the hatchling, her own tears wetting her face. It was clearly too late.

  The infant dragon was dead.

  Nemery slowly reached out a hand, touching the creature’s lifeless face, feeling the little ridge of raised scales on her muzzle.

  “Oropsi,” Nemery whispered, giving the dragon a Trothian name.

  A name that meant heartbreak.

  Some have died for me. Some have died because of me. I never took any of it lightly.

  CHAPTER

  13

  The Double Take listed on a wave and Quarrah watched the black backpack roll over. Ignoring whatever Ard was rambling about, she moved to midship to check the load.

  Loosening the cinch on the top of the leather pack, she peered inside to make sure that the bricks from the Royal Concert Hall hadn’t smashed the Agrodite Moon Glass to shards. It was an unnecessary worry. The red glass was much more durable than anything the Landers could make. It had taken a direct explosion from Quarrah’s pot of Blast Grit to even break off that thin knife-shaped shard.

  The events of that night still bothered her like a festering blister. Itching, making itself constantly remembered throughout the day. Making ordinary, routine things sting with pain. She smelled her hallucinations in the woodsmoke of Beripent. She saw them in a common spider on the wall, or a ratty-haired woman in the market…

  And her mother’s final words still rattled in her mind.

  “Point into the Homeland.”

  She hadn’t told Ard or Raek what had happened to her in the Ucru. The three of them had met at Tofar’s Salts a handful of nights since, but she was grateful for Ard’s commitment to be in the Mooring these past two weeks. It had given her plenty of time alone to process what had happened.

  She had killed her mother. Never mind that it wasn’t real. It had felt real, all the way down to the hot blood on her hands. Quarrah didn’t know what kind of vision that smoke was supposed to induce, but she’d drawn her own conclusions.

  She had killed her mother.

  For so many years, Quarrah had wondered what had become of Jalisa Khailar. She couldn’t imagine that the broken woman was still alive. And now Quarrah knew she wasn’t.

  Whether Jalisa still wandered Dronodanian streets or not, she was dead to Quarrah. And the smoke had forced her to face the question that had nagged her for most of her life. Had Quarrah been abandoned? Or had she run away?

  The truth had been spit in her face during that horrific vision, and Quarrah was not at peace with it. Was she a runner? Had she ever stayed when the going got really rough?

  She glanced at Ard. There was the opposite of running. The man who overstayed and overshared. Quarrah had left him because he didn’t know when to run. He’d promised to change for her. But maybe Ard wasn’t the only one who needed to change.

  “Let’s change course,” Raek’s deep voice shouted to Ard, cutting through her thoughts. “Three clicks to starboard.”

  “Why?” Ard called back from the tiller, making the adjustment anyway.

  From his perch at the prow, Raek pointed off the port bow. “Bigger ship on the same course to Helizon.”

  “Shouldn’t matter,” said Ard. “We’re far enough out.”

  He was right. They were in the middle of the InterIsland Waters between Espar and Talumon. Neither island could be seen on the horizon, and the naval traffic was far from congested.

  Quarrah squinted in the direction Raek had pointed, but she could only see a blurry speck on the water. One of these days she’d wear her spectacles unabashedly in front of Ard. But today she wasn’t in the mood to try to decipher how genuine his compliments would be.

  “I’ll bet they haven’t even noticed us,” Ard said. “I call it the big ship complex. Always expecting the little guys to change course, even if we were here first.”

  Quarrah cinched the backpack shut. It was about time they got this package delivered. The Moon Glass had been burning a proverbial hole in her apartment for half a cycle. They hadn’t dared leave it in the Be’Igoth for fear that Hedge Marsool would come across it. So Quarrah had stored it in her Southern Quarter apartment.

  “Quarrah,” Ard called. “I’ve been thinking more about what you said.”

  Regarding…? And when had Ard had time to think? He was always talking.

  “I’d like you to come with me to meet the baroness,” he continued.

  She definitely hadn’t said anything about that. The fewer meetings she could attend in her life, the better.

  “I’d rather not.” She ducked under the yardarm and walked toward him. If this turned into a debate, she didn’t want to be shouting her rebuttal.

  “You said you wanted to come,” pressed Ard.

  “I said I’d do a sweep of her property to make sure you weren’t walking into a trap.” Quarrah drew even with him, noticing how he fidgeted with a particular glass vial in his right hand.

  “You brought that?” Quarrah cried.

  See, this was why Ard shouldn’t be trusted with their only sample of Future Grit. And that was precisely why Quarrah had swapped his vial for a fake.

  He quickly slipped it into his pocket as though she might steal it from him. Ha. Too late for that…

  “Raek told me to bring it,” said Ard. They had inspected the real vial in the Be’Igoth, but it was unlike any of the other solutions Portsend Wal had discovered. Raek had even dared taste it, declaring the clear liquid to be as sweet as nectar. But short of detonating it, there was nothing more they could learn.

  “And if you lose it?” she asked. “Or drop it?” Or worse, use it? Quarrah knew Ard was itching to try it out—another good reason for her to keep the real vial hidden in her Northern Quarter apartment.

