CHAPTER 31
DAVINA
Ten days ago
“MAYBE YOU SHOULD STAY,” I told Armand, ten minutes before we were due to board the pod to Kamar.
Our stop in the kingdom’s capital had lasted merely four hours—just enough for Zephyr and Kwabena to update the High General, and for me to draft a progress report for Ludwig, of which I coded the more sensitive bits.
Concern for my companion had me risking a bit of delay in order to get a remedy that might help him from a local pharmacy, where I pleaded for something fast-acting but gentle enough not to floor a half-cleaned stomach.
Armand was trying, sap knew he was trying, but he moved like he was constantly gripping the seams of himself just to stay upright.
His constant need to slip away, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand hovered protectively over his abdomen .
. . it was all the confirmation I needed: Rolla’s mending had helped, but it hadn’t been the permanent kind of solution.
“And leave you alone with the Kobrants?” He gawked like I’d just suggested we strip in the middle of the army’s headquarters hall. Actually, no—knowing him, he might have been on board for that. “Are you out of your mind?”
“You won’t do me any good if you’re stuck in bed or the toilet.”
“I will not.”
The silence that followed was taut, full of his reluctance and my worry. After a beat, though, I let it go. He was suffering enough.
The moment I got into the pod, my body gave up the fight. I fell asleep almost immediately and dreamt of nothing.
When I woke, it was to a wash of warm wind, and the scent of salt and wild greenery. The pod had landed at the outer edge of Kamar’s main city, where a thick rainforest met the white sands and turquoise water of the sea.
This, I can get behind.
It only went up from there when we were led to what could only be qualified as a floating castle, that was to be our base of operations for the duration of our stay.
The building rose out of the sea like it belonged in a dream.
Constructed atop an enormous, inverted bowl of dark wood and aged bronze rose in layers of domes, spirals, and staircases, bound together by thick rope bridges and tangled vines that spilled over balconies like green waterfalls.
Armand’s whistle echoed my exact thoughts. “The army isn’t shy about spending in real estate.”
Kwabena clicked his tongue. “It’s not always like this. We were lucky this time. It’s one of the king’s properties.”
It wasn’t hard to believe. On the inside, the property was even more breathtaking.
Broad glassless windows and doorways to the many balconies let the marine breeze flow through the vast halls and rooms, offering a reprieve for the heat.
It was furnished simply but effectively, the pristine, aquamarine water and lush jungle beyond the city proving to be a better decoration than any painting ever could.
In the back, a long, shallow pool stretched from the edge of the lower balcony toward the sea.
It seemed to float right into the horizon, with a soft trickle of water running over its infinity edge.
There were enough rooms for each of us to take four.
I chose one on the lower floor, set at a corner where I could see both the city of Kamar on one side, and the endless sweep of the ocean on the other.
The bed was made of woven bamboo and linen sheets, and the walls were open from floor to ceiling.
A single swing chair stood on the overhang of the balcony, creaking gently in the breeze.
Like in Kipiramida, we found the kitchen fully stocked with fresh ingredients.
Mostly local, too, if the strangely-shaped vegetables and fruits were anything to go by.
We pulled together a quick meal and gathered around a wide, round table on the main terrace, the sun melting into the sea as it set behind the rooftops of Kamar.
“So,” Armand said between mouthfuls, “where do we start?”
I wiped my fingers on a cloth napkin, then pulled out my leather-bound notebook and flipped it open to the map I’d sketched of the island. I slid it to the center of the table, flattening the creased pages with my palms. “Wherever there are catacombs.”
“There are tunnels under the old market,” Zephyr offered. I fought the urge to glance at him.
Things were . . . strained. Whenever I caught his gaze, all I could think about was the grip of his fingers on my skin, the heat of his lips hovering over mine, the hunger in his eyes, and the chaos that memory stirred in my chest.
It cannot happen again.
“We could start there.”
“Are there others?”
“Legend says there’s also some beneath the governor’s manor,” Kwabena said, swirling juice in his glass. “Dug centuries ago, for a royal family who lived on the island. An escape route in case of siege.”
“They’re not open to the public,” Zephyr cut in. “Sircelen wouldn’t have gotten access without the governor’s explicit permission. And Kaelthorn’s cell definitely couldn’t have gotten in to retrieve anything he hid within.”
