The rest of the night was like a dream compared to the days that had led up to her arrival in the city. Hector brought up a tub and heated water for a bath. Even though Tarana was unable to fully immerse herself – she wasn’t willing to risk reopening the wounds in her belly or her scalp– she was able to get most of the grime off with a sponge. With her wounds wrapped and dressed, the pain eased somewhat.

  A new set of clothes were delivered for her to wear after the bath as well; Hector informed her Bilal had paid for them from his own salary. They were made of simple fabric, dyed in colors to ape the noble fashions. They wore a little rougher than Tarana was used to, but she suspected they represented quite the sum for him.

  Just after dinner, the boy who’d taken her shortsword returned, bearing both sword and a black sheath. He bowed low at the door, holding it out in both hands. “I’m sorry, Calamity. The blacksmith told me the sword has been… well, the word he used was ‘scarred.’ He said the steel’s no good now.”

  Tarana took the sheath from his hands, drawing the sword enough to satisfy her curiosity. The short sword’s length had been burnt black, except a cloud-shaped patch near the tip that had retained the color of polished steel.

  “Thank you,” she said. A great amount of effort had clearly been put into restoring the blade and finding a fitting sheath; effort she was afraid would soon be proven wasted. Swords didn’t last long once they’d felt the touch of thunder.

  “What should we call it?” the boy asked hopefully.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “All the best swords have names. I just thought – you know, maybe this one had a name.”

  “It doesn’t.” Tarana slid it back into the sheath. “Sorry. Thank you for bringing it to me, though.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure. My pleasure.” The boy failed to hide a dejected look. He bowed once more before heading down the staircase.

  She set the sword down beside the room door and made her way over to a down mattress. Sleep overtook her soon after.

  An urgent knock on the door interrupted Tarana’s sleep. When she opened her eyes, she saw the early-morning sun had just begun to color the world outside her windows. The knock sounded again, making the door vibrate with its force.

  “I’m up!” Tarana shouted, throwing on the clothes she’d been gifted the night before. She looked at the sheath, pausing for a moment before belting that on too. She unlatched the door to find Bilal in front of her, his breathing heavy.

  “What did you do?” he accused, bursting into the room. “There’s Gray Masques looking for you at the gates! They’re accusing you of treason!”

  Tarana yawned, the dregs of sleep still affecting her. “Oh yes, treason. So that’s what they’re calling it.”

  Bilal’s eyes bulged; his arms tensed as if he was moments from drawing his sword. “This is not the time to be cryptic,” he warned.

  “Fine! Fine. If you must know, the Gray Masques had instructions to kill me. One of my cousins was travelling with them. I think they meant for her to do the deed. The trip you mentioned, the one to join with my uncle’s army? I don’t think I was meant to survive it.”

  Bilal settled into a spot with his back to the window. The fire in his eyes seemed enough to set the room ablaze. “Why would they do such a thing?”

  “It’s more common than you’d think.” Tarana let out a cold laugh. “It’s the worst kept secret of the aspects. We get fifteen years, maximum, before our families kill us. Then they quietly introduce the successor. Most people never get close enough to notice we’ve changed.”

  “That answers the how, but not the why,” Bilal pointed out.

  “Because I’m growing unpredictable. Because they think a new Calamity will be easier to control. Or perhaps just because Prelate Gratianos had a whim when he woke up the morning he sent me away. I can’t tell you the exact reason because I don’t know myself.”

  The room was silent for a moment. Bilal chewed his bottom lip, mulling over what she’d revealed. He exhaled heavily. “I’ve been thinking a lot about honor lately. And loyalty. Ever since… well, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you saved the city all those years ago. You saved my family. Of that much I’m sure. Whatever you need of me, I’m your man.”

  Regret dried Tarana’s throat. She hadn’t thought much of letting the man believe the lie about who’d saved the city earlier, but she also hadn’t been expecting him to stake so much on it so quickly. The bulk of her regret wasn’t directed toward her innocent desire to avoid bursting his worldview, though – it was directed toward the choice in front of her. In her mind, the only option was to keep letting the man believe she’d been the one to save Lontiel.

