Now Stetriol loomed, growing larger and closer by the minute. Abeke had never seen the capital before, didn’t know what it had looked like during the time of the Bile and the Conquerors, but she’d heard stories, and she could tell from the energy that this was a new world. And hopefully a better one.
Abeke clutched a slip of paper. Word had arrived from Greenhaven that morning, written in Olvan’s hand but bound to a messenger bird with Lenori’s yellow ribbon. According to the healer at the Evertree, their friends were still alive somewhere beneath its roots. That was all she could say.
Stay strong, Olvan had instructed. Focus on your mission.
Arac stood at the ship’s bow, calling out orders while Nisha leaned against the mast, ill but upright. Word was her husband had tried to keep her in her cabin, and she’d given him a verbal lashing. The sounds of the fight had rung out through the ship, most of the words lost, but the meaning known: Nisha would be captain until the moment the sickness took her. And staying cooped up in her cabin would do nothing to slow its course.
Her parrot, Relis, sat on her shoulder, its rainbow feathers flustered and its black eyes heavy, knowing. Would the parrot stay with the captain until the end? What then? Nisha’s dark arms, lean but strong, were bare beneath her cloak. Abeke saw shallow cuts running up her right arm like notches in a tree. Gera, the medic, had obviously tried to stop the parasite’s progress, tried to cut it from the captain’s skin. In the end, she’d only bought Nisha a little time—Abeke saw the trace of the black spiral already against the base of the captain’s throat. Nisha was holding on, but Abeke could tell she was losing the fight. Slowly, yes, but faster than Conor. Too much of the parasite had escaped the medic’s blade. Sweat beaded on her brow, and her once radiant skin had taken on a sickly pallor.
How can something so small do so much damage? marveled Abeke sadly.
But of course, she knew. Not all enemies were large.
Back in Nilo, she had seen a man die of infection.
He’d been wounded on a hunt, not badly, barely a graze along his calf. The cut was so shallow that no one even thought to treat it. Besides, he was one of the strongest men in her village, strong as an ox, an elk, a tiger. He was a tree, a mountain, and he laughed off the small cut, called it a bug bite, a splinter, a nick.
But the night after he was injured, the man trod through a puddle of stagnant water, and by morning, the line was angry and red, the skin hot to the touch. Still he waved away the ministrations of their healers. By the third day, vicious red lines wove up his leg from the cut, now infected. And by the fourth, the sickness was in his blood.
Such a small wound—a nick—had felled a mountain of a man.
“You ready?” asked Rollan, appearing beside her. He’d followed her gaze and must have thought she was looking at the approaching city, not the captain before it.
Abeke nodded as the ship entered the port.
Stetriol’s docks were alive with motion and noise. Up and down their length, sailors called out, men traded words and wares, and carts moved crates. Abeke saw two other ships with Greencloak flags, and mixed among them were ferries from Zhong and Eura, and even one from as far as Amaya. In the bay, a handful of whales and dolphins and rays swam in circles, and on the docks she saw horses, cats, and dogs, some with the focused gaze of spirit animals and others the more docile look of pets. Calls went up, and ropes were flung onto the docks, caught by workers who helped to haul the Tellun’s Pride II into its berth.
Arac and Nisha were quarreling again in hushed tones. Abeke tried not to overhear, but Rollan was obviously making no such attempt, because he leaned over to whisper in her ear.
“Arac wants Nisha to go ashore for help. And Nisha refuses to leave the ship. So Arac says he’ll stay with her, and she says he’s to go ahead with us, and—”
At that point in the conversation, Arac stormed away, muttering curses and kicking a crate. Nisha glared after him, then sank back against the mast, looking exhausted.
Word of their arrival had landed ahead of them, and many people were gathering around the docks. Abeke could feel Rollan tense beside her, donning his own hostility like armor against an impending fight. But there was no malice in the people’s faces that she could see. No distrust. Only curiosity, and here and there, even a smile of delight. And throughout the crowd, the first traces of spirit animals bonded without Bile. A girl held a blue-eyed cat close to her chest. A boy cupped a turtle in his hands.
