by A A Woods
“Aye,” he said, dull and emotionless.
“And you were relieved of your duties?”
“Aye.”
Carlette watched him for a moment as he hiccupped. “Is it true you can transfer it?”
Eylon turned to face her, his whole body moving as if underwater.
“You’ve got a lot of questions, don’tche?”
Carlette held his gaze. “Is it true?”
“Wouldn’t know, would I? I ‘ent allowed to try. All those rules about bein’ pure and all. Still a member of the Order, y’see?” Eylon jabbed a finger at his tattoo.
“But you don’t wear a hood anymore,” Carlette pointed out.
“They took it when they found out. All the better for me. At leas’ the mark I can hide.”
Carlette frowned as she thought of Aheya.
“So it’s a lie then? A rumor?”
The man lifted an eyebrow as he swayed towards her.
“Well, since you’re such a fine gal, I’ll give it to you for a bottle o’ somethin’. Don’t much care what.”
Carlette leaned away, trying to hide her disgust. “How, exactly?”
The man’s smile would have been lecherous if it wasn’t so pathetic. “Only one way, s’far as I know. I ‘ent exactly a girl’s dream, but I figure it’s better than being assigned one of those rich sods in the Convent. At least a girl gets to choose me, for what it’s worth.”
Carlette swallowed bile as she thought of being any closer to this stinking excuse for a man than she already was. But she schooled her expression into something as close to neutral as she could make it.
“I’ll pass.”
Eylon shrugged.
“Not desperate enough. Had a girl come to me last week, brought a whole case o’ wine. Stole it off the ship she was assigned to, poor dear. She weren’t happy about it neither, but the next day she was singin’ my praises.”
“What happened to her?”
Eylon shrugged, weaving precariously close to the edge of the dock.
“Dead. Caught tryin’ to escape. Didn’t even take the time to look at her eyes, ‘else they would’ve known she wasn’ no good to them anymore.”
Carlette thought of the bodies on the wall and her blood ran cold. She’d heard stories, of course. The sea-faring hoods had it worst of all, surrounded by sailors, protected only enough to ensure their survival. She could imagine what the girl had been escaping well enough, and it made her shudder.
But to choose this with only the vaguest hope of being set free?
Who would accept such a risk?
Carlette could think of one.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, rising to her feet, brushing the dirt off her cape. “This has been most… illuminating.”
“Don’t tell, will ya?” Eylon said, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “My life ain’t much, but it’s worth somethin’ ta me. And I can’ imagine the Magistrate up there bein’ too happy if he found out what I can do.”
“I think the Magistrate would be the least of your worries,” said Carlette, thinking of the Nuri witch-hunters, trained for the sole purpose of killing those with magic. Rumor had it that the Emperor of Nurkaij had offered a person’s weight in gold if they could cure ‘the Ferrenese curse’. She didn’t even want to think about how Nurkaij would react if they found out that the cure they sought was right here, too drunk to walk straight.
Carlette jerked her cowl back up, hiding her worry.
“I won’t tell a soul.”
And, knowing exactly what would happen if she told Aheya, Carlette fully intended to keep that promise.
Chapter Seven: Homesick
Six orphans were scrubbing the wooden floor of the orphanage’s dining room, oblivious to the figure weaving through the rafters above them. Carlette waited for the gasp, the telltale thud of a dropped hand brush, but it never came. No one looked up.
Strange, she thought, settling herself in a shadowed nook and peering owlishly from the darkness.
In her day, not only would she and Quaina be glowering up at the roof, waiting for a water bomb or a dropped bucket of mud; they’d likely be up there joining the fun. But she could hardly blame them. With Mya’s voice booming in from outside, they were probably just nervous to be caught in the crossfire. Slipping in through the metal vent in the building’s façade, Carlette had almost given away her position with a laugh as the heavy matron shouted at a red-faced boy and his two friends, a stolen bag of oat cakes spilled at their feet. Mya’s voice continued to gain momentum, as unstoppable as a steam engine, so Carlette settled in to watch and marvel at how much had changed.
