“How did you find me?” I asked, wincing at my sharp tone. I hadn’t meant for it to come out that way.
“I asked. You’re a gutterborn hero, remember. You can’t just walk around the slums and expect not to be noticed. Not after the Nocturnai.”
“Frask certainly noticed me,” I said. My free hand started to tremble. I shoved it in my pocket so he wouldn’t see.
Ravv ran his hands through his hair then curled them into fists. When he lowered his arms, his whole body seemed to vibrate with anger.
“So it’s true?” he asked. “He hit you?”
I nodded, not trusting my words.
Jaw clenched, Raav looked to the side. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “He’ll regret it, Lilik. I swear to you.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“But don’t you see? I can’t just stand by. Not after that. Before we left Ioene, I promised myself I would be strong enough to deserve you. And this is my first test.”
“But you don’t need to prove anything,” I said. “We survived Ioene together.”
He stepped toward me but stopped short, his eyes abruptly anguished. “My brother hit you, Lilik. I can’t live under his roof after that. But you and I talked about making the return to Ioene more important than our relationship. And the only way I can influence the Council is through Frask. So what do I do?”
Raav moved to the fountain. Sitting on its rim, he extended a hand, inviting me to join him. My emotions were a whirlpool, first the experience with Tyrak and now this. Raav’s brows drew together when I hesitated. I forced myself to step toward him, one foot after the other. We had enough to deal with without him learning how confused the dagger made me feel.
“Every time I close my eyes, I see his hand smacking your face,” Raav said, his voice tight. “It’s killing me.”
I touched my cheek at the memory, wincing at the tenderness. No doubt I’d have an ugly bruise. But he was right; we’d agreed that nothing was more important than retaking Ioene. We needed to keep perspective.
After slipping the dagger into my satchel, I sat beside him and touched his knee. “I’m sorry I was distant this morning. I was worried you’d changed your mind about me.”
Raav faced me. “No! Of course not.”
“What happens if you leave your House?” I asked.
“If I anger Frask, he’ll just work harder to undermine us.”
“How much influence does he really have?”
Raav shrugged. “Right now, Katrikki and I are your only allies among the traders. I guess he can’t change things that much, considering.”
“Then you should leave,” I said “But do it quietly. You can confront your brother after we secure help from the Council.”
Raav’s jaw worked, muscles knotting beneath his cheek, but eventually he nodded. “I won’t forget what he did to you. I’m just postponing some of my response.”
As Raav scooted closer, I leaned into him. With the dagger hidden away, my memories of Tyrak faded. Raav was real. Actual blood flowed through his veins. Relieved, I exhaled. I was Lilik Boket. Zyri died centuries ago.
“Have you talked to Katrikki?” I asked.
“She’s still locked away. But I—” Raav snatched my hand. He squeezed, reassuring, before continuing. “—I spoke to Mareti. She’s hurt. I understand—so many people assumed our parents would negotiate a betrothal.”
The mention of her name didn’t provoke the same jealousy I’d felt on Ioene. But I still wanted to avoid the subject. “If you leave your House, where will you go?”
“It doesn’t matter. Whatever happens is temporary—we still have Ashkalan, right? We’ll rebuild it and live the way we want.” He reached up and cupped my face. I swayed, dizzied by the fresh memory of Tyrak touching Zyri in that way. Noting my quick intake of breath, he brought his lips to mine before I could protest.
All at once, I wanted him with my whole soul. I wanted him to be for me what I’d never have from Tyrak. But just as I fell into the kiss, I felt a cry of anguish.
Zyri . . .
Nearly choking on Tyrak’s heartache, I pulled away. Raav slowly opened his eyes, longing written on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have asked permission.”
“It’s not that,” I said. But how could I tell him that Tyrak was as confused as I? That feeling me kiss another, for him, was like watching Zyri forsake him.
I couldn’t.
“I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”
Raav’s face hardened, and I knew he didn’t believe me. As he stood, I saw him don his armor. Invisible, but effective all the same.
