by Lori M. Lee
The crush of so many expectations is matched only by the fear of not measuring up. I press my palms to my temples. Fear is not a wall. It is a whip at my back, driving me onward.
I might not be a proper soulguide, but I am not helpless. Kendara made sure of that. I already possess every skill I’ll need to reach her in Vos Gillis. But what about the shamanborn imprisoned there? They’ll be executed if they’re returned to the Valley.
Once, I might have helped to imprison them if the queen had ordered it—what sort of monster did that make me? Knowing what she does to her enemies, looking the other way becomes terribly easy. But no longer. I won’t leave the imprisoned shamanborn to the queen’s vengeance.
They risked their lives to escape the Valley of Cranes on little more than hope. Many plunged recklessly into the Dead Wood as a result of that hope. After all they have suffered—which is far more than what even I have had to endure—the ferocity in all their eyes says the same thing: We are not broken.
SEVENTEEN
Ronin looks the other way as I gather provisions. This means convincing his soldiers that I have permission to rummage through Sab Hlee’s larder, located in one of the collapsible thatch buildings.
Fortunately, Phaut is quick to corroborate my story. Ronin must have briefed her on my search for Kendara while I was in the tent, because she doesn’t ask questions as she saddles her own drake. She’s changed into a worn-looking black shirt tucked into loose black pants and a yellow sash. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in anything but the drab gray of Ronin’s soldiers.
It’s not until we’ve left Sab Hlee that I inform her of my intentions to free the shamanborn in Vos Gillis. Curiously, she doesn’t argue except to assert that whatever we do, Ronin can’t be connected to it.
Time is against us if we’re to make it to the southern coast and back again in three days, so we mutually agree to continue through the night. If we don’t return before Ronin leaves, we’ll be left to travel the Dead Wood on our own.
We grab a few hours of sleep before dawn to rest the drakes, then keep to the trees when we can. Our eyes are conspicuous. Neither of us is likely to forget what would happen if we’re caught, especially as Ronin would offer no protection.
It’s well after sunset when we reach Vos Gillis. As expected, guards watch every road into the city and sentinels patrol its limits. There’s a small fishing village not far to the west of Vos Gillis, where we steal a rowboat off the quay and return east along the coast. Any shamanborn attempting to get into the city wouldn’t be doing so by boat; that’s how they’d be leaving.
My main goal is to find Kendara, but I can do that while focusing on the shamanborn. If she’s helping them escape the city, then freeing the imprisoned shamanborn might force her to reveal herself. But I don’t want them stowing away on a cargo ship. If discovered, they’ll either be returned to Evewyn or thrown overboard. Depending on their numbers, we have to find ships willing to take them as passengers or extra hands.
There are far fewer guards watching the waterways. We steer our boat toward a narrow canal that passes under a wooden bridge. The bridge is dimly lit by a single lantern suspended on a hooked post. Two sentinels stand watch, illuminated by the little sphere of yellow light.
I’m about to suggest a distraction when Phaut extends one hand. The metal hook holding the lantern aloft snaps. The light goes out as the lantern tips and lands with a clatter on the bridge.
Swearing, the sentinels scramble to right it as Phaut and I row quietly and quickly into the murk beneath the bridge. We’re gliding into the city’s main waterway by the time the sentinels get the lantern lit again.
“How did you do that?” I ask.
“Simple magic,” Phaut says.
“No, I mean, don’t you need a familiar?”
“I have one. Back in the Empire, away from the Dead Wood. I was there a couple of weeks ago, well before you arrived at Spinner’s End.”
“I didn’t know that.” I tilt my head at her.
“You didn’t ask.”
I’d like to ask now. There’s so much I don’t know about this woman who’s shadowed my steps from the moment I arrived at Spinner’s End—a fact that I no longer resent. However, such questions will have to wait.
“I assume you have a plan,” she says as we cut through the water.
