Whitney, on the other hand, sniggered as they passed by a table of four men all wearing puffy, patterned shirts.
“Hush, Whit,” Sora warned. “You’ll embarrass us.”
“Yeah, because we’re the ones who should be embarrassed.”
“For once in your irreverent life, would you just try and behave yourself?”
Whitney stopped at a table in the corner, bent at the waist, and beckoned her forth. “Why, of course. Right this way, milady.”
“Better than knife-ear,” she grumbled.
They sat down and ordered drinks. It was such a normal-seeming thing, yet Sora realized she’d never been waited on before. In all the taverns she’d ever visited—a total of two—she had to carry herself up to the bar.
Presently, the server returned carrying oddly-shaped glasses filled with violet liquid.
“This is no ale I’ve ever seen,” Sora said.
“It’s a Winde Port delicacy called a cocktail,” Whitney said. “Ridiculous name, I know, but it’s fruity. You’ll love it.”
Sora lifted it and studied the liquid. It looked like poison out of some fairy tales she’d found on Wetzel’s bookshelf. But all around the room, nobles were throwing them back. She gave it a whiff. It smelled like the first lavender blossoms of spring.
“Would you just try it already?” Whitney griped.
Sora brought it to her lips and took the tiniest sip imaginable. Her eyes went wide. She tilted the glass and downed half in a single gulp.
“It tastes like the plums Farmer Branson grew in the fields across from my house!” she exclaimed. “I can’t wait to have another...” Her voice trailed off. Sadness came like a deluge at the thought of that field, now black and burnt at the hands of the Shesaitju.
“Enough of that look in your eyes, Sora. This is about trying something fresh and new. Drink up. The bottom of that glass is the start of a new one.”
Sora forced a smile. “Are you trying to get me drunk, husband?”
“Never.” Whitney laughed. “So, do you see Tayvada anywhere?”
“No,” Sora answered. “But I hope his drag… wyvern is here. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I have,” Whitney said, finishing his drink in one mouthful. He raised a finger for the waiter to bring more.
“Is this another of your tall tales?” Sora asked.
“I don’t tell tall tales. I speak history.”
Sora rolled her eyes before she too finished the rest of her drink. Whitney went to request another, but she waved him down. She’d never drank much more than a single ale or a sip of honeyed wine from Wetzel’s cupboard. The old badger didn’t like her losing control when she was still getting a handle on her abilities. And after what happened in the Webbed Woods, she wasn’t too keen on it either. One “cocktail” and her head was already feeling light.
“I wonder where Tayvada is,” she said while Whitney tried another beverage, this one, a sickeningly bright shade of orange. “We need to get going.”
“What’s the rush?” Whitney asked. “Look at this place, it’s beautiful. I used to have to sneak into places like this, come up with a whole elaborate backstory and name. If only Torsten could see me now.” He kicked his feet up on the bench across from him.
“He’d probably want to burn those as much as me,” she said, referring to his boots she’d just shoved off the bench. “Now c’mon, we should find him.”
“You need to learn to relax. Oh, shog…”
“What?”
“Don’t turn around,” Whitney said. “I said don’t turn around!”
It was too late. She was already craning her neck to see behind her. She cursed herself for not listening to him, but it was his fault for making it so impossible.
“Darkings…” She whipped her head back around. The sight of him stole the breath from her lungs. “Did he see you? I think he saw you. He did. He’s coming this way.”
“What do we do?” Sora whispered.
The man sauntered over, eyes poring over Whitney and then, Sora. He carried himself like one who’d never done an honest day’s work, and he likely hadn’t. His face and hands were smooth as a man half his age. There was so little grit in his voice, Sora could imagine the demon ears of Elsewhere perking up when he spoke. Her hand instinctually fell toward the handle of the knife in her belt.
“Father Gorenheimer, wasn’t it?” he said. “Oh wait, Whitney Fierstown, that’s right. Though, now I hear it’s Lord Blisslayer. How many names can one man have?”