“I’ll find you after I’ve settled with Frask,” he said.
“Raav?”
His eyes flashed when he turned. “What?”
“Just give me a little time, okay?”
His lips thinned as he nodded. All gentleness had vanished from his face when he turned and stalked from the courtyard.
Chapter Five
INSIDE THE SMALL room I shared with my family, the crackling fire cast a warm glow on our humble collection of possessions. I wondered what Trader Yiltak would think of our home. The entry hall for House Yiltak was larger than our entire space. Shrugging, I grabbed the iron hook from beside the fireplace and used it to nudge the metal arm supporting the soup kettle into the fire. Flame licked the blackened bottom of the pot.
Not knowing how long I’d wait before Trader Yiltak arrived, I pulled out a basket containing scraps of leather, an awl, waxed thread, a handful of precious grommets. After measuring and marking the leather to fit the blade of Tyrak’s dagger, I grabbed a pair of heavy snips and cut out pieces for a simple sheath. The distraction only worked for a short time. Soon enough, I was on my feet, pacing. I needed this meeting to go well.
Outside the window, the narrow street was aglow with the green flame marking the gutter district. As had been the custom for more than a century, city light-bearers stood on street corners with colored lamps held aloft. Part sentry, part poet, they spoke to passersby and kept an eye on the street. But their most important role was warning the population of attacks. Ordinarily, the keepers of the harbor guardstones burned yellow fires in the small watchtowers capping the stones. But if a warship were spotted, the flame would flare red. Horns would sound, alerting the city, and even the outlying districts would know of the threat by the change in color of the street lamps.
Red for blood. Red for fear.
Though I had no love for the usual, sickly “gutterborn green,” it was much better than the alternative.
A hooded figure swept past the window. I tensed when the rapping came at the door. Trader Yiltak had found me. I’d purposefully avoided telling her my address. Let her come to the gutterborn quarter and ask around. Maybe it would give her a better notion of how we were forced to live under the traders’ defense tax. It had been well over a century since the commoners signed the defense lien, forfeiting our right to own property in exchange for the traders paying for a mercenary army to save us from the Waikert. The defense tax was supposed to buy back our homes. It might have worked if the Trader Council had helped the Kiriilti people build their own army, or if the Waikert had been less vicious. But the traders had no real reason to change the arrangement. Not when the gutterborn kept paying the tax.
I tucked Tyrak’s dagger into the satchel hanging on the back of my chair and I opened the door. Looming over me, Trader Yiltak regarded me with hard eyes. She wasn’t pleased with my demand, but I thought I saw new respect in her expression. She did not expect an easy negotiation. I thought back to our first meeting, before I sailed with the Nocturnai. On that night, Trader Yiltak had seemed as intimidating as a mythical beast. Now, I’d forced her to meet me on my terms. Ioene had changed me.
“Come in,” I said, stepping aside.
She ducked as she stepped over the threshold. After scanning the room, she stepped to Da’s kitchen chair, the largest in our home.
; “I’ve come to you, as requested. I’d like you to honor that by closing the curtain. It would be quite bad for Yiltak’s standing if I’m recognized here.”
I considered for a moment, wondering if bending to her request would put me on weaker ground, but decided to save my arguments for the points that most mattered. Tugging the curtain to slide it along the rod, I shut out the scene beyond the wavy glass.
Trader Yiltak pushed her hood back, showing her close-cropped hair, the customary style of a head trader. “So . . . this figurine? Frask Ovintak called it the Yiltak Effigy.”
“I assume you’re aware of it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Even if I were, I’d be foolish to admit it. Trader Ovintak spoke as if it were implicated in the Nocturnai’s failure.”
“Seems strange, doesn’t it? How could a small statue affect the events on Ioene?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” she said.
She wasn’t going to give up information easily. I pivoted, taking a different direction of attack. “I assume you checked your home before you came here. The figurine is gone. The simplest explanation is that Moanet gave it to me, right?”
