The Zurun dropped the hatchet to her side and smiled, eyes running Maud up and down. “Put something on.”

  “We should maybe be more concerned about being stuck in this fucking tunnel.”

  “That’s the least of your concerns.” The Zurun nudged her head toward one of the corpses. “He’s about your size. Was I suppose.”

  Blood rushed to Maud’s cheeks as the Zurun kept looking her over and smirking. It was disgusting how much she missed Faolan already. He was annoying, but he never made her uneasy or embarrassed. She supposed he didn’t have enough going on for all of that. She covered her parts with a hand and brushed past the Zurun. She struggled using her left hand to remove the rags from the body.

  The Zurun snickered. “Need help?”

  Maud tried to use her right arm, winced, and jerked it back, which made the Zurun snicker some more. Maud pulled and tugged with her left until she removed the top, then did the same for the bottoms.

  She was huffing when she finished. She caught her breath and realized she was only halfway through and still had to put the rags on. She ran over her chances if she got the jump on the Zurun. Then she looked into the empty eyes of the body she’d just scavenged, and bit her tongue to keep from screaming as she pulled the rags over her broken arm.

  “That’s better. Where’s Raiza?” Desperation lingering on her voice.

  Maud smacked her palm into her forehead repeatedly. She needed to be done with this idiot, without provoking her enough to end up like the men. She emphasized each word. “I don’t know who that is. I was taking the Fanir to Kaza, and then we were going to be on our fucking way.”

  The Zurun frowned. “Why?”

  She sucked in a breath. She couldn’t tell if she was actually running out of air or if it was just the impatience. “No concern of yours. We need to get out of here before we both die.”

  “Today’s not my day. We’ll see about you. Why were you bringing him to Kaza?”

  This must’ve been the only fucker in The Sharp Places who asked more questions than Faolan. At least Faolan’s concerned his own affairs. “I don’t fucking know why he needed to come here. I didn’t ask.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Maud tossed her arms. “Shit on all of this. He needed to bring his sword to Kaza. Where’s this fucking tunnel lead?”

  The Zurun shrugged. “I’m not sure. There are hundreds of these throughout the Far South. They’re from when . . .” her trailed off and she walked over to a pile of rubble. She bent over to grab something and tuned back waving Kronr like around like it was a branch. “This sword?”

  Maud reached out. “That’s mine.”

  She jerked it back. “You said it was the Fanir’s.”

  Maud bit her bottom lip, took a breath, released it. “Hand me the sword.”

  “Why is it so important?”

  “Look at it, idiot! Ever seen metal that looks like that? It’s Cursed. Now I’m trapped in a tunnel with your irritating arse.”

  She dropped it like it’d burned her to hold it after hearing it was Cursed. “I can’t see as well as in the dark.”

  Maud picked it up. “Clearly. What makes you think he’s dead?”

  “I don’t know very many people who can survive a canyon falling on them.”

  “We did.”

  She dipped her head to the side. “Fair, but even if he survived; Zayd would’ve him killed him.”

  “Who?”

  “Ha-Agha Katel,” she looked at Maud like it’d been an absurd question.

  Maud nodded. “Oh, of course, Ha-Agha Katel. I’m guessing it’d make too much sense for you to help me clear this shit?”

  “We can’t go that way.”

  Maud groaned. “Why’s that?”

  “If we go back into the canyon, we’re dead.”

  “We?”

  The Zurun tightened her shoulders and brow. “It’s complicated.”

  Maud rubbed the side of her head. “Well, what can we do?”

  She pointed toward the pitch blackness rolling out before them. “We need to follow the tunnel.”

  “You just told me you don’t know where it leads.”

  “I know Zayd won’t be waiting outside of it, and it should get us close enough to Kaza. Once we’re there we’ll learn the fate of your friend.”

  Maud narrowed her eyes. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because, if he’s alive, and he isn’t, I’ll help you find him, but then you’re going to help me find my sister.”

  Maud sighed. “Raiza?”

  “Raiza.”

  “Do you have any idea where she is?”

  “None.”

