Was that wrong? Did Vhemin not care? Weren’t humans just as angry?

  She snarled, turned, and kicked the hay bale.

  “Nice,” Hitch offered from behind her.

  Evanne startled, whirled, grinned, ran to him as if to snatch him in a hug, then faltered. She dropped her hands, toeing the grass. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.” He blinked not-eyes. “Oh, I get it. You’re sitting on hay.”

  “Took you a while.”

  “I’ve been stuck in a lantern.” He gazed at the sky. “Tarragon let me out.”

  “Tarragon … wait. The fairy let you out?” Evanne boggled. “Why didn’t she let you out before?”

  “Could be many reasons. Maybe she wanted to see if Morgan was on the team.” Hitch shrugged. “I think mostly she liked me being stuck in a lantern.”

  Evanne felt warm, like that delicious feeling when you put your foot in a bath just the right temperature. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “I’m sorry I left. The vampire caught me flat-footed. I haven’t seen an artefact that captures ghosts before. Could be useful to have around.” He looked away. “I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

  “What do I do, Hitch?” She threw an arm out at the farmstead behind them. “There are people here who need me. But we need to save the world.”

  Hitch glanced at her. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “I don’t have time to think about food.”

  The ghost laughed. “That’s a first. You eat six times your bodyweight daily. Come on. We’ll find something.”

  Food was good. Evanne ate with purpose, trying to find ways to stick all the eggs, bacon, and sausage in her mouth at once. The bacon was overdone, but she liked a bit of crunch. The sausage was perfect, if a bit cold. She ravened in the farmstead’s old kitchen. The south door led to the room where Quinton died. Someone had cleaned it up before people made the old farmstead’s kitchen hum again. There was a lot of leftover food and only one person to eat it.

  Mama didn’t raise no quitter. Evanne took another bite of sausage as Hitch stepped through a wall, then spoke around a mouthful. “Where’d they all go?”

  “They’re having a meeting.”

  She gave him a little side-eye while she chewed. “About what? Specifics, ghost.”

  “They’re talking about the usual things. How they fell thrall to a vampire lord. Where their families are. It’s pretty standard stuff, really.”

  “Like you rescue castles full of people on a daily basis.”

  He paused, glancing just over her shoulder for a moment. “You know, I think I used to. I don’t remember.”

  “Convenient.”

  “It’s not. If I remembered I could tell a good story. Be the talk of the party.”

  Evanne pushed a piece of toast through runny yolk. “So, how do we help them?”

  “I think that’s a problem that’ll solve itself. One moment.” He tapped a not foot. “Any second now.”

  The exterior door opened, the sound of footsteps drawing closer. Eden walked in. The guardswoman had colour in her face. “Hello.”

  Evanne pointed with her toast to a stool across the kitchen bench from her, inviting the guard captain to sit. “Sup.”

  She got a raised eyebrow for that, but Ed sat. “How are you?”

  “Great.” Evanne gritted her teeth. Take away the Trick. Be honest. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Ed pursed her lips. “What do you mean?”

  “I came here for Hollyhead. There’s a lake, I think.” Evanne finished her toast. “I need to save the world, you see, but then I found you. Gyles needed stopping.” Ed looked down for a moment. “Now Gyles is gone, I need to get back to Hollyhead. But I can’t leave all of you.”

  Ed raised the same eyebrow. “Are you nuts?”

  Evanne ran that through her head again. “I don’t think so.”

  “You saved us. You don’t need to do anything at all.” Eden stood, all nervous energy, and paced the kitchen. “You defeated a vampire lord. You freed us. You liberated the land. What else is there?”

  “I got Quinton killed. There’s that.” Evanne turned away from her plate. “I need to…” She trailed off.

  “Oh, honey.” Ed came to her. “No you don’t. That’s not on you.”

  “Quinton is dead.” Evanne bit her lip to stop it trembling. “Quinton is dead.”

  Ed nodded, not disagreeing. “He is. And he’s not coming back. But he chose his fate. Died, fighting a tyrant.”

