Coralie had wandered a few stalls away and was looking dour. “No, thank you,” she said.
Lilianna felt like everyone must be staring at her, but this time it wasn’t because she might steal something. The jewels and precious metals sparkled on her neck and wrists, like a giant sign telling everyone she was important. People were moving out of her way as she walked. That had never happened before.
At the same time, there was some deep uneasiness in her stomach. Aron was not her father, he’d been nothing but kind and accommodating, but Lilianna couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d traded one prison for another. This was a comfortable one, but yet again she was dependent on a man.
She noticed Coralie was drifting farther and farther away, so while Aron argued with a merchant over the price of cinnamon, Lilianna approached her friend, who was looking seriously at a set of clay bowls.
“Hey, are you OK?”
“Of course, yeah, I’m fine,” Coralie wasn’t looking at her.
“You’re clearly not fine, Coralie.”
Coralie fiddled with the bowl, examining a crack in its side. She sighed, finally looking at her, but then her eyes were drawn to the jewelry. Lilianna blushed.
“It’s just in case,” Lilianna said. “I figured we could sell it.”
Coralie reached out and touched one of the ruby roses. “It looks good on you.”
Lilianna’s heart fluttered.
“It doesn’t really feel like me,” she said.
Coralie’s grey eyes lifted to hers, and Lilianna’s stomach turned over. A stray piece of light brown hair had drifted free of Coralie’s braids, and she wanted to reach over and tuck it behind her ear. Coralie smiled. “It looks good on you,” she said again.
And suddenly, with those simple words, Lilianna felt comfortable. As if she, Lilianna, was worth enough to be wearing it.
35
Elaine
Year Eight Hundred Ninety-Nine of the Reign of the Mandrevecchian.
For the first week, Elaine stayed in her room. The innkeeper brought her regular meals and, while he had a thoughtful, curious look in his eyes, he refrained from asking her anything.
Finally, she got up enough courage to venture outside again, just enough to sit in the grimy town square outside the inn, staring up at a crumbling statue of Eclelia. Talismans and gifts, things people had found in lucky ways, were scattered around the base of the statue. Elaine thought she could feel people watching her. A few spat and called her a traitor. A man, his eyes thick and hazy, tried to grab her. Quickly it became clear to her that she couldn’t stay in Tarith.
She had to go where no one knew her. She had to do that before she ran out of money and had no way of leaving. But she had no idea where she should go. She had no family that she knew of, her father was a reincarnate and hadn’t had a true family for hundreds of years. Her mother had been an orphan, she thought, although she didn’t remember much about her, just a few hazy memories from when she was very young.
The only place Elaine had ever been, besides Tarith, was Kreiss, the capital of Mimros. The more she thought about it, the more Kreiss seemed like the right choice. It was the largest city in Mimros. It was so big that no one would know her, no one would know her father had been executed for treason. Maybe she could find work there.
That evening, when the innkeeper brought her dinner, she asked him how much passage to Kreiss would be.
He looked at her thoughtfully. “Two silvers is the non-clan price.” He adjusted the knife next to the plate. “Look, though.” His eyes were heavy. “Those boats are no place for a young, clanless girl to go alone.”
“I don’t have a choice. I have to leave,” Elaine said.
The innkeeper ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I can understand that. I can ask around. It’s possible someone will show up wanting to go that way.”
“Oh, thank you very much,” Elaine said. To her surprise, she felt tears welling in her eyes, it had been that long since she’d spoken to anyone, and longer since she’d experienced kindness.
For the next ten days, Elaine waited to see if the innkeeper would find someone, but every day he shook his head. No one was going to Kreiss. No one here had the money to go anywhere. Elaine knew people who had money, who went to Kreiss often, but she knew how those people felt about her now, and none of them would protect her.
Her money was running out. She’d already spent nearly forty pieces. Soon she would be forced to take the boat to Kreiss, or she wouldn’t have enough to pay for passage. That evening in her room, she prayed to the gods, asking them what to do. She prayed to Numenos, most powerful of all, mother of all the gods, goddess of life itself. Then she prayed to Eclelia, goddess of luck, and Ava, goddess of fortune. Slowly, one by one, she went through the gods and goddesses, whispering their names to herself and asking for their assistance. When she got to Onera, goddess of wind, an idea hit her like a thunderbolt. Her boat. The Onera. Would they have moved it already, or was it still in her father’s warehouse down by the docks?
If she went to get it, that would technically be stealing. Just because Elaine disagreed with the laws didn’t mean she wouldn’t follow them. Society held together because of people following the laws they had all agreed to. She’d already done one immoral thing because of her father, hiding the evidence, and she didn’t like that she was already considering another. But it didn’t feel wrong. It was her boat. It had taken her years to build. And the way the idea had come to her, it felt so right, so perfect, as clear an answer from the gods as she’d ever had.
Swallowing hard, she began packing her things. It was evening already, but night was the perfect time for what she had planned.
Elaine ran her hands over her frizzy, greasy hair, using some water from a pitcher to smooth the tangles down as best she could. She looked down at her dress, the same grey wool one she’d been wearing since Gilmurry had come to the door that morning. She brushed off what dirt she could and, tucking her room key into her bag of money, locked the door and left.
