Chapter 29
ACKER
By the time we arrive at the port town deep into Kenta, I’m itching to step foot on land. I thought being stranded on a boat with Olivia’s ire was bad, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the misery of the trip back.
My days have been spent listening to the sound of chains rattling through the thin walls of Jovie’s cabin. She’s livid. The kind of angry that can be felt in the bones. I know the feeling well, having felt it for long after her betrayal.
But in the night, when her exhaustion wins over and she’s too tired to fan the flames of her ire, the desire to go to her is all-consuming.
And she’s so close. Too close, honestly.
It’s become a true testament to my self-control, when all I want is to hear her say the words to me.
That she loved me then, even when she betrayed me, and may love me still after all this time.
I try to hold on to the reminders of why I’m angry with her, but they all seem weak in comparison to what we’re facing. The plans that my father has concocted and the darkness of this war on the horizon. But Jovie could see it. She lived it in Alaha, and she always knew change was coming.
While I’ve been contending with my fragile restraint, Irina has been sullen and only comes out of her room for meals.
Fredrich and I have barely spoken, mostly due to my own lingering frustrations with him.
And Wells has been quiet. I can practically feel the judgment rolling off him every time he sees me.
Snow flurries over the port, the flakes melting as soon as they hit the ground.
We had to sail far upriver. Farther than I would have liked, but the larger ports near the mouth of the Yanka River were swamped with soldiers from the palace.
This port, for instance, is small and not usually manned by more than a handful of men, but there’s a handful of soldiers present on the dock with a jail cart full of prisoners waiting to be loaded onto a boat, their clothing filthy and hair matted from their time kept in the town’s prison. Collars adorn their necks.
Heirs to be transported to the palace.
To my father.
We’re not close enough to the palace that I worry about being recognized, but I pull up my hood and keep my head down as I walk through the streets, just to be safe.
No one seems perturbed by the heavy presence of soldiers.
People meander from storefront to storefront, congregating on the walkways to chat, as if everything is normal.
The farmers’ market I’m looking for is tucked into a wide alley between two buildings not far from the dock.
These are vendors who travel far and wide across the territory to sell and trade their goods, the very ones who would make the trip to the southern coast for the annual Market with the Alaha.
If there’s gossip to be heard, it’ll come from their mouths.
There’s one vendor I’m looking for in particular, and I find her stall at the very end of the row.
She doesn’t notice me at first. Her back is to me as I approach her table to take a look at the pastries she has on display.
“I was hoping to find you here,” I say, drawing her attention.
When she turns around, her pierced eyebrow lifts in surprise. “The metal slinger of Kenta,” she says, smile growing wide. “To what do I owe this honor? It’s been, what? Five years? Six?”
“The final Market,” I answer, remembering the last time we connected.
I look at the bustling crowd around us and she gets the hint, waving me behind her counter for a little more privacy. She places a sign on the table before pulling a string, lowering a cloth over the front of the booth.
Once alone in the shadows, her smile turns flirtatious. “Rumor has it you’ve flown the coop,” she says.
“Gossipers do love to spin tales,” I say in turn.
Her fingers dance over the collar of my shirt. “Hmm,” she sounds. “Is this unexpected visit one of pleasure then?”
I let her indulge in her fantasy for a moment while we talk. “What’s the word on the street about why the palace has sent so many soldiers here?”
“We’ve been told they’re here to relieve the town prison’s overcrowding problem, but there have been rumors saying that only Heirs are being moved, that there’s another crackdown on any Heirs who commit so much as a minor infraction.”
“Such as?”
“Things like vandalism, getting caught saying anything remotely negative about the king, or just being too drunk or rowdy at a pub.” She continues to fiddle with my shirt, slipping a button free, fingers digging to the exposed skin of my chest. “But I heard of a town nearby where everyone was taken. Even the babes.”
My blood runs cold. “Where?”
“East,” she says, hands slipping down to the waistline of my pants. “A town where no one wore collars.”
“Have you ever seen or heard of a slatstone?”
Her fingers dip under my shirt, touch skimming the skin of my stomach. “Slatstone,” she says, almost absently. “I think I remember my grandmother used to tell tales of a stone called something of the sort, but I’ve never seen one myself. Why?”
Having gotten what I need, I stop her ministrations with a gentle hand on her wrist. “Thank you, Phoebe.” Leaning forward, I kiss her on the cheek, letting my lips linger. “Go home, okay?”
When I pull away, the flirtation in her eyes is gone, understanding in its place. She’s as good at swindling information as I am. If she was needing confirmation that things are going sideways in this war, I’m more than happy to give it to her, no flirtation needed.