  “Save the dragon, and the princess.” Morgan leaned against the door frame. She’d arrived, doing a passable impression of Pakhet’s turning-up routine.

  That woman can move powerful quiet. “Oh. It’s you.”

  “It’s me.” The Raven straightened, then held out a sheet of parchment. “A map.”

  Evanne took it, then glanced at the queen. “You worked that out by yourself?”

  Her lip quirked, then the permafrost returned. “It shows where Hollyhead lies.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Eden straightened. “We must away.”

  “Hold up a second.” Evanne examined the map. “There’s a lake, but no fairy kingdom.”

  “I was waiting for you to notice.” Morgan’s face was deadpan.

  “You’re coming along nicely.” Evanne rolled the map, then tapped her chin with the tube. “Can you do me a favour?”

  “Perhaps.” The queen examined her fingers, then met Evanne’s eyes. “It seems I have some small skill with magic after all.”

  “Great,” Evanne said. “I need you to stay the fuck here.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Finding a man crazy enough to lead them into the blasted plaguelands was difficult, which is why the High Justiciar asked Amir to do it.

  They’d spent enough time kicking the cobbles of Ravenswall to last him a lifetime. Misery was everywhere. It was a foe he found a hard time meeting on the edge of his steel. Hollow-eyed waifs watched from the doorways of burned-out tenements. Livestock lay in the streets, bellies swollen in death. Few hawkers sold wares, and what they had was priced piteously or outrageously, depending on your point of view. A gold band for a loaf of bread, if it please. In the seller’s position, Amir would’ve kept the bread. There wasn’t enough to go around.

  And the smell. Ikmae’s sometime balls, but Ravenswall smelled like a tanner’s yard, everywhere, all the time. To stay was madness, but stories of reavers beyond the walls meant leaving was suicide. Unless, of course, you had Storm and Sway at your beck and call. Smithsteel, and plenty of it, between you and the world.

  Which sent Amir toward the docks. Ravenswall was the capital of Or’sen, but also a fair port city in its own right. Ships farther out now steered clear from the pillars of smoke, but a few that hadn’t managed escape still huddled at anchor, waiting for skilled crew to assist.

  Amir walked the docks for most of a day, watching, listening, and waiting. And as the sun sighed into the hills beyond Ravenswall, casting long shadows against the chop and surge of a salty sea, he approached a man short on luck and desperate on time. A merchant, used to wealth but uncomfortable with its luxuries. His clothes were fine enough but clung to a lean frame. He stood on the forecastle, surveying the empty main deck of his ship, looking like what he wanted more than anything was a lemon to suck. The ship was fine enough, aye, the sails wrapped against the wind, the paint on the mainmast still glossy with a fresh coat. The timber of the deck was sanded smooth by the passage of many feet, but well cared for, not a plank out of true.

  Pasting on a brilliant smile, Amir wandered up the gangplank, pausing before the railing. “Ho, friend. Permission to come aboard?”

  The merchant puckered. “You know the sea well enough, then, to ask for permission before standing on another man’s deck?”

  “Aye,” Amir agreed. “Not well enough to sign on for paltry wages, though. Which is what you’re about to offer.”

  The merchant bristled. “I don’t think⁠—”

  “Your ship bobs at anchor. Her belly is light and in need of trade goods. You have no crew, no pilot, nor boatswain to do the necessary to the needful.” Amir spread his hands almost apologetically. “You’ve a mission in mind, and no souls to help with the practicalities of whatever venture you’ve in mind.”

  “Uh,” said the merchant.

  “The thing is,” and Amir paused for dramatic effect, eye upon the rigging, “you’re a man familiar with the sands. I can see no water weight on your frame. You’ve come to these shores hoping for Vhemin trade, but none will take position as guard while you walk into their blasted lands. Precious few would hold steel against a monster even in peacetime, and Ravenswall hasn’t known true peace for many moons.”

  “Ah,” the merchant said, though thoughtfully this time.

  Amir’s eyes found the deck before he glanced back at the merchant. “I represent an interested party. We’ve good swords, one and all, not unused to the dirty work of a bloody moon.”

