“Da . . . no matter what, it’s you who raised me. You who loved me. I will never forget that. She will never replace you.”
The first sob wracked his body.
Oh, Da.
It was noon before I left my house. Mother had gone back to the itinerant camps, tents pitched in the borderland between the gutter slums and the rolling, terraced farmland that stretched into the island’s vast interior. In her absence, anger and hurt filled our home. I wanted to stay the rest of the afternoon with Da and Jaret, but had to do something first. After putting the finishing touches on the sheath, I strapped it to my belt and slid Tyrak inside. Stopping to peck Da on the cheek, a last reassurance, I slipped out the door.
A somber quiet suffused the streets of Istanik. In the gutter slums, people whispered. Their words carried outrage and disbelief. After so many years collecting the defense tax now a trader House had turned against us? In my chest, a different anger burned. The Ulstat attack, my mother’s return, the constant low-grade threat of a Waikert . . . they were all distractions from the situation on Ioene.
Distractions that could doom us.
Closer to the central district, where the slums bled into low-class shops and store fronts, often with gap-walled apartments stacked on top, merchants were attempting to put order to their days. Outside with a straw broom, a cloth-seller aimlessly pushed grit around on the cobbles. Another woman strode up and greeted her.
“Any word?” the cloth merchant asked her friend.
“He’s safe. Only injured, a burn on his arm. Healers say we were lucky. Only four deaths.”
As the newcomer spoke, her gaze flicked to me. Eyes widened in surprise, she nodded a greeting.
“Nightcaller,” she said.
After the first couple days back in Istanik, I’d stopped trying to argue when people bowed and called me that. I answered the greeting with a quick nod.
Both women turned to watch me pass. As I rounded the corner, heading for the courthouse square, I wondered whether Mother had heard about me when she’d arrived in Istanik. She’d said she planned to set up as a jewelry crafter; I imagined she’d made at least a few contacts within the city to help her get started.
At the thought, my lip twitched in suppressed disgust. If Mother was setting up a business, she clearly had no plans to leave any time soon. Why here? Couldn’t she set up shop somewhere that she wouldn’t hurt Da?
The courthouse square was uncharacteristically empty. Along one leg, Trader Council Hall was an imposing presence. Atop the flight of stairs leading to the massive doors, at least a dozen House guards stood with hands upon weapons, hard eyes scanning the square. Ready for Ulstat soldiers to come tearing into the city? Or perhaps understanding that the commoners would be furious over the situation. I shook my head. Of course not. After more than a century of obediance, why would the traders expect the gutterborn to start standing up for themselves now?
I trotted across the square, feeling the guards’ eyes upon me. The council hall took up only part of its edge of the square. Private meeting chambers stood on either side, the smaller buildings separated by narrow but immaculate alleyways. Guards stood in these gaps, protecting the approaches to the trader district.
The entire northern wall of the square was taken up by the courthouse, a building large enough to house whole neighborhoods of gutterborn. I’d never actually been inside. Half the ground floor held offices for trader House clerks and city officials. The other half, an immense room broken only by fat support pillars, was the trader market. Within, Kiriilti traders and their foreign partners brokered deals, set prices, and determined trade routes. Supposedly, the courthouse’s upper floor held chambers for visiting foreigners—none of the gutterborn knew for sure.
At the corner where Trader Council Hall met the courthouse, a small side street left the square. Constructed of close-fitting slate flagstones—an expense that would never be considered in other parts of the city—this narrow avenue was the main access to the trader district. Commoners were permitted upon it—after all, there were many errands to be run and deliveries to be made to the trader households—but the moment I stepped on the first stone, I felt the eyes of sentries upon me.
Didn’t matter. They wouldn’t bother me unless I did something suspicious. Besides, they most likely knew me by reputation.
You’re nervous, Tyrak observed.
Was I?
It’s the trader, he said. Raav. You aren’t sure what you’ll say.
“Of course I’m nervous. His brother is a traitor. I may have to be the one to tell him.”
