Shadowbound

by Carrie Summers

  Within moments, a servant answered the door. Clad in silk almost as fine as a lower-status trader might wear, her face was locked in an arrogant expression. Sneering, she looked me up and down. “Yes?”

  “I’d like to speak with Katrikki, please.”

  “The Korpit heir is currently unavailable. She’s taken to her chambers for the time being. Thank you.”

  With that, the servant shut the door in my face. From within, I heard the click of retreating footsteps. I knocked again. And again.

  I waited long enough to be sure no one was coming before slipping down the stairs and around the side of the house. Like most trader homes, the building was as large as a city block in the gutter slums. Because of the gardens that surrounded the home like a moat, I moved without attracting notice. The windows were above eye height; every time I passed beneath one, I jumped and caught the sill, pulled up to peer inside. I didn’t see anyone. Just furniture, musical instruments, or in some cases, just a bare room.

  Why did traders think they needed so much space, when they seemed to use less than half of it?

  Near the back of the building, I finally spotted someone inside a room, a young woman I didn’t recognize. Figuring it had to be Mareti, I tried letting go of the window sill with one hand to knock, only to realize I wasn’t strong enough to hold myself with just one arm. I fell, tumbling into a hedge. As I rolled out of the bush I noticed a few loose pebbles beneath the branches. I glanced at the window. It was worth a try.

  After tossing a few—most even hit the window pane—I had yet to get Mareti’s attention. The sun had set and the sky turned a deep purple. Trader Korpit, Katrikki’s father, could have me thrown in a hanging prison basket if he discovered me lurking on his property after dark.

  I tried to climb the hedge, narrow twigs snapping beneath my feet. The bush gave way, and I flopped over into the next pathway between plantings.

  Rot.

  All right, so much for stealth.

  “Mareti!” I yelled as loud as I could. Her face appeared in the window moments later. Staring at me, still sprawled in the foliage outside her window, her face went from shock to confusion and possibly horror.

  “Yes, hello!” I called, waving.

  She disappeared. After about a minute, I heard a door open at the rear of the building. Katrikki’s sister rounded the corner and stopped, staring at me.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Lilik Boket.”

  If she recognized my name, she gave no hint of it.

  “And what do you want?”

  “I came to the front door asking for Katrikki but your servant wouldn’t let me in.”

  “Katrikki isn’t taking visitors.”

  “I know. It’s because of my friend, Paono.”

  Comprehension dawned on her face, the light of understanding followed by sadness.

  “You know,” I said. “About me and Raav.”

  Mareti nodded, her eyes glassy.

  “I didn’t know his history with you when we first met.” I knew the excuse wouldn’t make her feel better. She’d been abandoned for a commoner, the worst kind of insult for a trader.

  With a deep sigh, she motioned me forward. “Come on. We can talk in the walled garden.”

  As I followed her, I couldn’t help admiring her poise. Contrasted with my reaction when I’d heard about Raav’s previous relationship with her, I wondered whether he’d have been better off choosing her.

  At the back of the home, a head-high wall made of plastered bricks surrounded an immaculate private garden. Not a single leaf was out of place, nor a blossom drooping. In the center of the area, water cascaded down four tiers of starkly veined marble. Benches hid in corners and amongst the foliage, compelling one to sit and share secrets. Mareti motioned me to the nearest.

  “Did you hear about what happened to Raav?” I asked as I sat.

  “My father told me.” She pressed her lips together while she collected herself. “He enjoyed watching my reaction, I think. My family thought I was naive to want a relationship with Raav. They forced Katrikki to name him her sentinel to separate us.”

  “I know. Raav told me.”

  Her gaze fell to her feet, delicate slippers worked with gold thread. “I pushed Raav away before he left. I guess I was scared of being hurt. I shouldn’t be surprised he found someone else.”

  “He said nice things about you. That’s part of why I came.”

