“Watch your tongue,” Lord Messier said.
“I don’t judge lack of trust for those outside this room,” Valin said. “Not after everything. I am here, however, to offer help to the Crown.”
“I think we can do without your brand of ‘help,’” Torsten said.
“Let him speak, Master Unger,” Pi said.
Torsten bit his lower lip to keep from snapping. Pi couldn’t have known anything about the wretched lord of the Yarrington underworld. All he saw before him was a skinny cripple leaning on a cane, the same thing he probably saw when he regarded Torsten—an invalid. It was how Valin always got away with so much. Looking pathetic, and providing pathetic sinners with power was what they wanted.
Valin drew a deep breath, then said, “With so much trouble throughout the kingdom, the royal coffers wither. You needn’t deny it. I know it to be true. Between rebellions, fires, and the traitorous Darkings family.”
“We deny nothing,” Torsten said. “And it has nothing to do with you.”
“Am I not a fine, upstanding citizen of the Glass Kingdom?” His cane tapped as he paced before the throne. “Over the years, I have amassed a great fortune.”
“Off the backs of the suffering.” His rise to power coincided with Liam raising Torsten from South Corner, but Torsten had heard enough stories; dealt with enough poor saps who claimed to have been wronged by Valin. Somehow, the cockroach always skated by untouched. No evidence, no witnesses. He had the entire area under his thumb.
“Without me, Dockside would be a war zone,” Valin said. “Especially now that the cultists had their way with it.”
Torsten couldn’t help but know that was true as well. Growing up, South Corner and especially its Dockside district were riddled with gangs openly warring over their turf. When bodies filled the streets, Valin and his cronies scared everyone straight.
“I’m not here to point fingers like some of those before me,” Valin said. “I am here to offer solutions. I can offer Dockside and South Corner much, but the Crown owns all the land of Yarrington, and without your permission, I dare not overstep.”
“Lord Tehr,” Pi said. Torsten cringed at the title. The man was no lord, but Torsten couldn’t help feeling proud of Pi for his diplomacy. “If you are worried that we will stand in the way of repairs, I assure you, I wish to see all of Yarrington prosper.”
“I would expect nothing less from the miracle son of the great Liam Nothhelm, Your Grace. I am merely here to make a proposal which may further that goal.”
Torsten cleared his throat, earning the room’s attention. He reached out, searching for the arm of the throne, and when he found it, he leaned down to Pi’s level. “Your Grace,” he whispered. “Valin Tehr is not to be trusted. I advise you ignore any request he makes.”
Silence greeted him, then Pi’s tiny hand fell upon Torsten’s. “Thank you for your wisdom, Master Unger,” he said, “but would it hurt to listen? South Corner can’t be any worse off.”
“Your mother asked the same question before the last snake entered this castle. Redstar nearly ruined us.”
“As you said, we cannot live in fear.”
Torsten grumbled under his breath, then returned to his post. He could imagine Valin’s sneer as he watched the exchange.
“Go on, Lord Tehr,” Pi said.
“I would be honored if you would allow me to fund the restoration of South Corner personally,” Valin said. “From Dockside to Province Avenue, excluding all churches of course. Iam has no need of gold.”
“In exchange for what?” Torsten muttered.
“Excuse me, Shieldsman?” Valin said.
“Nothing from you comes without recompense, so what is it this time? A brothel for you in Old Yarrington? New whores from Panping for your Vineyard?”
“You think so lowly of me?” Valin feigned hurt. “There is worth to our little corner of Yarrington, as you know Sir Unger—or is it Master now? No bother… the last two Wearers of White, including yourself, hailed from there. As does the boy who I saw helping you around in the square when my man saved your life. So many from such a worthless place. Perhaps its time we treat South Corner with the care it deserves?”
“I’m not sure we can count Sir Langley as a Wearer,” Master Amon Fenwick, Master of Husbandry remarked, “regardless of how he changed his ways before disappearing.”
