Windwitch

  “If I had never met you,” he countered coolly, “then my spine would never have snapped, and Leopold fon Cartorra would never have hired me. Monk Evrane would not have almost died, and I would not be forced to work for—”

  “Monk Evrane lives?” The Threadwitch pushed to her feet, a new expression washing away her hysteria: eyes huge, lips parted. Hope. “I thought the Cleaved had claimed her in Lejna. But … she lives?”

  At Aeduan’s nod, Iseult’s head tipped back. Her eyes closed. When she spoke again, it was in Nomatsi, once more and with no stutter to trip her words. “Whatever has happened between us,” she said evenly, “whatever events have passed to lead us here, they cannot be undone. And now I owe you my life. Twice.”

  Aeduan stiffened at the mention of a life-debt. She wasn’t finished, though.

  “In Lejna, you promised to kill me if we ever met again. You said your life-debt had been repaid. By your own accounting, I owe you once for not killing me last night. Twice, for saving me from the Amonra. Maybe even three times, for warning me against Corlant.” She laughed, that same hysterical sound—but gone in an instant, her face cold and somber as she said, “I don’t know how to repay you, Monk Aeduan, but I know the Moon Mother would want me to try.”

  Aeduan’s jaw muscles twitched at that. He spun away from her with too much force. “I’m not a monk anymore,” was all he said before striding out of the ruins.

  Someone had to salvage their forgotten supplies.

  His careful walk soon became a jog. A gallop, with ferns to snap against his calves. Branches to scrape his skin.

  Someone owed Aeduan a life-debt. It was …

  A first.

  A first that he didn’t know how to swallow. The Threadwitch Iseult was alive because he had made it so. She could breathe her current breaths and could taste the river’s water because he had saved her life.

  Though she had also, in a way, saved his. First, she had not killed him while he lay unconscious in the bear trap. And second, she had been the one to hook them to that stone before the Falls.

  But Aeduan decided not to mention any of this, for if the Threadwitch believed she owed him three lives, then that gave him an advantage. That, he could use. He didn’t know how, he didn’t know when, only that he absolutely would.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Despite its dubious exterior, the Gilded Rose catered to the richest of Red Sails. It was the slaves that proved it—their clean faces, their tailored clothes.

  The air seemed to tighten as Caden and Safi entered, and Safi’s magic instantly stirred against the back of her neck. There was some sort of glamour at work here. A spell to smooth away flaws, soften the truth, and leave everyone awash in an unnatural but flattering glow.

  False, false, false.

  The couples on the low sofa and the people dining at the tables all looked as if they’d stepped from a painting.

  Beauty, Safi realized as she followed Caden toward a curtain-covered doorway in the back. Whatever spell was at work here, it gave everyone beauty.

  Though not Caden. The glamour of the room didn’t sparkle over him, and whatever beauty he possessed—Safi couldn’t deny it was there—was all nature’s doing. Then they were through the curtain, where knee-high tables were spread evenly over the elaborate rugs and floor pillows. Every table was crowded with cards and coins, while thick smoke from pipes curled over the bare flesh of Gilded Rose slaves.

  Safi’s magic grated and scratched as they crossed the room. Wrong didn’t even begin to describe what this place was. What the Red Sails were.

  Caden motioned to a table in the farthest corner, where a woman sat alone. Her gray hair was piled atop her head, and like everyone else in the establishment, her black skin glowed with perfection. Winnings and cards lay scattered before her, and a self-satisfied grin implied she’d just sent some taro losers running.

  So absorbed was the woman in counting her coins that she didn’t notice Caden or Safi’s approach until Caden was dropping onto the bench beside her.

  A frown. “Who are you—” She cut off, the frown deepening. “Is that a knife you have poking into my kidney?”

  “It is,” Caden replied, speaking in Dalmotti as the woman had. “I have only a few questions to ask, Admiral Kahina, and then my companion and I will leave you to your card game.”

  “And if I don’t answer … then what? You’ll gut me?” With an indifferent flip of her wrists, she drawled, “Oh, no. Someone protect me from the bad man with a knife.”

  Instantly, Safi liked the woman.