Trader Yiltak’s nostrils flared. “Let’s assume I looked through our possessions and found it missing. Further, let’s assume I know the properties of this little statuette. Where would that leave us?”
I’d remained standing, facing the woman. To gain time, I strode to the table and pulled out another chair.
“I was considering that we might help one another,” I said as I sat.
Her perfectly arched brows raised. “Go on.”
I cocked my head, thinking. I had a small amount of leverage on her already—she didn’t realize that the existence of the figurine had been an open secret among the traders for decades. But I wanted more advantage before laying out my demands.
“Is Moanet all right? I noticed she didn’t attend the meeting at the council hall.” Of course, I knew she’d eloped, but I wanted to hear what Trader Yiltak had been telling her peers.
“She’s away on a trading mission. As you probably know, Moanet is my only heir. In the event that I die prematurely, she will have a large operation to manage. I thought it best that she begin taking on responsibility now.”
“Oh, interesting. So she didn’t sail away with a husband you disapproved of? Perhaps she was just trying to mislead me.”
Trader Yiltak’s eyes widened, and I knew I had her.
“Seems you’re full of surprises, Nightcaller Boket.”
“You know Moanet gave me the figurine. You must have drawn the conclusion that I have no nightcalling talent.”
“Yet you claim to channel the nightstrands’ spirits. Again, I wonder why I should believe you.”
“Well, you won’t take my word, nor that of the other traders. Katrikki Korpit saw the nightstrands swarming me for sanctuary. Raav Ovintak and Islilla Thuvet can confirm that I collapsed a tunnel simply by laying hands on it.”
“The volcano was abnormally active. An earthquake could have destabilized the cavern.”
I stared her in the eyes. “You’re grasping for any evidence that might refute my claim, while refusing to listen to the simple explanation.”
Laying a hand casually on the table, Trader Yiltak leaned back in her chair. “That, of course, is the way that traders negotiate. Do you think I raised House Yiltak from middling to dominating by simply accepting the words offered by others?”
In the fireplace, the soup kettle bubbled over, droplets sizzling when they fell upon the coals. “A moment,” I said. With the hook, I snagged the kettle holder and swung the stew out over the hearth. “Hungry?” I offered as I ladled myself a bowlful.
Her mouth twisted, amused. “Plucky one, aren’t you. I see why Moanet chose you for her plans.”
Sauntering back to the table, I kicked out the chair leg and sat. I lifted a bite and blew across it. “I wasn’t the same person then. If I hadn’t been trapped by my own stupid lie, I never would have gone.”
“And now?”
Would I still choose to journey to Ioene after everything that happened? Most likely, Mieshk would have seized control of the Nocturnai with or without the Effigy. Without me and Paono, the strands would have had no defense against her. So yes, I supposed I’d join the expedition regardless.
“I wouldn’t have a choice. Ioene would be doomed otherwise. Probably the Kiriilt Islands, too.”
Trader Yiltak traced circles on the tabletop with a fingertip. “So . . . where does this leave us, Lilik Boket.”
I swallowed a bite of stew—not bad. Either Da’s cooking had improved in my absence, or I was still enjoying the break from boiled jellyfish.
“I know things you would rather keep from the other traders,” I said.
“Perhaps.”
“And I need an ally on the Council.”
“Say I did believe you,” Trader Yiltak said. “Of course I’d support the ousting of Mieshk Ulstat. According to you, healing Ioene will give us access to magic much more powerful than nightcrafting. The trader Houses who take control of the restoration will benefit greatly.”
I gritted my teeth. I hadn’t proposed we retake Ioene to give the traders more power. But without the support of the Council, I didn’t have the resources to defeat Mieshk. I’d have to find a way out of the dilemma. But right now, I needed to Trader Yiltak’s support.
“Then you agree need to remove Mieshk? We don’t have much time if we want to get there and back before the storm season.”
She raised a hand, cautioning. “I’m not saying that. You have a lot to learn about negotiation.”