In the weeks since they’d last seen him, he’d grown bushy mustache which looked like a fuzzy caterpillar resting on his upper lip. Chest hairs poked out from beneath an expensive looking tunic, and when he smiled, Sora recoiled. Yellowing teeth poked out over his bottom lip.
“Constable Darkings!” Whitney exclaimed. “How’s your daughter?”
Sora felt all the color drain from her cheeks. She couldn’t believe that after they robbed and burned down the Constable of Bridleton’s home, that was the first thing Whitney would say. Then Sora remembered how she hit the poor girl to keep their flirting from getting everyone killed.
It wasn’t her finest moment.
“I’ve shipped Nauriyal to a convent in Hornsheim,” Darkings said. “Turns out she played not-so-small a role in the destruction of my home—but you already knew that, didn’t you? Maybe a little hard work in the bitter cold will teach her to respect her elders.”
Whitney’s beaming smile didn’t fade in the least, but his eye twitched.
“No matter,” Darkings continued. “I promised you last time I saw you that I’d have my revenge.”
“And here you are! Should I expect you’ll gut us, here and now?” Whitney asked.
“This is a room for gentlemen. I would never tarnish the good name of Darkings. Not here in the very guild my grandparents helped build so many Dawnings ago. You see, Darkings is not a name you should have meddled with. Do you even realize the enemies you’ve made?”
“What do you want, Constable?” Sora asked, exasperated.
He slid into the booth next to them and his face turned deadly serious. “Do not speak to me in such a flippant manner, knife-ear!” he hissed. Now her fingers wrapped firmly around the wooden grip of her knife.
Darkings faced Whitney. “You burned everything I built to the ground,” he said. “My father served as Master of Coin to the Crown for twenty years, and he will be reinstated under the new king in short time. If I even breathed word of this to him, the King’s Shield would have your heads on pikes.”
Sora looked to Whitney. She didn’t have to ask out loud if he knew that Darkings was the son of a member of the Royal Council. She did it with her eyes, and his said, “no.”
The worldliest thief in Pantego and he doesn’t know a thing!
She wanted to explode at him but somehow kept quiet.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t bother daddy,” Whitney said calmly. “Turns out, people thought it was another act of the Black Sands. Sounds more plausible to me than a couple of nobles rolling into Bridleton for a bit of respite, no? Plus, the Wearer of White already is reinstated, and he’s a good friend of m—”
“You are no more noble than the shog on my boot!” Darkings spat.
“I have papers saying otherwise. Bearing the royal seal itself.”
“A piece of paper won’t keep you…” He cleared his throat and stroked his mustache. “Are you a gems playing man, Mr. Fierstown?”
“Lord Blisslayer. And, yes I fancy myself rather good at all games of chance. Up for a game or two?”
Darkings scoffed and leaned in. “You have shown your hand, boy, and it is not a winner. I, on the other hand, keep mine close to my chest. When you are least expecting it, you and your Panping witch will find yourselves drowning in your own blood and piss.”
Whitney brought his drink to his lips and before taking a sip, said, “I’ve always enjoyed a swim. I’ll be looking forward to it.”
�
��Don’t you worry. You’ll be seeing me again soon enough.”
Whitney opened his mouth to speak but a server approached the table.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would be a party of three,” he said. “Can I get you something, Lord Darkings?”
“No, thank you. I was just leaving. Please, get this special couple a round of your finest Breklian brandy, on me. It might be their last,” he paused, “in Winde Port.”
Darkings stood, grinned, and walked away.
“Was that a threat?” Sora asked, finally feeling like she could breathe. She didn’t release her weapon until he was completely out of sight.
“An ominous warning, I’d say,” Whitney said, taking another sip of his drink.
“This isn’t funny, Whit. We are on lockdown in an unfamiliar city with an apparently powerful family after us.”
“This city isn’t unfamiliar to me. We’re going to be absolutely fine.”
“How in Elsewhere did you not know who his father was!”