She strode through the dining room, ignoring the catcalls of a few men who appeared to have spent the day drinking in the corner. The innkeeper was dropping plates off at a table, and he stopped when he saw her.
“Thank you for everything,” she said, dropping the key into his pocket. She fished two silvers from her purse for that night’s stay, but he waved her off.
“You’re leaving early enough.”
She knew she wasn’t. “Thank you.”
“Good luck, lass.”
36
The Angler
For four hundred years, the Angler had simply been the Angler. Recently, though, he had also been Ava, Goddess of Fortune. This was surprising to him, but he didn’t question it.
The Angler’s primary skill was sitting still. He was able to sit for hours without moving, the only hints that he was alive the beating of his heart and the blinking of his eyelids, but both of those were rare, and he hardly noticed them. He hated this body, had hated all the bodies he had ever had. The first one hadn’t been so bad. But then, as they came and went and came and went and came and went and his mind became fuller and fuller and the time went faster and faster, he began to feel burdened by the upkeep. So much cleaning and feeding and trimming and warming and cooling and resting and watering. It took up so much time. Time he didn’t have. Because there was an order to things. There was something behind the way things seemed, and lately the Angler had felt close to uncovering it. Thoughts of it had occupied the last three of his lifetimes, and now he felt closer than ever.
Currently, the Angler was counting bricks in the wall outside of a warehouse by the docks. There was something important about this wall, he was sure, and as he counted each row, he wrote the number on a scrap of paper. Then he tucked the paper into his pocket and began counting the next row. When he finished that row, he fished out the paper, made a note of the number, and returned it to his pocket. So far, he had counted seventeen rows, and each h
ad had either one hundred and thirty-seven or one hundred and thirty-eight bricks. This felt deeply important to him. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew that at some point, if he just had all the details, all the pieces would come together and the truth that eluded his grasp would come to him.
He was just beginning the eighteenth row when the girl arrived. He heard her before he saw her, and immediately crouched down amid a pile of trash and held perfectly still. She walked right past him without noticing, and he moved nothing but his eyeballs as he watched her pass.
She went to the door of the warehouse, examined the iron chain that bolted it shut, then went around the far side and jumped into the water.
The Angler looked down at the trash he was sitting in. The frayed and twisted remains of a fishing net caught his eye and he moved it three inches to the right. That was better. He set a discarded fish head on top of it. Frowning, he moved it a little to the left.
Then he got up, went to the door with the iron chain, pulled a key out of a pocket, and unlocked it. The Angler collected many things, but keys were especially useful, he had found.
Elaine knew that if she gave herself time to think about what she was going to do, she might not do it, so she walked to the edge of the water and jumped in. The freezing water hit her hard, driving the air from her body. Her instincts took over and she struck out, pulling with her arms and kicking with her legs as she sucked in air in short, quick gasps. The bottom dropped away beneath her, the tide on its way out but still high, and she struggled against the heavy fabric of her dress which dragged at her, slowing every movement. Her hands were going numb, but it was better than feeling the cold as she scanned the green-slimed, barnacle-encrusted wood of the warehouse.
The building itself rested on heavy, tar-coated pilings, keeping it above the waterline. The moon was approaching fullness, and its silvery light was more than enough to see by. Elaine just hoped no one used its light to see her.
There was a place she knew of, under the warehouse, where the floorboards were loose. She’d used it a few times, before her father had given her a key. She wished she had that key now. Moreover, she hoped the gift didn’t mean her father had discovered how she was breaking in and fixed it.
Her eyes wide, her lips going numb, she swam between the heavy pilings, making her way into the darkness under the warehouse; the sound of water lapping against wood and dripping from the planks above filled her ears. She’d never done this at night, and she wasn’t sure if she would be able to find the broken boards, if they even existed anymore. Her arms and legs were going numb now, and her swimming was already becoming clumsy. Her teeth started to chatter, and her lips felt rubbery. She knew it didn’t take long for sailors who had gone overboard at night to die of the cold. She was already regretting her plan.
She came to a piling and felt her way around it for the rope she’d left there. Nothing. Either it was gone, or this was the wrong spot. Doggedly, she swam to the next one, wondering how long she could stay in the water before she’d better get out and try to find some way to warm up. Even once she was out of the water she would still be soaked, and with nowhere to go to get out of the cold. She swam to the next piling, checking carefully around its sides, rough with barnacles. Nothing. This had turned out to be a lot more reckless than she’d realized. Panic began to set in, and she pushed herself harder towards the next post.
The Angler stood perfectly still in the dripping darkness of the warehouse. Below the wooden planking he could hear the splashing and quiet gasps of the girl. She was small; she wouldn’t last long in the water.
The Angler had died of cold once. He’d wandered away from the monastery, up into the snows. He thought he’d seen something bright among the dark pines. The snow had been cold and shining and quiet around him, and the numbness had crept up his feet into his legs and from his hands up his arms into his chest. Only his toes had hurt as they’d gone cold. Otherwise, it had been relaxing, like falling asleep. Of all the ways he had died, that had been the best.
