Tarana frowned. “How come I’ve never heard of him?”

  “He gave it all up decades ago.” Bilal scratched at his jaw.

  Tarana stared back at him, one eyebrow raised to make it clear she wasn’t going to let him brush off the question with such a brief answer.

  “When my mom found out she was pregnant with my older sister, she gave him a choice: the life of a thief, or life with his family.” He shook his head. “He chose wrongly, so she went to the city guard with evidence of one of his smaller crimes. I think she just wanted to make sure he didn’t leave before the birth.

  “Only, when they investigated the crime, they realized his description matched that for several other thefts. They built quite the list against him; enough to justify throwing him in prison for fifteen years.”

  Bilal’s eyes roamed the dark cityscape over Tarana’s right shoulder. He exhaled heavily, bringing his gaze back to her. “I grew up visiting my dad in a prison cell. I doubt that was what my mom had in mind when she went to the guard, but honestly it may have been the best thing for him. He came to terms with it, over the years. Eventually they gave him a nicer cell. View of the bay and all that. And when I was ten, he walked free.”

  “The finest thief in Jaruna only got fifteen years when they caught him?” Tarana asked. “No offense, but I would’ve expected a lot more than that.”

  He chuckled. “That’s the trick of it. He had relocated to Lontiel a few years before. Father knew Jaruna’s guard was closing in, so he left. That’s where he met my mother, actually. But that’s a whole other story. The point is, the Lontiel city guard didn’t give a damn about the crimes he committed in Jaruna. If anything, they probably helped buy him a more lenient sentence.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’ve met him, actually. You remember the man who showed you to your room at the inn?”

  “Hector?”

  Bilal smiled. “That’s the one. You’d never know by looking at him, would you?”

  “He seemed like a sweet old man to me.”

  “He is a sweet old man. Taught me everything a boy could want to know. When I got drafted into the city guard, I was so afraid he’d hate me for it. But he just took my head in his hands and told me that he knew they’d pick the bravest to defend us. And he told me to be the best guardsman Lontiel had ever seen.”

  Tarana felt a wave of guilt rush through her. “And here I am, pulling you away from your duty.”

  “You are my duty. Way I see it, every city in the Tevulun Protectorate is safer while you’re alive. It may be an indirect form of service, but I’m serving all the same.”

  She didn’t know what to say. The whispers of the breeze passed between them for several seconds as they shared looks that conveyed different shapes of worry.

  Tarana sighed. “I have to protect my family. If the two of us are alone, our odds of being able to do that are slim. We need allies. But I’ll take what you’ve said under advisement. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything rash.”

  He scowled back. “Of course. After all, when have you ever done anything rash?”

  Chapter 16

  Mer

  Mer opened the door of the room Fevre had assigned as the mess hall, wincing at the loud creak that announced his arrival. Fevre, Blacksword, and the man who served as Blacksword’s constant shadow were seated around a small table, laughing over half-empty mugs of wine. The bone stew in their bowls had been allowed to cool to the point that a thin layer of oil had congealed on top.

  Even though they were all clearly aware of his presence, Mer tapped a fist to his chest in the customary salute of the Tevulun Rangers. “Commander Fevre, Blacksword, Bilal.” He hid a sigh of relief – the man’s name had been a stretch to recall, coming to him at the last moment.

  Fevre smiled at him, raising her mug and responding to the salute with a hearty swallow. “Mer! It’s been too long. Sit, sit!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took the last open seat at the table, handling the chair carefully to avoid getting splinters from the rough wood.

  Fevre chuckled at his fastidiousness. “Would you believe this man is one of the most dangerous in my unit? Charges headlong into sword fights, sews up men paces away from the front lines, but put him in a room with a door that hasn’t been properly sanded and he’ll never be able to get out.”

  Mer felt his face flush at the joke. Or perhaps it was the compliments. Fevre had a way of combining the two that made it hard for him to pin down exactly why he felt the way he did. “I was a surgeon long before I was a ranger, Commander. And a surgeon’s fingers are his most valuable instruments.”

