by AB Bradley
Her dagger flashed before her hardened eyes before she buried its tip in the crate. “I would never help that heretic pig. If High King Sol wants you, it means I need you even more. Everyone knows he fears something on Urum…maybe someone. How about a deal?” Her hard eyes returned to their playful glimmer. “Or better yet, a wager? If you win, I tell you where we’re going. If I win, you tell me why Brother Caspran’s looking for you and your master.”
“I’m a Sinner’s man. You think I don’t know a rigged wager? I’m not going to play your game.”
Ayska opened her mouth, but he snorted and turned away. “No, no game. In games of chance, the cards are stacked in the house’s favor, and at the moment, I’m in your house, Ayska Masrari.”
“You over think, Iron. Life demands chances made in the moment. Maybe one day you’ll see that, and we’ll play a little game.” She looked to the sea and smiled. “Sander says you’ve lived your life buried in snows and scrolls. You’ll see soon enough the real world demands gambles made in the space between two heartbeats with no thought or care to yellowed parchments and dull books.” With a sigh, she stood, leaning on the rail. “You want to know where we’re going? I’m taking you to a special place, a place where you and your master will be safe. We call it Spineshell, but that wasn’t always it’s name. Whatever it was once called was forgotten when the Third Sun rose.”
His headache calmed beneath the rush of excitement electrifying his blood. “Alp ruins? They really do exist?”
“For those of us brave enough to find them.” Ayska looked to the side, her dark eyes drinking Iron. A braid fell, swinging by her jaw. “Sander says you’ve come to stop the High King. Do you really want to kill him?”
Did he? Iron didn’t have any idea. Until the day before, he’d only ever heard of him as the Good King of Eloia. Sander must have fed her lines to keep her from gnawing at the truth. Better feed her another crumb. “I don’t even know him. But…”
Iron shook his head. Sol and his cult worshipped the Serpent, the god who claimed he could raise a new Sun without the Six. In the lands the king ruled, the man lingered on every mind, watched from every shadow. “If he’s trying to destroy the Six, we’ll try and find a way to stop him.”
“You sound about as convincing as a moon maiden telling her third patron how much her heart is his. What is your real goal then, if not to kill Sol?” Her lips tightened into a white line. She plucked the dagger from the crate and rolled a fingertip over the edge of the blade while her eyes fixed on him. “Why did I save you if you don’t even want to stop him?”
Iron glanced at Sander. The man’s snores could have raised the dead. Sander forced a Sinner’s Oath from Iron that sealed his magic. Iron never vowed to hide his visions.
“Wolves came to us in the lower reaches and drove us from our home. I…I know they were more than wolves. They looked at me like men and spoke Common. Can you believe that?”
“There’re many monsters in Urum much stranger than talking wolves.”
“They slaughtered a pale doe right in front of me.” Why was he telling her this? Iron barely knew her and definitely didn’t trust her, yet the words spilled out like a thundersnow. “But before they killed her, the doe told me the circle is broken, and that the Serpent would come for me. I don’t know what it means, I just—” He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m lost. I only know Sol wants me and that some circle is broken that shouldn’t be. Sander thinks I’m mad. Maybe I am.”
Ayska didn’t have a quip ready for him. He stared at the deck, remembering the brutal slaughter of such a pure creature and the woman’s voice. Gods, he knew that voice.
“What do you think?” he finally asked, looking up.
“The circle is broken.” She stared at him, her normally rich skin a shade lighter. “You’re sure that’s what you heard?”
Iron nodded. A lump traveled down Ayska’s throat, and she looked to the horizon. “The circle is broken, and only blood and fire seals it. Forgive us, oh beloved sons and daughters, for hope requires sacrifice.”
“What?”
“It’s a passage from the Father’s Lament. My father, he, ah, obsessed over the book.” The cheery blush of her cheeks paled as her smile flattened. “It’s the opening sentence. No one knows what it really means because the book didn’t speak any more of it.”
“Maybe I read it in one of Sander’s books and imagined the whole thing.”