“Even so,” Valin said, “a cleansing fire struck our humble home, and as fire helps replenish forest, so it does cities. I see no reason why the terror South Corner endured cannot lead to something… greater.”
“Careful, Valin,” Torsten said. “Talk like that might make me believe that you invited the cultists to riot. You do so enjoy blood sport, or so I hear.”
Valin’s cane clacked nearer, and Torsten’s grip squeezed tighter around his own.
“I come, offering gold, and you dare insult me with such insinuations?” Valin asked.
“I’m sure Master Unger meant nothing by it,” Pi scolded, sounding a bit too much like he had under Nesilia’s influence.
Torsten remembered that he needed to stay on the king’s good side to avoid another situation like Redstar. Possessed or not, he was evidently susceptible to manipulation, as any child would be.
“Of course not,” Torsten replied. “So sorry, Your Grace.”
“It has troubled me in my studies of this city, that our waterfront suffers from poverty and despair even though that is where our people first settled,” Pi said. “To think, Autlas’ Inlet… my ten-times great grandfather would roll in his grave if he could see the state we’ve allowed it to fall into.
“I could not agree more, Your Grace,” Valin said. “I have lived there my entire life; nobody knows this better.”
“Then I would be honored if you would help hasten the restoration of this city. The Crown will reimburse you when it is able. When a new Master of Coin is instituted, you may negotiate terms of interest.”
More mumbling broke out from the Royal Council, no doubt amplified by the young King’s eloquence on matters of coin. Torsten’s heart skipped a beat. He knew South Corner deserved better. When he’d become a Shieldsman, his heart’s desire had always been to help the place. But that was before the entirety of the kingdom took precedence. Perhaps Valin Tehr kept the peace, even Sir Uriah Davies had once said as much, but Valin only helped prosper the things which filled his own pockets. He was a godless gold-monger.
Just then, the doors behind the throne opened once more.
“Ah, Master Jolly,” King Pi said. “You’ve just missed Lord Tehr’s generous offer to help rebuild South Corner and Dockside until such a time as the Crown can pay him back.”
“You mistake my intentions, Your Grace,” Valin said. “This is not a loan. I require no compensation for helping my home. I have spent a lifetime saving gold for a worthy cause. I can think of no better use for it.”
The murmurs at Torsten’s back turned positive. Why wouldn’t they? The offer seemed too good to be true.
“Surely you want something, Valin?” Torsten said.
“Commoners don’t grow wealthy throwing gold around,” Lord Jolly said. Torsten didn’t know the man well, but he was beginning to feel he had an ally on the council who shared certain points of view. He hoped there was a lot of Wardric in his fallen friend’s brother.
“I’ll admit, my businesses in Dockside struggle under these circumstances,” Valin said, injecting a bit of solemnity into his tone. “But while I will survive, so many others won’t—employees at my harbors or in my taverns.”
“And brothel,” Torsten added.
“Yes… people find pleasure however they will, it is not for me to judge. I have made many mistakes in my life as I’m sure every member of this esteemed council has. It is not too late to embrace Iam’s light.”
“How da—”
“Your proposal honors me,” Pi said, raising his voice to quiet Torsten. “The Crown will be happy to work with you on the reparations of South Corne
r, and I will personally find a way to repay your generosity when our affairs are in order.”
“The honor is all mine,” Valin replied. “This is your city after all, and I am but a humble servant. I only feel that if we, your people, stand with the Crown with all our hearts in improving this great kingdom, what happened on this Dawning past will never happen again. Thank you, Your Grace, for all of this. A king shouldn’t stay locked up behind stone walls, away from his people.”
The sound of Valin’s cane and footsteps distanced as he backed away.
“Is that all?” Torsten said knowing nothing with Valin came free. Even if he made Pi’s agreement sound like charity, it was gold from Valin’s own pocket that would be used. Torsten remembered the last time he’d owed the man a favor, a long time ago, and shuddered.
Valin stopped. “Come to think of it, there is one more thing.”
“As I suspected.”
“My eyes throughout the kingdom tell me that the Caleef was spotted heading south in a trading caravan.”