  “It’ll be fine,” Ard said. “Raek has an old acquaintance at the University in Helizon. He’s going to swing by and show it to her while we deal with Lavfa.”

  “No!” she snapped. An expert would only confirm the truth—that Ard’s vial contained nothing more than sugar water. “I just…” Quarrah stammered. “I think we should be careful who we show it to.” Then, as an afterthought. “What if she tries to claim it as her own discovery?”

  She thought the reasoning was sound. The scientific world had turned upside down in the last two years. Ignition and Weight Grit were being mass-produced now, their cost steeper than powdered Specialty Grit. But more than that, the introduction of liquid Grit had proven that there were more types out there. The race to discover more was on, although no one had been successful yet.

  The Realm had known about all the liquid Grit types except Metamorphosis. So even if Hedge Marsool had employed one of the few survivors of the Realm, it still wouldn’t explain how he knew about creating Glassminds. Or how he’d developed yet another solution to show him the future.

  “Raek’s not going to give her the whole vial,” Ard assured. “He’ll separate some of the liquid and see if she can help him identify what went into the solution. If they can figure it out, we’ll be on the fast track to making our own Future Grit. We’ll see how Hedge Marsool likes it when we level the playing field.”

  “Hey, y
ou two!” Raek swung under the yardarm, a spyglass in one hand. Quarrah found herself grateful for the distraction, her face turning red at the string of lies she was coming up with. She didn’t regret taking the real vial. Ard’s recklessness with the fake only confirmed her decision. She would take more cautious steps to uncovering the truth behind Hedge Marsool’s mysterious Grit solution.

  “We might have a situation.” Raek pointed to the large ship that was sharing their heading. The vessel was close enough now that Quarrah could see the dual masts with her bare eye.

  “Looks like they’ve set a new course,” Raek said. “To intercept.”

  “Sparks!” Ard beckoned for the spyglass. “Who are they?”

  “There’s the clincher.” Raek tossed him the item. “It’s the Shiverswift.”

  “The Shiverswift?” Quarrah repeated.

  “Pirates,” Ard said, sighting down the spyglass. “You’ve been aboard that ship, remember? Captain Sormian Dethers and his crew picked us up after we encased the Slagstone in ice. They towed us away from Pekal.”

  Quarrah exhaled hopefully. “Friends, then.”

  “Not exactly,” Raek muttered.

  “Let me guess,” said Quarrah. “You didn’t pay them.”

  “Half,” Raek said. “We paid them half upfront. The rest was… well…”

  “I don’t understand,” muttered Ard. “It’s been four years. This has never been a problem before.”

  “It only needs to be a problem once,” Quarrah pointed out. “Didn’t you write them an apology?”

  Ard let out a mocking laugh. “My official letters of apology were limited to the rich and noble who might whine about my admittance into the Islehood. I hardly thought to include pirates.” He tossed the spyglass back to Raek and gripped the tiller with both hands. “We’ll have to outrun them.”

  “We’re sharing the same wind,” Raek said. “And as much as it pains me to admit, the Shiverswift is faster than the Double Take.”

  “Then what’s our plan?” Quarrah asked.

  “How much money do you have on you?” Ard asked drolly.

  “Ha!” Raek laughed bitterly. “Unless she’s packing the royal treasury in her shirtsleeves, there’s no way we’re paying him off today. See, Captain Dethers has his own special way of calculating interest.”

  “Do I want to know?” Quarrah asked.

  “Well, he multiplies the outstanding cost by the number of weeks overdue,” Raek began. “Then—”

  Quarrah held up her hand. “Oh, it’s an actual calculation? I thought you meant…” She pantomimed a knife slitting her throat.

  “Flames, no,” said Raek. “Sormian Dethers is a civilized pirate.”

  Quarrah remembered that much. When they’d first met, the man had been dressed for a night at the orchestra, a stemmed wineglass in one hand while he proffered her a silk handkerchief and a butter mint.

  “Then we have nothing to worry about,” Quarrah said. “Right?”

  “As a pirate,” Ard said, “how successful do you think Captain Dethers would be if nobody feared him?”

  “Then, what’s his method?” she asked.

  “He won’t kill us,” said Raek. “He’ll just take everything we have, sink our ship, and watch how well we swim.”

  “How civilized,” she muttered.

  “He usually only has to do that once or twice before his debtors do whatever it takes to gather the money,” Raek continued. “People always go crawling back to Sormian Dethers.”

  “Listen, Quarrah,” Ard said. “I’m sorry to drag you into this. I just want to say that you’re welcome to leave at any time. No hard feelings.”

  She looked around at the vast expanse of open water. Was that some sort of joke? It was probably his harmless sense of humor, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was making a subtle stab at her penchant for running.

  “Battle stations, then?” Raek asked.

  “We’re kindling if it comes to that,” said Ard. “What about enclosing the Double Take in a cloud of Containment Grit?”

  “I only have three vials,” said Raek. “And even if we could pull it off and keep the Containment dome moving with the ship, they’d just follow us until we got to Helizon. This strikes me as a problem that’s not going away.”

  “But why now?” Ard whispered. “Why bother hunting us down four years after we stiffed them? And how did they know our heading before we even recognized their ship?”