  “You do realize,” Kahina went on, “that I run the largest fleet of Red Sails in the Jadansi? If you were actually stupid enough to put that knife in my back, you’d be dead before you could even reach the door.”

  “Then if you prefer,” Caden offered, his expression unchanged, “the two of us can continue this conversation at the bottom of the hell-gates. I’ve heard kidney wounds bleed fast. We could meet there before the next chimes even toll.”

  Kahina eyed Caden for several long breaths, her fingers tapping against the table. On her right thumb was a fat jade ring that clacked and clacked against the wood. Then a smile curled over her face. “Who are you? I’m not used to men who have tongues as sharp as their looks. And you”—her gaze swung to Safi—“sit down, girl. On my honor, I won’t bite.”

  There was no missing the truth in that assertion, so Safi did as she’d been ordered, claiming the seat on Kahina’s other side. Up close, the taro deck was on full display across the table. Teal backs, worn edges.

  Safi’s hands started drumming against her knees, itching to shuffle. To play. But she forced herself to look away and examine Admiral Kahina instead—whom Safi could now see through the glamour’s magic. The Admiral, though naturally dazzling, was no youth, and her teeth had stained to muddy brown.

  Safi realized why when Kahina said, “Hand me that pipe, girl.”

  Safi handed her the pipe; Caden glared. “We aren’t here for pleasure, Admiral. We’re here for a ship that you took hold of three days ago.”

  “Ignite,” Kahina murmured to the pipe before sucking in a long inhale. Pale smoke slithered out between her teeth as she purred, “You’ll have to elaborate. I do take so many ships. Did I mention I have the largest fleet in the Red Sails?” Kahina leaned seductively toward Caden.

  To Safi’s shock, he leaned seductively right back. Before her eyes, Caden transformed into the Chiseled Cheater. It was amazing how stark the contrast—and how quick the change. The Hell-Bard named Caden, so duty bound and intense, relaxed into the Chiseled Cheater, all charms and sweet smiles.

  He flashed such a smile now, and heat swept over Safi. Furious heat. Attracted heat. Confused heat. For it was that perfect thrice-damned grin that had gotten her into so much trouble in Veñaza City.

  “The ship I’m looking for is a naval cutter. Crewed by men in green.”

  “Marstoki green or Cartorran green? Oh, but how silly of me.” She dragged on her pipe, before shifting her attention to Safi.

  Safi’s fingers tapped faster.

  “I have never seen two people who looked more Cartorran in my life. That fair hair and those freckles. You are lucky no one in our little territory has skinned you yet.”

  “Answer the question.” Caden’s voice was stonier now, his charm already wearing thin. “Where is the Cartorran cutter?”

  “At the bottom of the bay.”

  Well, that was a lie—and the perfect time for Safi to step in. After all, she could play this game too. “Is that also where you hid your beauty and youth?”

  Kahina choked on a lungful of smoke. Then laughed. “The two of you,” she said between chuckles, “are much more fun than my usual company.” She chomped on the pipe stem, holding it in place, and then gathered up the deck of taro cards. “You do realize that even if this ship were nearby, you would never be able to sail her out.”

  “Which is why you’ll be telling us where the crew is too.”

&nb
sp; Kahina sniffed dismissively. “It is Baile’s Slaughter tomorrow.” At Safi’s and Caden’s confused frowns, she added, “Lady Baile—you do not have her in Cartorra, I suppose. But in these parts, she is the patron saint of the seas, and sailors take her rules very seriously.”

  “Rules?” Safi asked, even though Caden was glaring in a way that said, Don’t indulge her.

  “Three rules has she,” Kahina sang, shuffling her cards, “Our Lady of the Seas. No whistling when a storm’s in sight. Six-fingered cats will ward off mice. And always, always stay the night for Baile’s Slaughter Ring.”

  Well, Safi thought, that explains the sign at the inn.

  Kahina wasn’t finished. “So don’t you see, lovelies? No ships are even allowed to leave the harbor until after the fight at the arena. Even then, very few will actually do so. Everyone will be drinking heavy tonight, and twice as heavy tomorrow. ’Tis the biggest fight of the year, after all.” With a smile, she fanned the cards, a showy movement to draw the eye.