  “So you’re saying all surgeons are like you?” Fevre asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well… no. They’re not. Perhaps it comes from something else, then. I suppose, when I was younger, maybe –”

  She clapped him on the back. “Relax, Mer. I didn’t mean to give you a conniption. Just having fun, is all.”

  She blinked, and when she opened her eyes the levity had disappeared from her expression. “Do you know what we were talking about before you arrived, Mer?”

  He shook his head.

  “This damn weather. It’s the strangest thing, isn’t it? For weeks we’ve had nothing but cloudless skies, the only wind an afternoon breeze. And suddenly it’s all thunderheads and gales strong enough to wipe the merchants’ stalls clean. One could be forgiven for thinking Calamity was somewhere in the city.”

  Mer’s eyes unconsciously flicked to Blacksword. “Yes, very strange weather, indeed.”

  Blacksword’s shadow – Bilal – leaned back in his chair, tense brows betraying his feigned nonchalance. “Perhaps she is, perhaps she is not. Back in Lontiel, we once went through a blizzard, sunshine, and rain in the span of a single day.”

  “All that,” Fevre said. “In a single day. Quite amazing. Am I to take it you are both from Lontiel, then?”

  Bilal nodded cautiously. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What did you do there, again? You used to be a soldier?”

  “Y-yes.” The other man drew the word out, his discomfort growing. To Mer’s eyes, he looked like a patient lying about stomach worms to get out of watch duty. It was obvious Bilal knew Fevre could sense there was more to the story, but he couldn’t think of a way to escape her questions.

  “And you?” Fevre asked, attention shifting to Blacksword. “The way you fight is something to behold. There’s a certain… ferocity to your attacks. Each time I saw you allow a strike to slip past your guard it was in exchange for a greater victory. I’d wager that, if we had the time, we could match a dead Ma’isan to every wound you sustained at the gate.” Despite the almost-question and tense feeling at the table, she maintained an innocent expression.

  If Fevre’s expression bespoke curiosity, Blacksword’s expression promised danger. She raised her mug to her lips, downing what was left in a single drought. She slammed it back on the table, eyes narrowing on the other woman. “I’ve never much cared for word games. If there’s something you’d like to know, you have but to ask.”

  Fevre chuckled. “Oh, there are a great many things I would like to know. Don’t get me wrong – I am grateful to both of you for the part you played in saving the city. But after a certain amount of time my curiosity gets the better of me. I would like to get the measure of those whom I’ve allowed to bunk amongst my men, drink my wine, and eat my food. That’s all.”

  “If we’ve overstayed our welcome, you have but to say so,” Bilal said, liquid sloshing over the edges of his bowl as he placed his elbows on the table. “We are capable of finding other accommodations.” His eyes found Blacksword, conveying something Mer could only guess at.

  Sensing the tension rising, Mer decided to cut in. “I don’t think that’s what the commander is trying to suggest. All she’s saying is – if there’s more to your story – perhaps it would be valuable to share with us so we might… align our goals.” A nod from Fevre let him know he’d hit the right tone. He breathed a sigh of relief; veiled words were not his strong suit.

  Bilal’s eyes burned into him for several seconds. He released a chortling laugh that sounded forced to Mer’s ears. “I’m afraid you have our measure all wrong. Mercenaries, that’s what we are. Survive enough scraps, and you pick up some things. We’re survivors. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Forgive me for saying so,” Fevre said, “But yours are not the actions of survivors. Survivors do not lead charges. They don’t knock over bell towers whilst still inside them. There’s only one kind that can be so foolhardy and still survive.”

  “Aspects,” Blacksword said. She shook off a warning look from her companion. “What? It’s what they were both thinking anyway. As I said, I don’t care for word games.” She raised her mug at a man in the corner, waving him over to come refill it. Once he had withdrawn, she leaned in. “Yes, I am Tarana Tevulun. Better known as Calamity.”