Her smile returned, although weighed by sad memories. “Only those who swear to the Loyal Father know his lament.” She blinked, painting the playful mask back on her face. “You’re really unprepared for the world. I think I’ll teach you a thing or two on how to survive it. You say you’re a man of the Sinner. You know how to fight like one?”
“Sander taught me Shade Stride.” Iron nodded at his still unconscious caretaker. Apparently Sander’s mastery of saltwater gin needed more practice—or less.
“Shade Stride is good when you have room to move around like a buttered eel. In close quarters, it’ll get you skewered, especially if you don’t have surprise on your side.”
Not if I’m using magic, he thought. “I’ll make sure to give myself plenty of room, then.”
“Your enemies won’t always be so kind. Stand up. I’m going to teach you Loyal Stance, the fighting style of the Father.”
His stomach gurgled like a forgotten swamp. If he did have anything in his stomach once, he lost it overboard on a wave of bile and gin. “Thanks, but I think Shade Stride—”
“No.” Her tone was flat and hard as the dagger in her hand. “You will learn Loyal Stance. Go below deck, get some food in your belly, and meet me up here as soon as you’re done. “You’re my prisoner, remember?”
He didn’t need Loyal Stance, but the prospect of learning something new intrigued him, and the invitation to eat motivated him. Iron raised his hands in surrender and headed to the lower cabin. “I remember. Just keep that dagger out of my belly and I’ll be back in a few.”
The crew’s attitude had transformed from night to day after his dinner performance. They called out his name, waving and whistling and shouting honeyed words for the young fellow who guzzled a whole mug of saltwater gin with a single tip of the rim.
Vigal swatted him on the back and gave him a crooked grin of approval, warping the scarred X on his face with his flashy smile. Gil slapped his swollen belly and pretended to take a huge swig. Lanky Thip opened the door for Iron and motioned inside. “I’ve got a right nice breakfast for you below deck. Hot stew, jerky, and spiced tea to settle that stomach. Have your fill, friend, you deserve it!”
Their kindness jarred him. Only yesterday, they’d looked at him as they might look at an enemy. Today, they acted like he’d been a shipmate for ages. He didn’t have time to deconstruct the odd machinations of a people he didn’t understand—even if he was technically one of their kind. Iron rubbed his aching temples and went into the blessedly dark cabin.
Thip’s meal waited for him at a small table screwed to the floor. Across the room, Kalila hummed to herself while she played with a crude doll’s ratty hair. If the woman realized Iron shared the room with her, she didn’t show a hint of it. Instead, she murmured her song while weaving intricate knots into the toy’s yarn hair.
His mouth watered as the stew’s steam wafted into his nose. Pepper. Salt. Beef. Eggs. Carrots. Iron ate them all as a rightfully starving man should. The spiced tea smoothed a throat that felt like splintered wood while the salted jerky filled the void in his stomach.
Sander slid onto a chair next to him with a low groan. “Saltwater gin, ever my enemy. I just can’t quite quit her.”
“They made fun of me last night. They insulted me, tried to get a rise out of me to see what I’d do.”
“Looks like the only thing you rose to was the occasion. I hear good things from the crew about you. They say for a boy without scars, you’ve got a good heart. Scars are very important to them. Thankfully, I’ve got this one.�
�� He tapped the mark on his jaw and grinned.
“You should’ve defended me.” Iron slurped some of the broth, glaring at his master over the lip of the bowl.
Sander threw his hood back and arched a brow. “I thought you were a man now? Independent all that crap? I can’t always be there to defend you. Besides, I wanted to see how you’d react when confronted. You impressed me last night. This morning? You did well, but I think your hangover clouded your judgment. Be careful how much truth you tell these people, no matter how kind they seem.”
“You were awake that whole time? I thought the gin—”
“Psssshhh.” Sander swatted the air. “It’s been years since I’ve had the stuff, but I could still drown a sailor in it before I batted an eye. And what good Sinner’s man lets a hangover keep him down? I could’ve tap-danced on the prow as the sun rose.”