  Maud groaned again. She wasn’t binding herself to another moron’s cause. There was going to be blood when she didn’t uphold her end, but that was a problem for another day. It occurred to her that her future problems were mounting, and she wasn’t doing a world of a lot in terms of solving her current ones. “Fine. Help me find Faolan, and I’ll help you find Raiza.”

  Raiza’s sister wrinkled her brow and tipped her head to the side. “Faolan?”

  “Yeah. Faolan Vonungr.”

  Her eyes widened.

  Maud’s turn to smirk. “Still think they’ll kill him when he realizes who he is?”

  Raiza’s sister shrugged. “Who’s to say they waited to ask?”

  Maud’s turn to scowl. “What if we get to the end of this tunnel and your Ha-Agha is right there waiting for us.”

  The most infuriating smile Maud had ever seen peeled at the edges of her mouth. “Then we’re fucked.”

  Maud closed her eyes and scratched an eyebrow. The moon knew she didn’t have any better ideas herself, so she was stuck on this path, which seemed like it had the same potential as any she’d have come up with herself as ending in blood. She hauled the flat of Kronr’s blade onto her shoulder and started for the darkness. That’s the thing with blood. Almost never worth trying to avoid it.

  The Spoils of War

  Grey sky hung over the expanse of browning grass. Nothing but plains, save for the occasional peppering of trees with rustic charred leaves. Hooves chomped at the rolling hills, spraying soil every direction. Siofra and Celdar thundered southwest, where somber outlines of crumbled towers encroached over the horizon. The freedom of the open country had withered into a strangling anticipation for what was to come, which could only end the one way.

  She dropped the reins in one hand and pushed away the hair sticking to her face. Hard as she might try, her mind always wandered back to what would unfold once her son arrived in Ilysílos, or Aerilon’s Edge rather. Why must you have so much of Niall in you? A pit formed in her stomach. There’d be no talking him off his current course, and even if she could . . . she’d already levied her word on the old ways.

  Her gut wrenched further as the buildings became more vivid against the horizon. Ilysílos had been a place of refined elegance, where the graceful, white architecture towered into the heavens clouds and the birds sang. Aerilon’s Edge was a clump of rotting pillars and towers where ravens cawed. She squinted and thought she could make out the remains of what was once Vonungr Aitho, her home. If she was right, it was just one of the many achievements reduced to a sad waste. Of the seven towers that once surrounded the main hold, three remained, and they’d long rotted past their old glory.

  The battlements loomed tall as they approached. They reared their horses into trots. The gates were shut, the portcullis’s teeth rammed into the earth. Ten archers on the wall, bows trained on her as if she were trespassing. Another five armored soldiers on mounts in front of the gates. Aerilon Kilton’s spawn must’ve been doing a miserable job of things if this was what it’d come to. She started to question if she’d been wrong to leave her other Shields behind, but just like every other decision she’d made the last twenty years, no redoing it now.

  “Must be dangerous times,” Celdar said.

  How astute. She gulped down her contempt as she motioned him to stop and walked her horse up to the guards.

  “Halt!” the foremost guard said from under his helm. “State your name and your business here! Any further, you’ll be shot where you stand. If I think you’re lying, shot where you stand. If I don’t like you—”

  “Shot where we stand.” The Old Gods are testing me with this one.

  The guard raised his arm, and the archers drew back their bowstrings. “Don’t be a smart arse, or you’ll be shot where you stand. Name and business! And in a friendly way, ‘fore I put you through all seven hells.”

  She bowed her head slightly. Far past time the essence was restored to the Sharp Places. “My apologies, Sir.”

  A nasty chuckle rang from under his helm. “Apologize again, but this time call me ‘M’ Lord.’ Ain’t never been called one o’ those and I reckon I might like the way it sounds.”

  “My apologies, my Lord.”

  The guard nodded slowly, and the others chuckled behind him. “That’s better, but I think you still owe me something.”