The building felt smaller, somehow. Cramped. Where the rafters had once seemed as wide as the Rae du Ora, now they were more like the Shadow Peak’s ribs, narrow and treacherous. Perhaps Carlette had grown, but it was more than that. Her memories were physical. Bloated. And this place filled them with them.
As a distraction, Carlette tried to examine the faces of the orphans below her. But they smudged and blended. Only one stood out, a girl who had followed Quaina on more than one of their illicit adventures. Mileen, an orphan several years younger than Carlette, scrubbed the mantle of the fireplace with vicious, jerky movements, her eyes dark and angry. Like so many of them, Mileen had been born in a local brothel to a drug-addicted woman who died soon after giving birth. Unlike the other orphans, however, Mileen wore the damning evidence of heritage on her face. Her perpetually dark Nuri skin proclaimed to the world that her mother had slept with either a slave or a spy.
Carlette wasn’t sure which one was worse.
A huge glop of soap suds hit the back of Mileen’s head, spritzing the mantle. She jerked around, eyes raking the room for a culprit.
One boy grinned lazily, wringing his rag into the bucket at his feet.
“Dirty water suits you, bronzie,” he drawled, flicking the soapy rag like a whip. “It matches your skin.”
Mileen’s face colored, turning a deep incongruous red that made her tan cheeks glow. Carlette leaned forward as the girl’s fists clenched. Even from the rafters, Carlette could smell the girl’s wrath, the resentment that had brewed into a toxic, hazy mire. Carlette wanted to leap in, slap the boy for his insolence, comfort the girl who had once been her friend.
But she could only grip the Goddeau wood and watch, breathless, as Mileen marched up to him.
“If you have something to say, say it,” Mileen spat.
“You know, someone really should tell the prince we’ve got another traitor in the city. Maybe the Pirate Queen can have some company on the gallows.”
“I’m no traitor,” Mileen growled.
“Your father was a Nuri rat.”
“And your mother was a whore. My blood is no dirtier than yours.”
The boy’s smirk twisted into a snarl. “Tempted to spread your legs for coin, Mileen? Maybe you’ll get a good price. Every soldier wants to fuck their enemy.”
“Well if they want to fuck a little girl, I know where to send them,” Mileen responded, shoving him back.
Carlette watched the exchange, teeth clenched. It was one thing for the world to torture her. Perhaps it was even a fair exchange: extraordinary abilities and obsidian-sharp senses in exchange for misery, derision, enslavement. She was a weapon. There was reason for it.
But Mileen?
She’d simply drawn up short in the cosmic gamble of childbirth. And the fact that such a stroke of bad luck had left her brown eyes hard and her brown fists quick made Carlette want to rip apart the wood under her fingernails.
The boy was swelling, his chest expanding like an airship balloon. “One of these days, I’m going to teach you a lesson.”
“I’ve always wanted to learn to kiss my own ass.”
The boy growled.
His arm swung back.
Every face in the orphanage turned, wide-eyed and expectant.
“What’s this?” boomed a familiar voice.
Carlette marveled at how the two si
sters could say the same words but have completely different effects. Where Grand Mera’s whip-crack tone demanded silence, Mya’s galvanized activity. Every orphan in the room returned furiously to their scrubbing, heads ducked, faces innocent. Mya stalked inside, eyes immediately finding the trouble.
“What’s going on, you two?”
“Mileen was threatening me,” said the boy, his pale Delarese skin still flushed.
Mileen only glared, daring Mya to take the boy’s bait.
The matron grabbed a nearby girl by the scruff of her threadbare tunic.
“What did you see?” she said, voice a rumbling threat. Carlette bit back a chuckle, watching the terrified little redhead shake under those smoldering, dangerous eyes. Poor thing. It was a terrible choice, between snitching and lying to Mya. Carlette had faced it on more than one occasion, and, no matter what she chose, she always came away with bruises.
“H-he instigated, ma’am,” the girl stammered. “C-called her a bronzie. Threw soap.”
Mya released her with a disgusted look. The tiny redhead scurried away like an insect in the light.