“I’m supposed to keep track of every twit on the Royal Council? They’re in and out like flies, and with the mad Queen, I barely know who’s king anymore.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Whitney didn’t answer. He leaned over the table, tilted one of his empty glasses and watched it sway back upright. “You hungry?” Whitney asked.
“You’re thinking about food at a time like this?”
“You’re not? We haven’t had a decent meal since Grambling, back at the Walled Lake.”
“Aren’t we here just to get some papers from Tayvada?” she asked.
“Do you see Tayvada?”
“No.” Sora’s face scrunched. “Should we ask someone?”
Whitney sighed, then rose. “I’ll be right back.”
Sora sidled a little further into the booth, wary of leaving her back exposed. Darkings was an obtuse fool but he wasn’t accepting like the rest of the people here. And he didn’t seem to care about all the fineries. She glanced over each shoulder and saw plenty of others like her—knife-ears. She tried to just relax and enjoy the music. After a few tunes went by without him returning, she started to worry that Darkings had exacted his revenge on Whitney already and she’d be next.
A sudden movement made her yelp. Whitney slid back into the booth from the other direction, carrying what looked like a leg of lamb. He stretched it toward her but she declined.
“You had me worried sick and you were getting food?” she asked.
“Sora, you’ve gotta learn to relax a little. Take it all in. We are exploring the wide world together. No agenda. No worries!”
“Except the little bit about a man wanting us dead. Oh, and the mounting army. Oh, and—”
Whitney groaned. “Do you want to know what I found out about Tayvada or not?”
“Fine.”
“Turns out one of his servants came about an hour ago to leave message that he fell ill and wouldn’t be...” Whitney puffed out his chest and put on a distinguished effect, “‘…attending any of his appointments this evening.’”
Sora threw her hands up in frustration. “Great. Now we have to wait for him?”
Whitney took a bite of lamb, then with his mouth still full said, “Nope. I got his home address.”
IX
THE KNIGHT
“Your Grace, please help me understand,” Torsten said to Pi, keeping his voice low. “Why would you free him?”
They were in Pi’s old chambers now, high up in the Glass Castle’s West Tower. He hadn’t yet found reason to move to his father’s quarters—besides, Oleander still occupied them. There were bars on the window, an unpleasant reminder of Pi’s fall.
“You could just ask me,” Redstar said. He sat at Pi’s desk, the same smug grin plastered on his face that he’d worn when revealing his true self in the Webbed Woods.
“Silence!” Torsten snapped. He stood behind him, claymore in both hands, the tip grinding into the stone floor.
“Pi, my precious boy, don’t you remember what he did to you?” Oleander sat beside him on a bed two sizes too large for him, stroking his hair.
He remained indifferent.
“I forget, sister, which of us has more of your people’s blood on our hands?” Redstar remarked.
“Sir Davies was worth a thousand of any of us!” Torsten said. “He died because of you.”
“Just kill him, Torsten,” Oleander spat. “I will not have him poison these halls any further.”
“You will do no such thing, Wearer,” Pi said, calm and collected. He turned to face them, head and neck only. “No harm will befall my uncle.”
“He tried to kill you! To destroy everything inside of you.”
“What, with this?” Pi reached across his bed and lifted the tiny, Drav Cra effigy sewn for him by Oleander at his birth. By the ancient customs of her former people, an orepul was said to bear a piece of its owner’s soul.
The young King lifted it, then without a second of hesitation, ripped the head from its stitches. The Queen gasped as it fell to the floor in two pieces. Torsten’s heart sank with it. Not that he believed it wielded any power—such would be heresy—but he’d been through exile and back to retrieve it for the Queen.
“Not with that, Your Grace,” Torsten said after a brief silence. His fingers squeezed so tight around the handle of his sword it hurt. “He put a spell on you with blood magic. A spell that had you seeing awful visions of darkness and terror and the Buried Goddess. I know because I felt them too shortly after you fell from this very window.”