“I do,” I say, but there are far too many variables for my liking. “I’ll need to get a better view of the city.” From the roofs, it’ll be easier to spot the guardhouse and get a lay of the streets in case we need a quick escape. Which I’m sure we will. It might also give me a better idea of where Kendara might be hiding.
She has to be here. In a city teeming with guards, no one else would have her resources to get the shamanborn safely stowed away on ships. Please let her be here.
Despite the late hour, once we enter the city’s market district, Vos Gillis’s waterways are far from quiet. Merchants crowd the canals, ferrying their wares up and down the riverfront. Houses sit on stilts, jutting out over the water like the prows of ships. Sleek little boats shoot past our slower one, the sharp blades of their sails extended like fins.
Bridges arch over our heads, some with railings fashioned into slithering zaj serpents and others with no railing at all. We steer our boat toward a dock and pull up beside an elaborate vessel with a canopy draped in airy silks. A woman’s laugh issues from beneath.
Phaut and I adjust our plain wool cloaks as we climb from our stolen boat and anchor it to one of the many lantern posts lining the waterfront. The head of this particular post is in the shape of a phoenix, its flaming tail and magnificent wings raised high. The lantern hangs from its curved beak. Oddly enchanted, I push into the busy streets.
The buildings are tall and cramped, homes stacked one on top of another. A haphazard tiered roof caps each level. They look to be held upright only by virtue of the buildings beside them, which are equally off center. Suspension bridges stretch overhead, connecting the higher levels. They swing precariously at every gust off the sea.
The streets are more mud than dirt. My boots make a squelching sound with each step. Despite this and the overcrowding, Vos Gillis is a colorful city.
Paper lanterns hang from nearly every roof and awning. They’re strung from bridges and windows in every shape and color, from cream cylinders capped in green to crimson spheres accented with golden tassels, so that the lines of the city seem drawn in lights. Painted signs hang over the swinging doors of taverns, teahouses, and shops selling trinkets and sweets. Streamers flutter and twine in the air, and beneath the chaotic hum of the crowds is the tinkling of windchimes.
We’ve wandered directly into Vos Gillis’s night market. Perfect. A thriving market means an abundance of purses to pickpocket. Phaut tries to direct me toward a quieter street, but I pull away, plunging into the heart of the Market District.
“Sirscha,” she hisses, tugging at her hood. I wonder if she’s ever been in Evewyn without the protection of Ronin’s name.
“It’s fine.” I skirt around bodies to peer at the market stalls, my fingers deft and silent. I pause to admire one stall that carries bolts of sandsilk, weever lace, and other imported fabrics. The next stall drips with necklaces and charms that flare copper and amber in the firelight.
All I can see of Phaut’s face is her pinched lips. I laugh as I move on to inspect a stack of polished teakettles and dainty hand-painted fans. I scan the crowds, searching as well for any hint of Kendara. A couple of years ago, Saengo had visited this city with her parents. She hadn’t been allowed to explore the market, but she’d still returned with stories of massive ships as tall as the Temple of the Sisters. We’d promised to travel the country together someday, and I mean to keep that promise.
After some time, Phaut jabs my shoulder blade. Sighing, I gesture with my chin toward a quieter side street. As we leave the market behind, we pass several inns, common enough in a port city where people are always coming and going. Loitering on a s
treet corner between two inns, we pretend like we’re considering which might have vacancies as we discuss our next move.
“I’m going up,” I say, indicating the roofs. “You head down to the docks. See if you can find out which ships are leaving tomorrow evening and which might be friendly to shamanborn passengers.” Many ships fly the colors of their country in addition to their own banners. It should be simple enough to avoid Evewynian vessels. “I’ve heard it said that folk from across the sea are fascinated by our crafts. Use that if you have to.”
Phaut frowns as she glances up and down the street. Although people still mill about, it’s far less crowded here. Some have foregone an inn entirely, instead finding a narrow alley to sleep off their drink. “And how do you propose I buy their passage?”
I dig into my pockets and emerge with fistfuls of coin purses, which I shove beneath Phaut’s cloak into her stunned hands. She gawks at no less than a half-dozen purses, one so heavy that she nearly drops the lot.
