“Well. Not exactly like he is,” Evan said, shrugging. “He seems to know what he’s doing. I don’t—not really. And there seem to be some differences in . . . what we can do, and how.”
She thought about this for a long moment. “Would you like to stay here?” she said, pouring more tay.
Evan all but spat out his tay. “Excuse me?”
“We could use some help,” she said, “especially until Destin’s leg heals.” Seeing the expression on his face, she rushed on. “I don’t mean it as some kind of penance for breaking his leg. You could continue to stay here, rent free, at least when you’re in port, and help with some things.”
Playing for time, Evan said, “I’ll tell you one thing—you’ll find it hard to make a living as a farmer in Carthis.”
“You’re an expert on farming, are you?”
“No,” Evan said. “I want nothing to do with farming. But I’m an expert on living in Carthis. It rains in the mountains here, not on the shore.”
“That’s why we bought a place on the river,” Frances said. “So the water would come to us.”
“Aye, it will,” Evan said, “along with the dragons.”
Frances turned a little pale. “Dragons?”
“There are dragons in the mountains that come down here to hunt. Livestock looks like lunch to them. You may come home one day to find your house in flames and your pastures empty.”
“Dragons,” Frances murmured, as if she were making a mental note. Fix the fence. Deal with the dragons. Then she returned to her topic like a dog to a favorite bone.
“We could pay you,” she said, sweetening the deal. “Destin could teach you more about magery,” she said. “He’s really well schooled in it.”
That’s what you get for admitting a vulnerability, Evan thought. Why can’t somebody teach me about magic with no strings attached?
“Why would he do that?” Evan said. “What’s in it for him?”
“I think it would be good for Destin.”
“I’m not a nursemaid.”
“I’ll be the nursemaid,” Frances snapped. “As long as he needs one. I was thinking he could use a friend.”
Evan rolled his eyes. “We didn’t exactly hit it off.”
Frances sighed. “He’s angry, and he has reason,” she said. “It’s hard for him to trust anyone.”
“Turning it around, why should I trust you? You said you were on the run. What’s to stop you from creeping in and cutting my throat while I sleep—just to make sure I don’t give your secrets away? What if whoever’s hunting you shows up? Am I going to be the innocent victim in a vendetta killing?” Evan felt guilty bringing that up, since it seemed more likely that the empress would show up than enemies from across the sea.
“It’s possible,” Frances said. She smoothed the skirts of her gown. “It’s a risk—just like it’s a risk for us to take you in. But you could have killed Destin—and me, too, if you’d wanted to. You didn’t. You showed mercy. I think you both have lessons to teach each other.”
Evan weighed the pros and cons. He needed a place to stay, and he could use a job in the near term. He could stable Djillaba here and save the cost of a stall in town. He wanted to learn about amulets and see if they might help him manage his power.
“All right,” Evan said. “We’ll try it and see how it goes.”
6
SOLDIER
The agreement Evan had made with Frances ushered in months of being ordered around by soldier-mage-engineer Destin Noname. Evan had some experience with carpentry from his time on board ship. Left to his own devices, he could have built something that would have kept the rain out and met his own admittedly loose standards. It was a barn, after all, and not a palace.
Destin was a more exacting master. He’d accepted Evan’s presence grudgingly, but seemed determined to make sure that he and his mother got value for Evan’s maintenance. The wetlander saw the project as more than a chance to repair the barn—it was an opportunity to build the barn of his dreams. His role, as he saw it, was to develop incredibly complex sketches of what should have been simple things—and then hand them off to Evan to execute.
Evan turned one such drawing this way and that, unable to determine how it fit into the overall scheme.
“You’ve got it upside down,” Destin said, in the manner of a man explaining art to the unwashed. He snatched it back and flipped it. “There.”
“What is it?” Evan resisted the temptation to turn it upside down again.
“It’s the loft.”
“That’s a loft? I thought it was a chapel in a cathedral church.” Evan pointed. “See, that’s the choir.”
“Upside down, Pirate, it’s a chapel,” Destin said. He’d taken to calling him Pirate when he learned that he’d crewed for the Stormlord of the Indio. “Right side up, it’s a loft.”
And there it was—a hint that the soldier had a sense of humor, though it was rarely on display—not at first, anyway.
Destin found ways to help with the barn, despite his relative lack of mobility—by sanding down rough tiles, or using mage’s flame to cut golden sandstone blocks to size, or packing mud into frames to make bricks, or mixing up plaster for the walls. He stayed in shape by doing pull-ups on the barn beams until sweat dampened his hair and ran down his face. He did this bare-chested, muscles rippling under his skin. Evan had to keep his back turned to avoid getting distracted and mashing his thumb.
Destin continually honed himself like a weapon for a war he knew was coming. He was intense, driven, restless, and very, very private. Their conversations circled a courtyard of unstable ground where secrets bubbled constantly.
When the sun was high in the sky and it was too hot for other chores, they retreated to the cottage for the midday. In late afternoon, as the temperature cooled, they returned to work on the barn until there wasn’t enough light to see.
There was always plenty to eat. Frances was the hardest-working blueblood Evan had ever seen. She’d begun with existing groves of olive and fruit trees. Destin’s irrigation system allowed her to plant a ground garden. She’d brought in beehives, chickens, and, of course, the cows, goats, and pigs. Destin had built a smokehouse to cure bacon and ham and the salmon they netted from the river.
One of Evan’s many tasks was to meet ships in port and collect the items they had ordered from the wetlands.
It took a while to persuade Destin to make good on the promise Frances had made—that he would teach Evan about magic. It was like a game of royals and commons where neither wanted to show his hand. Destin was always too tired, or his leg hurt, or he needed to work on drawings for the next day, or Breaker needed feeding right then.
He claimed he was waiting for some manuscripts to arrive from a temple in the wetlands—ancient texts that might help Evan better manage and control his abilities as a weather mage.
He doesn’t want to give me any more weapons than I already have, Evan thought.
Eventually, the soldier ran out of excuses, and they met for their first lesson at midday in the barn.
Evan was hot and sweaty and dirty from a morning spent hauling sandstone blocks around. Destin lounged back against a bale of hay, legs thrust out in front of him, bad leg propped, shirt open, sleeves rolled, breeches riding low on his hips. He was eating goat cheese, ham, and olives, licking his fingers and washing it down with water from a skin.
Hang on while I jump into the river and cool off, Evan thought. It was a good thing the soldier didn’t know what effect he was having on his unwanted guest.
Evan hoped so, at least.
Beside Destin lay a large leather case embossed with symbols, studded with jewels, fastened with a gold-and-silver buckle. Evan eyed it curiously. What could it contain? Guidance from the gods? An extra ration of ale? A second helping?
Breaker sat next to Destin, watching each morsel of food make its way to his mouth.
“So, tell me, Pirate,” Destin said, “when did you become aware that you were cursed with magic?”
“Cursed?”