Sands Apart tore a bird to pieces, wolfing it down. They’d fed her well, but you never knew where your next meal was coming from. She had disassembled most of the first bird when she looked up to see golden eyes but an arms length away. The other cat had a half smile. His hands moved People-fast, as Feybrind did when speaking to each other. {Do you have worms?}

  She placed the remains of her bird down. Her shackles clinked at the speed of her speech. {Terror gives me hunger.}

  {I don’t know why you’re afraid. We’re the ones doing all the fighting and dying.}

  {The bandits?} She rolled her eyes. {They were sure to come, after the bungle your lot made of the informant in the last town. We watch all and hear more. Wild Sur will defeat you all anyway.} She looked at her traitorous hands. She hadn’t meant to say Wild Sur’s name. It fled through her fingertips as if needing release.

  Sight of Day sat crossed-legged. {That is a Feybrind Command name.}

  Of course one of the People would know that. Their given names were descriptive, but their Command names were a part of their soul. The words felt … different on the fingers. {He isn’t afraid of you knowing it. He has the powers of the ancients.}

  She met golden eyes gone wide with astonishment. Sight of Day then made a big show of hilarity, silently guffawing as the apes did, slapping his thigh, and wiping an imaginary tear from beneath one of those glorious golden eyes. {He is terrified, little sister. He hides behind men and machines far from here. His every moment is spent trying to keep his presence from our sight. This is the mark of a man who is concerned for his welfare.} He sobered. {Can you keep a secret?}

  Sands Apart blinked. {Any morsel you’d share with me is valueless.}

  {Perhaps.} A shrug. {I give it anyway. I, too,} he touched his chest, {am terrified.}

  {You should be. He comes for you.}

  {You mistake my meaning.} Sight of Day’s golden gaze left hers for a moment, and she felt an emptiness at its passing, like clouds had clustered over a sunbeam she’d been napping in. {There is little left for me here. My mate is gone. My son, taken. My dear friends, lost on the other side of a demon gate.} He looked about, those golden eyes resting on the platinum-haired leader of their party, and then shifting to one of the hated enemy, a brutish thug larger than any Vhemin had a right to be. {There are but two left, and their cub. I fear for them, little sister.}

  {Then tell them to stop.} She sliced the air, blade of her hand hitting the palm of the other. {It is not too late.}

  {It was too late when Wild Sur sent killers for their child. There is no force in creation that will stop them. But I fear for their humanity. I fear for what they will give to win.}

  She folded her hands, thinking for a moment. The world moved so slowly for the People, but things could still take time to think through. There was little value in trying to make him cease pursuit, so she tried a different tact. {Why do you call me little sister? We are the same.}

  He gave her a tired half smile. {You are much younger than I. But you are also a child in your understanding of the world.} She could tell from the weight of his hands he was not insulting her, a kindness living in the gentle movement of fingers and hands. {You have been lied to. And I would give you the truth before the end.}

  {What if it’s you that’s been lied to?}

  He stood, brushing down his pants. {Like I said, I didn’t come down with the last shower.} His golden gaze sparkled. {Get some rest. They’ll attack before dawn.}

  {Who? Why?}

  He gazed at the stars. {Can’t you feel it? The terror that drives Wild Sur. He will want to be sure no one shares his secrets, not even his treasured name. And you, little sister, know too much to be left alive.}

  The camp was quiet. Sands Apart feigned sleep, the tip of her tail twitching every so often, one arm thrown over her face. The human rabble had given her a comfortable enough billet. It wasn’t a patch on Feybrind mattresses, but they hadn’t given her a flea-infested bundle of rags.

  It was almost as if they treated her with respect.

  Respect or no, she’d had enough of being a prisoner. She’d found a twist of wire left behind when one of their imbecile companions repaired a dagger. He’d left tools within close reach of a furred hand. She thought his name was Amber. He had a sister, Jade, the devious scullion always watching Sands Apart when awake. All were asleep, except the giant Faust and killer Larochette, who guarded opposite sides of the camp.

  The twist of wire unlocked her manacles. She waited until darkness was her shroud. Faust and Larochette might play at guards, but they were only human. Their dim eyes were worthless at the best of times.