“So it was all a test? What if I’d done, you know, something bad? Like drawn my sword?” In a heartbeat, Sander went from the person Iron liked most aboard the Widowmaker to the one he liked the least. “You’re such an elk’s ass. Such an elk’s ass!”
“I had faith in you, boy, and believed I raised you right. Looks like I did, doesn’t it? Aren’t you proud you stood tall instead of taking the low road?”
Iron mulled on his questions for a few moments. He looked to the wall and pursed his lips, then met Sander’s stare and flashed a grin. “I’m still mad at you.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. You learned an important lesson last night. They brought you to the edge of anger. That’s a deep abyss, one you can’t swim from once you fall. Remember the rage, remember the humiliation, and then remember how free it felt to rise above it. What happened last night—that wasn’t anything compared to what you’ll face in the future.”
“Ayska wants to teach me Loyal Stance. Keeping my cool netted that little gem at least.”
“I heard. Looks like you’ve pilfered your first treasure, and from a beautiful woman no less.” Sander chuckled and swiped a piece of jerky. “She’s not so bad as I first thought, but she’s got a past I’m not comfortable with because she keeps it hidden. Watch yourself around her.”
“You know that’s technically hypocritical since we’re keeping our past just as secret.”
“Yeah but that’s different and you know why. You told her about your vision pretty quickly. Guard those things closer to your heart next time.” Sander leaned to Iron and pointed a finger at his nose. “And remember: no friends. Loyal Stance might be a good lesson for you, so I’ll allow it, but don’t let her pretty braids and, ah, body let you forget that. We clear?”
“Friend? Not in a thousand Suns. She’s arrogant, rude, and thinks she knows it all. I want to learn Loyal Stance, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh. I’m watching you, boy.”
Iron rolled his eyes as he folded his arms across his chest. Of course he didn’t want to be Ayska’s friend. She was smarmy, secretive, and cocky in a way that made Sander look downright humble by comparison.
He scooted from the table and headed for the stairs, but Sander’s grip wrested him to a stop. “Remember, be careful about your visions. If word gets out, a shit storm’s going to come down right on our heads. I’d rather not let that happen.”
“I will, I will.”
“But we do need to research what your visions might mean. Let me pray on it. Maybe the Sinner will send me something.”
Iron slipped from the man’s grasp and continued on his way. “You and I both know it won’t be answered with prayer. This has something to do with my past. You remember that, right? The past you won’t tell me anything about. Don’t think being out from under the Everfrosts will make me forget that.”
He didn’t wait for Sander’s answer. Instead, he bounded upstairs, ready to learn something new.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Spineshell
Barrels walled Iron in a tight circle, forming a sort of makeshift arena for his practice. Ayska prowled around him like a hungry predator. She even licked her lips.
She’s enjoying this, he thought.
“You keep shifting back into Shade Stride. Stop that.” Ayska’s curved blade was an arc of deadly silver. Iron barely blocked the blow—her steel screeched across his weapon in a shower of sparks and would’ve taken his hand had it not been for the guard.
Iron spun and slid his foot between her legs, swinging his sword toward her neck. Sweat glistened on her chest despite the cool winds whipping around them.
“Pay attention!” Ayska twisted beneath his blade and kicked him square in the stomach, hurtling Iron into a barrel packed with rice. The small of his back hit the container’s lip, and he winced as a flash of pain coursed through him.
“Loyal Stance isn’t anything like Shade Stride. Loyal stance is about strength. It’s about commitment to your battle. You plant your feet on the ground. You use your sturdiness as your leverage, not the Sinner’s swirly dance moves.”
He pushed himself off the barrel and pressed his feet into the hard stance of the Father’s swordplay technique. Both hands gripping the handle, he pointed the blade at Ayska. “I’ve been smoke and shadows all my life. It’s only been a few weeks. Give me a chance to learn a little loyalty.”
With a girlish giggle, she pivoted as a whirlwind mix of braid and blade. Iron locked his arms. Commit to the opponent. He clenched his teeth and waited. Do not fear the battle. She spun nearer. Strength is victory.
One of Ayska’s blades came high, the other low. Iron bounded, twisting between the razor arcs and aiming his steel at her chest. “Gotcha!”
