Chapter Thirteen
I stumble through the courtyard in a daze, not sure which of the things that has just happened to process first.
But I know exactly who I need to talk to in order to work it all out: Larus. He’ll know the truth of the grain situation, and better yet, he won’t judge me for slipping something potentially damaging to Ronan.
I head to his rooms to find him, but instead, I find Adria, on her way from our wing of the palace in a hurry.
“Have you seen Larus?” I could ask Adria about what Ronan told me, but to do so would mean facing her wrath.
I need Larus there, in case she loses it.
“He’s down at the docks greeting Felix,” she says. "I’m heading there now.”
I join her, both for my own needs and out of curiosity.
I’ve never met Felix March, but I know him by name and reputation.
He’s one of Larus’s contacts from the Enez Islands, and he’s well known both here and abroad for his ruthless mercenary tactics.
Some call him a pirate; others call him a savior.
He’ll say he’s here to join in the celebrations of the Great Festival, but he’s really here to update us on the naval blockade.
Having lost our limited naval forces in the last war, his ships will be critical to ensuring our siege of Faros is a success.
I tell Adria about practicing with Ronan as we walk through the bustling streets of Faros. About his tendency to bait an attack, about the things he taught me in case they’re useful to her eventually, if she faces him in battle.
But I keep the rest to myself, for now.
I can’t bring myself to ask her about the Orsa, not because I’m afraid of finding out the truth, but because I’m afraid she’ll try to justify it.
There are no others, Ronan said.
To Adria, there are only others. There’s us, and then there’s everyone else.
She may not approve of what happened to Taran’s people, but I don’t think she’ll feel bad about it, either.
And I don’t know what to do with that knowledge.
Or the fact that some of what Ronan said made sense to me, even though I’m not sure how any of it changes anything, at least not right now.
But I can’t ignore his words, not completely. He’s having an effect on me, as much as I hate to admit it. Whether it’s his magic or something about who he is, I’m not sure.
I thought I had him where I wanted him.
But maybe it’s the other way around.
The Faros docks are even more chaotic than the docks under the palace.
Hundreds of people rush about, shouting over the din of carts rumbling over wooden boardwalks and anchors splashing into the waves.
Ships rise up from waters cloudy with sand and debris, their white sails as tall as the temple towers.
This is where all the gold has gone. It’s being loaded into the ships, drifting from our shores in huge, heavy crates that strain the arms of the dockworkers. I wonder how much this festival is costing us. How much of our land and labor will be devoured for the sake of the Feast.
We’re passing a row of cliffside shops and a rowdy tavern when everything goes eerily quiet.
Then, there’s shouting.
“Duel! Duel on the south dock!”
Adria’s eyes fill with uncharacteristic panic. The south dock is where Larus is meeting Felix.
Larus is beyond his dueling days, from what he’s told me, although I don’t doubt he could hold his own if it came down to it. He’d managed the bandits on the road just fine, but they weren’t armed and trained as well as the typical seafarer.
But it’s not Larus who’s fighting.
“Great,” groans Adria. “There goes our navy.”
Two men stand on the dock in tense opposition. The first is wearing the salt-bleached linens of a dockworker, his fiery red-hair pulled into a knot. His knuckles are white around the hilt of his blade.
Opposite him stands a strikingly handsome man with a dark complexion and short-cropped black hair.
He smiles confidently, as if this was nothing but a minor inconvenience.
He wears a far finer version of Larus’s typical Enezian attire: an open coat with gleaming gold buttons, black breeches, and an undershirt in a rich green.
Felix, I presume.
“Are we here to fight or fuck? Pick one. I haven’t got all day,” he jeers.
Larus is standing off to the side with a small crowd behind him, shaking his head. We join him as the red-headed man curses and spits at the ground, drawing his sword.
“What happened?” I ask.
“The usual,” says Larus. “There was a higher bidder.”
“He sold that man out to someone?”
Larus nods. “I wouldn’t pity him. If he was dealing with Felix in the first place, he likely deserves what he gets.”
I wonder what that says about us.
The red-headed man drives his blade forward to attack Felix. He’s raging and uncoordinated, and Felix parries almost out of boredom.
The man then attempts to grapple, but Felix holds out a hand like he’s blowing the man a kiss.
It knocks him flat on his ass.
“Wind-born?” I ask. Larus nods. “Isn’t it dishonorable to use magic in a duel?”
It’s also against Ronan’s rules to be fighting a duel during the festival at all.
“Felix isn’t exactly what you would call an honorable man,” says Larus with distaste. Then he turns to yell at him. “Quit toying with him and finish this. Some of us have business to attend to.”
“I told him I haven’t got all day,” says Felix, lazily knocking the man down again when he gets back up. He makes eye contact with me and smiles. “But if you insist.”
