18. Eighteen
Chapter 18
Timing was on our side. We found a ferryboat about to leave Rovileis for Sable-Pall, a far shorter journey than the one which had brought me from Nis-Illous. The ferry would dock at the isle’s south end, then travel on to the capital Olymrei, near the middle-coast. From there we’d have to find another boat to the northern region where the stone was located.
The broad, low-decked boat held a dozen other passengers. The ferrywoman tried to bar the gate when she saw us coming, but she didn’t get it closed in time. She quickly swung it back open, hands shaking, and I wondered if she was afraid Kalcedon would hurt her if she didn’t. Kalcedon tugged his new cloak tighter around him and bowed his head.
“He’s from here,” I told her bluntly. “Nis-Illous, his whole life.”
“Don’t waste your breath,” Kalcedon muttered to me.
We paid and moved off to the corner of the ship.
“Faster with a wind,” Kalcedon suggested sourly.
“Can I?”
He grunted agreement. It was embarrassing Kalcedon didn’t know weather-work, being from a fishing isle like ours. But then, he had grown up isolated, not part of a village. My great-great grandmother was still alive in my early childhood, fae blooded as she’d been, and I’d watched the shape of her knobby fingers as she’d summoned winds to command our family’s fish-craft.
I turned my back to the other passengers so they wouldn’t see me work magic, and called a stiff breeze with Kalcedon’s heat. I imagined if the others saw spellwork next to a fae looking man, they might jump overboard. As it was, we had half the ferry to ourselves.
“So. Tell me about it. Did you scry all the stones?” I asked as Kalcedon sat down on the deck. I squatted beside him.
“Only Sable-Pall,” Kalcedon said brusquely.
“Why? How’d you know…?”
“The wave came from that way.” He said the words like they were obvious.
I blinked at him.
“You could tell what way it came from?”
“You couldn’t?”
“No,” I said. It wasn’t just the business with the fire. The magic had been so overpowering I couldn’t tell anything about it. I’d just been crushed.
The ferry ride seemed to go on forever, even with the helpful wind. Kalcedon stood at the rail for most of it, cloak wrapped tight. I sat, hugging my own knees and watching as Rovileis grew smaller, and smaller, and smaller.
We were three hours in when a wave of magic crashed over us. The feeling of it took me right back to losing Eudoria.
I gasped for air as Kalcedon doubled over like he’d been hit.
It wasn’t like the first time the Ward broke. Three hundred years didn’t crash down, only a few days’ magic. But the wild frenzy of outland power rushing through the air was unmistakable.
“That was another one,” I said shakily. “Wasn’t it?”
“Buis or Nis-Iom,” Kalcedon said, straightening and pulling his cloak tighter. “It came from that way.” He pointed towards the right, a little behind us. Towards home.
Nobody else on the boat reacted. Nobody else was a witch. They’d get the news sometime after we docked, I figured. I wasn’t about to tell them.
“Is it back?” I asked, and peered up at the sky. For a moment I couldn’t see anything, just blue and a puff of cloud. I’d never known clouds had shadows like that, bulbous and contoured. Then there was a flicker again. The cloud blurred behind the Ward’s barrier. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“We have to figure this out,” Kalcedon said. “Before they all go.”
Seven stones total held up the Ward. Two that were— damaged , in some way. And five left to go. I tried to draw a deep breath through the panicked constriction in my chest, and failed.
“Do you think the stories are real?” I asked. “You know. The Sorrowing Lord taking away people’s will. Dancing for years and forgetting everyone you care about. Fae that eat people. All that?”
Kalcedon didn’t answer. He lay his forearms against the railing and stared grimly at the line of the horizon. I took deep, measured breaths, and tried to stay calm. We were alright. The Ward was back up. And soon, we’d figure out why it kept falling.
The ferry arrived at Olymrei just as afternoon shifted into evening. Kalcedon strode off with me close on his heels. When he stopped abruptly to peer around, I bumped into him.