Things change, Abeke reminded herself. And we are part of that change.
Half a dozen Greencloaks stood waiting on the docks, their crisp mantles shining emerald in the midday sun. Tattoos peeked over collars and out of cuffs, and a green-eyed lemur sat on one man’s shoulder, a small dog beside another’s boot. Beside the Greencloaks, a second set of men and women, these dressed in blue and black, stood at equal attention. Silver pins with the serpentine S of Stetriol were fastened to several of their robes.
The sight of them all made Abeke aware of how grimy she was from her days at sea, her hair stiff from salt and her cloak dulled by rain. She wanted a bath, a bed, a night’s rest.
“Do you suddenly feel like we’ve done something wrong?” whispered Rollan, eyeing the Stetriolans’ poise, the Greencloaks’ stiff shoulders and high heads. They did have an almost military appearance, their backs to the growing crowd, their eyes trained on the ship.
But when the plank was lowered and Abeke and Rollan descended on the dock, two of the Greencloaks stepped forward and smiled.
“Abeke of Nilo,” announced the broad-shouldered man with the lemur on his shoulder. “Bond of Uraza.”
“Rollan of Amaya,” announced the other, a woman who looked like she could have taken the first in a fight. A tattoo of salamander curled around her neck. “Bond of Essix.”
As if on cue, the gyrfalcon screeched overhead, before sweeping down to land majestically on Rollan’s shoulder.
The crowd gasped and cheered with approval, even though Abeke doubted the stunt was planned. Essix just liked to show off. A bit like her human, thought Abeke as Rollan preened.
She thought of summoning Uraza for the same effect (even though the leopard was more intimidating than the falcon), but something caught her eye.
A flash of red in the crowd, not burnt brick or dusty orange, but crimson.
Her heart started to race, and she glanced at Rollan to see if he had noticed. But it must have been a trick of the light, because when she looked again, the slice of red was gone.
“Stetriol welcomes such honored guests,” said one of the men in blue and black, a lean figure with a trimmed goatee. “If you’ll follow us … ”
Abeke was glad to be back on land.
The crowd parted around them as they passed. Rollan was tense beside her, but even his eyes were wide at the sight of Stetriol—not only the city’s appearance, but the air. There was a new energy here. In their brief journey through the region before, Stetriol had felt a bit like clothes weighed down by rain. Now, there was a lightness, a buoyancy. Abeke wanted to take in all the changes, but the procession pressed on too fast. Her glimpses of the city were too fleeting.
But even in fleeting glimpses, the change was startling. The Greencloaks had obviously helped import supplies, because everywhere she looked, she saw new construction, old buildings being repaired and new ones being raised. And it wasn’t just the buildings. Everywhere she looked, the kingdom was flowering. From the potted plants on sills to the lilies floating in the squares’ fountains, to the vines climbing the stone walls of courtyards. It looked like a city waking from a long sleep, and Abeke was happy to see it thrive.
For so long, Stetriol had been a place of sickness and anger.
And as easy as it was to hate the kingdom and the Conquerors for what they’d done, Abeke couldn’t blame them for doing it. The First Devourer War was many years ago, but its aftermath had stretched on, forcing people to pay for the crimes of their ancestors. Erdas had isolated Stetriol, ke
pt from them the Nectar, let their people suffer bonding sickness and the desperation it brought with it.
People in that position had only two options: die, or fight back.
Could she blame them, for wanting to survive?
If the strain on her bond with Uraza was anything like the sickness the children of Stetriol had felt, could she blame them for wanting a cure?
Not that she could say any of that to Rollan.
Not when Rollan had nearly lost his mother to the Conquerors’ Bile.
Not when Abeke had been the one to first trust Shane.
But she wanted to move forward.
“Where are we going?” asked Abeke as the docks fell away behind them and the streets passed in a blur.
The Greencloak ahead of her—the woman with the salamander tattoo—glanced back. “To the castle,” she said.
“The castle?” asked Abeke, startled. Stetriol was a kingdom, of course, but it was one without a king. The throne—Shane’s throne—sat empty.