  Neither Caden nor Safi fell for it. In fact, Caden dug the knife in a bit harder and said, “Admiral, my patience is fading fast. Where. Is. The Cartorran cutter?”

  Kahina pouted. “Oh, the two of you are so dour. How about this…” She offered the cards to Caden. “I’ll tell you where that ship is if you can win at taro.”

  “No, Admiral,” Caden said. “You’ll tell us now.”

  “One round is all I ask. Best hand wins.”

  “I’ll do it.” The words popped from Safi’s mouth before she could consider them. Before she could even gauge what sort of opponent Kahina would be. She simply knew that Kahina had spoken the truth: she would tell them about the missing ship if she lost.

  And Safi also knew that the instant the deal had been made, her fingers finally stilled.

  The Red Sails Admiral smiled. Smoke twined between her brown teeth. Then, in a flutter of cards, she shuffled twice and dealt out four cards for each of them. Her ring glinted and flashed.

  “Flip,” she commanded.

  Safi flipped. It was a good hand, and though she was absolutely certain she had no tell, she still paid extra care to keeping her face inscrutable.

  “Trade?” Kahina asked silkily. Her nostrils flared, an expression of victory.

  It was a bluff. A lie. Safi could feel it scratching with only a single glance.

  “Two cards trade.” Safi slid over her worst two before snagging more off the deck. The Empress and the Witch. An excellent combination.

  Yet when Kahina traded only one of her cards, dismay jolted in Safi’s heart. Had she been wrong? Was this Veñaza City all over again? Was she misreading and falling for a trap—

  “Reveal.”

  At the command, instinct took over. Safi revealed her cards as Kahina revealed hers.

  Safi had won. Barely. Kahina’s Nameless Monk card doubled her own hand’s strength—but Safi’s combination of Witch, Empress, Sun, and Birth were a win in the end. And Safi finally allowed her eyes to flick Caden’s way.

  His eyes shone, and when he dipped in toward Kahina, it was with a smile and a fresh surge of energy to his movements. “Now about that ship, Admiral.”

  “Fine.” A dramatic sigh. “I adopted her into my fleet, as anyone with half a brain would do. She’s a fine, speedy creature, and I do so hope that you don’t want to take her back.” She paused to draw in fresh smoke. Then the words sifted out on a smoggy exhale: “And as for her crew, I sold them to the arena. Any witches will be in tomorrow’s fight, and all the others, well … Every good skirmish needs sheep for the slaughter.”

  True, true, true.

  Yet even as the warmth of truth settled over Safi’s skin, her stomach flipped.

  Caden seemed to feel the same, for his expression had turned glacial. No more Chiseled Cheater, only cool Hell-Bard intent. He pushed to his feet; Safi pushed to hers.

  Admiral Kahina smirked at them both. “I do so hope I see you again.”

  “You won’t,” Caden promised, reaching for Safi. He didn’t touch her but simply motioned for her to move in front so they could make their way back to the door.

  “But what about,” Kahina trilled after them, “our meeting at the bottom of the hell-gates? I was looking forward to it.”

  Neither Safi nor Caden looked back. They didn’t need to, for the pirate’s mocking laughter followed them all the way to the exit.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Vivia examined the hole in the royal storeroom wall. She kept her forehead scrunched into the famous displeased Nihar frown—the one Merik had always managed so easily—while her fingers pinched her nose tight.

  Everything stank of excrement.

  Beside her, a pretty guard babbled on and on about how she hadn’t known there was a crack in the foundation. “We’d have fixed it long ago, had we known,” she insisted.

  To which Vivia simply had to nod and look suitably irate. The truth was that Vivia had known this hole was here. In fact, she’d put this hole here, knowing the floods and the filth of Shite Street would keep intruders out. Until now, it had been a perfect solution for getting Fox goods into the storeroom unseen. Either Vivia or Stix would sweep a fresh flood through to clear out the tunnel, then, one by one, the stolen wares were loaded in.

  The girls had attempted this trick fifty times, and each time it had come off without a hitch.

  Until, of course, right now.