  Siofra cleared her throat. “Yes, my Lord. Marlee Read. This is my husband, Harold. We’re relatives of—”

  “That ugly shit, Desmond, right?” one of the rear guards chortled. “Next time you see him tell him I hope Linley comes back again soon. Always enjoyed her visits. Daughter will do too, in her own time.” He grabbed at his crotch in the saddle, and they all snickered.

  The guard in front spoke again. “Last time I’m going to ask. What’s your business here? And why don’t you let him do the talking. G’tting tired o’talking to a woman.” He glanced back at the others. “Some time we’re livin’ in. Fucking woman comes here, sword on hip, talking for her husband. Some time.” He shook his head slowly, like nothing at all was right anymore.

  Celdar walked his horse up next to her. “We’re looking for lodging along with some honest work. These are hard times. Desmond and Linley can’t afford to house us anymore. We’re hoping to make enough to pay for a way to the Northern Twin. There’s no future for us here.”

  The guard grunted. “There’s no fucking future for any of us here. Lemme let you in on something. The Eighth Devil . . .” He gestured toward the expanse of land to the south. “He’s real, and he’s out there. These aren’t just hard times. They’re as bad as they can fucking get. Tell you what. Seeing as you’re a horse’s arse who lets a woman do the talking for him, I’m going to charge you ten marks a piece for entrance. Otherwise, I’m going to have you shot in your saddles, and I’ll drag everything you got off your bodies. By the looks o’ her wolf pelt, I’ll be making off halfway decent. And take your fucking hoods off both of yous. Lucky I didn’t take the twos of you for bandits and kill you already.”

  Fortunately for him, she was too distracted to be offended by his disrespect and pretense. The Devil of the Clay, alive after all these years. It wasn’t shocking, but she’d held out hope that he’d perished somehow. If he was around, the old ways would be upon them sooner than she’d expected. Death followed that one like worms after a storm. She turned to Celdar, but he just removed his hood and bowed, like the news meant nothing to him. She dropped her hood to her shoulders, thankful for the band wrapped around her brow and ears.

  “Well, aren’t you a pretty one. At least I’m sure you used t’be,” the guard said. “You coulda been a Lady if you didn’t go and marry a fucking Read.” That made him laugh. “I’ve had enough of the both of ya. Just pay me and be on with your fucking days.”

  Siofra reached into the coin pouch they’d taken off Desmond and threw two gold coins to the guard.

  He snatched the coins from the air. “Gold huh? I wasn’t expecting gold, I’ll admit. If you’re carrying gold to make marks, I’m gonna assume times aren’t as hard for you I previously believed. How about you do me two more? Just for good measure.”

  She ran her tongue over lips and Celdar dashed his horse in front of her. “Please, my Lord,” he pleaded. “We really couldn’t afford it. We’re worried about being able to afford decent lodging as it is.”

  The truth was that Desmond Read had provided them with more than enough to afford decent lodging. They’d taken at least twenty gold coins from his person, and another fifteen from his wife’s.

  The guard lifted his helm from over his eyes and peered at Celdar. “Seven hells. All men do these days is whine over their sorry lot. Look at the shakes on this one, boys. Touched in the head, eh?” The guard puffed and waved the others out of the way. “Fine. Get out of my face before I change my mind.” He looked toward the bowmen on the battlements. “Lower your bows and open the bloody gate!”

  The portcullis rose screeching, and the gates groaned open. Siofra pressed on the flank of her steed, Celdar trailing closely behind, guiding it slowly into what was once the greatest city in the Sharp Places. Let’s see what you made of your spoils, Aerilon.

  She remembered the Kynance, stretching from one end of Ilysílos to the other, ringing with music and vendors speckled on its sides. She remembered the briny smell of the Red Strait, always faint on the air, and the white birds of the sea. She remembered finely dressed artisans crafting finer opuses.

  So much for the memories. She coughed and rubbed at her chest. It was hard to even breath, let alone smell, through the dust in the air. The Kynance was fractured, the people lining it more so. Everyone was rail thin, even the children, especially the children. What few children there were at least. The seabirds had abandoned the city for lusher pastures. Not that they’d have to go far to find those. The only vendors in Aerilon’s edge sold their bodies and their knives, and she suspected the two weren’t always exclusive of each other. Kilton’s soldiers were littered amongst the haggard people. Far more than there needed to be, going by the state of the commoners.