“Maybe next time, then?”
I smile at the teasing in her voice. “Be safe,” I say in answer and farewell.
I make one final stop at the dovecote on the outskirts of the town.
The elderly man behind the counter eyes me long enough that I’m positive he knows my identity, but I’m grateful when he doesn’t pry.
I write my message and seal it in a metal cylinder with wax.
When he goes to take it from me, I shake my head and slide a few extra coins across the counter.
“I want to see the bird released.” There’s no room for argument in my tone.
He stares at the coins before sliding them into his palm.
He disappears through the door behind him, returning with a pigeon in his hands.
Without saying a word, he shows me the identifying band naming the town we’re currently in on its left leg, and the destination it’s trained to fly to on the right.
I tie the message to its harness and when he walks out from behind the counter I follow him to the front door of the dovecote.
Opening the door just wide enough to stand in the threshold, he throws the pigeon into the air, and we both watch as the bird gets its bearings before turning to the west.
“Happy?” he asks.
I nod, smiling at his evident annoyance. “Very.”
I give him one more coin just to completely ensure that he’ll keep his mouth shut about my identity, but something tells me he’s read and seen enough in his life that he couldn’t care less as to who I am or why I’m here. If anything, I’ve only insulted him for being distrustful of his discretion.
Returning to the ship, I hunt down Fredrich.
He’s not on the deck, or below in the cabins, so I venture down into the hold in a bid to find him.
It’s been emptied of provisions. Any of the few remaining supplies from Maile were dumped once we reached the mouth of the river.
It’s here that I find Fredrich sitting on an empty wine barrel.
Our conversations were minimal throughout the voyage.
After I explained my father’s alliance with the Alaha and the gifts he’s acquired, Fredrich asserted that the best chance anyone has of killing my father would be with his help.
As much as it pains me to admit that I agree, his shield is too valuable to not utilize.
He sits with a knee bent and his sword balanced across his lap as he runs a stone down the length of the blade. An empty glass is perched on a beam next to him.
“Well,” he says, glancing up at me. “What’s the plan?”
“There’s apparently a nearby town that’s been emptied in a raid by palace soldiers. Hopefully we can find some lodgings that have been abandoned in a usable condition.”
There’s a slight pause before he continues to sharpen his blade. “I thought you wanted to usurp your father,” he says.
“I’m not going to take my Match anywhere near the man who’s siphoning magic from Heirs like a leech.”
Fredrich’s expression is contemplative. “How are we going to get her through the port without being found out?”
“Irina.”
“Even if she can cast an illusion over all of us, it won’t matter if the queen doesn’t cooperate. All it would take is a good scream and they’ll see straight through Irina’s glamor.”
His insistence in referring to Jovie by her title irks me. “I’ll handle Jovie,” I tell him before turning to leave. “Be ready to disembark in thirty.”
It’s his huff of annoyance rather than his words that has me stopping in place.
“I watched you and Hallis run through plenty of brothels in our youth, you know,” he says, curtly.
“I know it’s different, because Jo is your Match, but I made the love of your life come, Ace.
I didn’t fucking kill her. When are you going to let it go? ”
Grinding my teeth, I turn to eye him. “How many glasses of wine have you had?”
“A few,” he admits.
“Still haven’t gotten over your fear of water?”
“It’s not a fear of the water,” he protests. “It’s being stuck on a boat that drives me mad. There’s nothing to do but…”—he waves a hand in the air—“drink.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with being unable to fully access your shield, would it?”
My words give him pause, his eyes cutting to the strap of daggers across my chest. “Is that a threat?”
I shrug half-heartedly. “Just an observation.”
After assessing me carefully, he returns to sharpening his blade. “I’m not scared of you, Ace. Shield or no shield.”
I tell myself to walk away, to let the issue lie for the time being, but I simply can’t. I clench my jaw before I’m able to force the words past my lips. “Thank you. For protecting her.”
He could use this moment to mock me, to drive the proverbial knife a little deeper, but he doesn’t, merely dipping his chin in customary Kenta fashion as he says, “Of course.”
Truth is, I never doubted that he’d do it and do it well. I didn’t have to lie awake at night and wonder if she was okay like I had done for so many years growing up, when I hadn’t known if she was alive or dead. I knew she was safe because Fredrich was with her.
“But let’s be honest,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “It may have been your mouth that was on her, but it was me she was submitting to.”
His smirk returns, but it’s good natured. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, my friend.”
I turn before he can see my grin. “You can’t even whistle.”
“Hey! You swore to keep that a secret.”