  Mareti had the same imperious features as her sister, but where Katrikki’s hair was so blond it almost looked white, Mareti’s was like honey. Both colors were rare among the Kiriilti population, most of whom had black, straight hair like mine. But I thought the lightness suited Mareti better than her sister. She was truly beautiful, a trait accented by her natural grace. I nearly shook my head, still stunned by the idea that Raav would choose me over her.

  “I thought you wanted to see Katrikki.”

  “I did—do. But I was hoping you could help Raav. I can’t do anything for him.”

  Her brow knit. “And you think I can?”

  “Your chances are better than mine. When have the traders ever listened to a gutterborn?”

  Mareti chewed her lip, swiveling on the bench to face me. “You shouldn’t call yourself that. If the commoners would just stand up to us, things would get better for you.”

  “But if I use the term without shame, it loses its power don’t you think?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. But I still don’t think I can help Raav.”

  “Will you try?”

  “My father never listens to me.”

  “Then go to the Council. You’re allowed an audience, right?”

  Her delicate nostrils flared when she sighed. “I’ll petition for a chance to speak.”

  “And Katrikki?”

  A pair of night birds fluttered down and landed on the wall beside us. Mareti watched them for a moment before speaking. “My sister changed on Ioene. For the better, I think, which is why my father is unhappy with her. As prime heir, she can speak to the Council whenever she wants, but Father will find ways to prevent it.”

  “Is there any way I can talk to her? Paono . . . if we don’t figure out a way to leave for Ioene soon, he might not . . .” I trailed off, not wanting to say the words aloud. “Plus, I’m hoping she can help me figure something out.”

  “Figure what out?”

  “It’s about nightcalling.” I’d been working an idea over in my head, but unfortunately couldn’t act on it without a real nightcaller.

  As if concerned we might be overheard, Mareti glanced at the looming wall of her home. Though the curtains had been drawn over windows at the front of the building, colored candlelight spilled into the night from half a dozen back here.

  “I hope you won’t jump to conclusions when I tell you this. But I used to . . .” Mareti paused as if trying to decide what to say.

  “You used to sneak out to meet Raav. I know.”

  Blinking, she nodded. “I’ll help her. The only way to get past the servants is to wait until after most are abed.”

  “Tonight?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll have to prepare a few things. Three days. We should meet in the garden district. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can for Raav.”

  I ducked my head, aware of my status. “Gutter—I mean, commoners aren’t allowed into the trader gardens.”

  She blushed, whether in embarrassment over her fellow traders or for her unthinking comment I wasn’t sure. “There’s a way in,” she said. “On the west boundary. Trees on both sides overhang the wall. I used to climb in that way when I was young.”

  “I don’t know my way around the gardens.” Though the traders opened their precious gardens to the public a few times a year, I’d never cared to go gawk at things I couldn’t have.

  “We’ll meet you just inside the wall by the climbing trees.”

  “All right,” I said, standing. “Thank you, Mareti. I u
nderstand what Raav saw in you.”

  She looked away. “See you in three days.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  A COUPLE DAYS passed with no news. Jaret found a job running errands for a seamstress who’d managed to establish herself near the edge of courthouse square. With the added visibility, she had more customers than she could handle while taking care of things like cloth orders and seeing that her scissors were sharpened once a week. As it was Jaret’s first job aside from helping Da—and because his arm was still in a sling—she didn’t have to pay him much. In truth, I suspected he’d have done the job for free. Now that I was back, rattling around the house and blabbing about my worries, the work gave him a chance to escape.

  Or maybe I was being too hard on myself. The Ulstat blockade was making me depressed. My head was full of ideas for getting rid of those cannons, but I didn’t know how to put them into action.

  Instead, I focused on learning to defend myself. Within the confines of our house, there wasn’t much space to practice lunges and evasion, but Tyrak claimed that many fights took place in tight quarters. Home was as good a training ground as any.

  Though his soft voice filled my mind, he hadn’t touched me since the evening on the barracks strip. We didn’t speak of it, and even though I yearned to feel him guiding my body, I was glad he held back. My feelings about it were too confusing.