The table fell silent. I chewed my last bite of salad, letting the strange sweet-sour flavor linger on my tongue. “Well, we’re already here. We might as well check it out.” I felt the captain’s gaze hit me like a stone, but refused to react. “We could split up,” I added. “And cover both sites.”
Kwabena leaned back in his chair, gaze flicking to mine as he took a long sip from his glass. “I don’t see why not. Like you said, we’re already here.”
And that was that.
Later, I returned to my room to find an envelope lying on the dark green sheets. The second I saw it, my pulse jumped.
I didn’t need the embossed Paragon seal to know who it was from. Widesightian messengers were famous for their stealth—they could deliver a letter to the bottom of the sea if they had to. Falcons indeed.
Unfolding the crisp paper, I scanned the short message. After years receiving them, it was second nature to decode the lines as I read them.
You have been gone too long. Do what you must. Bring it home.
I exhaled through my nose, and it came out somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Home. I hadn’t known what that meant in a long time. The paper crumpled in my fist.
Anyone else might’ve mistaken those words for encouragement. Concern, even. But I knew better. The Supreme Strategos was losing his patience. And I could not afford that to happen. Not with the power he held over me my whole damn life.
Unsurprisingly, sleep evaded me. The combination of Ludwig’s letter and the nap I’d taken on the trip here stole any chance I might have had. After a couple hours of tossing and turning, I gave up on any pretense.
Might as well make the most of it.
From what Zephyr and Kwabena had been saying about Kamar, it sounded like the city’s law enforcement was looser than on the mainland. Less regulation tended to lead, in my experience, to more illegal dealings.
If I could find a member of the Sapless—or Kaelthorn’s cell—I might be able to question them about the doctor’s presence on the island. And then deliver them to the local authorities.
Two birds with one stone.
We were close, I could feel it. Sircelen’s journal and the riddles had to mean something. The stash must be in Kamar. And once we found it . . .
You’re a menace, Zephyr had said once. He didn’t know how much so. It was time for me to gain an edge.
I would need to be really fucking clever if I wanted to outmaneuver Kwabena and Zephyr. Cursed sap. I needed to bring the stash home, to Ludwig. He wouldn’t accept failure. Not to the hands of the Kobrants, and even less so to the Sapless.
Heck, I would gladly meet the end of Ludwig’s veiled threats if that much sap to fall into the hands of the Sapless because of my failure, where it would be lost forever.
Not an option.
Opting for a dark, fitted dress without sleeves, but with a hood I could use to somewhat disguise my hair, my loyal black boots, and a cinch around my thigh I could strap my gun to, I readied to go out.
Not wanting to risk any of my companions seeing me, I sneaked out through the balcony, sticking to the side of the house, and skating around the edge of the pool until I reached the outer fence. Silent as a wraith, I pushed myself over and carefully lowered on its other side.
My boots landed on the sandy beach below with a quiet woosh.
Unlike in Kipiramida, I hadn’t seen any obvious division in the island’s capital to betray the wealthy quarter from the less-so.
From Sircelen’s journal, I had learnt that most larger cities in the Kingdom of Kobra had a similar separation, and that those lucky enough to sport magical ink were the ones residing in nicer neighborhoods, where regular patrols kept them safe from delinquents and Kaelthorn cell members alike.
Sircelen seemed to believe that said segregation only served to enlarge the poverty and misery in the non-inked quarters, and that was one of the reasons why he’d started to siphon sap to Kaelthorn’s cell.
It had given me pause, this reflection. Because if the Sapless’ purpose was to destroy all traces of sap, handing them endless barrels didn’t seem like the way to solve an issue that arose from shortage of it.
I knew I was missing something, which only added to my resolve.
My steps were quick as I strolled down the quiet streets on the outskirts of the city.
As I walked up a slope, more buildings began to appear amidst the lush jungle blanketing the island.
Of every shape and size, they were seamlessly integrated into thick trunks and verdant foliage.
I even spotted housing made within and on the cups of the largest trees.
When I reached the top of the hill, the sound of voices and laughter drifted through the otherwise quiet night, and I followed them to the first open tavern I found.
