Splinter Heart (Demon of the Deep #2)

Chapter 1

The scent of old metal and seawater hit Zanta like a familiar slap as she stepped into the dockside salvage shop.

All manner of things that could, and had, washed up on the shores of Roseforte crowded every available inch of the small space, but for a worn path just wide enough for her to venture deeper.

She spotted a bucket of old keys and waded to it.

The grime of tarnished metal clung to Zanta’s fingers as she carded through the bucket.

She was used to it now. After years of searching in every antiquities, curiosities, locksmith, and salvage shop in every port the Monsoon stopped in, she knew what she was looking for.

The size, the shape of the teeth—she could picture it in her mind so clearly.

It was all she could see when she closed her eyes.

The dream she focused on to block out the nightmares.

That large brass key that had hung from the leather cord around Silver Stroud’s neck, nestled in his thick gray chest hair.

Sometimes she wondered if she even remembered it correctly, or if the image in her head had warped with the passage of time.

She drew out one of the keys. It was about the right size; the teeth seemed right. Zanta held it up to the light fighting through the grimy window and squinted, as if that would make it reveal all its secrets.

Was it the one?

“Oi, you gonna buy something or just grope the merchandise?”

Zanta nearly jumped out of her boots. She hadn’t noticed the grizzled shop owner perched on a stool in the corner, looking just as old and washed up as his merchandise.

He struggled up from his seat and shuffled through the jumble of wares toward her.

Once he was stationary again, he swayed slightly on his feet and wiped his red nose on the back of his hand.

A bottle of something strong-smelling sloshing, but not spilling.

“I’m still looking,” Zanta said flatly. She set the key aside and continued digging through the bucket.

“Well hurry up.”

Zanta glared at him out of the corner of her eye. “You got somewhere to be?” She was in no mood for this today, the anniversary of Silver Stroud’s death.

The anniversary of the day she’d driven a piece of his own beloved ship through his heart, and lost the most precious thing in her life.

The shopkeeper pointedly sloshed the bottle’s contents around. Zanta sighed and held up the key before his bleary eyes.

“How much for this?”

The old man rolled his eyes as if selling the junk in his shop was the greatest burden of his life.

“Five copper tals,” he said.

“Two,” Zanta countered.

“Four.”

“I thought you wanted me out?” Zanta raised her eyebrows.

He scratched his belly beneath his stained shirt.

“Three.”

Zanta was over it. She dug the coins out of her pocket, dropped them into his waiting hand, and left before he could make it back to his stool in the corner.

She scowled as the door thudded shut behind her and shoved the newly acquired piece of her collection into her pocket in place of the coins.

Gorgeous spring weather graced the Roseforte rooftops, but the clear blue sky and warm breeze did nothing to lift her mood.

In fact, it would have been better if rain, gloom, and cold wrapped the city.

At least then she could focus on her current misery instead of the past.

She would have liked to look for more keys in the shop. It was the only thing that soothed her when she got antsy like this, and she’d never been to Roseforte before. It was a fresh hunting ground.

Zanta retrieved her hat from her pack and shoved it onto her head over her braids.

It was a floppy-brimmed thing to keep the sun out of her eyes, instead of her usual black tricorn with red ostrich plumes.

That one was too distinctively Splinter Zanta, and she didn’t exactly want to advertise her presence here.

Zanta and her crew had snuck into Talva’s southernmost mainland port on board the Monsoon, disguised with a painted-over name and forged papers of a Yarenen merchant.

All of that wasn’t strictly necessary. They could have found some hidden cove down the coast and snuck in on foot instead. But what was the fun in that?

Not that she was having any fun now.

Her bootheels thudded on the cobblestones as she made her way down the sunny street.

She had things to do. The cold war between Marra and Talva seemed quiet as of late, and that meant one or both of them were moving pieces in secret, ramping up for something big.

What piece would they move next? Both had exhausted the islands that were easy pickings.

Marra had a firm hold on its colonies. Talva was in the midst of putting down an uprising in Nanad, but from what she’d heard, it would be over by the end of the year.

