Windsinger

by A. F. E. Smith

  The second sheet of paper was a letter.

  Dearest love.

  I have thought it best not to write to you directly before now. War leaves no room for emotion and no time for softness. You are leading an army. I am doing my best to run Arkannen in your absence. We cannot spare any energy for love.

  Yet I have every hope that what Naeve has brought you will mean an end to the war. I know it will take time to achieve. I know you will have to start all over again with the treaty. But we have time. As long as the fighting stops, we have time.

  Every evening I stand above the main gate and look out across Arkannen to where you are. I try to keep you safe by force of will. Stupid, I know, but it feels wrong that I’m not there to defend you on the battlefield, as is both my duty and my privilege. I would give my life for yours in an instant, Ayla. Never doubt that.

  I hold you in my heart, now and always.

  Tomas

  This time, she couldn’t stop the tears falling. She cried for Tomas, and for her children. For all the people who had died and all the people she had killed. Even, a little, for herself. When she finally looked up, Sorrow was gazing at the walls of the tent with a profoundly uncomfortable expression; yet in her outstretched hand was a square piece of cloth. A smudge of something black marked one corner, but Ayla took it anyway and wiped her eyes.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, when she felt sufficiently in control of herself to speak. ‘For the messages, and for the handkerchief.’

  ‘It’s actually a cleaning cloth for my pistol,’ Sorrow answered. ‘Lucky for you, I had a newish one on me.’

  Ayla surprised herself with a rather watery giggle. In response, Sorrow’s mouth turned up slightly at the corners. Her eyes held more warmth than they ever had before, Ayla thought. Or maybe she was just seeing warmth in everything, now that she herself had unfrozen.

  ‘Well,’ the sellsword said. ‘I’d better get back to Arkannen.’

  She stood up. Battling unexpected disappointment, Ayla stood up too. As Sorrow passed her, she found herself reaching out to touch the woman’s arm.

  ‘Naeve!’ The sellsword turned to look at her, the usual flat expression back in her hazel eyes, and Ayla bit her lip. ‘Sorrow. Will you stay?’

  ‘What for? I wanted to get back and make sure Corus –’

  ‘I know. But Tomas has him well guarded. And I think it would help. I have to take this evidence to the Kardise and convince them to agree a truce. So if you could be there to give your testimony …’

  ‘They didn’t pay much heed to my word before, did they?’

  ‘No,’ Ayla admitted. ‘But maybe with the evidence and you …’

  Sorrow shrugged. ‘All right. If that’s what you want, I don’t have any choice, do I? You’re my overlord.’

  ‘I don’t recall that ever making a difference before,’ Ayla said acerbically, and the sellsword nodded in acknowledgement of a hit.

  ‘Maybe seeing your other form scared the shit out of me. Or maybe … maybe I finally understand the point of you, Ayla Nightshade.’

  ‘Thank you. I think.’

  ‘Put it this way,’ Sorrow said. ‘I’m glad you’re still not dead.’

  Ayla had the fleeting urge to embrace her, but she settled for a smile instead. ‘Me too.’

  Derrick Tarran’s widow, Liliane, projected an air of composure, but her red eyes betrayed her grief. Seeing her for the first time – the brown skin an almost identical shade to Zander’s, the dark hair and eyes – Ree understood certain things about Lewis that had puzzled her before. Every feature that he clearly hadn’t inherited from his father had just as clearly come from his mother; he was a perfect mixture of the two of them. Half Kardise – because that was where Liliane had come from, according to Captain Caraway. Surely she couldn’t have had any idea what her husband was doing, murdering one of her own people and setting her country-by-marriage at war with her country-by-birth.

  ‘We’re very sorry to have disturbed you at such a difficult time,’ Ree said. She and Penn had been shown into the library of the Tarran residence by the butler, whose chilly politeness had left them in no doubt of his opinion of Helmsmen turning up on his doorstep. Yet once he had consented to deliver their message to the lady of the house, she had arrived promptly and with no outward appearance of similar disdain. Either her servants reflected her husband’s opinions more than her own, or she was too well trained to betray any kind of negative emotion.

  ‘I am always happy to help the Helm,’ Liliane murmured. ‘Particularly with all the current trouble.’