  “You’re a poet, sirrah,” the merchant said.

  “I try.”

  “I’m not,” he said. “I’m a man used to trading a thing for something of hopefully higher value but letting the other feel they’ve the better of the bargain. And you’ve come to me, all offer, but no ask. While you’ve the silken tongue of a courtier you’ve asked for naught, and that makes me more than a little suspicious.”

  “That’s the problem with these foreign lands.” Amir shook his head ruefully. “No trust between strangers.”

  “Friend, we are at war.”

  “Fair point.” Amir considered. “While we have swords, we lack a guide.”

  “You propose a trade of … services?” The merchant bit his lip, considering. “Your steel for my map?”

  “Aye.”

  “Preposterous,” he said. “The map of my trade routes is invaluable. If you knew what I⁠—”

  “I’m going to stop you right there, friend.” Amir raised his hand, palm out. “We both know the moves of this dance. I imagine you a fair fiend across the table as a haggler or card player.”

  “Gambling is a low vice.”

  “But a fun one.” Amir smiled. “We hail from Imshir. Our business is steel and glass. We’ve no wont of your maps and baubles. We must find a girl and save the world.”

  “Aye, aye, a quest of … wait. Did you say steel and glass?” His eyes bulged.

  “Truth, only one of our number can use the glass. The rest of us are but squires, learning the Three’s ways.”

  “Glass?” the man asked again, perhaps redundantly.

  “We are from the High Justiciar’s school across the seas. We come on a quest most urgent. One that takes us into the plaguelands, and beyond. We’ve need of your knowledge and will keep you safe while you are about your business.”

  “And you want my help?”

  “If it’s available.” Amir shrugged. “If it is not, we will find another, or go brave the desert without it.”

  “You’d die.”

  “It’s possible. Service to the Three guarantees no safety.”

  The merchant paced. “What is your quest?”

  “We believe this war involves a new faction. One made from the fragments of fallen houses. They take brother and place him against brother. Our once allies now bare blades against us. The queen flees her city, and a degenerate tries for her throne. The Three are absent from our skies, and everywhere is death.” Amir sighed. “Our quest is to fix the world.”

  “Oh, is that all?” At Amir’s nod, the smile faded from the merchant’s face. “You mentioned a girl?”

  “Barely sixteen summers.”

  “How can one so young help?”

  Amir glanced to the duskening sky. “She is a child born of two worlds. The enemy wants her, for what purpose I don’t know. But I tell you, we want her because we love her. She is the daughter of the Three.”

  The merchant’s face soured a shade. “I thought the Saviour of Ravenswall was the daughter of the Three. How many can there be?”

  “Did I lay it on too thick?”

  “A little.”

  Amir laughed. “She is a child of the universe as are we all. We love her still, regardless of her provenance.”

  A woman stepped through the doorway from the captain’s cabin. She was elegant, all flowing silks, her hair flowing on the gentle sea breeze that tickled the rigging. The merchant sagged the merest fraction but Amir saw it all the same and resisted the urge to drop his smile. The woman flowed across the deck like a dancer schooled in ballet, anchoring herself to the crooked elbow of the merchant. “Brother, who is this?”

  The merchant, perhaps sensing a trap, introduced Amir with a flourish. “A man of no import, sister mine. A stray and a waif, brought to our deck on the promise of work.”

  “That’s a lie,” she murmured. “He came with a great quest. He’s offered to take us into the desert.”

  “Ah, you heard that?” The merchant’s tone held fondness.

  “You spoke at the volume of braying yaks. They heard you in the next town.”

  Amir cleared his throat. “It’s not strictly a lie, or perhaps just a polished half-truth.”

  He got a raised eyebrow for his troubles. “Sirrah, I heard you well enough. My brother called you a man of no import, a vagabond after small coins for simple work.”

  “He was true on those accounts.” Amir gave a modest bow. “Amir of Imshir. I am indeed a vagabond seeking work for my blade. The lie, if there is one, is that I offered to take you into the desert. The truth is the opposite. I need you to take me to where I can’t step without death dogging my heels. And we will keep you safe.”