Only powerful allies remained, and neither could risk invading those without direct retaliation from the other.

Zanta shouldn’t worry herself over all of that.

Besides causing trouble for them when the opportunity arose, there was nothing she could do.

She had other things on her mind, namely that stirrings and rumors about Silver Stroud’s treasure had resurfaced again.

Talk of what and where the treasure could be had led her here to Roseforte.

But, as expected, she’d hit a dead end. Her leads had come up short—just the same old sailors spouting nonsense for clout.

So she was back to digging keys out of shop bins and hoping.

Because Zanta knew where the treasure was, she just didn’t have the means to open it.

Now she had only one more errand to complete before the Monsoon could set sail.

Zanta looked up in time to see the other thing she was looking for, the Swan Inn.

The sign over the inn’s door depicted a white swan with a pink rose tucked into its wing.

It seemed respectable, up the hill a bit from the harbor and nestled between an apothecary and a bakery.

The street rang with the sound of a blacksmith’s hammer, and the scent of baking bread and freshly cut flowers almost overpowered the salty harbor breeze.

This must be the place Logan Crowder, first mate of the Siren Song, had told her about.

She paused on the threshold to let her eyes adjust to the dim interior.

The sun had begun to sink from its midday height, and the inn’s main tavern room was quiet, only a few stragglers picking at fish and leek pies and sipping the dregs of their ale.

Zanta spotted a plump older man wiping down a table near the back.

“I’m looking for a woman named Nia,” Zanta said to him without preamble, trying not to let her lingering annoyance at the drunken shopkeeper and this day in general come through in her voice. “I was told she works here?”

The man looked at her over a pair of spectacles that balanced at the tip of his blotchy nose.

“She does. Who’s askin’?”

“Well I have—”

“She’s busy,” a woman Zanta assumed to be the proprietress interrupted curtly, stepping out of the kitchen at the back.

“If you’re one of her lovers, you’ll just have to wait till she’s done with that other one.

” She stomped back into the kitchen, leaving both Zanta and the bespectacled man in stunned silence.

“Excuse my wife’s poor manners, please, young lady,” the man said after a moment.

“She’s just cross because Nia left her with the tail end of the midday rush.

Can’t say I blame ’er though, that young man was a might handsome.

” He seemed to realize what he’d said, and before Zanta could correct him, tried to backtrack.

“Not that you’re not a handsome gal yourself, dear. It’s just that…I mean…I’m sure Nia—”

“That’s not what I’m here for.” Zanta finally cut off his flustered rambling. The man visibly relaxed, and dabbed his sweaty brow with the rag he’d previously been wiping the table with.

“So what can I do for you?” he asked, obviously relieved not to have found himself in the middle of a jealous lover’s squabble.

“I’m delivering something for a friend.”

“Well, don’t know how long she’ll be. You can leave it with me if you’d like.” He eyed the pack on her back curiously.

“I’m to deliver it into her hands only, unfortunately,” Zanta answered. She supposed she could always lie and tell Logan she’d given the package directly to Nia. She didn’t actually know him that well, but he’d paid her, and she was generally a woman of her word, despite being a pirate.

The man frowned. “Well, like I said, don’t know when she’ll be down. You’re welcome to wait if you buy a meal or a drink.”

Zanta sighed. She’d really hoped to be on her way back to the Monsoon by now.

If they didn’t catch the tides tonight, it would be tedious trying to sail out of the harbor tomorrow with everyone else.

She supposed she could kill an hour or so searching for keys at nearby shops, but she really should get back to prepare for departure.

How long could this girl entertain a handsome young man anyway?

As if reading her mind, the man leaned over to whisper, “Might be a while if I’m honest. Astounding stamina, our Nia.”

In that case there was no use waiting around.

“I’m leaving with the tide tonight,” Zanta said. “Please tell her to meet me at berth forty-four at the docks if she’d like to collect the package. She should ask for Sarah.” With that, she turned on her heel and left.