  That was good, Lilik, he said after a lesson in spinning away and surprising an attacker with a roundhouse kick. It had been three days since I spoke with Mareti. In just a few hours, I’d head to the trader gardens to meet the Korpit sisters.

  I have a good teacher, I said.

  But I have to ask . . . What are we doing hiding away in your house?

  Waiting for the meeting with Katrikki. Hoping for news. What should I be doing?

  Well, Trader Yiltak asked you to take care of the Ulstats . . .

  I flopped into a chair and laid the dagger on the table, keeping a finger on the hilt. And how am I supposed to do that? Even if I could convince a bunch of gutterborn to swim out to the warships, they’d get slaughtered as soon as they climbed on board.

  Because they’re untrained? Don’t underestimate the advantages gained by fighting for your home. I’ve seen it plenty of times when a soldier brought me on an inland defense patrol only to find half a dozen sea tribesmen killed by a farmer defending her children.

  But it’s not just the training, I said. The Ulstat guards have armor and nightforged weapons. The gutterborn have kitchen knives and blacksmith hammers.

  Fortunately, all you need to solve that problem is money. Maybe you won’t find a supply of nightforged blades, but those blacksmiths can turn out swords as easily as horseshoes as long as they can buy the steel.

  I tapped my index finger against the table, not exactly annoyed, but wondering how he could act like getting coin was easy.

  In any case, I don’t see how I could convince the gutterborn to get involved in a fight between traders. Don’t you think we’ve suffered enough because of them?

  Are you sure that’s how they’d see it? he asked. Or are you just making excuses out of fear? Honestly, I think it’s time the Council lost their authority entirely, but at the very least, you need to stop moping while you wait for someone else to help Raav.

  My fist slammed the table. You don’t think I’m trying?

  Well, you asked Trader Yiltak to let you see him, but what did Nan say? Many gutterborn are done asking trader permission for the things they want . . .

  You’re saying I should just march into the prison?

  Not necessarily, Tyrak said. I’m just pointing out that you haven’t tried.

  I laid my forearms on the table and pillowed my head on them. “Maybe you’re right,” I said aloud.

  Though it was mid-morning, my eyes were heavy; I hadn’t slept well in days. Thinking of Raav, alone in a prison cell, I drifted off. In my dreams, fire spilled from Stanik Island’s mountains, pouring over Istanik as Ioene’s lava had over the cities of the Vanished.

  Happy? I asked Tyrak.

  I’m glad to see you trying something, yes.

  The prison was a large stone building squatting behind the courthouse. Though I’d never had reason to visit it, I knew what to expect. The building was large enough to house fifty prisoners inside, but from what I’d heard, the interior cells were almost never occupied. Instead, the traders preferred to make examples of the accused. Protected by a fence of carved-stone lattice, most of the criminals were kept in the yard, locked in iron cages, exposed to the elements. The majority of outdoor cells had bunks with blankets as well as roofs that shed rain, but the worst crimes earned sentences in the hanging baskets. Something like an over-sized bird cage, these cells were suspended from thick chains, high enough that curious citizens could gawk at the prisoners. And though I say over-sized, I don’t mean by much. Generally, a prisoner had room to either lie in a ball or sit with knees drawn to their chest.

  As I approached the building, distracting myself by watching each footfall come down on the bottom of my elongated shadow—behind me, the sun was close to setting—I feared the worst. Raav would be hanging in one of those cages, still barefoot and shivering in the evening breeze. I sighed with relief when I saw that the baskets were empty. Peering through the stone lattice at the outdoor cells, I didn’t spot him there, either.

  I traversed along the edge of the prison grounds, bound for the gate. When I approached, the sentry climbed off his bench and faced me.

  “Come to visit?” he asked. “Hours are almost over.” He shaded his eyes as he gestured toward the setting sun.

  I blinked, surprised. “Uh. Yes. I didn’t know it was so easy, though.”