  “Are you saying they knew where we’d be?” Raek said.

  “So it seems.” Ard tapped his chin in thought.

  “Hedge Marsool, then?” Quarrah guessed. Anticipating their movements was definitely in his wheelhouse. “Maybe he wants to stop us from making the delivery.”

  “That makes no sense,” said Ard. “When I saw him, he was upset that we hadn’t secured the baroness’s property yet.”

  “Then you think this is just a coincidence?” said Quarrah.

  “Not sure I believe much in those anymore,” Ard answered. “But I don’t think Hedge would be behind this. More likely Captain Dethers caught our names on an outgoing harbor manifest and decided to make his move today.”

  “Battle stations, then?” Raek repeated in the exact same tone as before.

  “At the very least, we need to hide the backpack.” Quarrah crossed past Raek to midship.

  “Where?” Ard asked. “If they decide to board us, they’ll rip this ship apart plank by plank.”

  “Then we don’t hide it on the Double Take,” continued Quarrah. “We trap it in a bubble of Containment Grit and throw it overboard. It’ll float. We can collect it once they leave.”

  “You mean we can swim around looking for it in the flotsam of our ship?” Ard said.

  “The Containment bubble would only last ten minutes anyway,” Raek said. “Then that pack would sink like, well… like it was full of bricks.”

  Quarrah looked out at the fast-approaching ship. Sparks, had it already covered that much water? She could see the sails clearly now. It wasn’t flying a flag of any kind.

  “All right,” continued Quarrah, unwilling to give up yet. “We’ve got well over a hundred feet of rope on this ship. Let’s tie one end to the backpack and drop it like an anchor. We can tie the other end to something buoyant. Something that doesn’t look valuable—that barrel.”

  She could tell the small barrel was full of pitch, the sticky black substance oozing down the side. But they could empty it easily enough.

  Raek nodded his bald head. “I think that’ll work. As long as we can find the barrel in the aftermath and reel it in without any trouble.”

  Ard suddenly snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it!” His face spread into a wide smile. “We hide the backpack in the one place we know they won’t shoot.”

  Quarrah stared at him in confusion. Had he not heard her plan at all? He seemed like he was in his own world over there.

  “And where would that be?” Raek asked, ever the enabler.

  “On the Shiverswift,” Ard declared proudly. “Sormian Dethers is always good for a chat. He’ll hear me out, even if his ultimate goal is to take everything we own and blow up the Double Take. I’ll engage him and his crew in stimulating conversation”—he looked at Quarrah—“and you sneak the backpack onto his ship.”

  She couldn’t help but guffaw at the plan. “We might as well surrender it.”

  “Not if you stay with it,” Ard went on. “Once Dethers runs out his cannons and dusts the Double Take, you can spring out of hiding and jump overboard with the goods.”

  “And then we swim to shore?” Quarrah asked sarcastically.

  “Raek’s got a couple of emergency Grit flares,” said Ard. “We can stay afloat on the ship scraps until we see another vessel. Then Raek will light ’em up and we hope somebody comes to rescue us.”

  “You realize that would be twice in two cycles that you’ve left me treading water, hoping for a pickup,” Raek said to his partner.

  “Well, if it
makes you feel any better,” replied Ard, “we’ll be together this time.”

  Quarrah bit the inside of her cheek, trying to decide if she should say anything more about her idea. Ard’s plan was decent, if she could figure out how to get aboard the Shiverswift. She had a basic memory of the vessel—its size and general layout. But she’d have no way of knowing the crew compliment or where the best hiding spots would be.

  She drew in a deep, steadying breath. The approaching Shiverswift sailed steadily forward like a burning fuse. There really wasn’t time to argue about plans, but—

  “Hold on,” she cut in. “What about my idea? The floating barrel plan?”

  Ard looked at her, his expression softening as he seemed to realize how blunt he’d been.

  “It’s good,” he said. “Solid backup plan. I just think we ought to get the backpack onto the Shiverswift because that’s the safest bet.”

  Quarrah picked up the backpack. “Well, I think we ought to tie it to the barrel.” She stepped forward as Raek picked up a coil of rope and held it out to her. Okay. Maybe she didn’t mind him being such an enabler.

  She was nearly to Raek when she heard a splash behind her. Whirling, Quarrah saw Ard dusting off his hands, a bit of black pitch on his palm. The barrel was bobbing out of reach, carried on the swell of the waters.

  Quarrah felt something bubble up within her. It made her woozy with incredulity and astonishment.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But there just wasn’t time to debate.” He wouldn’t look her in the eye, quickly moving back to his position at the tiller.

  Silently, Quarrah pulled the backpack onto her shoulders and turned to watch the big ship.

  “Your plan better work,” she finally said. But deep inside, there was definitely a part of her that hoped it wouldn’t.

  “Captain!” Ard greeted with a respectful bow of his head. “Good to see you again. It’s been too long.”

  He was choosing not to acknowledge the rough way the Shiverswift had sidled up to them. The Double Take was now snug against the hull of the pirate ship, held in place by a handful of grappling hooks.