Before the man can pull himself completely upright, Felix drives his sword into his chest. The man chokes and sputters as Felix withdraws it, tossing him to the ground like garbage.
A woman rushes over to see to the dying man. “How could you?” she cries at Felix.
“Hey, he challenged me.” He tosses her a bag of coins and wipes the blood from his sword with his handkerchief before he comes to greet us.
“Now Larus, how can you talk to me about business without introducing me to this simply stunning young woman?”
It takes me a moment to realize he means me.
Sure, I’ve been looking for trouble, but even I’m not that insane. “I’m Sylvie of House Verran, and you can fuck right off if you think I’m getting involved with the source of whatever that mess was.”
Larus and Felix eye each other, and then they both laugh. “Larus, I like this one.”
“I didn’t train a fool,” says Larus with pride.
“Forgive my impudence, madam,” says Felix, taking my hand and kissing it. I snatch it back. “And allow me to introduce myself. I’m Felix March of the Enez Islands, Admiral of the Third Navy and sword for hire.”
“The pleasure is all yours.”
“It usually is,” he replies. “Now, let’s talk business. You wanted grain, and darling, I brought the bread. Only there’s a small issue with some of the rye.”
This conversation is coded to conceal the true purpose of securing ships, but there’s also some truth to it.
We’ve been importing some goods from the Enez Islands as a cover for our renewed interest in dealing with them.
The loss of our harbor made imports prohibitively expensive for us to manage, limiting us to what was made available in our markets by traveling merchants.
But it’s well known that Felix is willing to deal with anyone who can pay, no matter the inconvenience.
If Ronan or Cyrus asks where the money is coming from to pay him, we’ll say we sold some of our hunting rights in exchange. And this, too, is partially true.
But the entire truth is that we’ve promised Felix and the Third Navy—which, despite its name, isn’t truly a military force sanctioned by the Enez Islands government but rather a mercenary company that controls much of their defense—a portion of the Selaran gold production once we take control.
“Don’t tell me,” says Larus, understanding something from the coded exchange that I don’t.
“It won’t be long. A month, maybe. She just wants to see you.”
“Larus?” Adria asks.
“I have to return home,” says Larus, and my heart sinks. He’s my only real ally in the city. My closest friend. I don’t know if I can do this without him. “My mother wants to see me, and we need her…rye.” Ships.
“Your mother is alive?” I ask, and Felix laughs. I’ve never heard him mention her. Which is odd, now that I think about it.
“We didn’t part on good terms, let’s just say that,” says Larus, ignoring my accidental insult regarding his age.
“We don’t have to leave right away,” says Felix.
“The winds are good at this time of year. Better when I’m on deck.
” He does the same blowing-a-kiss gesture to me that he did to the man, but it simply lifts my dark hair from my shoulders rather than knocking me over. “Exquisite,” he says. “A true beauty.”
“Fuck you,” I say.
“Are you offering?”
“I’d rather just get this over with,” interjects Larus. “When can we sail?” He looks from me to Felix with apprehension. I think he’s trying to protect me from disaster.
He doesn’t need to worry. Even I can see that particular disaster coming.
“Come now, Larus,” says Felix. “My crew needs a few days on shore at least.”
“It looks like you managed to do enough damage with just a few hours,” says Larus, gesturing back to the corpse.
“It only takes a few minutes, my good man.”
Gross. I’m actually relieved that he’s gross. It makes it easier to avoid his charms.
“The weekend, and no later,” says Larus.
“Deal,” says Felix, and they shake on it.
That only gives me a few days before Larus leaves to talk to him about everything that has happened.
But it won’t be tonight by the looks of it.
Felix is already talking about all the places they need to drink to catch up.
Adria and I are being invited, but for once we seem to be on the same page about something.
“We’re heading back to the castle to rest,” she says. “The qualifying events are in just a couple of days.”
“Ah yes, the Festival of Sport. Absolute waste of time if you ask me. What’s the point of fighting without the blood?”
“The girls are both excellent fighters. Sylvie is doing archery as well,” says Larus with pride. I love to hear him show me off.
Felix looks me up and down again, his eyes lingering on my chest. Absolutely shameless. “You know what? You might have changed my mind about the festival. I’ll see you soon, ladies.”
I don’t think that was Larus’s intention, but it’s done now. “Hopefully not too soon,” I mutter, and Felix laughs like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard as we walk away from him.
I follow Adria back to the palace, but on the way, I hear the familiar sounds of the market. “You go on ahead,” I tell her. “I wanted to get a lighter pair of trousers for the tournament. It’s too damn hot here.” And, if I happen to find someone else there, all the better.
She tosses me a couple of coins. “Get me some, too.”
I’m relieved that she doesn’t have anything to say about me going to the market again after the debacle the first night. Maybe she’s starting to trust that I can handle what I’m here to do.
Or she’s just glad not to have to spend the evening with me alone. Probably the latter.