There was a collective gasp.
“That’s not the richest of it,” Valin said. “He was accompanied by Bartholomew Darkings.”
“Why didn’t you tell us that earlier?” Lord Jolly snapped. Torsten would have asked the same if the news didn’t rob the breath from his lungs.
“I’m telling you now,” Valin calmly replied.
“Where were they last seen?” Torsten managed to say.
“East of the Jarein Gorge. The Shesaitju man they were with wore nothing, and so I cannot confirm if it truly was the Caleef. Avoiding all postings and the Drav Cra raiders now ravaging the Wildlands under Drad Mak will have slowed their progress if it’s really them. It’s possible they might yet be found before reaching the Black Sands.”
Torsten turned toward the throne. “Your Grace, I’m not sure I trust this man, but if that’s true, we cannot hesitate. I will send gallers to Sir Nikserof and every fortress north of Nahanab and tell them to dispatch scouts to stop every carriage. If the Caleef reaches Latiapur, it might inspire more afhems to join Muskigo’s rebellion.”
“You may go, Sir Unger,” Pi said. “And thank you Mister Tehr for this information.”
Torsten used his cane to find his way down the dais. He knew the direction of the Shield Hall where he could privately disseminate orders by heart, but he wished he could move faster.
“Yes, thank you, Tehr,” he said as he passed. “But next time you claim to uncover information like this, don’t wait until you need something to tell us.”
“My apologies, Sir Unger,” Valin answered. “Secrets can be so harmful, as you know. With all the madness we’re dealing with in Dockside, it slipped my mind. I do hope you find them posthaste. Farewell, Your Grace; my Lords.”
Torsten reached a column and the side aisle, and then Lucas suddenly arrived to take his arm and guide him. He preferred moving on his own, and he also preferred trusting his sources of information. But there was no time to be picky.
Finding the Caleef could provide the last bit of leverage to end Muskigo’s rebellion once and for all.
XI
THE THIEF
Whitney brushed aside a strand of tangled branches. The light of Pantego’s moons could barely pierce the thick canopy, leaving the world impossibly dark. Even the torch he held had difficulty casting light across the brush of the Webbed Woods.
“Of all the places to wind up,” Whitney grumbled. He walked straight into a vine without seeing it. “Yig and shog!”
Shoving it out of the way, he went to pass, but the trees it draped between seemed to grow closer until Whitney was sideways, struggling to force his body through. He was about to curse but yelped instead when the vine slithered around his neck like a snake and squeezed.
He pawed at his hips for his daggers and found nothing. Then, he turned his attention to his throat. Digging his fingers under the thick vine, he tried to pry it loose but the more he did, the tighter it became. His feet lifted, and he kicked at the trees on either side, but his boots merely dragged along, peeling away dried bark.
“Help!” he cried, the air barely managing to squeeze through his crushed throat. Just then, Aquira swooped down and landed on his shoulder. “Help…” he rasped again. She stared straight into his eyes, screeched, then flew away.
Now his whole body thrashed. The world grew more and more dark as his air gave way, until he heard a familiar voice, all at once callous and welcoming.
“What are you doing up there, foolish thief?” Kazimir asked. A blade hummed through the air, slashing the vine.
Whitney fell from the canopy, screaming erratically, but before he knew it, he was on his back in the Troborough square. He searched from side to side, frantically patting his body and wondering how he wasn’t a pile of shattered bones.
“I can’t keep fixing all of your problems,” Kazimir said.
Whitney flipped over and saw the white-haired upyr sitting on the edge of the well. He calmly gazed off into the sky, but there was no mistaking the shimmer of fresh blood dripping from his lips like cleaning it was too much of a bother.
“You?” Whitney gasped. “Are we—”
“Dead again?” Kazimir said. “You tell me.”
“I…” Whitney stood and brushed off his pants. He was about to start cursing the upyr when he noticed how quiet Troborough was. The Twilight Manor didn’t have a soul inside. Not a chimney in the town smoked. “It’s different.”