No, it’s not that. You’re afraid he won’t want to see you after what happened at the fountain. And, Lilik, best not to talk aloud. You sound unstable when you do.
My cheeks heated, both from the reminder not to speak to the air and from Tyrak’s knowledge of my feelings toward Raav.
One other thing. With these words, Tyrak’s voice seemed too casual, as if he were trying to force it. I’m sorry for how I reacted when he . . . when you . . .
When he kissed me? I asked.
Yeah, that. It’s just confusing. But you obviously care for each other. You shouldn’t be nervous—he’ll be glad to see you.
I don’t know. Sometimes I think it would be better if he wasn’t, I said. He’s a trader and I’m gutterborn. His brother . . . you know what Frask did to me. And now I have to tell him about Frask and the Ulstats.
He’ll be glad the news comes from you. But as for the mother, I’d be cautious.
I reached an intersection and glanced left and right. Which way to House Ovintak? Raav had mentioned a view of the harbor. Which meant left. Uphill. The traders marked their domains with intricate gilt lettering near the main entrances. I’d spot it once there.
Deeper into the trader district, the streets were still flagstone, brushed clean each day by commoners hired for the task. But the difficulties imposed by the Waikert wars showed in the occasional cracked stone, the gaps where a section had fractured entirely and been pulled away, replaced with sand to keep unwary traders from tripping. Still, potted trees stood at intersections, unripe fruit hanging from the branches. In the flowering season, the smell of blossoms sometimes wafted all the way over to the gutter slums.
Though I wasn’t sure until I spotted the lettering, House Ovintak was obvious from Raav’s descriptions of his childhood home. On the second story, a long balcony stretched across the front of the massive building. Upon it were benches and umbrellas, and flowering vines draped the rail, trailing down almost to the ground. A small, walled courtyard stood between the street and the front door. Inside, a path split to go around a fountain—dry now, and filled with dead leaves. Atop wide stairs leading to the door, a sentry wrapped his hand around the hilt of a sheathed short sword. Most Houses kept a guard or two on watch and employed a butler to answer the door. A dedicated sentry on the doorstep was probably Frask’s way of making up for his House’s fall from fortune.
I stopped at the courtyard entrance, abruptly unsure. I knew Raav, or at least, I knew the young man who’d journeyed with me to Ioene. But the trader inside that home might be an entirely different person than the Raav from the Nocturnai. How would he act toward me when surrounded by reminders of his wealth and power—and especially knowing that associating with me could take those things away? And as for Raav’s mother, Praviili Ovintak, she’d simply stood by while Frask hit me in front of the Trader Council. I didn’t expect a warm reception from her.
But I was worried; Raav and his mother might not know about Frask’s betrayal. They needed a chance to prepare for the Council’s response. I probably should have come here right after the attack. But now was no time for regrets.
Fists balled, I stepped through the arch and marched up the path.
“Excuse me?” the sentry called as I approached. “Have you business with House Ovintak?”
Near his free hand, a bell rope dangled. I assumed it was meant to call reinforcements, a warning, or both.
“I need to speak with Raav. He’ll want to see me.”
“You have no appointment? I’m sorry, but—”
“Call him, if you’re concerned. I’m Lilik Boket.”
He scanned me up and down, taking in the simple belted tunic, trousers, and sandals I wore. Before the Nocturnai, my clothing was patched, ill-fitting, and often filthy. If I’d come in that condition, the sentry would surely have chased me out with his weapon drawn. As it was, he paused, considering.
“You’ll have to retreat to the street while I send word,” he said.
Rolling my eyes, I stepped back a pace. “Do I look like a threat?”
His mouth twisted while a lower eyelid twitched. I realized that he’d likely had plenty of warnings from Frask Ovintak, and quite possibly a brutal punishment or two.
“Frask is gone,” I said. “Just call Raav.”