  “Safe.” She leaned into her brother. “I like him. Can we keep him?”

  The merchant laughed. “It seems my desires are of no import. Amir of Imshir, I am Amber. This is my sister, Jade. We are sand merchants by calling. Our haunt is the plaguelands and the secrets within.”

  “Then we have a partnership?”

  “Partners share maps, friend Amir. We have an accord.” Amber looked to the west. “We will find your child of fortune.”

  Amir felt his smile falter. “A strong statement.”

  “My brother does what he says,” Jade said. “He has made wealth enough from finding things upon the sand even the Vhemin don’t know about.”

  Interesting. Amir touched his brow in salute. “Good enough. When will you be ready to ride?”

  “Tomorrow.” Amber glanced to the captain’s cabin. “No later than two hours after sunrise. Will that suit?”

  “Perfectly. Until tomorrow.” Amir swept a bow to the pair, then made his way down the gangway. Time to give the good news to the High Justiciar. For once, she would be pleased.

  “I am not pleased.” Vertiline looked down on Amir. They were in the throne room, currently missing its ruler, so the High Justiciar was seated on high. Someone had fetched a steward or two to clean up the mess left from her last conversation in here. “You had one job, Adept.”

  The Feybrind leaned against a wall, looking as if he had no stake in the conversation, but Sight of Day was always like that. It was one of the reasons Amir thought he was good people. Listens. Watches. Waits. Acts when needful. There was something he’d like to learn from the cat, but he didn’t feel he could talk to him. Not because Sight of Day would turn him away. Amir, for all his charming experience of the world before coming to the school, couldn’t Handspeak better than a child.

  Time to get this moving. Amir glanced to Larochette on his left, and whispered out the side of his mouth loud enough Vertiline would be sure to hear. “What did I miss?”

  The High Justiciar leaned forward, her eyes cool. “You missed nothing while you weren’t here. But it seems you missed everything before, when you were. I need a guide to take me to Evanne. Evanne is west, but we know not where.”

  “No problem,” Amir breezed. “The merchant will find her.”

  “I … what?” The High Justiciar looked the barest hair’s breadth off-balance, and it made Amir want to high-five someone, except that would’ve gotten him killed.

  “The noble Amber and his sister Jade seek riches. Your daughter is well known to be attracted to the same.” He raised an eyebrow. “Am I not wrong?”

  Vertiline gave him a stare hard as granite. “My daughter didn’t come here for coin.”

  “I didn’t come here for beer, but I’ll find it all the same.” Faust’s comforting rumble came from Amir’s right.

  The High Justiciar’s look became stormy. “I don’t like your tone, Adept.”

  “I don’t like getting thrashed daily but here we are.” Faust almost sounded apologetic.

  Amir verbally stepped into the conversational breach. “He was well dressed. The ship was maintained above the usual standard. No frayed lines, no sail out of place.”

  “You’re an expert on boats?”

  “I’m an expert on most things,” Amir said. “Point is, he makes money, this Amber. He is good at it. He gave his word, and my feeling is if we have a little faith, we⁠—”

  “We will not put my daughter’s life on the scales of faith!”

  Amir held his peace a moment, then he nodded. “Perhaps we should split up. Leave a force here in case there is word. Others go with Amber and Jade.”

  Vertiline surged from the throne, stalked the floor, then glanced at Armitage. Amir had to admit for a big man he made very little noise and, like Sight of Day, didn’t draw the eye unless he needed to. “Husband?”

  “She’s going home,” he rumbled.

  “She’s never set foot on this continent. Did the voyage addle your brain?” Vertiline sounded on the verge of murder: her voice was quiet and almost reasonable.

  “The sand calls.” The Vhemin shrugged. “She is mine and yours. We’ve kept her safe in a city, like a human needing coddling. But the monster in her⁠—”

  “Do I look like I need coddling?” Vertiline’s voice had clicked up an octave. Amir winced.