“Excuse me for trying to open his eyes by showing him the truth,” Redstar said. “How was I to know that children grow up so soft here in the capital that he wouldn’t be able to handle it?” He walked across the room as he spoke and lifted the two pieces of the orepul to study them more closely. Torsten imagined seeing an effigy supposedly holding a piece of Pi’s soul would unnerve him, but he didn’t seem so in the slightest.
“Because of your dark magic, my son, your king, leaped from that window!” Oleander shouted. She tried to stand, but Pi extended one of his short arms in front of her.
“My uncle acted vindictively because you refused him,” Pi said. “Because you forgot that the ice of the Drav Cra runs through your veins, as it does mine. I may not approve of what he did to me, but I do understand.”
“What have you done, Brother?” Oleander asked. “How have you twisted his mind this time?”
“Oleander, I’m hurt.” Redstar stuffed the orepul into a pouch, then placed his hand over his heart in mock-surprise. “I’ve been locked away safe and sound. Pi came to me.”
“You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as him!” Oleander grabbed a small letter opener off the bedside table, sprung to her feet, and charged him. Torsten caught her just in time, the blade only inches away from Redstar’s eye. A heartbeat later, he wondered what in Elsewhere he was thinking by stopping her.
Redstar didn’t even flinch. “Now we both owe each other, Sir Unger,” he said. His grin deepened as he stood and patted Torsten’s back.
“Torsten, don’t let him do this,” Oleander said. “He can’t be trusted. He tried to kill my son.” She tried to squirm free, but Torsten’s brawny arms didn’t give. “He tried to kill my son!”
“I know, Your Grace,” Torsten whispered. “But not like this.”
“Guards!” Pi called. Not a second later, the door flew open and two members of the King’s Shield entered, weapons drawn. “Please remove my mother to her chambers until I see fit. She is feeling ill again and I worry what she might do.”
The guards glanced between the King and Torsten.
“You will not lay a hand on me,” Oleander hissed. “I am your Queen.”
“They will do as their king asks, Mother, and so will you,” Pi said, a man’s timbre in his tone. “When I met with Redstar, he called on the names of Iam and his goddess in heartfelt apology. He has repented for what was done out of spite and anger.�
�� He lowered his voice and said, “When will you?”
Torsten felt all the fight leave Oleander. Her arms went slack. The words were harsh, yet partially true. An apology from a deceiver like Redstar meant as little as one made in the name of the Buried Goddess, but Oleander too had acted from a dangerous place.
“Pi…” Oleander’s voice cracked. “He’s a monster. You have to trust me.”
“Our weakness after Father grew ill has emboldened our enemies,” Pi said. “Perhaps monsters are exactly what we need now.”
Torsten regarded Redstar. He’d manipulated the entire kingdom to help him destroy Bliss, the apparent enemy of his people’s own fallen deity, but doing that didn’t even seem to compare to how self-satisfied he now appeared.
“Just go, Your Grace,” Torsten whispered in Oleander’s ear. “I’ll make sure he never sees daylight again.”
She turned and took Torsten’s hands. Hers were quaking.
“Oh, Torsten,” she sniveled. “Loyal, Torsten. Show him the light of Iam that breathed life into him again.” Her fingers slid apart from his, then she slowly backed away between the two guards.
Torsten nodded the Shieldsmen along but didn’t break eye contact with Oleander until she was through the door. She’d been a terrible queen when she was in charge, one who had senselessly murdered so many of her loyal servants. But at least Torsten knew why. Perhaps she was a monster too, but if that were true, there was no term foul enough to describe her brother.
Redstar sighed. “Perhaps now we can discuss how to handle the Shesaitju situation in peace and quiet, Nephew.”
Torsten lashed out and grabbed him by the collar. He pulled him close. The Drav Cra were inherently tall, but Redstar was the runt of his family. Torsten towered over him.
“You will address him as your King,” Torsten growled, then shoved him back into the chair.
“Relax, Sir Unger.” Pi stood and paced in front of his window. His head barely reached over the sill, but Torsten wasn’t foolish enough to believe he was a child anymore, even if he looked it. Whatever had happened between his death and rebirth, he was as much a man as they were.
Winds of War Page 10
