Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
A comfortable bed on solid ground did Calya wonders.
Her room faced out toward the water and a small cove where the locals moored their boats.
Thanks to an enchantment on the glass, the cries of seabirds and dock-goers were muted to gentle background noise.
It was akin to the apartment she rented in Grae Port, situated near the pier where Helm Naval kept its main office and workshop.
How many weeks had it been since she was last home?
Three at least, for she’d been up in the Valley to see Anadae, and then there’d been Eunny’s conflict with the Coalition, which Calya had happily joined.
Homesickness was a foreign concept to Calya.
She didn’t feel a sense of belonging in the capital, not in the same way that her sister spoke of her connection to the Valley.
For Calya, Grae Port was where her company lived, and there was work to be done.
It wasn’t nostalgia forming in her chest but resolve.
As she watched a small craft head out, the captain raising a hand toward the dockmaster’s station and receiving a wave of acknowledgment, an idea formed in her mind.
After refreshing herself, she made her way downstairs in search of breakfast—and Brint. Courtesy of the Pelf’s excellent staff, she soon found herself with a cup of strong black tea in hand and her target in sight.
He’d claimed a large table all to himself in front of the main room’s best view of the harbor.
The location didn’t surprise her, given his penchant for luxury in all things.
That he was likewise solo was unusual, for she’d have expected him to be holding court over the less-seasoned men who’d signed on with the Guard.
Or perhaps having breakfast with the mayor at his manor on the opposite side of town.
As she approached, Calya noticed the papers Brint had flared out around his plate.
He frowned down at them, a pencil in hand as he struck a line through several words before scribbling a note of his own, his wandering scrawl in stark contrast to the cramped, slanted letters of the original writing.
“Higher than last time,” he muttered to himself.
Calya slowed her footsteps, but too late.
As if sensing her interest, Brint looked up, his hands reflexively scooping the papers together.
His guarded expression didn’t soften upon recognizing her but rather slid from suspicion to annoyance.
Surly, like an overgrown man-child dead set on holding a grudge.
“Calya,” he said, clearing away his papers before she could get a proper look.
“Brint.” Assuming a nonchalant manner, she drew out a chair and settled in it sideways, ready to pop up the moment he became absolutely unbearable. “You asked me to find you.”
“I meant last night.”
“You said later.” Calya lifted her chin toward the papers he’d stowed in his bag. “Work?”
“Nothing important.” An easy smile bloomed across his face, his tone going treacly, cajoling, as he leaned toward her to say, “About yesterday—why don’t you come with me and my boys to visit our north site? I’ll show you around, see if we can figure out the reporting mix up.”
Calya matched his meaningless smile. “I’d appreciate that.
Tomorrow, perhaps? As I told Mayor Krowe, I have several items of business to discuss with the dockmaster.
HNE’s logs are paramount to our reputation, so I intend to crosscheck the copies that should be on record here.
I’ve some tasks from Wembly, too, so I’m afraid I’m rather busy for today. ”
“Oh, I… Yes. I’m sure Dockmaster Gormund will get you all settled.
” Brint’s smile never wavered, but the strain at the corners of his eyes and the tension in his brow told Calya everything she needed to know.
When she visited the dockmaster’s registrar, doubtless they’d have copies of Helm Naval’s last three months of logs already waiting.
A new person entered the main room: Lowe. He paused, searching the room. When he saw Calya, his neutral expression hardly flickered. He gestured toward a table at the farthest corner of the room, away from Brint.
Calya waved, shooing him on. “In a moment,” she called out.
Brint glowered at Lowe’s back, then turned his reproachful gaze on Calya. “So. You’re fucking him now?”
She tsked as she sipped her tea. “So what if I am?”
“You should be more careful, Caly. He’s using you. A Sentinel of the Valley? They don’t care about anything to do with Graelynd.”
“Mutually beneficial usage. Is it really so different than what you would’ve done?”
Brint’s acting was improving; he managed to appear semi-convincing with his affronted look. “I would not. We have business together. I mean, really, since we’re both here, we could look at revisiting the partnership on that joint protection—”
“I already have a partner for my business here in the Landing,” Calya said. “And considering how our last agreement worked out, I’m not exactly eager to revisit anything with you.”