“What … did you steal these?” she hisses, stuffing the incriminating items into her own pockets.
“You didn’t think I was just browsing the market, did you?” I ask, smiling. Phaut’s nose wrinkles, and she does a terrible job of not looking like she’s carrying pockets full of stolen coins. I almost feel sorry for her. “There were a lot of soldiers patrolling the market and elsewhere. So stay alert and don’t get caught. Meet back here at sunrise.”
If Vos Gillis at night is magnificent, it becomes an even more glorious jumble by daylight.
The buildings are almost entirely constructed of wood. Their various roofs once might have been a handsome green but have aged into the color of mildew. The mood of the city is so different from Vos Talwyn, which is suffused in history. Everything here feels transient, ever changing, as if the buildings might pick themselves up and shuffle around when you aren’t looking.
The only buildings that aren’t made of wood are the temple and the four watchtowers. The towers teem with soldiers. Guards patrol at every level on balconies that wrap around the entire structure. Attached to the westernmost tower is the guardhouse, a two-story building with an elaborate series of roofs that resemble the blooming petals of a lotus.
Once I understand the layout of the city, I spend the rest of the night making discreet inquiries about Kendara. No luck there, though. I can only hope she’ll make herself known. More than likely, she’ll find me well before I find her.
At sunrise, Phaut and I reconvene to discuss our next steps. I’ll spend the day preparing the shamanborn so that when she creates a distraction at sunset, they’ll be ready to run. That should leave us a full day to make it back to Sab Hlee before Ronin returns to Spinner’s End.
Once we’re agreed, Phaut returns to the docks to barter with the only captain willing to take passengers. She hasn’t outright stated the passengers would be shamanborn, but she’d spotted shamans among the crew, tucked safely aboard their ship and off Evewynian soil.
I’m happy to leave the bartering to Phaut. As she explained it, she spent much of her childhood haggling over the prices of her father’s vegetables at their local market. While she’s busy ensuring the shamanborn have a means of travel, I return to the night market, which transitions seamlessly with the dawn.
The streets fill with waves of new customers, many of them having only disembarked that morning. I steal a pair of hairpins off a table and push them into the lining of my drawers where the additional fabric should conceal them.
If I’m to help the shamanborn escape, I’ll first need access to them. There’s no better way than to join them in the guardhouse.
In the market, I can’t take two steps without spotting a guard. Some scan the crowd for the flash of jeweled eyes, but most loiter in clusters of three or four. As I draw near one such group, I duck my head sharply and tug jerkily at my hood. I wring my hands and hunch my shoulders, crossing and uncrossing my arms. I walk too fast and then make an abrupt turn, shuffling my feet.
Part of me hopes Kendara will notice and swoop in to assure me she already has a plan.
But while my behavior is certainly noticed, it’s not by Kendara. One of the guards breaks away from the others, his hand going to the sword at his hip. I lift my head in a quick glance. Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments.
It’s enough. He sees the glimmer of amber. “You! Stop there!”
I turn and run, straight into the corner of a stall. My cloak tangles around my legs as I crash into the dirt. Others around me exclaim in surprise, backing away. Scrambling with the folds of my cloak, I try to stand, but by then, the guards are on me. Two grab my arms and haul me to my feet. My hood falls back. The people nearest us gasp as my eyes are revealed to the sunlight.
One guard has drawn his sword, and the other has notched an arrow, bowstring stretched taut. They watch, prepared to strike, as the two restraining me search me for weapons. They’re waiting to see if I use a craft, I realize. Best not to make any sudden movements in case that archer gets twitchy. For effect, my bottom lip wobbles.
Once they’re satisfied I’m unarmed, both physically and magically, they lead me through the streets, following the path I predicted they’d take to the guardhouse.
Curious, I observe the guards escorting me under the pretense of fearful glances. They don’t seem overly hostile, not like Eyebrow Tattoos. But neither are they gentle as they pull me through the door. Directly past the front desk is a hallway ending in a barred metal door that presumably leads to the cells.
