“I believe we’ve heard enough for today,” Trader Yiltak said. Though her voice was iron, a twitch of her lower eyelid betrayed the crack in her confidence. “Council is adjourned. We’ll reconvene mid-morning tomorrow.”
Murmuring in scandalized whispers, the traders stood from their seats. In small clots of four and five, they filed for the door. None, not even the Srukolks, stopped to help me up from the floor. I clambered to my feet on my own.
Finally, only Trader Yiltak and I remained in the chamber.
“We have much to talk about,” she said.
“Moanet gave me—”
“Not here. Never here. You may come to the rear of our House this evening.”
She gathered her satchel and turned for the door, dismissing me. And why not? I was gutterborn. I’d do her bidding, come to her on her terms. Unfortunately for her, my days of unthinking obedience were over. I had the advantage here. The Yiltak Effigy might be unspoken knowledge among traders, but admitting to its existence would butcher House Yiltak’s status.
“Actually,” I said, “I’d prefer we met in my home. The last time I visited House Yiltak, I regretted that choice.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Insolent, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. But I suspect I’ll see you tonight. It won’t be difficult to find us. Just smell around for eggs.”
Chapter Four
TYRAK’S GRIEF PIERCED me as surely as the dagger imprisoning him might. I sat upon a grassy hill, cradling the blade. After leaving the council chamber, I’d hurried through the gutter district and found this spot, a small opening in the grove of evergreens wedged between the formal boundary of the city and the scattered shanties and itinerant tents beyond. Once nestled into the deep grass, I’d dropped my walls and explained that I wasn’t Zyri, not like he imagined.
“She loved you until the end. She still loves you,” I whispered.
I feel her ghost inside you. I can’t let her go. How did she bear it, all these years?
“Time is different for the souls on Ioene. It hasn’t felt long. I suspect she thought she’d find you there eventually.”
I was looking for her, too. And then something pulled me down and forced me inside the metal. I was terrified. It hurt so much to be bound against my will, as if each of my bones was broken to force me to fit the blade’s shape.
“I’m sorry.”
But without a real connection to another soul, I shut down. I’ve been living behind a wall. Time hasn’t felt real. It seems like our last day together was yesterday, but at the same time, I know I’ve been imprisoned for a dozen, maybe a hundred, lifetimes.
Tyrak’s yearning for his lost Zyri filled me, a bottomless need, fathomless.
“Tell me how to help you,” I said. I remembered the little girl who’d been trapped inside Mieshk’s dagger. I’d helped her choose nonexistence over the continued agony of imprisonment—sometimes the guilt of that choice ate at me. Could I have suggested a better way?
I ought to give Tyrak the option, but I was selfish. He wasn’t mine. He’d never been mine. But the long embraces . . . his touch setting my whole body afire . . . Memories flooded my mind. I couldn’t lose him so soon. Not after we were finally reunited.
No. I shook my head. It wasn’t me he’d loved. I’d never slipped away to swim with him in a hidden lagoon. I’d never felt his hands in my hair, the warmth of his lips and heat of his breath on my face. That was Zyri. She’d died a thousand years ago.
I tried to form bonds with the men and women who owned me. When they fought, I guided their hands. But the blood, Zyri. Over and over. I killed, and I didn’t really know for whom.
Wind rustled the boughs of the trees, bent the grass in undulating waves. My throat ached. Many of Zyri’s memories had faded, but her feelings for Tyrak had blazed so bright that even with the veil of distance, I couldn’t help loving him, too. I traced the curve of the blade with a finger.
“I’m not Zyri, Tyrak. If we’d known I’d find you here . . . she would never have broken off our joining.”
I know. I just . . . I feel like I’m losing her all over again.
“I’m going back to Ioene as soon as I can gather support. I’ll take you. We can find her. I don’t know if you two will be able to . . . Peldin never told me whether imprisoned souls could communicate with the others.”
You could join with her again.