“Is it?” Kazimir lowered his gaze. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“What, did you do—devour them all this time?” Whitney asked.
“I suffered more than half-a-decade with you because I pushed the Sanguine Lords’ patience. I take only what is meant for me now.”
“Aren’t you a special little goose?” Whitney scoffed, then made his way to the well and took a seat beside the man he’d never had any desire to befriend.
“So, you didn’t get out?” Whitney asked.
“Didn’t I?”
“Always riddles with you,” Whitney complained.
“Eternity is relentless, Fierstown. An upyr never escapes. But I have seen that which cannot be mine. Have you?”
“What are you talking about?”
Kazimir’s arm lashed out. Before his fingers touched Whitney, Aquira landed on his arm.
“Aquira!” Whitney exclaimed. “Come here, girl.” He reached for her, but her curious eyes suddenly went fierce. She bit his hand before scurrying up Kazimir’s arm. The upyr snatched her by the neck. She squealed and kicked, scratching Kazimir, whose wounds healed almost immediately.
“Let her go!” Whitney shouted. He too pounded on Kazimir’s chest, but the impossibly strong upyr didn’t budge.
“Do you really think you can still help her?” Kazimir asked. “That she’s just waiting in that tower for you? She’s gone, Whitney. You angered the wrong people, got yourself killed, and because of it, she’s gone.”
“I said, let her go!” Whitney shouted.
“You can’t help her now. You can’t help anybody.”
“Stop!”
Kazimir squeezed, and Aquira stopped squirming. “What wasted potential.” He sighed and tossed the wyverns limp body into the well. “You can’t help her, Whitney. Nobody can.”
“No!” Whitney screamed. He shoved Kazimir to the side and leaped headfirst into the well, falling, endlessly, without a splash.
“No!” Whitney screamed, lurching upright. Aquira was already awake, perched atop some crates and staring down at him and chirping. Sweat drenched Whitney’s forehead as he caught his breath.
“Just a dream,” he whispered. He went to crawl off his bedroll, and his palms landed in a shallow pool of water.
“What the—”
It wasn’t sweat drenching his body. Massive drops of water splashed along his legs, then face until finally, Whitney woke up enough to understand.
“Gentry! Up! Up!”
“Huh?” the boy said, sitting up and
rubbing his eyes. They went wide when he realized his hands were damp.
Whitney didn’t wait. He snagged Aquira and sprang out of bed, then clutched Gentry by the arm and dragged him through calf-deep water toward the other side of the cellar.
“What’s happening?” Gentry asked.
“That bastard forgot to mention his basement floods!” Whitney said. “I knew I should have taken him for everything he’s got.”
“Taken him?”
“Nothing,” Whitney said. “We’ve got to move. Let’s—”
An earsplitting bang sent them stumbling into the door. It frightened Aquira so much her claws dug into Whitney’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood. The sound of wood splintering followed, like Torsten’s heavy boots snapping the twigs that littered the floor of the Webbed Woods.
“Gentry!” Whitney grabbed the boy and fell back into the stairwell just in time to avoid being crushed by the collapsing cellar roof. Rain slashed in, and Whitney had a straight shot up through the heart of the inn, where a portion of the roof had been rent by a falling tree.
“C’mon!” Whitney yelled. He pulled Gentry up the stairs before more of the first floor split open to smash them like mashed potatoes. Whitney thought he heard screaming upstairs, but it could easily have been the susurrus of the wind. Gentry shouted something and even right next to the kid, Whitney had trouble hearing him.
“Just stay down, cover your head; it’ll be over soon.” Whitney wasn’t at all sure that was true, but he had to say something.
A few steps up the staircase, another crash made them both duck and wince, as if that would help. Gentle sobs came from beside Whitney, and he felt Gentry’s gyrations.
“You’ll be fine,” Whitney said, slowly putting his arm around the boy. Comforting others had never been his strong suit.
Gentry yelped as a wooden plank swept across the doorway above and slapped hard against the adjoining walls. “I don’t want to die!”
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