“Such a strong nightcalling talent, yet you have a common birth,” he said.
I refused to be embarrassed. “My family delivers eggs.”
“Ever sailed? The Nocturnai is treacherous. Once we cross the night line, there will be no daylight, no comfort, no safety for months. What would you do if a storm damaged the ship?”
“Only traders and their hired crew have the right to—”
“And yet that didn’t stop Prisak Relat from learning the windcraft. By the time she tested as a nightcaller, she’d weathered months aboard. Stowing away. Signing on with foreign ventures. Her seaworthiness got her nominated to the Nocturnai.” He picked up the swatch of silk, traced the volcano’s outline with a fingertip. “And don't forget the dangers once we anchor at Ioene. Eruptions, endless dark. Nightcallers have disappeared in the island’s wilds, never to be found.”
I clenched my fists as he laid out his reasons for rejecting me. The other girls who passed the trial would wait until the day of the presentation before learning who’d been chosen, but he wouldn’t taint the Nocturnai by associating it with a gutterborn.
“Then again,” the man said, “following the rules despite personal desire . . . That’s a quality you rarely find in trader spawn. And no one can question your courage, undertaking a trial that no gutter—excuse me, no one of common origins—has attempted for decades. Welcome to the Nocturnai. Vidyul Altak, Captain.”
Captain Altak held out his hand. In it laid a pin, blue sea opal set in a nightforged silver housing. The sigil of the Nocturnai’s ship, the Evaeni. I stared at it blankly.
“But I—”
“Yes, you’re gutterborn, if you want to be crass about it. Frankly, I’d take a ship full of your sort over traders with their fussy needs and soft hands, but none of you are brave enough to test. When you walk out of here, the next generation of girls will see I’ve already pinned this to you. Perhaps more gutterborn will test next time.”
But I’m untalented. My heart stuttered. I couldn’t join the Nocturnai; I had no way to call the nightstrands. I’d only blurted out Moanet’s solution because I was so mad.
“I didn’t expect—”
“Of course you didn’t.” Captain Altak stuck the pin through the collar of my tunic and fastened the clasp. “Now out with you. The presentation ceremony is in two days—your appointment will be a formality. You’ll name your sentinel that evening. We sail at dawn five days from now.”
When I stumbled out of the tent, a nearby woman pointed at the pin affixed to my collar. Whispers rippled across the square. In the crowd’s midst, someone cheered. Others took it up, a rising storm. My stomach heaved as I ran for the alleyway and home.
Chapter Three
THOUGH MY FATHER’S grin twisted into a grimace when it pulled at the scabs around his eye, his face once again held hope. Sitting on his cot in our one-room home, he almost looked like the man I remembered from before our mother left. Proud. Unbreakable.
“My Lilik,” he said. “The first common nightcaller since Prisak Relat. I’d have given anything to see you leave that tent.”
My lie was a stone in my gut, heavier and heavier. I covered the Evaeni’s sigil with my hand.
“I’m not going, Da. I’m telling Captain Altak tomorrow. You need me to help with the deliveries.”
He caught Jaret’s eye and laughed. “Oh, dear little bird. Of course you’ll go. You haven’t even been formally presented, and traders have already sent offers at double my usual price. We’ll never struggle to pay the defense tax again.”
My guts churned. I simply couldn’t sail with the Nocturnai because I couldn’t call the strands. Night voyages always sailed with five talented nightcallers. The number five was sacred. Probably essential to the expedition’s success. And without nightforged weapons that responded to wielders’ thoughts as well as their sword arms, our defenders would lose against the savages. Islanders would die, and it would be my fault.
At the kitchen table, Jaret stabbed his fork into a potato. “I hope our mother hears. I bet she’d sell her toes one by one to get some nightblown glass for her jewelry-making.”
Poor Jaret. Twelve years old and so bitter. My mother had abandoned us soon after his birth, leaving Jaret to feel it was somehow his fault. But she’d been weak. The ordinary senses of duty and love and loyalty didn’t apply to her, not when weighed against the call of the Outer Isles. Maybe it was thanks to her influence I’d done this despicable thing.