  Time to go.

  She opened one eye, surveying the camp beneath the shelter of her arm. No movement. Snores from Amber’s tent. A slight moan as someone yonder turned in their sleep. It was a wonder humans survived at all; they made more noise than a herd of buffalo, even while asleep. She removed her shackles, rose, and threaded her way through the meagre collection of tents.

  I must be watchful for Sight of Day.

  The other Feybrind was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he patrolled. No matter. As long as he wasn’t here, he wasn’t a threat.

  At the southern edge of the camp, she started to relax. No one raised the alarm. She picked up the pace, careful not to displace much in her passing. Sight of Day might be able to track her through grass, so she headed for the sound of water. Passage through a stream was a reliable trick, and by the time they found her egress from the water downstream she would be gone, smoke lost in a hurricane.

  “Nice night for it, isn’t it?” Sands Apart whirled at the voice, startled she’d been caught unaware. The too-clever-for-his-own-good Knight Amir sat on a fallen log. His hands were empty, blade sheathed at his hip. His teeth were bright in the night as he smiled. “You’ve chosen a good time to get away. I pick it perhaps three hours after midnight, when humans are most lethargic.”

  She crouched, teeth bared. {You have sealed your death warrant by waiting for me.}

  He shrugged, amiable enough. Damn the human, but she could sense no threat from him. “If you must be away, then be away.” He glanced at the cloudless sky, perhaps admiring the stars. “I beg but a moment first.”

  Sands Apart straightened cautiously, as if any movement would be the one to provoke a snake to strike. {You will let me go?}

  “Sure. You’re another mouth to feed.” He stood, brushed down his pants—perhaps not meaning to highlight his curious lack of armour—then arched his back. “That feels good. I’ve been sitting on this damn log for hours waiting for you. It was even odds if you’d go north or south. Sight of Day awaits the other way.”

  {You…} She looked at her hands. {You knew I’d leave?}

  “It was hard enough to leave a piece of wire sturdy enough to use as a lockpick without making it look obvious, but we managed it.” This human was too pleased with his own cleverness. “Thing is, our camp is being approached by a collection of assassins disguised as bandits. I’ll bet a shiny solar they’re here to remove all witnesses. Us, that’s understandable. Expected, even. We’re inconvenient, and this Wild Sur doesn’t strike me as a man large on patience.”

  So many words to say so little. {Do you have a point? Do you wish to make a deal for your lives?}

  “Eh, we’ll be fine.” Amir twisted his torso, then windmilled his arms as if warming up for a fight. “High Justiciar Vertiline is about. Good luck taking her down! Hah.” That flash of teeth in the darkness took her by surprise. This human was enjoying this. “What I think will happen is they will kill you, too. You’re a mistake to be remedied. Wild Sur? That man thinks of you as a failure, and he’s going to remove you from his ranks.”

  {He will not.} Doubt roiled in her gut. {I am one of his senior lieutenants.}

  “Were. You were a senior lieutenant. Now, you’re a bottle of secrets waiting to be uncorked. And an unreliable bottle at that. He’s no way of knowing if you’ve spilled your guts already. He might think you’ve turned coat and accompany us. You are not bound, and we’ve let you go.” That brilliant smile cut the night again. “So, here’s the thing. If you make it out to your side and they welcome you with open arms, great. We’re back to being enemies and all that entails.” His voice lowered and slowed at the end.

  {This troubles you?}

  “I like cats.” Amir tipped his head side to side, working out the kinks. “If your lot try killing you, maybe come back here. See what we’ve got to offer.”

  {Why would you do this?} Sands Apart looked at her traitorous hands, because she shouldn’t even have asked the question. {Besides liking cats.}

  “Favour to a friend.” Amir pointed north. “Sight of Day said you could be helped, or at least … saved. Said there weren’t enough of you left to meet blade on blade and would prefer you free. I get that. Not many Knights left either.” He flicked his hand south in a shooing motion. “Now go on, get.”