  Ree found the euphemism irritating; she didn’t stop to analyse how much of that might be because she could imagine her own mother saying something very similar. Deliberately, she chose bluntness.

  ‘The war must be difficult for you.’

  Liliane’s hands gripped each other in her lap, but her voice remained unchanged. ‘I assure you, my loyalties lie squarely with Mirrorvale.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ Ree said. ‘The Tarrans have been loyal subjects of the Nightshade line for centuries.’

  She watched the woman’s face closely, but saw nothing that might betray her knowledge of Derrick Tarran’s activities. Liliane simply nodded, and then – as the pause grew longer – raised her eyebrows in gentle enquiry.

  ‘Forgive me, but you have not yet told me why you are here.’

  Ree couldn’t decide if Liliane was hiding something or if she herself had been unforgivably rude. She glanced at Penn, who cleared his throat.

  ‘We’re trying to find out why your husband died.’

  ‘Is that usual?’ Liliane asked. ‘For the Helm, and not the Watch, to investigate a death in the fourth ring?’

  ‘No. But as you said, these are troubled times.’

  ‘I see.’ The words were spoken with so little emotion that Ree couldn’t work out what they meant. Perhaps Liliane had known of her husband’s treachery. Perhaps she hadn’t known, but now feared what might come to light. Perhaps she was simply a grieving widow whose mind was somewhere else entirely. Whatever the truth, it seemed clear they would gain little information from her.

  ‘We’ll need to search your husband’s office,’ Penn said. Again, Liliane showed no reaction.

  ‘I will ring for someone to show you up.’

  Yet when a footman arrived at the main door to the library and gestured them to follow him, Liliane held Ree back.

  ‘You are the girl my son wanted to marry,’ she said softly. Startled, Ree only nodded. Liliane touched her arm. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For standing up for him.’ She backed away a step, inclining her head in farewell. ‘I hope you find what you are looking for.’

  Then she was gone, disappearing through the other door, and Ree hurried to catch up with the footman.

  In Derrick Tarran’s office, she and Penn set to searching. Anything that might tell us who was paying him, Captain Caraway had said. Or anything that might lead us to the other conspirators. Yet the contents of Tarran’s desk were innocuous enough. If there was a clue here, it was too opaque for her to find.

  ‘Ree?’ She glanced over her shoulder to find Lewis in the doorway. Immediately she left what she was doing and went to meet him. Purple shadows lurked beneath his eyes, but he managed a smile. ‘What are you doing here?’

  She hesitated, before giving him the same half-truth that Penn had given Liliane. ‘Trying to find out why your father died.’

  He said nothing. His fingers crept up to the bridge of his nose and squeezed. Ree put a hand on his arm.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Not really.’ His gaze settled on her hand, then slowly climbed to her face as though he’d momentarily forgotten who she was. ‘He didn’t understand me, but he was still my father.’

  Ree nodded. No doubt she’d feel something similar if her father died.

  ‘It seems quite obvious it was murder,’ Lewis said in the same flat voice. ‘But from what
my mother has said, or what she hasn’t said, I think she suspects it was justified.’ He grimaced. ‘My father was … not an easy man to live with.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  ‘I think …’ He looked away from her, shoulders slumping in a sigh. ‘I think the Helm wouldn’t investigate a death, however wealthy the dead man, unless he’d been involved in something very serious.’

  ‘We’re not suggesting anything at this –’ Ree began, but he cut her off.

  ‘I think he got himself into something he couldn’t get back out of.’

  Her heart rate increased. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My father was involved in every dodgy enterprise you can think of. Firearms, opiates, human trafficking. He thought nothing of running other investors into the ground – your father, many more. He took the money he inherited from the distillery and multiplied it twenty times over, and he did it by seeking out all the dirtiest deals he could.’ Lewis shrugged. ‘He always told me, you have to take the risk to gain the prize. But it wouldn’t surprise me if the risk caught up with him.’

  Ree said nothing. Part of her was reeling at the extent of both Derrick Tarran’s criminality and his son’s knowledge of it. The rest of her was desperately disappointed that Lewis hadn’t been able to tell her anything she didn’t know already.

  ‘The new man probably had something to do with it,’ Lewis added.

  ‘What man?’

  ‘Father was involved in something different, recently. Not with any of his usual people; a man with an accent, wearing a mask. I heard them talking in here, late one night.’