Brint laughed, loud and false and with an excess of effort to sound unoffended. “I suppose I deserved that.”
Calya took another sip of tea.
“Can’t believe you went with him, though,” he grumbled, his performance short-lived. “Gods all break, Caly, he’s old. I thought you had standards. You’re more like a baby sister than—”
“And yet I basically was yours, for years.” Calya stood up. “That didn’t stop you earlier.”
She sauntered away to join Lowe at his table.
“What was that about?” Lowe poured her more tea, setting Ollas’s map next to her cup. “They gave it to us, since the others already know where they’re going.”
“I’ve gotten rid of him for the day.” Calya nodded at the map. “The northern site is a bust. Shall we explore this one after he leaves?” She tapped a different spot toward the base of some scrawled river’s edge mtns.
Lowe gave her a dubious look. “It’s a bit of a hike.”
“I brought my walking boots.”
The great outdoors was being added to the list of Calya’s enemies. Her boots were perfectly suited to walking along the trail to the western research site. Her feet, however, not so much. The uneven streets of Grae Port were nothing compared to the rock-and-root-laden path they traversed now.
After Lowe had outpaced her for the umpteenth time, he dropped behind her on the trail.
“Haven’t we been out here long enough for you to surmise that I don’t have a fucking clue where I’m going?
” Calya snapped, blotting sweat from her forehead.
She’d been chilled when they first set out on their adventure, but after what felt like half a day spent bushwhacking, the wintry air was all too warm.
“Just follow the trail,” Lowe said, sounding like he was enjoying himself far too much. “It’s better to let the weakest member of the group set the pace.”
“Weak.” She sniffed. “Excuse me for having been ill for most of the voyage here and now being asked to climb veritable mountains for hours.”
“We’ve barely been out here for one hour, walking around the base of what is, at most, a hill.” She could practically hear Lowe rolling his eyes. “Which you could jump off the very top of and have to work to sprain your ankle.”
“Lies.” Calya smacked a branch out of the way with the staff he’d given her after she’d tripped for the hundredth time. Hours ago. “It’s midday at least.”
“An hour and a half if I count you dawdling at the inn,” he said, nimbly sidestepping when she poked the staff at him. “I did warn you that it was a hike.”
“I’ve gone for plenty of walks outside.” She stopped. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”
“Let me consult the nearest street sign,” Lowe said dryly. “There should only be one path out here, Calya.”
She looked around but saw only a thicket of frustratingly evergreen shrubs on all sides. A true path had given way to a few breaks in the greenery, narrow and twisty as they disappeared from view. “I’d say the local wildlife decided otherwise.”
Lowe glanced around, chin lifting as a breeze rustled the leaves. He squinted at the roughly sketched map the extern had provided. After turning to face the water, which could be glimpsed through bare patches in the spindly trees around them, he said, “Go left. We should be getting close.”
Calya turned in the instructed direction. A faint line of worn, dead grass suggested a hint of a trail, and the shrubs grew smaller as they led away.
“Good plan. At least we get to go downhill—”
Too vigorous a step combined with her lack of attention as she turned her head to call back to Lowe, and Calya slipped as a loose rock beneath her foot gave way. Downhill turned out to describe a sharper incline than she’d bargained for as she lost her balance and fell.
She shrieked, the sound cutting off as she bounced off something large, hard, and with much less give than her side. Lowe shouted behind her, but she didn’t register anything beyond her own pained gasp.
Mercifully, the hill was short, and she tumbled into a clearing, narrowly avoiding impaling herself on an old marker stick at the end of an overgrown field.
Groaning weakly, Calya pushed herself up to a sitting position.
She wiggled her fingers, then her toes, relief coursing through her when everything moved as it should.
Her cloak sported a few new rips, her sleeves and trousers torn in multiple places.
Already, the burgundy fabric of her right sleeve darkened as she bled freely.
An ache built in her side, the pain growing as her wits came back.
“Calya!”
“Here, I’m fine,” she wheezed, and looked around. “I found the site.”