“The Greencloaks have taken up post in the castle,” explained the broad-shouldered man with the lemur, whose name was Bern, “since it is currently … unoccupied.”
“We share it with the Council of Stetriol,” added the woman, Ela. “One of whom, Ernol, greeted you on the docks.” She nodded at the slim man with the goatee who was now part of their procession. “It was part of the agreement for rebuilding this city.”
“So Shane is no longer the rightful king?” asked Abeke, earning herself a warning glance from Rollan.
“Shane is a fugitive,” countered the councilman, Ernol. “He is not here, and in the absence of a king, rightful or not, order must be maintained. The royal family did not have the best reputation when it came to diplomacy. But this is a promising direction.”
The castle loomed ahead of them, and trumpets sounded as the gates fell open onto a bustling courtyard. Essix bristled at the noise and took wing. Their procession dissolved, half the Greencloaks peeling away to other tasks, along with several of the locals.
“Which Great Beast do you think was summoned?” asked Rollan as they crossed the courtyard, ushered on by the pared-down huddle of green and blue cloaks. “I’m betting Mulop the Octopus. Or maybe Cabaro the Lion.”
Abeke hoisted her satchel higher on her shoulder. “I think we’re about to find out.”
The castle sat on a rise in the middle of the city. Abeke paused at the top of the steps and turned to look out at Stetriol. From here she could see the sweep of tiled roofs, the maze of streets, and, in the distance, trees. Along a battered stretch of the city—the buildings reduced to rubble and scorched earth—they’d cleared away the damage and planted trees. Young saplings, none above her knee, but she watched men and women, some in green and others in brown and blue and yellow, planting row upon row of trees.
Abeke’s spirits rose at the sight of Greencloaks and locals working together, at the sight of the new growth, and she turned to tell Rollan. But he wasn’t there.
The rest of the procession had already gone in, and she found Rollan standing in the castle’s entry hall, staring up at a portrait on the wall. Most of the old decorations had been cleared away, exposing the bare stone beneath, but the portrait hung there, one of the only relics of the past.
In it, a girl sat proudly in a chair, a boy at her shoulder. They had the same blond hair, the same sharp eyes, and Abeke recognized them instantly. Even without her Bile-bonded spider, Iskos, Abeke knew the girl was Drina. Royal. Conqueror. And Shane’s older sister. Shane himself stood at Drina’s shoulder, his painted blue eyes looking down at Abeke.
“Why is this still up?” asked Rollan, an edge in his voice.
“A reminder,” said Bern. “It doesn’t do to pretend the past didn’t happen. We can’t erase it. We can only try to overcome it.”
With that, they were led through the castle halls to a grand room, where a girl was perched on a chair, reading a book, as if she were sitting alone in a library and not on display in a castle. Men and women in blue and black Stetriolan robes—each with the S pin of the council—gathered around her as if she were a work of art, a priceless artifact. She looked up when they came in, closed her book, and smiled. The brightness of her smile was matched only by her halo of white-blond hair, which was wound around her head in a braid. Her eyes were sapphire blue, and there was something about the girl that reminded Abeke of Conor—of the way he radiated warmth.
“This is Tasha,” said Ernol, going to stand at the girl’s shoulder.
“Hello,” she said brightly, sitting forward. “You must be Abeke, the brave,” she added with a nod. “And you must be Rollan, the fierce.” Rollan puffed up at the title, and Abeke almost snorted with laughter. “I’ve heard so much about you both.”
She rose from the chair, looking picturesque, graceful. Right up until she took a step forward and tripped on the corner of her own skirt. The girl gasped and stumbled, knocking into a table with a glass vase before one of the Stetriolan nobles shot a hand out to steady her. None of the councilmembers were fast enough to save the vase, but Bern’s lemur appeared, catching the glass before it hit the floor.
Tasha straightened and flashed a shy, embarrassed smile. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“Definitely Mulop,” whispered Rollan.
Abeke elbowed him in the side.
“Tasha,” said Ernol patiently. “Will you show our guests your spirit animal?”