“Chamber pot duty for three days,” Mya said, pointing a sausage-thick finger at the boy. “And I’ll speak to you later,” she said, swiveling on Mileen, whose face was stony and defiant. Carlette recognized the set of Mileen’s shoulders. She saw it in the mirror every day. It was a trembling that reminded her of a kettle about to boil over, a barely contained inferno. This girl would see blood before the season turned.
Carlette could only hope there was enough strength to support that rage.
Mya’s eyes flickered around the room, taking in the hunched shoulders and furtive grins of her orphans. No one wanted to attract her attention, not in this state. Satisfied, Mya whacked the bully on the head and pointed at the floor.
“Back to work. I want this place shining by Gaulday. Prince Dirlen would be ashamed to see it in such a state.”
“It’s not like he’s gonna come here,” the boy grumbled, rubbing his head.
Mya grabbed his ear, yanking him close.
“There is a member of the royal family in this city for the first time in almost twenty years. I will not have my orphanage looking like a pigsty. Now back to work.”
Shoving the boy away, she threw one last stern look at Mileen and swept towards her office.
Carlette followed.
Leaping silently through a narrow opening between the roof of the wide dining room and Mya’s tiny bedchamber, Carlette slipped into the relative darkness and waited for Mya to close her door. There was a click, a sigh.
“Get down from there before you start giving the children ideas.”
Carlette dropped with a quiet thump, her padded boots soft against the polished wood.
“How did you know?” she asked with a sheepish grin.
“You think I’m not used to your tricks? It’s been eight years, Carlette. Nowhere near long enough for me to stop looking up every time I enter a room.”
Carlette straightened, chuckling. “They ought to send you into the forest. You’d have the tribes mending the fences by lunchtime.”
Mya was unamused as she settled in behind her weathered wooden desk.
“Sit,” she said, gesturing to a narrow chair.
Carlette’s lips twitched at the rush of nostalgia. How many times had she sat in that seat, squirming against the pain in her rear, red-faced with embarrassment after whatever punishment Mya had assigned? At the time, this chair, this room had been the worst place in the world. But Carlette had learned that there were far worse things than a spanking and going to bed without dinner.
Mya faced her prodigal orphan with a tight smile.
“How are you?” Carlette asked, trying not to fidget under the stare that somehow managed to be both piercing and warm. It was this expression that made the resemblance between Mya and Grand Mera obvious.
“Getting by. The Magistrate has been busy planning this year’s Gaulday celebration, so I’m afraid he’s let a few things… slide.”
“Are you getting enough provisions?”
“We’ll make it through winter.” Mya sighed. “Although with the blockade, it’s going to be a hard one.”
“Blockade?”
Mya offered a wan smile. “News on the street is that a group of bounty hunters captured the Pirate Queen. They brought her in this morning when it was still dark out, but it’s all over town. Her fleet is anchored outside the bay and their damn birds are taking down anything that moves. Three freighters were destroyed this morning.”
“By all the ancestors,” Carlette breathed.
“I haven’t let the children out all day. Called it a cleaning day, but I’m afraid. They do seem to find trouble.” Mya eyed Carlette. “I’m assuming you haven’t lost that particular penchant for mayhem.”
“I’m here on official business, I swear. Just wanted to stop in and… check on things.”
“Of course.”
Carlette’s heart ached. “I’ll be across the sea soon. You won’t need to worry about my surprise visits anymore.”
Mya’s mouth pressed tight enough to sap the color from her lips. She rubbed her face with thick fingers, expression melting into one of remorse.
“I’m sorry, dear. I’m so sorry. But you know why I worry. It’s not just about you, these children… without me, who would care for them? There are kind souls in this city, but not enough. Never enough.”
“I haven’t told anyone,” Carlette said, hating the endless secrets. She remembered a time when her love for Mya was pure. Back then, Mya’s booming voice had been stronger, affectionate power rolling off her in ferocious waves. Now, the older woman seemed shrunken by fear. Crushed by the burden of a choice made eight years ago, a desperate flight through the darkness. Carlette could smell the unease saturating the room like a rotting animal. Just like Grand Mera, Mya lived waiting for the dam to break, for the juggling act to end.