My father grasped my clenched fist in a hand the size of a shovel. His fingers were thick and callused, but he never broke an egg when packing the deliveries. Not anymore, at least. When my mother abandoned us, Jaret and I were too young to help. Back then, my father crushed or dropped almost as many eggs as he nestled into the straw-filled cartons. He’d learned gentleness because he had to, both with the eggs and with us.
He pointed at my untouched plate. “Two weeks from now, when you realize that all you have to eat are fish and hardtack, you’ll miss my cooking.”
“I’m just not very hungry.” I wanted to vomit.
His grin once again tugged at his cuts. “Too excited, I’ll bet. Imagine . . . the Nocturnai.” He dug through his pocket, pulled out a coin. A whole copper crescent. “Try the evening market. Maybe you’ll find something more appetizing.”
“I’m not going, Da. Captain Altak made a mistake. And you need that money.”
Da laughed, loud and honestly. “Our fortunes have changed, little bird. No need to worry about a crescent or two.”
“But Da—”
“Lilik.” He grimaced as he sat up, no doubt from more bruises hiding beneath his clothes. “You don’t know how proud I am. If I could, I’d commission kites bearing your name to fly from the harbor guardstones. But all I have is this crescent. So take it. Please.”
I couldn’t speak. Snatching the crescent, I pushed out the door before I broke down entirely.
I knew where I had to go, but I needed to cut through the evening market to get there. People whispered when I passed. Food sellers smiled and touched their foreheads in quick salutes. I dropped my gaze and hurried past.
“Lilik!” A little boy ran up holding a bread trencher filled with spiced fruit. “My mother wants you to have this. No cost.”
My stomach clenched, a fist around my guilt. I pasted on a smile and shook my head. The boy’s shoulders slumped.
“Wait,” I said. “I already ate, that’s all. Can I come back tomorrow?”
The boy was missing his two front teeth. He stuck his tongue through the hole, smiled, and scampered off.
I hurried on, hands shoved deep into my pockets. Near the market’s edge, musicians played stringed instruments in the aisles between stalls. Pools of music lapped against one another, often clashing. Yowling cats prowled the stalls, curving between boots and carts.
When someone tapped my shoulder, I whirled to see Paono, crab pot-hoister, opportunist, and my best friend.
He grinned, dimples denting his cheeks. “Hoo! Supreme Lilik, the first gutterborn caller since the days before the Ulstat monster-heir raved on his throne. Aren’t you the cat’s tongue?”
“Clap shut, Paono.”
He fell in beside me. Unbelievably, his sandals were rattier than mine, clinging to his callused feet by threads.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I need to talk to someone.”
“Oh.” His stride faltered. He tried to cover it by stopping to adjust his sandal. “I thought we could go to the fountain. Forgot how busy you must be.”
“Maybe a bit later? I just—I have to deal with something first.”
Paono’s shoulders tensed—I was making this worse.
I touched his arm. “It’s Moanet Yiltak, okay? I need to ask her something.”
He straightened and set off, quickly drawing ahead of me. “I guess I’ll look for you later then.”
“Wait.” I hurried to catch up. “It’s not like that.”
; Not meeting my eyes, he brushed dark curls from his forehead. “I understand. You’re a nightcaller now.”
“I’ll be there, okay? Just give me an hour.”
He nodded, face pained—Paono was terrible at hiding his emotions. “Good luck with Moanet. I hope she accepts.”
Accepts? What did he mean?
He trotted off before I could ask, veering around a light-bearer holding a lantern with an aquamarine flame aloft. Each bearer walked a specific district, indicated by the lantern color, unless an attack happened, and then every lantern in the city would burn blood-red.