  She looked him up and down, then fled. Knight he might be, better with a blade by half than she, but he was only human. He couldn’t match her speed. Her legs took her another klick from the camp. She emerged from the low scrub and trees into a small clearing. A large rock brooded in the middle like a crouching dragon. Old lichen patterned its sides in soft greens.

  The clearing was populated by waist-high grass that felt soft against her palms. She breathed, sniffed the air, and listened. Her nose told her humans were here, and her ears told her they might be lurking just west of the rock, hunkered low in the grass. Sands Apart rolled her eyes, fetched a stone, and tossed it into the grass.

  It hit metal with a clink. A soft, ow, fuck, came from that direction, with an accompanying, be quiet you idiot. She rolled her eyes again, lifted a second stone, and tossed it at the be-quiet-idiot. She got a gods damned, at which point a company of men and women in black leather rose from the grass.

  She padded to them. {We’ve not much time. One of them is behind me.}

  The leader had the look of Vide about him. Sands Apart didn’t much like the assassins, but they got the job done. He glanced at her hands, lower face hidden behind a soft cloth mask, then grunted. “I don’t do finger painting, and I don’t do finger talking either. Just nod. Are you alone?”

  She sighed. The People couldn’t speak, and cretins like this didn’t take the time to learn their language. Sands Apart shook her head. {There is one.} She emphasised one by raising a digit, then stabbing her hand back the way she came. Moving her hands slowly, carefully, she said, {He is a Knight.}

  “Just one, hey?” The Vide grunted. “Well, your new allies don’t think much of you.” Sands Apart felt her stomach grow cold, because this was exactly what that too-clever human said would happen.

  As if on cue, Amir emerged from the tree line. He offered a cheerful wave and called, “Ho, friends. Don’t mind me.” He produced an apple from a pocket and took a bite.

  The Vide glanced at Sands Apart. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “Could be.” Amir gestured magnanimously with his apple. “Be about it, then.”

  The Vide drew a sword and tried to run Sands Apart through. She sidestepped his slow movement, but barely; these were not fuck about people. She punched him in the throat, but her fingers connected with a gorget. Sands Apart caught movement from her left, stepped around a woman’s lunge, and elbowed her in the face.

  The Vide surrounded Sands Apart. Five at equidistant spacing, and beyond, another ten waiting to join the fray. She took a glancing blow to her shoulder from a mace and cursed herself for a fool. She turned, accepted a sabre thrust from a short man, disarmed him, and cut off his hand. He grunted, and she smelled copper-bright on the night air. The woman with the mace swung again and she took the hit on the edge of the sabre. The sword cracked, a shard of the blade snicking Sands Apart’s face as it passed.

  The leader swept in with a low slash, which she jumped, then an upward cut that would have taken her from groin to throat had she not turned. As it was, it took her along the side, a hot wire of pain running along her leg and ribs as she turned away.

  She threw the worthless sabre at a man, hoping to startle him, but he slapped it aside with a buckler, then hunkered, dagger held low.

  “For pity’s sake, it’s about time you turned up,” she heard Amir say, but she had no time for the fool. Sands Apart jumped, Feybrind agility taking her higher than any human could make. Her spring took her to a woman’s shoulders, which she used to springboard out of the death ring. She landed behind the woman, just in time for a man with a rapier to run her through.

  She leaned into it, sinking teeth into his shoulder. Leather armour resisted. She elbowed him in the jaw, broke his fingers, and turned in time to take a sword slash to her arm. She sagged, then dropped to her knees. Blood pounded, her life leaking from her middle, her side, her arm. There are too many. Merciful Three, why did you make us voiceless? We can’t even cry.

  Blood pounded more, and she realised the earth shook with it. The man with the sword turned about, surprised, as Armitage arrived like a runaway cart. The monster slammed the human with a fist the size of a human head and the swordsman bounced into the night. The monster roared, arms wide in challenge, then punted the legs of a woman who took him up on it. She landed face-first in the grass, and he followed her down with a vicious punch to the back of the head.

  The Vide leader stuck him with a sword and the monster, oblivious to the wound, grabbed the assassin, hefted him, dropped to one knee, and broke the man’s back over it. He tossed the broken assassin aside, freed the blade from his side, and cut a woman’s head off with it.

