It didn’t matter if she lived or died. Just as it didn’t matter to Droë that he wasn’t beautiful or perfect. Just as it didn’t matter that he loved another. She loved him anyway. She couldn’t help herself. And so she knew – she knew – he would not relinquish his love, even if she acted on her jealousy. He certainly wouldn’t give his love to her.
Which left her at a loss. Should she kill out of pique? Out of envy? Should she leave Tobias and Cresten to grapple with each other, and let the strongest and canniest prevail? Truly, she didn’t know.
“What happened to you, Droë?” Tobias asked, snapping her out of her musings. “How did you change so?”
Her cheeks flamed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Qiyed smirk.
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters. You’re my friend. I’m curious about you.”
“I have no recollection of our friendship. These two–” She gestured at Cresten and the woman. “I know them. I remember them. You and I meet years from now. You might have lived it, but I haven’t. And even Tirribin can’t see into the future.”
“Are you still Tirribin?”
The man who was Cresten tightened his grip on the knife. “A fascinating question,” he said, sounding anything but fascinated. “But not the reason I’m here. I’ve lost men tonight, and I’ve yet to finish what I came to do.”
She had liked Cresten well enough. She didn’t like Orzili.
“You will not kill him,” she said.
He kept his eyes fixed on Tobias, who raised his blade as well. “Years ago you declared yourself my friend. That’s more than you’ve done for him.”
“Nevertheless.”
“Fine. What about the child? Surely you don’t care about her. I’ll let you have her years. I don’t need to kill her myself. If she dies, I’m willing to let him go.”
Tempting. The child’s years, imperfect though they were, would make a fine meal.
“Would you accept this?” she asked Tobias. “Your life and the woman’s in exchange for the child?”
“No. I’d sooner die.” He traced a finger over one scar and then another. “You see these? Orzili gave them to me in Hayncalde’s dungeon. All of them, on my face, my back, my chest. Cuts, burns, broken bones. Torture intended to make me agree to exactly the bargain he’s offering now. I refused then, and I love the child even more today. I’ll trade my life to save hers. She has to live.”
“What about her life?” Droë asked, pointing at Mara.
“I’d make the same trade,” the woman said before Tobias could answer. “I’ll die before I surrender her.”
Droë regarded them, her forehead creased in concentration. With all she had learned, she still didn’t know as much about love as she wanted or needed. It had more currents and eddies than the sea. Still, she understood enough.
“No,” she said to Cresten. “The woman is my friend, as you are, and Tobias will be. I would honor our pledge of friendship as well, but not in this way, not at the cost of this life.”
He didn’t move, not even to loosen his hold on the weapon. Droë wondered if she might have to hurt him, or take some of his years. But then he appeared to think better of fighting her. He lowered his blade hand and sheathed the weapon.
“Fine.” He flashed a malicious smile at Tobias. “There’s always tomorrow.”
An idea came to her. She took hold of Cresten’s arm and steered him to where Qiyed waited.
“You can take him somewhere, yes?”
“Take me where?”
“Silence!” she said with a Tirribin rasp.
He clamped his mouth shut, sullen, his trepidation palpable.
“You ask a boon?” Qiyed said.
“I seek restitution for wrongs you have visited upon me.” “What wrongs?”
She glared. “You truly need to ask?”
After some time, he said, “This would settle matters between us? Keep you from telling others about my… my commerce?”
“It would settle matters, and I would tell none of what you’ve done to me. As to the rest, I promise nothing if I should learn of future transgressions.”
He weighed this. “Where would you send him?”
“Far. Flynse, perhaps.”
Cresten’s gaze flew between them. “No!”
They ignored him.
“You would tell him nothing of what has passed between us,” she said. “You would enter no bargains of any kind with him. Indeed, I would prefer that you didn’t speak to him at all.”
“You ask much.”
“I have endured much. And witnessed more.”
Qiyed made a small impatient motion with his hand. “Very well. I will take him.”
“Make him leave his sextant,” Tobias said. “Otherwise he’ll be back here within a bell. It won’t matter how far they go.”
Cresten turned a glare on him that could have melted steel. Qiyed scowled as well, no doubt resenting a human’s interference in their commerce. Droë held out a hand. When Cresten did nothing, she bared her teeth.
He produced a sextant from within his robe and handed it to her. “Flynse,” she said. She met the Arrokad’s glare. “I hope not to see you again, Qiyed.”
“I make no promises in that regard.” Qiyed gripped Cresten’s arm. “Come, human. If you have never voyaged with an Arrokad, you are in for a memorable journey.”
As Qiyed led Cresten to the ship’s rail, the human glanced back at Tobias. “This only postpones the inevitable, Walker. I will find you again.”
Tobias answered with a fearsome grin. “I’ll be waiting… Cresten.”
Qiyed leapt from the ship, pulling Cresten with him. The last Droë saw of them on the dark sea, they were already nearing the mouth of the bay.
CHAPTER 35
18th Day of Kheraya’s Settling, Year 634
Tobias stared after the demon and Orzili until he lost them amid the swells.