  They led their horses to a stable off the roadway. “There’s been violence here.” Celdar narrowed his on a soldier with half his face bandaged and his arm in a sling.

  Siofra dismounted and handed him her reins. “Make a large enough mess of things and people will revolt eventually. Sieging cities was never the difficult leg. Laws, taxes and granaries were what greyed my hairs. It appears they killed Aerilon. Means nothing to us. We’ve more pressing scores to settle.”

  Celdar dipped his head and led the steeds to a stablehand. She scanned the streets while he paid. There’d been a time when she’d known this city as well as every mark on her body. Now, her head was ringing just trying to remember where the inns had been.

  Celdar returned and held an unsteady hand over his eyes as he swept his gaze from street to street. She pointed at the most populated street to the western edge. “Let’s start—"

  A man crashed into her shoulder, sending them both sprawling into the ash. “Out the way, bitch!” He scrambled back to his feet and scurried off down the Kynance.

  Two soldiers charged after him, mail sloshing. Men and women scattered out of their way where they could and got shoved to the ground where they couldn’t.

  “Fuck this,” she muttered as she rose and dusted the ash off her cloak.

  “That’s the way of things now.”

  Siofra her necks toward the voice. A haggard woman with a beak of a nose and an eyepatch walked up. She was as frail as everyone else she’d seen in the city, thinning grey hair shrouding gaunt skin.

  “How do you mean?” Celdar asked.

  The woman looked over her shoulder as if she was worried someone might hear. “Dacian Kilton!” She spat into the ash. “Worse than his father. Who woulda thought it possible? But sure enough. His men throwing women in the streets! Kids going missin’! Bah! Ask them, they’ll say they’ve done you a favor.”

  Aerilon’s son being less competent than him is impressive, even if not altogether surprising. “Who were they chasing?” Siofra asked.

  The woman knit her brow. “Who’s asking?”

  “Two weary travelers hoping to find refuge and avoid conflict,” Celdar said.

  The woman puffed. “Then maybe you should try not asking questions. Get far away from Aerilon’s Edge and stay away. They’re making for a war here.”

  A war? With whom?

  “Our intentions exactly,” Celdar said. “Could you point us toward safe housing for the evening?”

  She gave Siofra a run over and turned her mouth to the side. “Guess so. The Brave Hand. Most honest inn or tavern you’ll find in this rat’s nest. Say Haralda sent you.”

  Has she recognized us? Even so, she’s no ally of the Kiltons. But who are they going to war with? “Are you going to tell us how to get there?”

  The haggard sneered at her before turning back to Celdar. “You ought to teach this one some respect. Folk here aren’t afraid of that sword on her hip.”

  Celdar bowed. “Our apologies. Travel has been hard, and it’s left us less than our usual selves.”

  “Whatever. Follow the center road to the Squall’s End. Once you’re there ask anyone and they’ll point you there.” The woman shook her head and muttered under her breath before shuffling off into the pallid crowd.

  The city grew more unfamiliar the further they ventured. Entire rows of buildings devastated, shotty human masonry blotched over the old architecture. Even the livable areas were a blight on the eyes. Say what you might for the deteriorating nature of Aerilon’s Edge, but its people were not to be outdone. She’d have thought it hard to imagine anyone being more dreadful than what she’d seen thus far, but hard and impossible were worlds apart. She wondered what Dacian Kilton was making of the Northern Twin, that living here was anyone’s better alternative.

  They trudged through ash until Siofra could make out the remains of Squall’s End. Most of the buildings were ruined, but a couple had been touched by the restoration effort. Ladders leaned against The Great Library’s blackened towers.

  Most of the people looked too drunk to have any idea where they were themselves, but she reckoned those were the sort who knew exactly where a tavern was. A skinny man in tattered clothes dozed in and out of sleep as he slumped against a fractured wall. An empty mug hung limply from the crook of one of his fingers.