Just the thought made my heart leap. Zyri’s memories combined with mine: I could be her, be with Tyrak. But it wasn’t fair to Zyri. Combined with me, she wasn’t really living. She’d been as much a prisoner in my mind as Tyrak was in the nightforged dagger.
And as for me . . . Paono had been right. I’d begun to lose myself.
“I can’t. It’s not the right way.”
Then what good will it do to return? I’m trapped in this blade, forced to live through its possessor. I’ll never be with her again.
Hearing the anguish in his voice, I could scarcely breathe. I thought of Paono. Sometimes, he and Tyrak were one in my mind. But Paono and I would never be like Zyri and Tyrak. He’d chosen Katrikki. And as for Raav, I hoped I still had a chance with him. But Zyri and Tyrak had been friends for years before their first kiss. Raav and I didn’t have that foundation. Maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe we could still build something as strong as they’d had. I just didn’t know.
“Don’t give up yet,” I said. “The souls of the Vanished are bound to Ioene. Maybe you’ll be able to sense her once we’ve returned.”
I was a channeler. Like you, but not nearly as talented. I know the limitations of the aether and binding. I might feel her, through you. But I’ll never connect to her again. Not like we were.
I pulled the dagger to my chest, laying the blade against my breastbone. Tyrak. He’d never be mine, but I loved him all the same, a pale ghost of Zyri’s feelings.
It hurts.
“I know,” I said. “I’ll find a way. You’ll be with her again.”
But as I said the words, I swallowed. Even if I could reunite Tyrak with Zyri’s spirit, would I? Sitting upon the hill as the sun sank toward the horizon, I doubted myself. I had him to myself, now. Could I let that go? I shivered, hating my greed.
Lilik, he said, almost as if trying out my name. How soon? I want to see Ioene.
Running a thumb over the dagger’s pommel, I considered.
“I don’t know, Tyrak. Soon, I hope. But there are so many obstacles.” The Waikert. The Council. The uncertainty of the storm season. Mieshk.
I watched a line of wind-torn clouds turn pink in the light of the setting sun. In my hand, Tyrak hummed with muted pleasure.
“Can you see the sky?” I asked.
It’s—no. Not on my own. Through the years, I’ve had a sense of my surroundings because my wielders’ impressions are shared with me. But with you, it’s like I see through your eyes, feel through your heart.
I swallowed. Tyrak depended on me to experience the world. But compared to the times he’d lived in, my life was so . . . common. Could I manage to make it seem more vibrant by seeing more fully, listening more carefully? Or would my life always seem boring to someone who’d grown up in Ashkalan.
Remembering the Vanished city, I glanced toward the streets of Istanik. Silhouetted against the purple sky, the spires atop the trader households were already aglow with multi-colored flame. I jerked upright, realizing I’d lost track of time. Da and Jaret would want us to share a family dinner, and after that, I needed to prepare for Trader Yiltak’s visit.
“We have to go,” I said.
Lilik?
“Yes?”
What happened in Council Hall, when the man hit you . . .
Shame flooded my cheeks. I should have seen it coming.
No! His voice was so loud I nearly winced. Never blame yourself for someone’s cruelty. Never.
I held my silence, waiting.
It won’t happen again, he said. I’ll make sure of it.
“How?”
Hearing those words, I wanted nothing more than to stay on that hill for hours. But I had a family that loved me. I couldn’t abandon them.
“Just let me go home and check in. I don’t want them to worry.”
A full moon silvered the fountain square, turning the spray of falling water to a crystal shower and glinting off wet cobblestones. Falling down three tiers of granite, the fountain hissed and burbled, splashing into the dark pool beneath.
As I strode into the square, I smiled in gratitude for my family. Before I’d managed to get out my whole, rehearsed explanation about needing time alone, Da had offered to take Jaret to the evening market. He’d always known how to read me.
Though, now that I thought about it, maybe the offer wasn’t just motivated by his understanding nature. Da’s cooking really wasn’t very good. He’d prepared a stew of sorts, but it didn’t smell all that appetizing.
The thought brought a smirk to my face. Tomorrow, I would have to fix them something nice.