With nostrils flared, the sentry reached for the door latch. Cracking the door, he called inside, “Someone fetch Frask. Or Trader Ovintak if you can’t locate him.”
Interesting. Most likely, the bell rope didn’t work, or he’d have tugged it. Also, it seemed that the servants didn’t know, at least not conclusively, that Frask was gone. But if Raav’s mother came to the door, I’d have little chance getting inside. As the guard started to pull the door shut, I sprang. Wedging my foot into the gap between door and jamb, I levered against the heavy wood, wincing as the corner bit into my unprotected skin.
“Raav!” I called. “We need to talk. Now.”
The guard pulled on his sword, a hand’s width of bare steel sliding from the sheath with a hiss. I glanced at it, then pressed my lips together. He wouldn’t kill me on his House’s doorstep.
It didn’t stop him from pushing a foot against my shin, shoving at it to try to dislodge me.
“Raav!” I yelled again.
From inside, I heard the sound of feet shuffling over polished stone. A stressed-looking butler appeared in the gap, thin hair flying up from his scalp.
“What is going on here?” he asked.
“Girl says she needs to speak with the younger brother.”
“With Raav,” I said through gritted teeth, my eyes tearing at the pain in my foot. “He has a name. And he’ll want to see me.”
With a sigh of exasperation, the butler rolled his eyes. “Girls have been coming here to get Raav’s attention for the last half-decade. And I’m supposed to let you in?”
At the reminder that I wasn’t the first girl Raav had shown interest in, my small flame of jealousy once again leaped to life. I quickly snuffed it. This wasn’t the time for juvenile emotions.
He’s trying to make you feel worthless, Tyrak said. You’re not. Just the opposite. Raav rejected the other girls and chose you.
But these men still see me as a pathetic gutterborn, I responded.
More likely, they want you to see yourself that way.
“Miss?” the butler said. “Did you hear me?”
I blinked. Apparently not. But I did notice the sentry had let up his pressure on the door. The blood flowed back into my toes.
“Sorry, I was distracted.”
“Interesting. At any rate, I said you’ll need an appointment.”
“Raav!” I yelled. I shoved past and was inside before he could stop me. The entryway of Raav’s home was huge. But unlike my memories of House Yiltak, House Ovintak had an air of despair about it. The marble tiles, while clean, had no shine. Curtains hung over the windows, dimming the light. A chandelier burned, dark blue flames, while lamps in the corners of the hall guttered, their wicks tossing up tongues of deep red fire. The broken bell rope was just one of many signs of neglect.
“Lilik!” I heard Raav’s purring tenor as the butler grabbed my arm. Raav stepped into the hall, and my breath caught. I’d become so used to seeing him in the same, ratty clothing he wore on Ioene, plus the shabbier jacket and pants he’d worn to follow me to the fountain square. Here in his home, he was dressed in a fitted tunic that stopped just below his waist. His tailored pants showed off his long legs, and his bare feet padded like a cat’s over the smooth floor. Countering the precise appearance of his clothing, his hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his hands through it.
When he spotted the butler grasping me, his eyes threw darts. “Let her go. Now.” His low voice turned from purr to growl. Though the butler’s reluctance was apparent in his delay, he released my arm and stepped back, hands clasped behind his back.
“As you say,” the man said, bowing his head. Though he obeyed, something in his posture suggested insolence.
Raav’s eyes smoldered with anger as he stared at the man. After a moment, he turned his attention to me.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, bending to speak into my ear. The warmth of his body seemed to surround me, pulling me close. I wanted to wrap my arms around his waist.
“What did you hear about the attack?” I asked, searching his face for clues.
Raav’s hard eyes once again examined the butler and sentry. With a curt nod, he dismissed them both. “You may return to your tasks.”
After ducking a shallow bow that just barely indicated obedience, the sentry pulled the door shut. Lips pursed, reminding me of a nursemaid more than a house servant, the butler spun on his heels and brushed past us on the way deeper into the house.
