It was Captain Juval. I was back on board The Misery, the slave ship that had brought me from Quur to Kishna-Farriga. Captain Juval was the man who had ordered me soul-chained in the first place. Quuros might be made slaves, usually to repay debts or as punishment for crimes, but those slaves were not supposed to be sold outside the Empire’s borders. Quuros were definitely never taken south and sold in Kishna-Farriga. Quuros didn’t go south at all.*
I’d been unconscious for my sale to Juval and my departure from Quur. I’d never known the details of why Juval had broken Quuros laws to buy me, or how much he’d paid. I suspected Juval had paid nothing, that he’d been the one given metal in exchange for putting me in the rowing galleys and working me near to death. A feat he had gleefully tried to accomplish.
Captain Juval wasn’t on my favorite-people list.
But the Captain’s eyes slid over me without recognition.
Teraeth bowed to the man and said, “Thank you, Captain. I was told you’re the person to see about a quick passage to Zherias.”
Preoccupied loading the newest cargo, Captain Juval spared the briefest glance at the disguised vané. “How many?”
“Three,” Teraeth said. “My family. My mother is frail. I’ve been told the springs of Saolo’oa in Kolaque might have a chance of—”
“I charge two hundred ords for a cabin.” Juval was still paying more attention to his cargo than to their conversation. “You fit in however many you want. Food is twenty more ords a person for the trip.”
“Two hundred ords? That’s robbery!…”
I walked away as they haggled over the price, and found a quiet corner of the ship, far out of the way of the sailors. No one recognized or even looked at me. I guess that was fortunate.
I couldn’t believe I was back on board The Misery. Of all the dumb luck …
No, not dumb luck.
I didn’t for a moment think that this was an accident. It was deliberate luck. Directed luck. This reeked of Taja’s meddling hands.
My goddess. Taja. I could have worshipped Tya, or Thaena, or any of a thousand gods or goddesses for which the Empire of Quur was famous. But no, I had to worship the goddess of random, fickle, cruel chance. I always thought she pushed the odds in my favor, but that assumption now seemed the height of na?vety.
I was overcome with a paralyzing sense of foreboding.
Closing my eyes, I breathed in the stinking sea air of the harbor, gathering my strength. If anyone recognized me, if Teraeth or the old woman asked me any questions about The Misery or its crew, I was dead. Juval hadn’t wanted me talking about how I’d ended up a slave: it was the whole reason he’d had me gaeshed. The specter of the chains lashed around my soul, the gaesh that allowed my owners to control my every moment, hovered over me, waiting to strike.
I clenched the tsali stone at my neck. I’d been allowed to keep it only because the slavers hadn’t been aware I possessed it. I knew just enough magic to hide my most valuable possession (okay, fine, second-most valuable) in plain sight. Maybe Relos Var had seen through what was (I suspected) a simple, basic illusion.* Maybe that’s why he’d been so eager to buy me. I knew the damn thing was valuable—more valuable than the star tears I’d just stolen. I knew all too well the lengths men had been willing to go to possess the Stone of Shackles (a name, by the way, that I found less and less amusing now that my soul was itself shackled).
And as I had suspected, no one checked me when I left with the Brotherhood—I had been naked, after all.
I sighed and fished under my hair, freeing the necklace of diamonds I’d snagged on the back of my tsali stone’s chain. Star tears weren’t magical, something I could now confirm. No, not magical, just rare and valuable, worthy of crown jewels.
If I was right about this necklace’s provenance, that’s exactly what these were too. Crown jewels from the treasury of the mightiest Empire in the whole world, stolen from the hoard of a dragon, gifted to a goddess, and lastly, used as a payment to a whore in what must surely have been the most expensive night of earthly pleasure ever purchased.
The same whore turned madam who’d raised me.
Maybe, once I returned to the Capital, I’d give her the necklace a second time. Ola would think it hysterical. With a fortune in star tears she’d be able to free all the slaves at the Shattered Veil Club and … I don’t know. Maybe Ola could actually afford to pay them, if that’s what they wanted to do for a living.
I refused to think about the fact that Ola was probably dead—along with many others I loved. Even the idea that Thurvishar D’Lorus was probably dead filled me with grief, though he was responsible for my present predicament.*
I tried not to think about it. Tried, and failed.
I bounced the necklace in my palm, thinking of other necklaces, the one wrapped around Teraeth’s wrist in particular. Funny how he hadn’t worn my gaesh around his neck. My grandfather Therin hadn’t either, wearing Lady Miya’s gaesh on his wrist too. It was as if both men wanted to distance themselves from the reality of their atrocities by treating the control charm as a temporary accessory.
I wondered when Dethic would look inside that velvet bag and realize he’d sold me for a few jangling copper bracelets—ones that he already owned. He probably already had, but with all the precautions Teraeth had taken to prevent being followed, the auction house’s chances of tracking us down were slim.
Maybe Dethic’s life would be forfeited for his mistake. I smiled at the idea. I knew I was being a hypocrite; I’d known people associated with slavers back in Quur, but they hadn’t owned me. Dethic had: I hoped he rotted.
Teraeth’s black robe served as my only clothing, so I fastened the star tear necklace over my own and hoped the high collar and Khaemezra’s illusions would prevent discovery. I would spend the journey studying the star tears until I could add them to the list of materials I knew how to conceal—and keep myself out of sight in the meantime.
When I returned, Teraeth and Juval were finishing their negotiations. Teraeth’s mother Khaemezra now stood by Teraeth’s side. Money changed hands, and one of the sailors showed us a tiny cabin filled with four bunk beds where we could sleep (in theory)* for the voyage.
Within a half hour of our arrival, the slave ship called The Misery weighed anchor and set out to sea.
6: THE ROOK’S FATHER
(Talon’s story)
Thirty-five paces from the fountain at the center of the flowering courtyard to the steps in the back. Two steps, then a hallway. The door on the left was Ola’s, and the door on the right led to another set of stairs. Ten more steps, a small turn, another ten steps, then a door.
Surdyeh knew the route by heart, which was convenient, as he had never seen it.
The blind musician opened the door, frowned, and sighed. His son snored—
* * *
Is this bothering you, Kihrin?
Oh, such a shame. You must have realized Surdyeh is part of my memory collection. You are too, to a lesser extent.
You didn’t know? Oh.
I guess you know now, ducky. Surdyeh’s an active part of me. He wants so badly to protect you. A father’s love is so powerful.
You’re adorable when you’re angry.
As I was saying—
* * *