They don’t deliver me there, though. I take mental stock of where everything is as they guide me instead toward an office door that’s slightly ajar. The guard in front pushes it open and then steps aside. My feet stall, and all my careful planning crashes around me. Sitting behind the desk is Prince Meilek.
I blink slowly. This is a complication.
“We found another one, Your Highness.” The guard gives me a hard shake so that I remember my manners. Gathering my wits, I dip into a bow as low as my captors will allow me.
Prince Meilek, for his part, hides his surprise well. He gives nothing away other than a slight twitch of his eyebrow.
He stands. “Thank you for your efforts. You may leave.”
The guards glance at each other, their hands yet to loosen around my arms. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I’ll be fine. You may remain in the hall if that will put your minds at ease, but lightwenders are rarely much trouble.”
Reluctantly, they release me. When the door shuts behind them, Prince Meilek gestures to the chair opposite his. I don’t sit. What is he doing here?
His clothes suggest he’s here more as a prince than as a captain. He wears a fusion of leather and plate armor over green silk brocade. The high collar is finely detailed with golden thread. His cloak’s gleaming clasp bears the triple-horned stag of his House. His hair has been pulled back, secured at the crown of his head with a hairpiece that resembles jagged antlers.
“Does Ronin know he’s missing a soulguide?” he asks, clasping his hands behind his back.
I shrug one shoulder.
“I was glad to hear you’d made it safely to Spinner’s End. But how did you manage to escape?”
“You’re aware of my training,” I say. Better that he believes I left of my own accord. Anything else might incriminate Ronin.
“Sirscha, we both know you haven’t done anything to deserve imprisonment. At least not yet,” he says, a warning in his tone. Those brown eyes are much too perceptive. “And, as you say, with your training, I somehow doubt you would be here if this weren’t exactly where you wished to be.”
A bead of sweat slides down the back of my neck. If Prince Meilek suspects my purpose here, he could ruin everything. And yet, what can I possibly say in my defense? Vos Gillis’s guards are well trained, but they’re not Blades, and they’re certainly not a match for one of Kendara’s pupils. Prince Meilek knows that as well as I do.
In this instance, the truth
will serve me best. “I’m here to find Kendara.”
His brows furrow. “Why would you think she’s in Vos Gillis?”
“I heard a rumor. I need to speak to her. It’s urgent.”
“I’m sorry, but I highly doubt she’s here.”
“She has to be.”
I’m not sure he’s being truthful, but I don’t see why he’d lie. He knows what Kendara means to me—we share that in common, at least. He wouldn’t deliberately shield me from her if he knows anything, would he?
A pit opens up in my stomach. What if I’m wrong? What if Theyen had been lying or misinformed?
“It was foolish to risk coming here. Hasn’t Ronin told you that the queen has declared you a Nuvali spy?”
His words pull me out of my dismal thoughts. “That’s ridiculous.”
“She’s decided that you infiltrated our military to send its secrets back to the Empire and that your friend Saengo may have collaborated with you.”
My mouth opens and closes, not even sure how to respond to such absurd allegations.
“Will House Phang be punished for this?” The thought of Saengo and her family suffering even more for my mistakes sends dread skittering through me.
“No,” he says, sensing my alarm. “House Phang has been a longtime ally of House Sancor, and she wouldn’t risk losing their support. She believes Saengo was coerced.” He winces apologetically.
What a load of drake dung. The queen knows I was Kendara’s apprentice. If anyone can verify I’m not a spy, it’s the queen’s own Shadow.
“It isn’t true,” I say, just in case Prince Meilek has doubts.
“Of course it isn’t. But I expected you to be at Spinner’s End, out of my sister’s reach.”
Why would the queen fabricate such a story about me? Once we go north and Ronin proclaims my role as soulguide, I can tell my side of the story.
But if I expose Queen Meilyr for a liar, it might enrage the Nuvali and make me the queen’s eternal enemy. Saengo and I could never hope to find a home in Evewyn again.