“What about the rest of them?” Captain Larr asked, indicating Orzili’s men with a twitch of her pistol.
He turned and took in the state of ship. In addition to the dead Shonla and Belvora, three of Orzili’s men lay dead. Two more were hurt. He wasn’t sure how many had died or been injured on the other ship. Seven remained on their feet. The Sea Dove had lost six sailors, including Gwinda. As many more bled from gashes or bullet wounds, including Mara.
A sheen of sweat covered her face and dampened her shirt. Blood soaked the leg of her breeches. Sofya cried below. He couldn’t help either of them. Not yet.
Droë crossed to where he stood and handed him Orzili’s sextant. She stared at him as she did this, strangely diffident.
“We should take their weapons,” Tobias said to the captain. “And the tri-sextants.”
“And then?”
“I’m not prepared to execute them.”
“I am,” Larr said without hesitation. “They killed my sailors. Law of the sea. Their blood is mine.”
Tobias hiked a shoulder. “Then do what you must. I won’t stop you.” He faced Droë again. “Will you?”
She shook her head. “Their lives mean nothing to me.”
Several of the assassins crouched, prepared to renew their battle.
“Do not,” Droë warned. “Losing your years to me will be worse by far than whatever death these humans have in mind for you.”
Judging from the captain’s expression, Tobias wasn’t so sure. But the Sea Dove’s surviving sailors outnumbered the assassins by more than two to one. In moments Orzili’s men had been disarmed.
“What about the life of our child?” Tobias asked.
“I have already agreed to spare it.”
“A child’s years? To a Tirribin–”
“I am more than Tirribin now. Don’t push me in this. Please.” He tipped his head.
Her eyes met his again, though not for long. A memory flickered in his thoughts, as distant as silent lightning. A kiss they shared in the courtyard of Windhome Palace, her mocking la
ughter not quite masking her desire to understand human attraction.
“You haven’t answered my question,” he said. “What happened to you? How did you come to be… as you are now? Grown and beautiful.”
Her gaze found his. “You think me beautiful?”
“You’ve always been beautiful, Droë. You were as a girl, and you are now. But I’ve never heard of a Tirribin growing to womanhood.”
She looked away, even as a faint smile curved her lips. “No, I don’t imagine. I’m the only one.”
“How did you do it? And why?”
“You shouldn’t push me in this, either. It is done. That’s all that matters.” She walked away and rested her hands on the port rail. “I think I should leave you.”
He followed her a few paces, but halted well short of where she stood. “You helped us tonight. I’m grateful to you. All of us are.”
She nodded, keeping her back to him.
“Will we see you again?”
She peered back. “Maybe. I hope so.”
“Can we take you to shore?”
“No, I’ll swim.”
“I didn’t know Tirr… I didn’t know you swam.”
“I’ve been at sea for some time now. I’m growing to like the water.” She smiled. “Goodbye, Tobias.” She shifted her gaze to Mara. “Be well.”
“Thank you, Droë,” Mara said.
The demon vaulted over the rail and carved into the water.
Tobias strode to the ship’s side in time to see her surface some distance away. She looked back, pale eyes alight with the silver moon and the dancing gold of torches. He raised a hand. She didn’t, but began to swim toward the city, her strokes strong and sure.
He clung to the Arrokad as he would to a spar of wood amid a ship’s wreckage. This night could not have gone worse, yet it was far from over. The demon raced across harbor and sea and strait at a speed Orzili could scarcely comprehend. Wind whipped at his face and soaked his clothes, stinging his skin, chilling him.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
No answer. Droë had told the Arrokad not to speak with him. It seemed the demon would honor her request.
“I can offer you gold, gems – anything you want. Just don’t take me so far.”
Silence, save for the keening gale.
He thought on all he had seen this night, in particular all that had passed between Droë and this Arrokad. Something in their interaction had shifted in the time they were on the ship. He’d seen it happen. When they boarded, the Arrokad controlled her. By the time he and the Arrokad departed, she had thrown off his authority, exerted her own.
If he couldn’t negotiate with the demon, perhaps he could goad him. This carried risks, but he wasn’t sure the demon could do worse to him than Pemin would upon learning of another failure.
“It must be difficult,” he chanced, “to lose your hold on such a stunning creature. Humiliating, even.”
He didn’t know how it happened. One moment he held tight to the Arrokad. The next he soared through the night at that same astonishing speed, but unmoored, spinning, beyond control. He crashed into the surf. Who knew water could hurt so much?
Dazed, he floated for an instant, then started to sink. He tried to swim toward the moonlight, but he could barely see and his arms and legs wouldn’t do what he asked of them. Fear kicked in. He thrashed, fought toward the liquid light of the moon.
A hand closed around his wrist and yanked him up and out of the water.
“She wants you alive, so you will live,” the Arrokad said, the growl in his words more frightening than Droë’s rasp. “But you will speak no more.”
He flung Orzili roughly onto his back and set off again. Orzili wrapped his arms around the Arrokad’s neck, fearing their speed would peel him away, back into the sea.
After they had gone some distance, he tried again.
“I meant no offense.”
“Unless you wish to drown, you will be silent.”