  A monster comes to help me? Sands Apart felt dizzy from blood loss, sure she was hallucinating. Amir joined the fray, sword a golden arc that cut through weapons, shields, and humans all the same. Where it cut, metal glowed with heat, and flesh charred. He was exquisite to watch, each step a painting of perfection. Five died in as many footsteps.

  Armitage grunted. “Stop showing off.”

  The too-clever human beamed. “Tell your wife to⁠—”

  Armitage shoved him aside from the halberd strike coming for his rear, grabbed the weapon, and yanked it and the hapless wielder close. He punched the man in the throat, hit the same style of gorget Sands Apart had, dropped the halberd, and closed both hands about the gorget. Sands Apart saw his shoulders bunch, then metal shrieked as he crushed the gorget about the assassin’s throat. The man staggered away, clawing at his neck before toppling into the grass. “Tell my wife what?”

  “You know, it’s not important.” Amir straightened, then rejoined the fight.

  In twenty seconds, it was over. Fifteen dead Vide and the Knight wasn’t even breathing hard. Armitage buffed like a bellows but he was old for one of his kind. The white scar tissue about his shoulder and neck bunched as he bent, rooting through the dead. “Assassins.”

  “Of course.” Amir ignored Sands Apart, looting the bodies.

  She wondered why she was being ignored until golden eyes met hers. Sight of Day crouched before her. {Are you well, little sister?}

  {I’m dying,} she complained.

  He nodded sagely, looked at the rapier through her middle, then yanked it free. She almost passed out from the pain. {Let’s see what we can do about that.}

  {Leave me be.} Her hands didn’t want to move. She wanted to be left alone.

  {Hush.} His finger pressed against his lips. {I think it’s time to see what you can become. Besides a pincushion, that is.} He bent, hefted her, and draped her over his shoulder like a sack.

  She bled down his fine jerkin but he didn’t seem to mind. He padded back to the camp with gentle, soft steps. She faded into black before he made the trees.

  Chapter Four

  Evanne waited on the deck. The flat, grassy area waited below, Dancing in the Storm holding steady above, not shifting even a little in the delicate northern wind. Turner’s barbecue was coming along nicely, but the supply of steak wasn’t. Evanne saw a woman had set up the beginnings of a still, which was an admirable enterprise, as the ship’s stores wouldn’t last forever.

  Evanne double-checked her kit. Mama would be proud, because the Half-Made’s usual style was to jump and work it out on the way down. Guitar? Check. Scattergun? Also check, but the ammunition situation was dire. Sword? Evanne had one of those too, a shiny ship-forged machete Tarragon found. The once-fairy’s eyes glimmered as she said, That has no finesse, so Evanne hefted it, gave it a twirl, and asked, What’s your point? She was unlikely to be a good duellist, despite her time in the training room. But I can make up for lack of skill with enthusiasm.

  The oracle eyed the machete in its sheath. She eyed him in return. “Got something to say, old man?”

  “The weapon lacks finesse.”

  “Got something original to say?” She arched an eyebrow. “Tarragon said that already.”

  “And where is your friend?” The oracle cast about the deck, making a great show of not finding Tarragon there.

  “She’s getting ready.” Evanne looked over the railing. The keel of the ship hovered over a hillock; not a half hour earlier they’d grazed the top, displacing trees and boulders as a great shudder ran through the hull. “You sure this thing will work?”

  “Eh.” The oracle sighed. “About eighty percent positive.”

  “This ship isn’t even eighty percent operational.”

  The oracle sighed louder. “This is why we’re going up there.” He jabbed a finger skyward. “There are delights. Treasures ready for the taking. Perhaps a fairy still waits there. They live a long time. Ah! Speaking of which.”

  Evanne turned. Her heart stumbled as she saw Tarragon. The once-fairy strode like Cophine herself, shoulders broad and strong, gladiatorial armour covering her left side, atop a simple leather jerkin and skirt. Requiem was belted to her hip. Her golden skin begged for kisses. “Um.”

  Tarragon joined her at the railing. “Hello, love.”

  “Um,” Evanne repeated.