I walked to the fountain. When Paono and I were young, we used to throw stones into it. We’d sit on the edge of the pool and talk, our voices held close by the mist in the air. I missed him so much. A year ago, I could never have imagined us apart.
Around the fountain square, buildings shouldered close, shutters pulled over windows, doors barred and locked. Unlike the courthouse square, home to Trader Council Hall and the courthouse, the fountain square belonged to the gutterborn. We worked together to scrub the fountain clean, to sweep the cobbles. It was our pride, the heart of our slum. No matter what rags we had to wear, what scraps we had to eat, we could always feel proud of our fountain. Of course, Paono and I had probably caused plenty of consternation among the older commoners, especially those who had to dig out the rocks we threw into the plumbing.
Because the fountain square was far from the trader district and market quarter, patrols by the city guard were rare. But fountain square was sacred; even the most unsavory gutterborn would think twice before bothering me here, even at night. I wasn’t a fool, however. Before I let my guard down, I inspected the shadowy recesses and darkened alley mouths. My time on Ioene had made me cautious.
Good, Tyrak said. You need to be careful. All the time.
At my side, the dagger was a comforting weight. I slipped it from my satchel, running my thumb over the filigrees on the guard and pommel. Not wanting my bag to get soaked, I set it next to the low wall surrounding the fountain and covered it with my vest of oiled leather.
Barefoot would be best, Tyrak offered. Easier to feel the ground and adjust.
Nodding, I slipped off my battered sandals. The stones were cold, damp with the spray from the fountain. Minuscule pieces of grit bit into the soles of my feet, ever so slightly uncomfortable, but adding traction on the slick cobbles.
Are you ready? Tyrak asked as I stepped away from the fountain.
I am, I thought, attempting to project my thoughts as Peldin had told me I could.
Lilik! I heard you! Well done.
I nodded, a little embarrassed at the praise. I couldn’t keep talking to the empty air. Already, the Trader Council had all but declared me a fraud. The last thing I needed was an accusation of madness.
All right, he said. First you should feel how the dagger sits in each hand—you won’t know when you might need to fight with your left. But after, take the weapon in your right hand. We’ll start there. It’s important to think about your grip. This blade has cutting edges on both sides, but the slight curve means you’ll want to slash with the longer edge.
The blade cut the air, nightforged steel gleaming in the moonlight, as I passed it from hand to hand. Ending with my right hand wrapping the hilt, I felt the ridges of gold threadwork beneath my palm. The roughness gave security to my grip, and I spun the weapon in my hand a few times before settling the guard into the cradle provided by the webbing of my thumb.
As I felt his presence snug within my hand, one of Zyri’s memories forced its way into my mind. She sat with Tyrak upon a bench near a natural spring. Autumn had come, and the nights were longer, but day flowers still bloomed, drenching the air in their heavy perfume. She leaned into him, head resting on his shoulder. When he moved, the muscles shifted beneath her cheek, reminding her of his strength.
Turning to her, he cupped her face in his hand, his skin warm, roughened by hard work. His thumb caressed her lips, parting them slightly.
“Zyri,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Lilik?
I shook free from the recollection. “Yes?” I said aloud, forgetting my efforts to direct my thoughts to him.
Just now . . . were you doing anything? I felt Zyri.
Shame flooded my veins. What should I say? I’d been reliving one of their intimate moments. It wasn’t fair to him or her, yet I couldn’t help remembering. I wasn’t sure I could make myself stop. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
It’s—I’m sorry Tyrak. It was a memory. They come, sometimes.
She was really within you, he said as if finally believing it. Do you think there’s a chance she’s still . . .
I don’t think so. She wanted to be free, and I released her. But Zyri changed me. I saw so much through her eyes, I sometimes feel as if I became more like her.
Tyrak was silent for a moment. Beneath my hand, I sensed a sort of melancholy. A longing that echoed my own.