  He nodded. “Half-moon. Anyone that wishes can spend an hour visiting friends or family, long as there are enough guards to keep track of you. And seeing as you’re the first person who cared to take the Council up on the offer today, we’ve got no problem accommodating.”

  I cleared my throat, covering my shock. Finally, a bit of good fortune. “I’d like to see Raav Ovintak.”

  The man’s laugh started as a chuckle and grew to a belly laugh. As I watched him, anger swelling, I had to force myself to calm down. He had no idea I was serious.

  “Sorry, miss. It’s a good plan, convince a locked-up trader you can get him free . . . long as he pays you a modest sum. At any rate, you’ll have to beg him for coin another day. No one’s allowed to visit the trader cells.”

  I stared him down to show I wasn’t amused.

  “You were serious?” he asked after a moment.

  “We’re friends,” I said, feeling I owed him no more explanation than that.

  “Right, well, it’s still not allowed. Anyone else you care to see?”

  I nearly told him no, but then remembered the night of the Ulstat attack, the thief whose spirit I’d made contact with. What was his wife’s name? . . .That’s right. Miva. From inside the outer wall, I might get a better idea of how to help Raav. Plus, I’d made myself a promise to tell the woman what had happened.

  “You holding a woman named Miva?”

  The man’s lips twitched in a half-smile. “Feisty one. Pretty, too.” He turned to call through the gate. “Hey! Markolt! Girl here to visit Miva. Must enjoy a good tirade.”

  He turned back to me with a wink. I flashed him an insincere smile, narrowly avoiding a snide comment. Most city guardsmen joined the force because they wanted to make Istanik a better, safer place—unlike House guards who usually inherited the position and the hefty salary. By my guess, this man was one of the bad eggs, the sort who enjoyed the power his position gave him. Before I’d joined the Nocturnai, I would have told him off. Fortunately, the last few months had taught me some valuable lessons about getting what I wanted.

  The gate swung open with a squeal of ungreased hinges, and I winced. Another guard strolled over. His face looked kinder than the gate sentry, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. I tugged my jacket do
wn over my hips, hiding Tyrak’s dagger from view; if the guards noticed it, they’d confiscate it before letting me in. Given an opportunity to go deeper into the prison, I’d definitely want to be armed.

  “Miva’s over there,” the new guard, Markolt, said while pointing.

  When I started walking, he fell into step behind me. “Rules say I have to stick close. Sorry.”

  I nodded. His presence didn’t bode well for me sneaking into Raav’s area, but at least he had the decency to apologize for it. “I understand.”

  Miva looked up as I approached. Though her hair was ratted and her clothes filthy, I understood immediately why she’d made an impression on the guards. Where many of the prisoners sat inside their cages, dull-eyed, Miva was a burning fire. Her gaze reeled me in.

  “Who in the rotted heap are you?” she asked.

  “Hi, Miva,” I said. “My name is Lilik Boket.”

  At this, Markolt jerked in surprise. Though neither gutter nor trader—guardsmen, both city and House were a class somewhere in between—he knew my name. Miva, on the other hand, gave no hint of recognition. I wondered if she’d already been locked up when I was chosen for the Nocturnai.

  “I have bad news,” I said, approaching her cage. As I wrapped hands around the bars, the guard sucked in breath, probably to demand I step back. He seemed to reconsider, though, and said nothing.

  Miva’s brows raised. “I’m already locked in this cage for the next ten years. What’s worse than that? They taking our blankets? Or am I next for the hanging basket?”

  For all her bravado, I saw the fear in her eyes.

  You’re here. The sudden voice in my head made me jerk in surprise. It wasn’t Tyrak, not this time. The thief? Closing my eyes, I tried to open myself further.

  We met before, right? I cast my thought wide, unsure how to project it when speaking to someone I couldn’t precisely target.

  You saw me murdered, yes.

  “Well, what is it, girl?” Miva said, an impatient edge to her voice.

  “A moment, Miva. I’m sorry. It’s . . .”