Raav turned to me, pinching his temples. “Look, I’m sorry about last night. You’re just being cautious and I took it too hard.”
Flustered, I looked aside. “I’ve been so overwhelmed since we got back. I’m sorry, too.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Forgiven, of course.”
I wanted to fall into his arms, but I stayed upright. Barely. “My mother came home,” I blurted.
His eyes widened as he touched my elbow in support. “What? From the Outer Isles?”
I nodded. “There were storms. Waves. Their homes were destroyed.”
“Mieshk?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I’m glad you came. I want to be there for you when you need me.”
I gritted my teeth, embarrassed about telling him my troubles first. “It’s actually—there’s more I need to tell you. Should we—” I glanced toward the hall’s exit to the rest of the house, a wide marble archway carved with spiraling filigrees.
A light flush colored his cheeks. “Of course. I’m sorry. I was so surprised to see you, I forgot my manners.”
“Raav?” I said. “I think you should get your mother.”
Raav stiffened. “Did I just hear that right?”
I nodded. “Trust me.”
“We’ll go to her. Come on.” He started for the arch, hand resting lightly on my shoulder to guide me. I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring his touch.
As we walked, he spoke, “As for what I know about the attack . . . we saw the fires. A messenger came with news. Some sort of new Ulstat weapon. Traders are supposed to stay inside for safety. Apparently there was an emergency council session just before the attack, but Frask didn’t wake Mother for it. And he hasn’t been home yet with the details . . . not that that’s surprising.”
“No,” I said quietly. I wanted to tell him right then, but had already made the choice to include his mother.
Once into the main part of the house, Raav led me down a set of high-ceiling hallways to a back room. There, large glass panes looked out over a small garden where roses bloomed, separated by graveled paths.
“Mother?” he said as we entered the room. I hadn’t noticed her until he called. House Ovintak’s prime trader sat in a stuffed chaise, staring out the window. Her face was drawn, lined with age and fatigue. When Raav addressed her, she turned dull eyes to him.
“This is Lilik Boket,” he said.
“She knows,” I interjected.
Raav’s face darkened as he followed my gist. She’d been present when her son hit me—hard to forget that sort of introduction. As if to defend me fro
m a hurt already inflicted, Raav dropped an arm over my shoulder. His mother looked away.
“Frask will not allow it,” she said. “If you value her life, send her away.”
“Never,” Raav said. The anger in his voice sawed through me. I swallowed at the display of emotion.
“Sit,” he whispered in my ear. On the side of the room opposite Trader Ovintak, a pair of straight-backed chairs bracketed a small table. Upon it, a game of storms and ships, one of many played with a set of polished stones sat abandoned. After scooting the chairs closer together, Raav nudged me into one and took the other.
“There’s more to the story from last night,” I said.
“Oh?” His brows raised.
His mother didn’t bother to acknowledge the conversation, but I knew she was listening.
“It was Frask. He brought the Ulstats.”
Raav’s eyes widened and shot to his mother. The woman tensed, but said nothing.
“That’s a . . . strong statement,” he said.
Realizing my precarious position, I licked my lips before continuing. “No matter what Frask did to me, I wouldn’t lie about this. Right after the attack, he helped the Ulstat delegation escape through a passage out of the Council Hall.”
“Frask? And the Ulstats?” Raav said, struggling to accept the information.
“I’m sorry, Raav. I saw him on a skiff after, rowing out to their ships.”
“Mother, are you listening?” he asked.
The woman rolled her head to look at us. “I hear what she’s saying. I don’t believe her, though.”
“The other traders saw,” I said. “If they haven’t sent word to you about it yet, I imagine they will.”
“We need to prepare a response,” Raav said. “We can’t let them think we were involved.”
Trader Ovintak stared at her younger son. Blinked. “I suppose this is where you ask me to disinherit him,” she said with a melancholy smile. As she spoke, one of her arms started to twitch.
“This has nothing to do with inheritance, Mother,” he said. “This is serious. They’ll blame us.”
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