Too late, I realized what he was talking about. Paono thought I planned to invite Moanet to be my sentinel. As a nightcaller, I was expected to choose a companion to guard my back when I entered the calling trance. A sentinel should be the person the nightcaller trusts most. When he’d tapped on my shoulder, Paono had been expecting I’d ask him.
I sighed. What a mess.
Chapter Four
THE HOUSE OF YILTAK spanned an entire city block. Mosaics of tiny glass tiles covered the walls. Set in recessed niches, tall windows stretched for the sky. At the bases of the crowning spires, fires burned green and yellow, coloring the spires with flickering light. Atop wide marble steps, a pair of iron doors stood like wide-shouldered soldiers. I felt like a cockroach climbing the stairs. The brass knocker was as big as my head. When it fell against the door, the sound echoed.
A small panel slid aside with the hiss of metal scraping metal. Keen eyes peered out framed with perfect, high brows. My breath hitched. It was Trader Yiltak, Moanet's mother, and the most powerful person in the Islands. I’d expected a doorman.
“State your business.”
My jaw trembled, a stupid nervous reaction. “I’m here to see Moanet. I’d like to continue a business discussion we began earlier today.”
“You’re the common girl the captain selected for the Nocturnai.”
“Yes, Trader. That’s me.”
“I understand my daughter spoke to you before your test. Perhaps she wished to be the first to capitalize on your increased standing should you pass. You realize, however, that any commissions are not binding without my approval.”
I dropped my gaze. “I understand.”
The woman opened the door. She was as tall as most men. Elegant, with her hair in the customary crop-cut favored by heads of trader households.
I slipped past her into the coolness of the entry hall. The air smelled fresh, alive—potted trees lined the marble walkway, brushing the glass skylights high above.
“Moanet uses the second door on the right as her personal receiving chamber. Wait there.”
My sandals scuffed against the polished floor then rubbed softly when I crossed onto the carpet in Moanet’s room. Heavy bookcases covered two walls of the chamber. On a display table, a miniature brass ship sailed across seas sculpted of metal foil. I chose one of the three plush armchairs. The velvet fabric gave off a warm, antique scent.
Moanet arrived with little delay. She carried a tray set with cups of melted chocolate. Someone, perhaps a servant, shut the door behind her.
“You cannot admit the truth.” Moanet’s face was white, and her gaze flitted.
I stared at her, shocked. “But I can’t join the Nocturnai. I don’t have the talent.”
“You must.” When Moanet set the tray upon the table, the cups rattled.
“I shouldn’t have listened to you.” I dug my fingers into the arms of her expensive chair. What had I expected? An apology? Advice?
With a trembling hand, Moanet tucked her hair behind her ear. “The other traders were so smug. Conceited. I wanted you to pass where they failed. I never imagined the captain would select you.”
“But he did.”
“So you’ll go to Ioene.”
“And what happens when they find out I can’t call the strands?”
“Traitors to the Nocturnai are executed,” she said.
What? Executed? “Then I have to confess!”
She shook her head. “Same result.”
Even if I admitted to the lie? “Are you serious? But they haven’t even had the presentation ceremony. All I wanted was to prove them wrong.”
“Lilik. Stop.” Moanet’s hand had steadied, her trader serenity restored. She lifted a cup of chocolate and offered it. “There’s a way.”
I pinched the cup’s delicate handle, feeling numbed. “You mean, besides fleeing the Islands?”
Moanet sipped her chocolate. “You wouldn’t get far.”
“And why am I the only one in danger here? You’re as much to blame for this as I am.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I was not in the tent when you made the choice to lie.”
I clacked my cup down on the table. “You had a turn in the tent, too. And you told them you couldn’t sense the pattern. A Yiltak, testing in public with the rest of us, and you pretended to fail.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“It’s not important.” Moanet looked to the side. Her knuckles were white around the handle of her cup. “Look there’s no reason for us to argue. I said there’s a way. You can still make the voyage. My family has a particular heirloom that allows you to call the nightstrands without the talent.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a small carving you place within your reliquary. The strands will collect inside it as if you called them yourself.”