“Watch it,” he snapped.
“Sorry.”
Olymrei wasn’t as big a city as Rovileis, but it was still large and hectic. The wharf area was lively, its typical mud-salt buildings draped in colorful banners. A great walled fortress, home of the Sable-Pall monarchs, leered imposingly above the city’s squat buildings. Not as many people seemed to notice Kalcedon. I supposed the fall of evening helped.
“Are you hungry? Maybe we should find food, and a place to sleep.” I itched to make it to the stone, but even I knew navigating an unfamiliar coastline in the dark was a bad idea. Besides, my stomach was tight with hunger.
“If you want.” Kalcedon looked tense, his eyes scanning our surroundings. I sighed.
“Let’s try this way.” I led us out of the open harbor. We took off down a narrow, twisting alley.
It cut a winding path through rows of tall stone buildings, then spat us out on the shoreline again, this time by a seawall rather than the bustling harbor. We walked for another half a block until we reached a fishmonger’s. It was an open-air shop, with no front wall. The stench inside was strong; I would’ve walked right past it if it hadn’t caught Kalcedon’s interest. He didn’t say anything, but I caught him looking and saw his steps slow.
I wrinkled my nose and peered in at the tables of prawns, fish, and squid. At the back, an iron griddle rested over a long flame. Fish, chunks of onion, and whole cloves of garlic sizzled in oil. A mustached man tended the food.
“You can’t eat that. It’ll turn your stomach,” I whispered to him, breathing in the stinging scent of the hot iron. Kalcedon glared at me and pointed at the row of steaming clay pots behind the man.
“Ask him if everything is iron-grilled,” Kalcedon commanded. I looked at him flatly. He shook his head subtly, lips curled down. “Please,” Kalcedon growled. I sighed and walked into the bright shop, leaving him in the shadows outside.
The answer was no, as it turned out, and a half-hour later we were perched on the seawall outside the shop, little clay pots swaddled in cloth to keep them from burning our hands. Kalcedon sniffed his food carefully and took a small bite. His eyebrows rose.
“We should buy spices for home. I think they use things here we don’t get on Nis.”
I hesitated, taking a bite of over-hot food. The spice prickled my tongue and made my nose ache.
“I might not go back.”
I saw him frown.
“Of course you will. What else would you do?”
“Well. You know. The Temple,” I said, and stirred my food. “If I can figure out the sigils on the Ward, maybe…”
He set down his pot a little too sharply and frowned at me.
“I don’t get it. Why would you want to be somewhere they don’t want you?”
I could have asked him the same thing, about wanting to belong in a terrible, painful village like Missaniech. But I had a million reasons. Books. Power. People who could teach me more about magic. The ability to cast great enchantments, enchantments that would only make Kalcedon roll his eyes.
“They don’t know me yet,” I muttered. “They'll want me.”
“They’ll spend the whole time looking down their noses at you. You’re barely a witch.” This felt different from his usual teasing. Barbed. As if I needed a reminder of his power, when it was constantly around me.
“Oraik was right,” I muttered. “You really don’t have to be so mean.”
“Oh, for…” he exhaled hard. “Sorry, o delicate flower. I didn’t realize you were so easily bothered. I’ve never known someone as powerful as you. You overflow with magic. To look upon you is to feel the sun. You—”
I pursed my lips. “You’re beyond fixing.”
He glowered and answered, “let’s find an inn.”
I returned the pots inside. Kalcedon strode off down the road, leaving me to catch up. I jogged down the winding seawall road, lantern-lit shops to the right, curtains and awnings and painted doors. Stone and sea to the left, a black shape that shifted to pound against the city. Soon I was walking beside him, trying to match his long-legged, swift stride.
There was a faint flicker of magic overhead. We both felt it and paused. I tipped my chin back and watched as a swarm of pale glimmering shapes passed far above us. They were gone as quickly as they’d appeared. Kalcedon took a step back to see them better, his shoulder brushing against mine.