“Then what are you saying?” I asked.
“No trader maintains a position of power by moving rashly. It’s true, you know things that could damage my reputation. And I have the means to erase your threat. But I’d rather not go that far.”
I remembered Moanet’s words from months before. House Yiltak guards are loyal and don’t ask questions.
“What do you want, then?”
“You must prove your claims about the nightstrands and the Vanished. I don’t know how you’ll do it. That’s up to you. But glowing hands and the stories of a few adolescents—one of whom appears to have a romantic interest in you—are not enough for me to risk my empire. You say you’re a channeler. Show me.”
I dipped my spoon into the soup. “And if I can?”
“We’ll sail for Ioene within the week. But if you can’t—” She paused, staring me directly in the eye. “—I will not hesitate to protect what’s mine.”
She stood and headed for the door. Recalling my manners, I pushed out my chair as if to escort her to the threshold, but stopped, paralyzed. Though the curtain hid the street from view, light leaked around its edges.
The lamps outside burned red.
Chapter Six
DESPITE THE CLOAK that hid her face, Trader Yiltak’s long legs pushed her forward faster than I could run. By the time we reached the boundary with the central district, she’d pulled ahead by a block. As she turned the corner to head for House Yiltak, she unfastened her cloak, letting it fall to a puddle on the street.
Seeing the finely-made garment lying on the cobbles, I resisted the gutterborn impulse to snatch it up. I ran past, leaping over the folds of fine velvet. Someone would be happy later, if we weren’t clobbered by the Waikert.
At the thought of the savages pouring into town, I felt sick. Our soldiers were armed with mostly mundane weapons now; so many of the nightforged blades had been broken, stolen—even lost—over the last eight years. Our Nocturnai was supposed to return with a hold full of new weaponry. We’d failed. And if I had any say, we’d never nightforge another blade again.
But what would happen to us? Ioene might offer us a chance at defense—if Paono could heal her as the Vanished believed. But that was only a chance. For the last hundred years, our only certain defense came from nightforging.
Though I had a stitch in my side, I kept pushing, fe
et slapping cobbles, breath searing my lungs. In the central district, the blaring alarm horns reverberated in my chest, hurting my ears. House clerks stepped from official buildings, heading for the sanctuary of the trader compounds, while shopkeepers rushed to shutter their windows and board up their doors. Gutterborn children ran shrieking for the slums and their parents’ arms. They’d find little safety there, but at least they’d be with their families. I thought of Da and Jaret. Would they run home? Or would they head, as I was, to the safety of courthouse square? During the last Waikert attack, the edges of the city had burned while the soldiers formed a shield around the central district and trader quarter, stopping the savages short.
A large man, a butcher judging by his bloodstained apron, slammed me as he ran the other direction. Reeling, I fell into a wall and smacked my head. I saw stars and felt a hot anger spread from my side. Confused, I slapped my hand down and felt Tyrak’s gold-worked hilt.
I slipped him from the belt loop I’d used as a makeshift sheath.
“An accident,” I whispered as I panted.
But he didn’t apologize.
“He was scared.”
It’s no excuse. I told you a long time ago that I’d never let anyone hurt you. I meant it.
I shivered at the words. He meant Zyri, of course.
Ahead, the roar of a crowd spilled from the courthouse square into the side streets. Apparently, much of Istanik’s population remembered what had happened during the last attack.
I expected to hear cries of fear when I entered the square, but the crowd sounded more confused than anything. Instead of cowering, eyes on the streets which emptied into the square, the mob pushed forward on tiptoes, neck craned.
What was this?
I hopped onto a low stone pillar that formed the foundation for a building’s awning. Holding the awning post for balance, I scanned the crowd. Across the square, in front of the steps leading to the doors of Trader Council Hall, a small cluster of people shifted impatiently. Guards surrounded the group, hands on the pommels of their sheathed weapons. I squinted, confused. I couldn’t make out the details of the insignias on their armor, but the shape was familiar.
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