She laughed and kneed him. Air rushed from his lungs as he doubled over and black edged his vision. The flat of her blade pressed against his chin and lifted his gaze to her. “You’re dead. You weren’t committed enough. You’re getting better, though. Those first few days, I hardly had to break a sweat to get you on your back. You’re at least staying on your feet now, even if you don’t have the heart to fight like the Father’s sons and daughters yet.”
His feet whipped into Shade Stride, and he twirled around her. The tip of his sword pressed into her back. “Believe me when I say the Sinner’s style isn’t as useless as you think. Maybe you could learn a thing or two if I taught you how to move like a sinner.”
“Believe me when I say I already do.”
They shared a laugh, and Iron sheathed his sword. He hopped over the barrel wall, extending a hand for Ayska with a sloppy grin. She arched a brow at his hand and bounded over the barrel without taking it. His grin spread, and he followed her from their tiny practice arena on the ship’s stern.
A brisk sun blazed high. Scars of clouds streaked toward the horizon. Higher winds angered the sea and gave their ship a hard rock and plenty of spray hissing from the prow. At least the seesawing no longer sent him scurrying to the rails and a full week had passed since he last lost a meal to the sea.
His stomach rumbled as he wiped sweat dripping from his brow with an old rag. The crew would serve lunch soon. When they did, he would devour a few pickled eggs and dried roots and jerky from some animal he didn’t bother inquiring about.
They reached the main deck and met the portly Round Gil, as the crew called him. The sailor ambled his way over and slapped Iron’s chest, knocking the air from his lungs for the second time that day. “Good show there. Vigal was watchin’ you from the rear mast. Says you might have some spunk in you yet. We’ll have a shot tonight and celebrate!”
“Celebrate what?” Iron asked with a frown.
Ayska leaned on a rail and arched her back until her braids hung overboard. “We’ve reached our destination. Welcome to the Scarlet Widowmaker’s home. We call it Spineshell, but it had another name once when the alp called it home.”
“Come see!” Round Gil wrapped his arm around Iron’s waist and shoved him against the rail. Iron’s eyes bulged from the pressure. He pushed back, staring at the prow. There, warping the horizon, he spotted the ruins.
Spin
eshell looked like an island at first, but no island built by nature could form such a perfect dome. Iron could see now why the crew called it Spineshell. The glued-together words perfectly described the structure.
The shell of the island rose above the sea a shimmering, plated mound of turquoise that so perfectly matched the water it looked as if some titan had molded the land from the waves themselves. The disc of the sun diffused in a gold bruise over the mound as it made its daily trek across the skies.
Spindly towers lorded over the turquoise island. They dotted the land like nails driven haphazardly into a massive gem. No two towers reached the same height, although all aspired to shear the clouds with their pointed roofs. Balconies ringed each tower, the largest being the base and smallest shallow collars beneath their sharp rooftops. Trees and bushes and gardens splashed with the bright radiance of silky blooms overflowed from the balconies, tongues of life licking at the sea breeze.
“I’ve never seen something so amazing.” Iron blinked and tightened his grip on the railing. “What…what is this place?”
Round Gil shrugged as he hooked his thumbs in his trousers. “Nobody knows for sure. Used to be empty sea out in these parts. No other lands to sail that’re worth sailin’ too.”
Ayska kept her eyes glued to the island. “We found it running from slavers. Honestly, it was a stupid risk.”
“Hey now, we lived, didn’t we?” Round Gil asked. “We always live, thanks to you, Cap’n.”
She smirked and stroked one of her braids. “Bless the Six, somehow we do. Whatever this place is, it hasn’t been above the water long. The gardens, they get bigger each time we come.”
Gil nodded, puffing out his lower lip. “It’s just the tip, like some Skaard iceberg. We stick to the towers; it’s right dangerous crawling around the halls beneath the sea. We’ve almost lost one or two of our own trying to figure out the blasted labyrinth beneath the shell.” He scratched the back of his head and glanced nervously at Ayska. “All we can figure out is who built it.”