  Mer’s eyes widened. He wanted to leap out of his seat. I was right! No one had believed him at first. No one but Fevre, at least. She believed in me, and I was right! He allowed himself a small grin, covering his face with a hand in a doomed attempt to hide it.

  “Well, now you’ve gone and ruined the game.” Fevre looked at the other woman with a mischievous grin. “I’m not mad, though. It was growing stale anyway. So if you’re Calamity, who is this man with you, really?”

  Bilal shook his head, disappointment evident in his downcast eyes. “Captain Bilal Pacorro of the Lontiel city guard. I abandoned my post to escort Calamity to Vicrum.”

  “Very good,” Fevre said. To Blacksword she added, “If it’s alright with you, I’d prefer to continue calling you Blacksword.”

  She nodded.

  “Fantastic. As I informed you the day we met, there’s no relief army on the way. Alafin Tevulun’s army was crushed, likely beyond the point of being reformed. Prelate Gratianos is missing along with his tens of thousands. Which means – “

  “Missing doesn’t mean lost,” Blacksword said.

  “Perhaps not. But it’s not a promising development. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had a missing man turn up safe and sound. More often, they were captured or lost to an ambush or did something so shameful that they don’t imagine there will ever be redemption. And so I would like to know: why did you come here? Do you harbor illusions about saving us from the grasp of Pestilence? Or did you come out of a misguided notion of duty, like a captain sinking with their ship?”

  Blacksword considered the questions for a while, taking slow sips of wine as she thought. Bilal moved to speak more than once, but each time he tried she held up a finger to silence him. Finally, she said, “Misguided duty, yes. But not my duty as an aspect. Duty to my family. My sister and father are both here. If they are going to die, I want to die with them. Who knows? Maybe my being here will be enough to save their lives.”

  “An admirable enough reason,” Fevre said. “If I told you I could help get word to your family – let them know you’re here – what would you say?”

  “I’d say that it’s probably for the best my father doesn’t know. Even if he wouldn’t send his own men after me, I doubt he’d disagree with Prelate Gratianos’ decision to replace me as Calamity.” Her eyes slid over the table, landing on a distant doorway. “But Cora… yes, it would be good for her to know of my presence in the city. I’d appreciate it if you could get word to her.”

  “Visiting the castle is a risky proposition. No way to make that journey without others noticing. I can send Mer; as my second, I trust him to be capable of the job. However, I would ask a favor of you in return.”

  “What’s the favor?” Blacksword said, her eyes narrowing.

  “It’s said the immortal Calamity had the power to peer into the past of disasters, divining who was behind them and the circumstances that brought them about. Have you heard of the theft that took place a few nights ago?” She waited for Blacksword to nod before continuing. “No doubt you were told about the pilfering of the Farais’ stores of food, ostensibly to share with the poor and downtrodden of the city. I don’t care whether that’s the truth or a lie. I don’t even care about the Farai family – goodness knows I hold as little love for the city’s nobles as the rest of my men. What interested me, however, was the means of their escape.”

  “Cerulean powder,” Bilal said knowingly.

  Fevre nodded. “Precisely. A rare substance. The exact same as was used on the Villain’s Gate, if my spies are to be believed. Which begs the conclusion that the same entity which was behind that breach was also behind this raid.” She leaned forward in her seat. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to find out any more than that. I’m hoping you possess some latent power of the immortal Calamity that will be enough to drum up a new lead.”

  “And if I can’t?” Blacksword asked.

  “I will uphold my end of the bargain either way. Mer can leave to find your sister once we are done speaking if you agree. All I’m asking is for you to visit the Farai estate and let me know if you sense anything that might help.”

  The other woman considered the offer for a moment, her fingers tapping out a beat on the table as she thought. “Very well, I’ll do my best to help. Send your man.”

  “Is there anything in particular you want him to say? Any details he can share that will confirm you’re the one behind his visit?”

  “Tell my sister I’m sorry I lost the doll she snuck into my things before I left. I still have the bracelet, though.”