The girl nodded and slid up her sleeve to reveal her tattoo. Abeke’s breath caught. Running the length of Tasha’s forearm was a swan, its wings spread, as if about to land, or about to rise. Its long, elegant neck was curved into an S.
And then, in a flash of light, the mark was gone, its white feathers glowing in the light.
Ninani the Swan.
A reverent silence fell over the room as the Greencloaks bowed their heads and the Stetriolans brought their hands to their chests in reverence.
“No way,” whispered Rollan.
The girls’ parents—they had the same startlingly light hair, the same bright eyes—stood behind Tasha’s chair. Both watched their daughter with pride, and an awe bordering on fear.
It was a sentiment Abeke didn’t wholly understand. Her own father had not been happy when she’d summoned Uraza. He’d seen her gift—and the responsibility that came with it—as a burden on him and his village. Abeke had eventually come to terms with her family, but she knew she’d never see such a look in her father’s eyes.
Tasha’s face, however, was an open book, showing only joy. And why shouldn’t she be happy? Summoning a spirit animal in Stetriol had for so long been a curse, the bonding sickness driving its victims mad. It was only recently a blessing, and a rare one.
And Tasha had not only summoned a spirit animal, but a Great Beast.
And not just any Great Beast, but Ninani.
The giver of Nectar, so long withheld from Stetriol. It was a symbol of new beginnings. How could they see it any other way?
The swan craned her head and considered her audience with stately grace, her onyx eyes settling on Abeke and Rollan. And then, in a flash of light, she was gone again, returned to Tasha’s fair skin as an elegant pattern of feathers and the S-curve of a swan’s neck.
The gathered men and women, nobles and Greencloaks, stood for a moment in silence. And then Rollan spoke.
“How many know?” he asked.
“We have kept it secret,” said the Greencloak, Bern, at the same moment the Stetriolan councilman, Ernol, said, “Word is spreading.”
Abeke’s stomach turned as the two men looked at each other, horrified.
“How many have you told?” snapped Bern.
“The city deserves to know,” retorted Ernol.
“We told you it wasn’t safe—”
“We haven’t gone shouting it through the streets—” cut in one of the other nobles.
“But the people will find out,” insisted Ernol, “whether we tell them or not.” Abeke watched t
he volley of words, and then looked at Tasha, who stood between them, confused.
“Then let them find out after she’s safely away,” said Bern.
“Away?” Tasha finally cut in, eyes wide with distress. Abeke realized with horror that the girl didn’t know she was in danger, didn’t know they’d come to take her back to Greenhaven. Away from her home, from her family, from her world. She’d only just discovered the joys of summoning a Great Beast.
She’d yet to learn the cost.
“Tasha,” said Abeke gently, stepping forward. “You cannot stay here.”
The girl’s smile wavered. “What do you mean? This is my home.”
“It’s not safe here,” added Rollan.
Ernol bristled. “Stetriol is—”
“This has nothing to do with Stetriol,” cut in Rollan. “Zerif is hunting down all those who summon the Great Beasts. Once he learns you have Ninani, he will come. We’ve already lost too many allies—too many friends—to his attacks. We’ve come to take you with us, back to Greenhaven.”
“Such a gift comes to our country,” said one of the nobles, “and you want to take it away?”
“We want to protect all of Erdas!” snapped Rollan. A rumble went through the gathered men and women at that. For a very long time, Erdas had disowned Stetriol. “The Great Beasts may bond with one person,” he continued, “but they don’t belong to one nation.”
“We cannot force you to come with us,” said Abeke, her attention still focused on Tasha, “but staying here is not only a danger to yourself, but to your city. Plus, you belong with us. Your strength is needed.”
Though the news clearly took the girl by surprise, to her credit, she didn’t cry. She looked around the room, from the Stetriolan nobles to the gathered Greencloaks to her parents. Her mouth opened, and then closed. “Can I … ” she started, stopped, began again, “can I have some time to think?”
Abeke and Rollan exchanged looks, but Bern spoke up. “It will take two days to get the ship restocked and set for sail.”