He held his tongue for a few spirecounts.
“I knew her as a Tirribin. Quite well, actually. We spoke almost every night for two turns or more.”
A hand like cold iron closed around his arm and ripped him away from the Arrokad’s back. They continued apace, but Orzili crashed through swells and white caps. Water battered him. He could barely breathe without swallowing mouthfuls of brine.
At last they slowed. Orzili gasped and sputtered. If the demon released him, he would sink.
“Why do you insist on angering me, human? Do you wish to die?”
“Hardly,” he said, still struggling for breath. “I’m hoping… you won’t take me… all the way to Flynse.”
“She made her wishes clear.”
“Would that… have mattered… yesterday?”
The demon pulled him closer, until Orzili floated only a hand or two from the slitted eyes and needle teeth. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. Just… I sense that not so long ago… you would have cared less… about her wishes.”
The demon’s lips pulled back from his teeth. Orzili was certain the creature would kill him. After a time, though, he threw Orzili onto his back again and resumed their course.
“What do you want?” the Arrokad asked over his shoulder.
“Leave me somewhere nearer to here.”
“I will not. She was specific in her wishes.”
“She also didn’t want you to speak with me. You’re doing that now.”
The Arrokad didn’t argue.
“The Walker then,” Orzili went on. “Let me know where he goes. If you’ll do that, I can–”
“No bargains. She made that clear.”
Orzili ground his teeth. Droë had been clever, and had known all too well how faithfully the Arrokad would follow her instructions.
“A favor then.”
“You ask a boon of me?”
Carefully. “No. A boon would be commerce, a bargain by a different name.”
“You wish the Walker dead, is that right?”
“I care nothing for the Walker.” A lie. Twice now, Tobias had bested him. The first time had left scars. Now he was being dragged to the most remote isle between the oceans. Of course he wanted to kill the pup. But, as in all things, Pemin’s desires came first. “The child he has with him must die. The rest is unimportant.”
“A shame,” the Arrokad said. “As I have my own reasons for wanting the Walker to die.”
Orzili wasn’t sure what to say. He knew better than to probe further, but he didn’t know how to continue this negotiation, or whatever it was. Still, the Arrokad had given him an opening, a chance to turn this latest failure into… something else. With Qiyed’s help, and whatever resources Gillian Ainfor had drawn upon to locate Tobias in the first place, he might still do what Pemin had demanded.
“You mentioned a favor,” the demon prompted. “We have leagues to go before we reach Flynse. Tell me more.”
Orzili managed a smile. Perhaps this night wouldn’t prove such a disaster after all.
A strange tightness gripped Droë’s chest. Not sadness, not anger or envy, not the feeling she had come to know as love. Not any emotion she could name. Closer, perhaps, to all of them. A great knot she couldn’t untangle.
Once back on land, she hunted and fed because her body told her to. She took no pleasure in the years she found. Or in the ease with which she overpowered her prey. When she finished, she felt no better, no less confused.
Should she have killed the woman? Should she have allowed Cresten to take the child? She was beautiful, alluring even. Perhaps she could have won Tobias’s heart. Maybe she still could.
His ship remained in the harbor. She glanced at it repeatedly, reassuring herself that he hadn’t yet ventured beyond her reach.
She attempted to comprehend the emotions writhing in her chest. A knot still, but worms now. Alive. Distasteful. Burrowing deeper. What did she want? Would she feel better if she went back? Killed Mara? Claimed him
as her own?
Yes, probably. For a time, at least, though only if doing so would make Tobias love her. Which, of course, it wouldn’t. Quite the contrary. He would mourn his lost love, curse Droë for what she had done, despise her. Despite how she looked.
Love and desire. She had been a fool to quest for them.
They were more than double-edged. They were like the deadliest of sea urchins. Lovely as they might have been, they bore a thousand barbs, each tipped with a drop of poison.
She sat on the strand, stared at the ship, understanding what she should have grasped turns ago: Tobias had never been within her reach. Tresz – solid, kind, lovable – had tried to talk her out of pursuing Tobias when first she proposed that they journey together. She should have listened. Failing that, she should have remained with him. Cold as his mists had been, she would have preferred his company to Qiyed’s. She would have preferred to remain in her Tirribin form. Something in her chest shifted painfully.
That was it then, the emotion lying at the root of all others. Regret. She had erred, a poor choice that had changed her forever. Before she knew it, tears coursed down her cheeks.
She let herself cry for a long time, until at last she grew weary of grief. She stood, wiped her tears away. Belatedly, it occurred to her that she had freed herself from Qiyed. For all she had forsaken this night, she had gained something precious: freedom. And so she thought it ironic that what she wanted most of all was to skim over waves again.
By now, she thought, Cresten must be on Flynse. Not for long, she knew. But perhaps he was far enough to give the Walkers time to get away.
Another barb.
Qiyed might already be on his way back. If he wished to find her again, to avenge his humiliation, he would begin his search here. She didn’t wish to face him so soon.
A name entered her thoughts: the one creature who could bear her from this place in her grown form, the one being she knew who might share her concern for the Walkers and her antipathy for Qiyed.
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