A worn sign hung from thick, green vines, reading THE RUSTY ANCHOR.
The double door was pushed open, light and voices spilling onto the cobbled street.
Patrons holding tankards of liquor sat at low tables inside, or stood around tall ones near the front, animated chatter reaching my ears, carrying the traces of a smoother version of the rolling accent that characterized most Kobrants.
I briefly debated going in, but something within told me it wasn’t what I needed.
For half an hour, I walked up and down the streets of Kamar, passing numerous establishments similar to The Rusty Anchor, surprised to find so much life this late in the night.
Don’t these people need to work in the morning?
Despite the many taverns open late, none of them called to me, but as I turned around another corner, something gave me pause.
The street ahead was quiet, but timid firelight flickered over the cobblestones from an otherwise darkened building.
The short hair at the base of my spine rose to attention as I walked closer.
A single torch was perched on the side of a corridor, illuminating steps descending into the darkness.
I could swear I heard the beating of drums drifting from beneath.
I debated for all of a second, hand instinctively brushing against the holster in my thigh.
At the end of the day, though, there was a reason I’d ventured out tonight, and a secret lair—if that was what this was—seemed like the best place to start my hunt.
Why does everything have to be underground in this fucking continent?
Taking a deep breath, I squished the unease in my gut and started for the stairs.
With every step I took, the drumbeats intensified, pounding against the soles of my boots and reverberating through my body. Soon, it was followed by the distinct sound of vigorous screams. Right when absolute darkness threatened to swallow me, a red glow illuminated the remaining steps.
My breaths came in and out in rapid bursts as I reached the bottom of the staircase, then disappeared altogether at the sight that met me in the room beyond.
Hundreds of small flames burnt inside glass spheres tinted in red and purple, washing the space in a dreamlike light that was only emphasized by the deafening beat of dozens of drums. A crowd seemed to have gathered at the far end, looking down on something that I couldn’t see beyond the mass of bodies.
Near the entrance, scantily dressed men and women alike kissed in darkened corners like their life depended on it, hands searching and reaching under fabric in search of hot, clammy skin.
I almost tripped at the sight of a woman with short, curly hair lowered to her knees in front of another naked woman, while a man pushed into her fully exposed backside, thrusting rhythmically.
A blush rose to my cheeks. I wasn’t by any means strange to sex, but . . . this was something else. What Armand’s dreams are made of, I imagined.
Feeling hot all of a sudden, I rushed to get closer to the crowd.
Jeers and boos erupted from it, almost drowning the low, sensual drumbeats.
It took me to reach the edge of the mass of people to realize why it was.
Dug into the earth, below at least half a dozen rows of spectators standing in a half circle, were two people pummeling each other.
A damn fighting pit.
Trepidation and anticipation surged inside me in a dizzying wave. This was exactly the kind of place I’d been hoping to find. Where was it better to carry out obscure dealing than in a den of sex and violence? A den of sins.
Drying the sudden wetness gathering in my hands, I started to walk around the pit, searching for a better angle.
Within the dirt-packed ring, two men fought bare-fisted, one of them already sporting a split eyebrow and lip.
The crowd cheered or jeered at every turn, calling out for their favorite fighter, but that wasn’t what I was after.
My foresight was promptly rewarded. Through the red and violet beams, I spotted two people standing close at the far end of the room. They were partly hidden by a column. Fully clothed.
A jolt of nerves shot down my spine as I zeroed my attention on them. The low light didn’t allow me to get a good look at their faces, but they both seemed to be men, speaking agitatedly.
A good start.
I started to walk towards them, my steps gaining confidence the closer I got. The crowd exploded in cheers behind me. It wasn’t for me, but I was emboldened anyway. I had this. My hand slipped through the slit in my dress, fingers caressing my gun—
A body slammed into me, pushing me against the hard, cold stone of a column. Before my fingers could close fully around my weapon, my hand was pulled away by the wrist, as was the other. A towering form loomed over me, hard muscle pressing down hard, and holding my hands on either side of me.
Instinct kicked in, and I was ready to fight back when a familiar voice pierced through.
“Care to explain what the fuck you’re doing all alone in the darkest, most dangerous place on this island, Lachlan?”