  ‘What accent? What did he say? Did you see his face?’

  ‘No. Only the mask, as he walked down the hall. He greeted my father, and his voice was … I don’t know. Not a city accent. But then they closed the door, and I couldn’t hear through it.’ He shot her a sidelong glance. ‘Though I tried. I’ve never thought it wise to remain ignorant of my father’s dealings.’

  ‘Then can you tell me anything at all?’ Ree asked urgently. ‘Anything that would help us find him?’

  Lewis frowned; then his expression cleared. ‘He gave my father a calling-card. Hold on.’

  He went to the writing cabinet on top of the desk, pulled out a small drawer that appeared to be full of rectangular cards, and rifled through it with his fingertips. Finally, with a triumphant exclamation, he held one aloft.

  ‘Father left it on the hall table while he was showing the man out. I remembered it because it didn’t even have a name. Only an address.’

  Ree took the card. It read simply, 12a Crucible La. Obsidian.

  ‘You do know the Watch will be investigating your father’s business affairs?’ she said softly. ‘Anything that’s illegal profit will be seized.’

  ‘I know.’ Lewis’s smile was more genuine this time. ‘And in a way I’m glad. It would have been a heavy weight to carry.’

  ‘You think they’ll leave you the distillery?’

  ‘I hope so. That would be an honest legacy. But if not …’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe I’m not too old to become a teacher after all.’

  Briefly, Ree had a vision of what her life would have been like as Lewis’s wife. Derrick Tarran had probably been more pleased than any of them had realised, to be given the chance to have a Helmsman as a daughter-in-law. He’d probably hoped that he could bully or blackmail her into giving him inside information or preferential treatment, using her family as leverage. He’d always been a powerful man, able to buy his way out of trouble and arrange everything in the city to his own advantage, yet he’d never been able to touch Darkhaven. She would have been his way in.

  Would she have given in to his threats? Impossible to say. But she shivered, all the same, at how close she’d come to being tested. And as if in echo of her fears, Penn straightened up from the cabinet he’d been searching with a heavy piece of paper in his hand.

  ‘I thought you two weren’t getting married after all.’

  Ree snatched the paper from him. Sure enough, it was a marriage contract. Not just any marriage contract, but a full, traditional marriage contract in which the fathers of the two parties assumed sole responsibility for making the agreement on their children’s behalf. It had been a century since such contracts had been widely used and accepted. The only way you’d use a contract like this was if you belonged to a really rich old family whose children had been brought up expecting to be bartered for profit – or, Ree thought miserably, if you were in a lot of debt and desperate.

  Hoping it was just a draft, she examined it carefully, but the document bore all the official seals, as well as the signatures of both Derrick Tarran and her own father. And it was dated the very same day that she and Lewis had met for the first time.

  ‘They must have had it witnessed and sealed even as we were getting to know each other,’ she muttered. ‘Elements! What do we do now?’

  ‘Can’t you just get it cancelled?’ Penn asked.

  ‘It’s not that easy. Once two merchants have agreed a contract and had it legally signed and sealed, neither can go back on it without being blacklisted by the contract clerks for six months. Which is bad for business.’ Ree rolled her eyes at Penn’s surprised expression. ‘I am my father’s daughter, you know. The point is, my father can’t break the contract without effectively ruining himself.’

  ‘And I can’t either,’ Lewis agreed. ‘I am my father’s heir, so in most cases I’d have the ability to break a contract he signed. But this one names me as a subject.’ A wry smile. ‘That is, Ree and I are essentially the goods in this contract. And if you’re the subject of a contract, you can’t act for another party in it.’

  ‘It all sounds very complicated,’ Penn said uncertainly. ‘So does that mean –’

  ‘It means we’ll have to sort it out later.’ Ree took the contract and shoved it in her pocket. She couldn’t think about all that now. ‘Thank you, Lewis. I really appreciate your help.’

  Out on the street, Penn frowned at her. ‘Ree –’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Penn.’ She walked off in the direction of the Gate of Steel. ‘Let’s get this address to Captain Caraway.’

  Zander had lost his job, of course – almost directly after his encounter with the two merchants’ guards in the duelling room. The weaponmaster in charge of bladework had been very apologetic, to the extent of tripping over his words in his haste to explain the decision. Nothing to do with your work, Zander, you’re very – and we’d certainly have you back in an instant after all this is over, if – I mean, it’s really not my choice, but the students are beginning to – and with all the new faces here in the fifth ring for battle training, incidents like the one today are only going to become more … I’m sure you understand.