  “I have to get out of this city,” she said. “I’m bound for Vicrum. If I can make it there in time, I might be able to save the citizens from the ravages of Pestilence.”

  Bilal nodded slowly. “I left instructions with my men at the gate; they are not to let the Gray Masques enter the city unless I give the order. If it comes to a fight, they will be able to buy us some time. But not much.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “I asked about the ship. It belongs to a group of fur traders from Artesia. My guess is they were planning on heading to Vicrum next, but with the siege and the possibility of a blockade they’ll likely want to escape the bay as soon as possible.”

  Tarana’s breath escaped as a hiss between her clenched teeth. “Well, let’s go meet these Artesians all the same. I don’t think we have any other choice.”

  “If it’s alright with you,” Bilal said, “I think it would be wise to avoid advertising your… powers. If they know you’re Calamity, it will result in all sorts of questions I’m sure you’d rather avoid. And they would never allow an aspect to sail with them out of fear of appearing to take sides in the war with the Ma’isans.”

  “Understood.” Tarana gestured for the man to lead the way. He sighed, looking at her for a full second before exiting the room.

  The inn was eerily quiet; the only sound as they descended the stairs was the scuffing of their own boots. It was a similar story on the street, although Tarana spotted more than one shopkeeper preparing for the day. They passed a bakery, where the smell of freshly baked spiced bread was already spreading out onto the street.

  Lontiel’s crescent shape had been made to maximize usage of the shoreline; as a result, the trip to the docks took less than a quarter of an hour. It was good news for Tarana. She’d felt the wound in her stomach open halfway through the trip, staining the bandage wrapped around her mid-section.

  Bilal led the way up to the trader’s vessel, a wide-bottomed ship made for traveling near the shore. He raised a hand at a man standing on the deck, waving him down.

  The man descended onto the dock, his eyes trained on the pair of them. “Whaddaya want?” he asked.

  “Are you the captain of this vessel?” Bilal asked.

  “P’rhaps. And again I ask, whaddaya want?”

  “Where are you heading next?”

  With an exaggerated groan, the sailor focused on Tarana. “Let’s see if you’re quicker ‘en your friend. Whaddaya want?” The message was clear: either answer the question, or move on.

  “We’d like to book passage to Vicrum,” Tarana said.

  “We’re not going to Vicrum. ‘s dangerous right now.”

  “Alright, then. Where are you going?” Bilal’s tone rose with exasperation.

  The sailor’s lips parted in a half-grin, revealing brown teeth. “Nunna your business. Vicrum isn’t far. For a piece-a gold we might let you take the dinghy.”

  “A dinghy?” Bilal repeated incredulously. “For a gold piece? You have to be joking.”

  “’s a nice dinghy.” The sailor shrugged. “Got a sail and everything. Take it or leave it.”

  Tarana felt as if she could sense a hostile reply forming in Bilal’s mind. She grabbed him by the shoulder. “Give us a minute, please,” she said to the sailor before guiding Bilal away from the boat.

  Once they were out of earshot, she asked, “How much did you think passage was going to cost? Is this something the city guard’s funds could cover?”

  His cheeks flushed with color. “I have to be honest with you. The city guard didn’t pay for your room last night. I did.”

  “Oh. That must have cost you a fortune.”

  “Worth every copper,” Bilal said almost immediately. “And I’d gladly pay for the dinghy as well – if you want it – but I don’t have enough. Not to mention, I think it’s a horrible idea. What if you run into rough seas?”

  Tarana raised an eyebrow at him. “I can guarantee that won’t happen. It’ll be smooth sailing until we reach Vicrum. I’ve pulled all the thunderclouds to Lontiel, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  He glanced at the sky, looking back at her with a sheepish wince. “That makes sense. I was wondering why it had been so dark the last few days, and without a drop of rain.”

  “Don’t worry. The rain is coming. And plenty of lightning, too. I can only hold it at bay when I’m nearby.” Tarana studied the man, her eyes tracing the line of his broad nose. “I hate to ask this after all you’ve done for me already, but how much do you have?”