My other bonds weren’t like this, he said. I mean—aside from our ability to communicate, the connection was thin. I could feel my wielder’s intent, and often I could guide their hand. But I never knew the person. It’s different with you. I’ve heard about a connection like this, but only in whispers. Rumors. They called it a shadowbond.
I nodded, feeling him close.
When he spoke again, his voice sounded pained. I think we should go on with the lesson.
You’re right. We should. I gripped the hilt tighter, raised it before me.
That’s good. You’re on guard. But keep your elbow and knees bent, ready to move. You are small and quick—that’s your advantage.
Swallowing, I eased into a high crouch, right foot forward. Shuffling back and forth, I tested my ability to move in balance with my weapon arm ready to strike.
Like this?
Yes, your movements are graceful while disguising the ability to pounce. That’s good. Now, slice. Remember, without an enemy to absorb the blow, your muscles will need to stop your swing. Don’t put all your power behind it or you’ll strain something. This is about learning to move and building a true connection where we join.
I slashed at the air, but the movement was awkward as if I were trying to deflect a flitting hummingbird. Adjusting my stance, I tried again, envisioning a sweeping arc that snagged on the woven-reed armor favored by the Waikert. Still, the attack lacked power.
Lilik? May I show you?
How?
I can influence your movement—that’s how I’ve helped my wielders in the past. But I think with you, I can do more. If you open to me.
In the same way that I open my thoughts?
He hesitated. Not just your thoughts. Try offering more. Your spirit, I suppose.
I nodded. Swallowing, I closed my eyes. Mist from the fountain wet my face, while from a rooftop somewhere behind, a pigeon cooed. Beneath my hand, the dagger grew warm.
It’s not working. You told me you have the ability to put up walls. Try the opposite. Imagine them dropping further. Try to forget where you are.
One by one, I focused on my senses. Where the cobbles were cold against the bottom of my feet, I imagined numbness. The chill damp that collected on my skin faded. Quiet splashing from the fountain pinched off into silence.
Tyrak wrapped me. Abruptly, he was in the square behind me, his body warm against mine. His feet moved to press against the outsides of mine, and his hand encircled mine on the dagger’s hilt.
&nbs
p; I gasped.
Yes, he said. Like that.
I swallowed, falling deeper, letting him direct me. Hugging my waist with his other arm, he gave a signal with his fingertips, pads pressing into my ribs and urging me to shuffle back. Quick-stepping, we covered a few paces. With firm pressure on my weapon hand, he dropped the dagger into a low, defensive position. Then, tensing behind me, he prepared us to spring. Exploding from the cobblestones, I leapt forward and stabbed, following with an upward movement to parry an imaginary blade.
Every motion, he guided me, leading as if in a dance. We sidestepped, slashed, moved to the pulse of the blood in my veins. Never clumsy to begin with, I danced across the makeshift arena. My eyes were open now, and the glittering droplets from the fountain gave the sense of a thousand candles shining around us. On the balls of our feet, we slid through the night, cutting down enemies.
I lost myself in the sensations. I imagined his heart beating, inches higher than my own, the vibrations passing from his chest into my back. His hips shifted moments before his feet, telling me how to move.
You’re doing great, Tyrak whispered in my ear.
I leaped, dagger pointed down, ready to stab a phantom enemy.
From the edge of the square, a loud, slow clapping of hands cracked the night, shattering the illusion and ruining my concentration. My toe turned under when I landed. I tumbled but managed to turn it into a roll. The dagger flipped from my hand and skittered across the courtyard.
Coming out of the roll, my first thought was for my weapon. I sprinted to fetch it and returned to a ready stance before scanning the shadows for the source of the noise.
“I’m sorry, Lilik. It was so beautiful—amazing really. I couldn’t help applauding. Are you okay?”
Raav stepped from between a pair of buildings. Lit by the moon, his face was achingly handsome. For a moment, I felt the doubling of self that had been so difficult to handle on Ioene. I was Zyri, living in her time, in love with Tyrak. And I was Lilik, failed nightcaller, currently failing to gather support to return to Ioene.
Shadowbound Page 3