  “Blighted Fury,” Vivia spat, and genuine venom laced the words. Not merely because the man had killed a royal guard, but because now Vivia’s plan was unraveling. Too many people had seen the secret, undeniably foreign foodstuffs hiding in the lowest levels, and this method into the storerooms had been her idea—one her father had opposed.

  Oh, Serafin was not going to be happy.

  Vivia turned to go. The guard called after, “Should we fix the hole, sir?”

  “Leave it,” Vivia called. “For now, I want it guarded. Ten men, all hours.” A curt agreement, and Vivia left the guard behind, aiming for the stairwell. She wove around servants and soldiers and officers, each searching for more cracks in the palace. For more areas where more criminals might get in.

  It was too many people, Vivia thought as she hit the stairs. There was no way she could expect them all to keep the Fox secret quiet. One person—that was all it would take. He would blab to his friend over ox tea at the Cleaved Man: “I saw Marstoki grains in the storeroom!” Then that friend would prattle to his mother, and then on the story would move, until everyone knew about the Foxes before Vivia or Serafin was ready to share. The High Council would deem it a wild risk, a mad risk, and then Vivia would never win her mother’s crown—

  “No,” she hissed at herself, bounding up two steps at a time. “No regrets. Keep moving.” She reached the next level’s landing and hopped off. Stix’s white head buoyed above the rest of the guards, all of them circled around the corpse.

  Vivia had only glanced at the body, but a glance was all she’d needed. The man was an exact match for the corpse in Linday’s garden. The Fury had indeed been here; the Fury had indeed killed again.

  Yet now an officer, bald and baritone, was cutting in front of Vivia. His head wagged. “It’s not one of ours, sir.”

  Vivia blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, he isn’t a royal guard.” He elbowed a path to the body until both he and Vivia could stare down at it. “That’s not our uniform, sir. It’s hard to tell with all that tarry blood on him—or whatever it is.” He cringed. “But underneath, it’s a different outfit entirely. Also, notice he’s only got nine fingers.”

  With a hand over her mouth and nose, Vivia bent forward. Sure enough, nine fingers. Just like the body at Linday’s.

  “Are you suggesting,” Vivia asked, straightening, “that he was part of the Nines? I thought that gang had dissolved years ago.”

  “Maybe not.” The officer shrugged. “Or maybe he just used to be part of the Nines. It’s not like you can grow back a pinkie.?
??

  “Right,” she murmured, and now her Nihar frown was a thoroughly real one. None of this made sense. Nines in the storerooms—or Nines guarding Linday’s greenhouse.

  “Sir,” Stix said.

  Vivia pretended not to hear and instead marched back to the stairs. She knew it was petty of her, but there was already so much going on. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to keep staring at Stix’s ruffled hair or wrinkled uniform.

  Too good for me.

  “Sir.” Stix clamped a hand on her biceps. On the mourning band. “The Fury has a companion—and I know where the boy lives.”

  Now Vivia heard. Now she ground to a halt, three steps up. She twisted back, her eyes level with Stix’s. The first mate had paused a step below.

  “Last night, it was the Fury who ruined your office. I didn’t have time to clean up—or wait for you—because I followed him.”

  Vivia exhaled, hating how much relief slackened in her belly. For though Stix hadn’t spent the night out with a lover, it still didn’t make her a suitable match for Vivia.

  “Followed him where?” Vivia asked tightly.

  “To Vizer Linday’s greenhouse.”

  Noden hang her. Vivia lurched back into an ascent. “Why didn’t you stop the man? Why didn’t you arrest him? He’s killed two men, Stix!”

  Stix flung up her hands. “I didn’t know he would kill! I thought maybe he was working with Vizer Linday, so I waited outside, hoping he would reappear. When the man didn’t, I returned to Pin’s Keep—where a second person was in your office.”

  They passed the fourth-level landing, both girls taking two steps now.

  “A boy,” Stix went on. “He was skinny with two-toned skin, and he was clearly looking for someone. So I let him search … Then I followed him. First to a Noden’s Temple on Hawk’s Way, and finally to a tenement house in Old Town.”

  The third landing smeared past. “Did you follow him inside? Did you see which room he went into?”

  “No. I couldn’t get close—he’s got incredible reflexes. The kind you only see in kids from the Cisterns.”