“I know,” Mya sighed at last. “I trust you.”
“After this week, it won’t matter. Grand Mera is going to present me to the Woodsman herself. I’ll be on the first ship to Delasir.”
“If those pirates are still out there, it won’t be a very long trip.”
“The Magistrate will deal with them.”
“And then what? You go to war? You die on a battlefield hundreds of miles from home?”
Carlette’s gut clenched. “I have no home.”
Mya slammed a hand down on her desk.
“Don’t you dare say that,” she stormed, a flicker of her old self coloring her face. “I have fed you, clothed you, punished you for wrongs and praised you for rights. And I taught you to be more grateful than that.”
Carlette’s smile was a sad, weak thing. “How is it a home if you can never go back?”
“Here you are, back.”
They both lapsed into silence.
Carlette forced herself to roll her shoulders, clenching gloved hands.
“I look forward to fighting in the Narrows. I’ll be among my own kind, fighting with the skills Grand Mera has given me.” Carlette’s eyes flashed up to Mya’s face. “And no one will care where I come from, so long as I fight well.”
Mya chuckled once. “You always did.” Her smile faltered. “Your mother did too, before she died. She was strong. Stronger than I’ve ever seen before. She would have lived, if I had called a doctor…”
“Neither of us would have lived if you had done that,” Carlette said.
“No, I suppose not.” Mya’s eyes were lost in memory, drifting towards the wall as if drawn to some spot that, years ago, had held more than empty air.
“I should go,” Carlette said, breaking the stillness. “I was supposed to report to the Magistrate as soon as I arrived. He’ll be expecting me soon.”
Mya pursed her lips at the rule-breaking, but Carlette could see her gratitude. Despite the danger, she was secretly glad for Carlette’s visit.
“One thing…” Carlette swal
lowed, hating to admit weakness. “Take care of Mileen. She has a good heart.”
Mya nodded brusquely. “An undervalued thing these days. The poor dear has a hard life ahead of her, but she’s learning. With any luck, she’ll find her place in this world. Or make her own.” Mya’s cheek twitched, but whether in a frown or a smile it was impossible to tell. “Reminds me of Quaina sometimes.”
Ignoring the mention of her friend, Carlette rose to her feet. “I’ll go out the back. You shouldn’t be seen with me.”
Carlette waited for Mya to deny it, to offer the words what would smooth her pleated temper. She wanted so badly for this woman, as close to a mother as she had ever known, to say that perfect thing to make the events of the day melt, the harsh colors of anger blur into softer hues of comfort and belonging.
But Mya said nothing, her lips a familiar hard line that Carlette had seen so often on the other side of the mountains, on a different face.
There was nothing more to say.
Carlette didn’t belong here. Not anymore.
“I’ll try to visit again before I go.”
“We’ll be watching the ceremony,” Mya said. “The orphanage has been specially invited by the Magistrate. We’ll be right in front.”
But not allowed to speak to her.
Carlette nodded.
“I’ll see you soon then,” she said, and leapt back into the rafters.
Carlette fled, her feet carrying her along the familiar escape even as her heart yanked backwards, pleading a return to comfort. She tried to remind herself that she didn’t need comfort. She was a soldier, ready for war. A weapon. She’d grown beyond such things.
If only, Carlette thought, dropping into a side-alley and disappearing into the crowd of Ave Maisan.
With a heavy heart, Carlette allowed the flow of people to guide her back up the hill, towards the Magistrate and her mission and the life she couldn’t escape.
Chapter Eight: Princes and Queens
Carlette had always thought the Magistrate’s house looked like a perched eagle about to swoop down and feed. It swept along the entire length of the cliff’s edge, flush with the rocky drop, its pillar-supported arms stretched over the city like a mother hen’s wings. Multiple guards stalked the wall at all times, scanning the sky for pirates or Nuri airships, tiny moving figures in a castle full of secret affairs.