“If that’s possible, why does the expedition need nightcallers at all?”
“Two reasons. First, ours is the only known artifact—and we keep its existence secret. Do you really think the talent has manifested in every single Yiltak girl for the last ten generations?” She smirked. “Second, it’s dangerous. Because you cannot sense the collecting strands, you don’t know when there are too many. You must be cautious, and never call them for more than a few minutes.”
Hope and dread fought for control of my heart. I couldn’t believe they’d kill me for lying during the trial. Not if I came forward. But should I risk the shame of admitting what I’d done when she could offer a way out of this mess?
Then again, taking the carving would mean trusting Moanet a second time. The first time hadn’t worked out well.
“How do I know you aren’t trying to make sure I’m far away when they discover the truth?”
“You don’t. But consider: Yiltak soldiers are loyal and don’t ask questions. If I wanted you removed, I have plenty of options.”
The edge in her voice communicated the threat behind her words. I stared at her, thoughts racing. When the realization hit me, I wondered how I could have missed it earlier. “You tested in public because of the carving. If you’d failed in a private appointment, you’d have been forced onto the voyage anyway because your family can send a talentless nightcaller to Ioene.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Perceptive.”
“You must have an important reason to stay.”
Moanet ignored my comment. “For what it’s worth, I regret offering you the pattern. I wish I’d been less impulsive.” She pulled on a rope that dangled behind her chair. Somewhere in the cavernous house, a bell tinkled.
I swirled the chocolate in the cup as I thought back on logs of previous Nocturnais. None mentioned nightcaller betrayals, but mutineers had been keelhauled, and a thieving blacksmith had swung from a ship’s yardarm. Maybe she was right about the punishment for cheating during the trial.
A knock came at the door. Moanet set down her cup. “Come in.”
A servant entered bearing an inlaid wooden box. “As requested.”
He left, the door clicking shut behind him.
“I’m not heartless, Lilik. I am sorry. This is the best apology I can offer,” Moanet said. She opened the box. Inside, a black stone statuette of a young woman lay on a bed of velvet. Wisps of fog swirled above the carving, eddying where the lid’s movement had disturbed the air. When Moanet pursed her lips and blew, the tendrils of mist fled.
>
“Nightstrands?” I asked.
Moanet shook her head. “Just residues. The ghosts of strands she’s called before.” A smile flitted across her lips. “Only callers with the talent could see the strands anyway. And you have none.”
I blushed. It had been a dumb question. But Moanet’s words were a knife across the hurt I’d been ignoring. All my life I’d been convinced I was talented.
“Tell me why you’re doing this,” I said. “I can’t trust you otherwise.”
Household sounds filtered into the room. Pots and pans clanged while an entertainer plucked notes from a stringed instrument.
“I plan to elope,” Moanet said at last. Her hand curled around a pendant that dangled from her neck. “My mother would not approve. My intended husband is neither Kiriilti nor wealthy, but he loves me. He’s gathered enough money to send a ship. It’s the only way I’ll get away.”
“If you were chosen for the Nocturnai, you wouldn’t be here when it arrives.”
“No.”
Moanet was older than me. Eighteen or nineteen. In a few years, she’d be expected to marry a younger sibling from another trader House, someone who would complement her skills without threatening her power. Maybe her mother had already chosen someone.
“I love him,” Moanet said. “Commoners think that trader life is easy, but you forget the burdens we carry. When the Waikert sink a trading vessel and kill everyone aboard, we feel we’ve failed them. The future of the Islands lies in our hands.”
She wasn’t going to earn my pity that easily. Moanet Yiltak might have responsibilities that I wouldn’t enjoy, but she’d never had to use the needle and waxed thread from her shoe-making kit to stitch her father’s face shut.
I took a sip of chocolate to collect myself. “What about your inheritance?”
Moanet sneered. “Haven’t you pried enough? You have my big secret.”
Shattering of the Nocturnai Box Set Page 2
