Perry scanned the crowd and almost missed Marron. He was a different person. Dirt coated his tailored jacket, the ivory silk shirt beneath rumpled and stained with sweat. His blond hair—normally perfectly combed—was matted and darkened by grease and dirt. His face was windburned and had lost all of its roundness. He had withered.
“We were overpowered,” Marron said. “There were thousands.” He took a gulping breath, fighting back emotion. “I couldn’t keep them out. There were just too many.”
Perry’s heart stopped. “Was it the Croven?”
Marron shook his head. “No. It was the Rose and Night tribes. They took Delphi.”
Perry studied the people with him. Men and women, huddled together. Half of them were children, so tired they swayed on their feet. “The others?” Marron had commanded hundreds of people.
“Forced to stay, some. Others chose to. I don’t blame them. I started with twice this number, but many turned back. We haven’t eaten—”
Marron’s blue eyes filled. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. It was folded in a perfect square, but the material was as rumpled and dirty as the rest of his clothing. He frowned at it like he was surprised to find it soiled, and returned it to his pocket.
His ragtag group watched in silence. Their expressions were dead, their tempers muted and lifeless. Perry realized this could happen to the Tides if they lost the compound and were forced into the borderlands. His doubts about the cave began to fade.
“We have nowhere else to go,” Marron said.
“You don’t need to go anywhere else. You can stay here.”
“We’re taking them in?” Twig asked. “How’re we going to feed them?”
“We are,” Perry said, though he didn’t know how. He barely had enough food for the Tides. But what could he do? He could never turn Marron away.
“Get them settled,” he told Reef.
He took Marron to his house. There, Marron’s temper deepened and deepened, becoming something immense, until finally his tears came. Perry sat with him at the table, deeply shaken himself. At Delphi, Marron had had soft beds and the finest food as often as he’d wanted. He’d had a wall protecting him, with archers posted day and night. He’d lost everything.
That night at supper—watered-down fish soup—Perry sat with Marron at the high table and looked across the cookhouse. The Tides wanted nothing to do with Marron’s people. They sat apart, at separate tables, glaring at the newcomers. Perry hardly recognized his tribe anymore. People came and people left. Both were unsettling to the Tides.
“Thank you,” Marron said quietly. He knew the strain he’d placed on Perry.
“No need for that. Tomorrow I plan to put you to work.”
Marron nodded, his blue eyes sparkling, filling with the sharp curiosity Perry remembered. “Of course. Ask anything.”
22
ARIA
Whatever Aria had expected from the Horns, it hadn’t been this. She absorbed their settlement in awe as she and Roar approached on a farm road. She had imagined Rim as a compound, like the Tides’, but this was so much more.
The road led them through a valley many times larger than the Tides’. Farmland stepped up mountain slopes that rose to soaring, snowcapped peaks. Here and there she saw the silvery scars of Aether damage. Sable had the same challenges Perry did with growing food. The realization gave her a perverse satisfaction.
In the distance she saw the city: a cluster of towers of varying heights nestled against the sheer side of a mountain. Balconies and bridges connected the towers in a chaotic network, giving Rim a sprawling, jumbled appearance that reminded her of a coral reef. A single structure loomed above the others, with a spired rooftop that looked like a spear. The Snake River skirted the near side of the city, forming a natural moat, with smaller structures and homes spilling along its banks.
Aether currents flowed bright and fast in the late morning sky, enhancing Rim’s severe appearance. The storm they’d been running from had followed them there.
Aria lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not the Tide compound, is it?”
Roar shook his head, his gaze locked on the city. “No. It’s not.”
As they neared Rim, the road grew crowded with people coming and going, carrying satchels and pushing carts. She noticed that the Marked wore specific clothing that revealed their arms, making their Senses known—vests for the men, and shirts with slits along the sleeves for the women. Adrenaline prickled in Aria’s veins as she ran a hand over her shirt, picturing the botched Marking beneath.
Roar kept close as they reached a wide cobbled bridge and slipped into the flow. Snatches of conversation drifted to Aria’s ears.
“… just had a storm days ago …”
“… find your brother and tell him to get home now …”
“… worse growing season than last year …”
The bridge brought them into narrow streets bordered by stone houses that were several stories high. Aria took the lead, following the main road. The way was tight, shadowed as a tunnel and crowded with people, their voices echoing off stone and stone and more stone. Gutters were strewn with filth, and a fetid scent carried to her nose. Rim was large, but she could already tell it was nowhere near as modern as Marron’s.
The streets climbed and turned, and then ended abruptly at the tower. Massive wooden doors opened to a stone chamber that flickered with torchlight. Guards in trim black uniforms with red stag horns embroidered on the chest watched the traffic of people who passed inside.
As she and Roar walked up, a hulking guard with a thick black beard blocked their path. “Your business?” he asked.
“We’re here from the Tides to see Sable,” she said.
“Stay here.” He disappeared inside.
It felt like an hour passed before another guard arrived, giving Roar a cursory look. “You’re Marked?” he asked. He had close-cropped dark hair, almost shaved, and an impatient look in his eyes. The stag horns at his chest were woven in silver thread.
Roar nodded. “An Aud.”
The guard’s gaze turned to her, his impatience disappearing. “And you?”
“Unmarked,” she answered. It was true, in part. She was Unmarked on one side.
The guard’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and then his gaze trailed down her body, settling at her belt. “Pretty pair of knives.” His tone was flirtatious and teasing.
“Thank you,” Aria answered. “I keep them sharp.”
His mouth curled in amusement. “Follow me.”
Aria exchanged a look with Roar as they stepped inside. This was it. No turning back now.
Inside, the wide hall smelled faintly of mold and rancid wine. It was cold and damp. Even with the wooden shutters thrown open, and lamps, the stone corridor was gloomy and shadowed. The faint chatter of voices carried to her ears, growing louder.
Roar prowled beside her, searching every person, every room they passed, with hunger in his eyes. Aria couldn’t imagine how he felt. After so many months of searching, he’d finally see Liv.
They crossed a wide threshold, entering a hall as expansive as the cookhouse at the Tides’ but with high, arched ceilings that reminded her of Gothic cathedrals. A meal was in progress. Dozens of guards were packed around the tables, a sea of black and red spreading out before her. Sable kept his military force close.
A stroke of luck, she thought. She’d been worried about Sable reading her temper. Maybe in such a crowd he’d miss scenting the fear swirling inside her.
“Which one is Sable?”
At the far end of the hall she saw a dais, where several men and women sat above the rest. None of the men wore a Blood Lord chain.
“I don’t see him,” said the guard. “But you might. He has short hair. Blue eyes. He’s about my height. Exactly my height, actually.”
The humor in his tone sent a chill crawling down her spine. She looked at the guard—at Sable—standing beside her.
He was older than she’d expected. In his thirties, she guessed. Average in height and build, with features that were refined and well-proportioned but somehow unremarkable. She’d have thought him bland if it hadn’t been for the look in his steel-colored eyes. That look—confident, cunning, amused—catapulted him from forgettable to appealing.