“What was that?” I breathed, as he stayed tight to me instead of moving away.
“Starflits,” he said with wonder. “I think those were starflits. They must have crossed over, when it was down.”
“Are they dangerous?”
He stopped staring at the sky, empty now, and looked down at me instead. His shoulder stayed against mine.
“I don’t think so. They’re just birds, really.”
The idea of fae birds overhead was lovely for about ten seconds, until I wondered whether anything or anyone else had crossed. We kept walking.
We passed by five inns that Kalcedon decided looked too expensive. At last I spotted a rickety wooden door with a picture of a cup and bed hanging over it.
“Cheap enough for your highness?” I asked.
He snorted and yanked the door open. I followed him through.
Inside there were more patrons than seats. It reeked of smoke and ale. There was raucous laughter, and off-key singing. I tried not to stare at a woman groping a shirtless man who leaned half-back over a table. I kept my eyes focused on Kalcedon’s back as he pushed his way through the crowd. It was slow going until the drunks noticed his fae appearance. Then they moved out of the way in a hurry.
One of the men gave Kalcedon a nasty look, then leaned forward and spat on him. Kalcedon calmly twisted away the damp spot on his shoulder with a touch of heat. He didn’t even look in the man’s direction. I did, though, and tried my best to flatten him with a glare. I made a rude gesture with my fingers, though I don’t think he saw it; he was still looking at Kalcedon.
Reaching the counter, Kalcedon paid a bearded, potbellied man three argit. My eyes widened as the innkeeper handed Kalcedon a single key.
“We can’t afford a second room?” I asked. “Even here ?”
“This way’s safer. I’ll sleep on the floor, priss . ” His voice was like venom, but I didn’t snarl back. I was fairly certain he meant it for the man who’d spat on him, and not for me.
We climbed the narrow stone staircase to the room. Kalcedon had to stoop to fit under the low frame. The chamber we entered was small and poorly cleaned, the mattress prickly but still better than the floor. An offering-bowl balanced precariously on the hearth’s mantle, beside a jar of long-dead flowers that had dropped most of their petals.
The only open space was a gap between the hearth and the bed’s foot. It looked too small for either of us, but despite his lean build Kalcedon was taller than I was.
“Maybe I should take the floor,” I offered tentatively. “Or…”
“It’s already decided,” he snapped back. He side-stepped around the tight edge of the bed and sat down in the space, leaving no room for argument. Since I didn’t particularly want to be the one sleeping on the floor, I threw him a pillow and the bed’s only blanket.
Then I stripped off my overskirt, slipped my underthings off, and wrapped the bedsheet tight around myself.
In the middle of the night I jolted upright, panting, plagued by a nightmare of an inferno. The sheets were damp with sweat, and the room felt too warm. I rubbed my face and took a shaky breath.
Kalcedon was awake. He sat cross legged on the floor, staring at the small hearth fire. He’d lit it sometime after I’d fallen asleep.
“Why are you awake?” I mumbled. He twisted over his shoulder to look at me, his face one with the shadows.
“Am I really that mean to you?” His voice was soft, tired.
“ That’s keeping you up?”
“Just tell me.” He turned back towards the flames.
“Only when you open your mouth,” I mumbled. “I know you don’t mean it.”
“ Tch. Go back to sleep.”
“Put out the fire. It’s too hot.”
He grunted in response, but didn’t move. I lay back down. The bed felt suddenly vast and empty, the walls too close, Kalcedon’s power too far. In the night it was easy for my thoughts to wander, to circle around and around that lonely stone tower on Nis-Illous, with a burnt tree in the middle of a rampant garden.
“There’s space, you know. If the floor gets uncomfortable,” I whispered. Kalcedon didn’t answer. Neither of us spoke again. The next morning, I woke with only a foggy memory of the conversation.
And Kalcedon, facing away from me, curled up beside me on the bed.