  In answer, he produced a coinpurse and started to count. “Fifteen silvers, three coppers.”

  “Less than a third of what they’re asking for,” Tarana said. “Alright, I have another plan: I reveal who I am, and tell them either they give me the dinghy or I’ll sink their damn ship.”

  Bilal’s eyes went wide. “Don’t do that, Calam — I mean, Tarana. They’re just honest merchants.”

  “Honest merchants who are demanding usurious prices from those in need.” Tarana relented with a sigh. “Alright, then. What’s your idea? I doubt we have enough time to take up a collection.”

  He thought for a moment, running his hand along the rings of mail at his neck. “Well, I said they were traders, didn’t I? Perhaps we could trade.” He headed back toward the ship, where a man with pupils so dark they might have been black had joined the first sailor they’d spoken with.

  “So,” the dark-eyed man said. “You wanna take our dinghy.” Tarana guessed he was the ship’s captain.

  “Yes, sir,” Bilal said. “We don’t have the gold coin your man asked for, but I’m prepared to part with my mail if you deem it a fair exchange.”

  The captain’s nose wrinkled. “’Deem.’ ‘Exchange.’ Don’t go talking all highborn around us to impress the lady.” He stepped forward, tugging at Bilal’s mail. “What’s the condition? How many times has it been repaired?”

  “Never. This is a fresh-forged coat. Lord Tevani gave it to me when I was promoted. It’s only seen a couple scrapes, and it’s never been damaged.”

  Desire flickered in the captain’s eyes, but he quickly stifled it. “Don’t know where I would sell something like this. No one out there’s gonna trust a fur trader shows up with a coat of mail to sell. They’ll figure it’s a sham, or I stole it from someone.”

  “Then you don’t have to sell it. You can wear it, for all I care. This is a more than fair offer, and you know it.”

  The captain wetted his lips, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Bilal. Bilal’s eyes narrowed as well, showing a hardness Tarana hadn’t seen before.

  Finally, the captain broke eye contact. “Alright, then. You can take the dinghy. But I wanna see this coat in the light before you go. And I swear to Calamity, if there’s a single loop out of place the deal is off.”

  Bilal nodded his assent, removing his leather overcoat and then the mail. The captain looked it over for several minutes before ordering his men to lower the dinghy. They rowed it around to the dock, tying it off to a post before stepping off.

  “I thought you said it was a nice dinghy,” Bilal said, disappointment evident in his tone. It wasn’t hard to see why; the so-called sail had three large holes in one corner, rendering it almost useless.

  The sailor they’d spoken with before chuckled. “’s a lesson in trade for ya. Always inspect the goods before the deal’s done.”

  Bilal reached for his coat of mail, but stopped at the sight of both men reaching for swords at their hips. Behind them, a group of sailors who’d been watching the exchange looked ready to join in as well. He withdrew his hand. “Come on,” he said to Tarana, his voice low. “Let’s see what our haste has purchased.”

  She went with him to examine the small boat. It was barely large enough for four men to sit in, but perhaps that was for the best. Tarana had a feeling she’d be rowing most of the way; she told herself the smaller craft would be more manageable.

  “At least it doesn’t have any holes in the bottom,” she said.

  There was no response.

  “Thank you for your kindness, Bilal. It’s more than I could have hoped for. Honestly, more than I deserve.”

  He nodded absently.

  “I won’t forget you. If ever we cross paths again, I’ll do my best to repay this favor.”

  “I have to do something,” he said. “Don’t leave until I come back, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He walked away, wandering toward a man dressed in the colors of the city guard. When he arrived there was a short conversation. Tarana saw them clasp wrists, and then he headed back toward her.

  “Time to go,” Bilal said, climbing into the dinghy. He took the oars in his hands, staring at Tarana expectantly.

  “You’re going with me?”

  “Yeah. I think I have to.” He spoke as if each word pained him. “You’re clearly in no condition to make this trip alone. If you’re dead set on sailing to Vicrum, you’ll need my help.”