  He did understand. But that didn’t make it any easier.

  All the same, things could have been worse. He wasn’t sure if Ree had spoken to Captain Caraway – if she had, she wouldn’t admit it – or if it was something the captain had thought up on his own, but either way, his lack of a job hadn’t led to him being thrown out of the fourth ring. Instead, he’d been given a place in one of the Helm’s safe houses.

  You can stay here as long as you like, Caraway had said. We have other people of Kardise descent in similar situations. And we’re working with the Watch to keep an eye out for trouble across the city. I don’t know if it will be enough, but we’re doing our best.

  Zander was grateful, both on his own behalf and on the others’, yet staying in the safe house only hammered home to him how much of a stranger he was in Arkannen these days. And too often he found himself staring at the same four walls, unable to face leaving the house and potentially receiving threats and abuse. His friends visited him, of course, when they had time – but understandably, that wasn’t often. So when the knock came at the door, he almost leapt to answer it.

  ‘Hello, Zander.’ It was Captain Caraway. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Of course.’ Zander stoo
d back to admit him. ‘How is it, down in the city?’

  ‘Like a kettle on the verge of boiling.’ Caraway looked even more tired than the last time Zander had seen him. ‘Someone set fire to a Kardise-owned shop last night. Nearly sent a whole street up in flames. We had to bring out both water cannons and make a bucket chain to the canal.’

  ‘Did you catch whoever did it?’

  ‘No.’ Caraway dropped into a nearby chair, rubbing his face with both hands. He blinked wearily at Zander. ‘Luckily no-one was hurt. Their neighbours raised the alarm and helped get them out. And people came from all over to help put out the fire. So I haven’t completely lost my faith in the citizens of Arkannen.’ He shook his head. ‘But there were children living above that shop, Zander. And someone was prepared to let them burn.’

  ‘That’s more than hatred born of fear,’ Zander said. ‘That’s just simple hatred.’

  ‘I still believe what I said before,’ Caraway replied. ‘Most Mirrorvalese don’t hate the Kardise. But a situation like this … it brings them all out into the light. The ones who do hate anyone different from them, who do believe Mirrorvale should have stayed as it was a hundred years ago, before peace fell and the borders opened. War legitimises that. It provides an excuse.’ He sighed. ‘You warned me this would happen, Zander. And I listened, I really did. But I suppose … I suppose I didn’t want to believe it of my own city. I wanted to believe that after this long, we must have changed for the better.’

  ‘It’s not just Arkannen,’ Zander said. ‘The same thing in reverse will be happening in Kardissak too. And all over both Mirrorvale and Sol Kardis. It’s human nature. When we feel threatened, we become more primitive. You taught me that yourself.’

  ‘Yes. But I suppose I thought Arkannen was somehow better than other cities. That we had been open to the world for long enough that we’d left prejudice behind.’ His smile was sad. ‘Which means I’m just as bad as everyone else, really. Harbouring a secret belief that my own country and people are superior.’

  Zander wondered whether to mention the fact that the fourth ring of Arkannen had an Immigrants’ Quarter, and that it consisted of small, damp apartments full of Kardise and Parovian workers who spoke their own language and kept to themselves. He wondered whether to mention the fact that even before the war, he’d occasionally been called mudskin and Kardise trash by belligerent late-night drinkers on the streets of the first ring. He wondered whether to point out that there were many jobs closed to anyone who hadn’t been born in Mirrorvale, the Helm being one of them; that it took years longer for foreigners to become accepted as full citizens of Arkannen and given access to the higher rings than it did for immigrant Mirrorvalese; that when the priestesses had proposed adding shrines to the sixth ring for the Kardise, Parovian and Ingalese gods and goddesses, only a handful of decades ago, many of the city’s residents had fought a prolonged and furious battle to keep them out. The truth was, mistrust existed on both sides that even centuries of movement across the border couldn’t entirely dispel. Yet it seemed unnecessarily cruel to say it. The tolerant, welcoming Arkannen that lived in Caraway’s head did exist, after all. It just wasn’t the whole picture.