  Fevre cleared her throat. “Forgive me, Blacksword, but those doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of details that would confirm your identity. Any servant could have seen –”

  “Seen her sneak the doll into my things, yes. But no one else knows I tossed it into the fire in a fit of frustration at my circumstances. Or that I tried to rescue it immediately after, saving only enough of the dress to twist into a bracelet.” She raised her arm, revealing a simple cloth bracelet bearing a burn mark the size of a copper. It looked like it had once been purple, but dirt and time had caused it to fade to a grayish color in all but a couple spots.

  “I stand corrected. You got all that, Mer?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Very well. Seek out the princess and relay Blacksword’s message. In the meantime…” Fevre rose, her chair scraping against the tiled floor. “The three of us will visit the Farai estate and see if we can scrounge up a lead that will help us find the traitor behind our walls.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mer bowed his head, taking his leave of them to begin the journey up the two thousand steps to the castle.

  The sun was overhead when he exited the mess hall; by the time he had reached the base of the plateau at the center of the city, it had fallen several degrees. He reached the top of the winding stairs when it was more than halfway done with its descent – soon enough, it would be time for supper.

  Mer ran into a trio of men blocking his path at the top of the stairway. They wore the same colors as him, only dirtier than Fevre would have ever allowed. The condition of their uniforms, along with their patchy beards and drawn faces led to one conclusion: city guardsmen.

  The tallest of the trio – a man with a long scar over his left eyebrow – sneered at Mer. “You must be one of Fevre’s. What business brings you to the keep?”

  Mer’s hand moved to rest on the hilt of the dagger at his right hip. “My business is my own. I don’t have to answer questions from your kind.”

  “What right does the honorable commander have to steal food from our stores? While the rest of us make do with a single breakfast of meal, you and the other rangers feast on dried ham and sausage. How is that fair?”

  Sounds like someone’s been spreading rumors. Mer wished he’d brought some of the bone stew from the mid-day meal; if the men in front of him had seen it, their jealousy would have quickly vanished. Knowing they wouldn’t believe him if he told them the rangers had it as hard as anyone else, he kept his hands at a ready position in case the time came for baring steel.

  “I have no intention of answering your questions,” he said. “Any questions. So either step aside or make a move.”

  The man with the scar above his eyebrow stared at him, his upper lip twitching with hatred. He and the other two glanced at each other, but in the end none of them was brave enough to try their luck against a ranger. “We’ll be going, then,” the man said. “Careful not to trip on your way down.” He pushed past Mer, jostling him with a shoulder.

  “Same to you,” Mer muttered, continuing past the Temple of the Aspects. The thin air of the plateau threatened to steal his breath, but it was worth it for the perspective; he had a clear view of the city on all sides, from the blue water of the bay to the black-and-white marble walls. Toward the south, the green tents of the Ma’isan camp were barely visible over their top.

  A pair of guards challenged him at the entrance, letting him pass begrudgingly when they saw the insignia on his coat. Even so, the younger of the pair left his post to shadow Mer as he made his way to the throne room. He instructed Mer to wait in the empty room while he searched for the princess.

  She came into view sometime after, long white sleeves flowing like water as she swept toward him. Even if she hadn’t been headed his way, Mer held no doubt he would have recognized her; the resemblance to her sister was uncanny. They shared the same vulpine eyes and heart-shaped lips, their hair the exact same shade of brown. However, where Blacksword wore her years in her countenance, her sister still retained some of the innocence of youth.

  “Yone said you had a message for me?” Princess Cora said. Her straight-backed posture and impassive stare seemed fitting for a much-older ruler, throwing him off guard.

  He shook his head. No time to wonder at the seeming mismatch between her appearance and demeanor. “Yes, I do. Perhaps it would be better if we could speak in private. The message I was asked to deliver was for your ears only.”

  “Forgive me, sir, but I cannot risk it. Rumors of Ma’isan spies have made their way up the two thousand steps, and I’d rather not find myself on the wrong end of a dagger. I’m sure you’re decent and honorable, but I’m not willing to bet my life on it.”