Death. Why was he thinking about it? He’d died in his sleep a few times. And watched other things die. He’d sat at the broken gate and watched the rich souls passing through. He’d walked through the realm of death, seen the other gates, watched the people passing through them, their ghostly eyes unfocusing, their features—the features their lives had imprinted onto their souls—washed away leaving only shapeless, pearly lights.
A splash below distracted him. Where was he? Lilianna? She was dead, he was sure she was. No, that wasn’t right. She was alive. She was coming to let him out. There had been a boat, and then jostling and trees and cold, and then he’d died. And again she had found him. That was the first death he remembered. Death. Why was he thinking about death?
A muffled curse came from below, and some spluttering. That was why he was thinking about death. There was a girl who was going to die down there. And there were things up here which were not how they should be. What things? He sensed them so strongly. But he couldn’t see them. He needed to see the things, to see how they should be.
Elaine paused by a piling, her hand resting on its rough surface, treading water. She just needed to rest for a moment. Her eyes started to close. Just a quick nap. Her head sank below the waterline, and she spluttered, gasping, shaking herself. What was she doing? She couldn’t rest. She had to get out of here. She needed to get out of the water and get warm. Now.
Before she could move, though, she heard footsteps on the boards above her, and a light flared. The boards hadn’t been closely fitted, and light slanted through the gaps in bright lines. Right in front of her, on the next pole, was the rope she had been looking for, nailed to the underside of the warehouse, ready for her to climb. If she even could.
Whoever it was above her moved, and light flared again. Another oil lamp lit. Then another. Light blazed down around her. She swam drunkenly for the rope and began to pull herself up, bracing herself on footholds on the piling. She heaved her dripping body out of the water, the wind stinging her exposed, wet skin. She was shaking uncontrollably now, barely able to keep her grip on the rope.
The boards above her creaked again. Who was up there? The watch? One of her father’s employees? Maybe it was her father, maybe he was alive, and if he was alive, he would need to come back and get his things. His boats. Of course. There was a tiny piece of her mind that thought this was crazy, but the rest of her was sure. This was obvious. It was her father’s warehouse. It must be her father.
She reached up, pressed the broken board out of the way, and squeezed up through the crack. The splintery edges of the boards pulled at her sodden dress, her fingers numb and slippery on the planking.
Strong hands reached down, gripped her under her armpits, and drew her upwards. She sprawled over the boards, shaking, and someone put a blanket over her, then another. Then they climbed under the blanket behind her and wrapped an arm over her, cuddling up against her.
A horrible, rank smell filled Elaine’s nostrils, but she was barely aware of it. She was intensely grateful for the heat that soaked into her. Her father had been hiding out. Of course he wouldn’t smell good. She didn’t smell good either.
She was shivering. Not just teeth chattering, but the large muscles of her legs and arms and stomach shaking uncontrollably. Her father held her tightly, and for a while she thought she was going to cry, because it was the first time she’d felt truly safe since her father had gone. It hurt, as feeling came back. Tingling and aching and a deep, deep cold.
Finally, she didn’t feel warm, but she felt alive again, and then she began to wonder why her father wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t explaining where he’d been or how he’d escaped.
She opened her eyes, pulled slightly away, and turned around to see black eyes looking at her out of a swarthy face framed by stringy black hair. Not her father.
She shrieked and pulled away, taking the blankets with her. She pushed herself a few feet further, wrapping the blankets more tightly around
her and staring at the man.
He was incredibly dirty, his skin was sallow, his hair greasy and matted, and he was watching her intently, his black eyes glinting like the shells of black crabs in the lamplight.
“Who are you?” she croaked. She’d started shivering again, and part of her didn’t care who he was, she just wanted his body heat again. But it was too late for that. He didn’t seem dangerous, but she wasn’t in the habit of letting strangers cuddle her. Especially ones who looked like that. He was obviously a reincarnate, though, and that meant he must have money. Lots of it. So, what was he doing here, looking like a dreamer who’d stopped spending money on anything but the iris?
“I am the Angler,” he said, not blinking.
Elaine waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.
“Um, thank you for saving me. What were you doing here?”
He blinked. Then he pulled a piece of parchment from somewhere in his stained tunic. He consulted it for a moment. “I thought it was the bricks. There were too many, and they were in the wrong places. A rat went by with a piece of string. It wasn’t him. The lights were one. It was too dark.”
He was crazy. Driven mad by reincarnation. Elaine had seen milder forms of this before. Her father was one of the few completely unaffected by it. Minds weren’t meant to hold more than a single lifetime.
That didn’t explain what he was doing here, though. Usually those who went mad reincarnating had so much wealth that they hired people to take care of them, people who would run their affairs. Some of these caretakers were predatory. They were effectively running empires all on their own, all the wealth at their disposal, but they usually took good care of the mad reincarnate whose wealth they had stolen. Some reincarnates asked that their reincarnation rights be revoked if they went mad. They didn’t want to live out the rest of eternity insane, but those clauses could be tough to enforce, and others were so attached to immortality that they wouldn’t give it up even if they lost their grip on reality.
Death of the Immortal King Page 20