  “Thank you,” Tarana said. She stepped into the dinghy, searching for something more to say. It was clear the man would rather stay in Lontiel – that he was giving up more than she knew by choosing to leave – but she didn’t know how to properly address the sacrifice.

  They left the harbor wordlessly, accompanied only by the rhythmic sounds of oars slicing the water. Once they were in the bay Tarana was able to summon some wind to ease the journey, but their sail let most of it whistle through the holes in its fabric.

  In the distance, the rain began to pour over Lontiel. Thunder boomed and lightning flared. The city’s inhabitants were in for a rough week.

  Chapter 10

  Itan

  Itan could sense the dead souls of Jaruna even before he passed through the gates. They pressed in around him, too numerous to count. He reached absently for the urn at his hip before remembering it wasn’t there.

  He sighed. Best case, it would be several months before the souls were put to rest. If he failed, he didn’t know when the priests of Mirao would next see fit to send another emissary to the city. Perhaps in a decade. Perhaps a century. A soul left alone — much like a person — would not survive long.

  The cart he was riding in belonged to a merchant who had been bribed generously to allow him to ride on the final leg of the journey. Neither of them spoke, although Itan could tell from the man’s stolen glances there was no trust between them.

  They entered through a gate barely large enough to accommodate the horses. The merchant pulled on the reins the moment they were inside. “We part here,” he said, thrusting his chin at Itan, then toward the larger city.

  “Okay, then.” Itan hopped off, groaning as his knees complained about the rough ride. He hadn’t been travelling in comfort the past month, but at least he could tell himself it was almost over. The merchant pushed his horses back into motion, leaving him in the dust.

  There weren’t many citizens in the section of the city where Itan had been dropped off, but those he met went far out of their way to avoid him. The robes of his priesthood were distinctive enough to tell them who he was.

  In the small window of time he’d been given to prepare, he had pressed Tira for some background on why the last priest had been chased out of the city. “It was a misunderstanding,” she’d said. “A demagogue convinced the people of the city the aspect could do more than simply help the souls of the dead pass to the Everlands. She claimed the aspect — and all priests of Mirao — had the power of death itself. She claimed we brought death with us, choosing who should die and who should live.”

  Itan hoped a few years had been enough to show them that the claims were wrong. They had to see that death would occur as a natural part of life. There was no stopping it, no running from it.

  His experience with the brigands tempered that hope. Men would hate who they wanted to; there wasn’t always a reason for it.

  Itan approached an urchin on the side of the street, pulling out a copper piece to give to the boy. “Tell me where the temples in this city are,” he said, holding up the coin so it was clearly visible.

  The boy avoided his eyes, looking down the street with a trembling chin. Itan could see the desire in his face—he wanted to take it. He was just afraid of what would happen if he did.

  “The temples, please.” Itan lowered himself to look the boy in the eyes. The position was awkward, but he held it for several seconds. “I can promise you food and a bed if you help me.”

  Finally, the boy looked back at him. “That way.” He gestured vaguely to his left. “Just keep going that way.” He held out a hand. The message was clear; a coin was acceptable, but he wouldn’t take anything else from Itan.

  Itan set the coin into the boy’s hand before pulling out two others. He deposited them beside the first. “Do you know who I am, child?”

  The boy’s tongue worked in his mouth. He shrugged as if he didn’t want to say it, but he did anyway. “You’re a death priest.”

  Itan bit the inside of his cheek. A death priest. Not entirely wrong, but not a flattering description. “I’m a priest of Mirao, yes. It is true we serve the dead. Do you know what we do for them?”

  “The dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “You kill them. Don’t do nothing else.”

  “We are not responsible for death, child. Our responsibility is to help the dead pass on to the Everlands. You’ve heard of the Everlands, haven’t you?” He waited for the boy to nod before continuing. “It’s a paradise beyond the imagining of mortals. When the immortals still lived, the Aspect of Death oversaw the passage of all souls from this world to the Everlands. When men killed him we took the duty upon ourselves, but we are imperfect servants compared to immortals. The Aspect of Death needs the help of others to bring souls to him so he can help them pass. That’s where we come in. We gather souls to bring to him so they may know peace. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”