36. Zai
Zai
Leaving my empty bowl on the table, I weaved through the crowded room to the bar. Frustration simmered beneath my skin as my gaze swept the small inn where the crew lounged after the evening meal.
Days of this. Days of chasing shadows.
Tera had consulted her network, but the trail had gone cold. The Dual Wielder and his moon-wielding protector weren’t leaving traces this time—they’d learned from their mistakes. All we knew was that they’d likely headed east through the Moon Queendom.
We’d steered the Skydagger east through Blightlands, stopping at different inns each night to gather what scraps of information we could. Gossip circulated wildly about new rifts opening along the border to both domains, with hordes of monsters tearing through smaller towns and villages.
The barkeep slid a mug of ale across the counter, and I wrapped my fingers around the cool ceramic.
Kestrel materialized beside me, his golden-brown hair catching the firelight. He ordered an ale of his own, beaming at the barkeep. “What a mighty fine establishment you’ve got here, my friend. Though I can’t help but notice something’s lacking.”
The barkeep grunted, raising a questioning eyebrow.
“Music.” Kestrel spread his arms wide. “A place like this deserves some entertainment, don’t you think?”
Another grunt, but a smirk tugged at the barkeep’s lips.
Flint shouldered in between us, slapping a meaty hand on the counter. “Ay, that’s right. And no one can liven up a blaze-wretched bore of a room like Kestrel here.”
Kestrel’s face split into a grin so wide it had to hurt, his chipped tooth on full display. “Flint! That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
A frustrated growl rumbled in my throat, matching the barkeep’s disgruntled expression.
The voices of two strangers beside me carried over the racket of conversations and scraping chairs.
“The Sun King sent it earlier today,” a woman said, leaning close to her companion. “It went out to the entire Kingdom.”
My fingers tightened around my mug as I tapped her shoulder. “What was the message?”
She turned to face me. “The King addressed the rumors about the Dual Wielder, calling him a scourge created by the Moon Queendom.”
“Nothin’ new there,” Flint muttered into his ale.
Tera passed behind us toward one of the tables, but her boots scraped to a halt as she overheard the woman’s words. She pivoted toward us, head tilted, making no attempt to hide her interest.
The woman continued, “The King says this scourge is the reason behind the escalating monster attacks. He’s issued a reward of a hundred crystals for anyone who brings him the Dual Wielder.”
Her companion murmured something to her, and the woman nodded before the two of them headed toward a table across the room.
“A hundred crystals?” Kestrel grinned. “Isn’t that what you offered, Zai?”
My eyes snapped to Tera. A dangerous gleam flashed in her gaze, warning me not to reveal our secret about the reward she’d promised on my behalf.
Flint scratched his jaw. “Considerin’ all the scorchin’ trouble we’ve been through, a hundred crystals ain’t that much. Not split between all of us.”
Kestrel craned around Flint, clinking his mug against mine. “Seems like the King lost faith in your ability to capture the Dual Wielder. Or maybe he just wants to give you some healthy competition to speed things along?”
The words stabbed straight into my core.
Of course Father doubted me. When had he ever believed I could do anything right?
I could imagine the council meeting leading up to this decision.
The Spymaster mentioning how rumors of the Dual Wielder were spreading like wildfire through both domains.
The General delivering reports of new rifts opening and monsters tearing through unprotected settlements along the Blightlands border.
Val suggesting they should throw non-wielders at the problem and call it strategy.
Father would have listened in silence, fingers laced, wearing that particular stillness he reserved for when he’d already made up his mind.
He’d decided my efforts weren’t enough and moved on.
My grip tightened around the mug.
Tera gazed across the room. “Well, this certainly gives us competition. A rather unfortunate turn of events.”
I could practically hear her thoughts churning behind those calculating eyes—wondering if my promise still held weight, if her crimes would still be pardoned when we delivered the Dual Wielder.
“Captain, a word?” I jerked my head toward a quieter corner.
She followed as I weaved between tables and patrons.
Unease twisted in my chest as I faced her. “Maybe this isn’t so unfortunate. If we bring the Dual Wielder to my father, we can claim his reward, and you can use it to pay the crew. And I stand by my promise—I’ll ensure you’re pardoned.”
Tera’s steely glare pinned me for several heartbeats.
Then a smile tugged at her lips. “You know what, I believe you’re right.” She clasped my shoulder. “It’s actually rather fortunate, isn’t it?”
Relief washed away some of the tension coiled in my chest.
Her smile twisted into a sneer. “If only we could track him down. The bastard leaves no traces, and no one knows a blazing thing about his past.”
A thought struck me. “What about the moon girl? Have you dug into her background?”
She arched a brow. “Her background?”
“Yeah, where she’s from. Her connections. Maybe she’s been communicating with family or friends about their whereabouts.”
“It’s a good idea.” Skepticism flickered across her weathered features. “But I’ve got nothing to go on except her appearance.”
“And her name.”
“Her name?”
“Didn’t you hear the Dual Wielder shout for her?”
Her expression soured. “I was busy keeping the crew alive.”
“Lora.” The name rolled off my tongue, too familiar for something I was saying aloud for the first time. “Her name is Lora.”
“Lora…” Tera’s expression brightened. “Actually a decent idea, Zai. I’ll consult my network in the morning.”
I nodded, imagining her gazing into polished metal, light bending at her fingertips as she reached across the world with her sun seeing. “Who are those people in your network, anyway?”
“Outcasts, mostly. Or people operating on the shady side of the law. Some are pirates like us. Others specialize in staying hidden while gathering information.”
“And they just hand over that information to you?”
The corner of her mouth curled. “It’s more of a trade.
Sometimes I need their expertise. Sometimes they need a crew willing to smuggle, guard, retrieve, sabotage…
you get the idea.” She raised her tankard in a salute and took a large gulp.
“Ugh.” She grimaced. “Why does all the ale in Blightlands taste like piss? I’m getting something stronger. ”
Wiping her mouth, she strode toward the bar, her wide-brimmed hat cutting through the crowd like a ship’s prow through clouds.
I sauntered over to Kestrel and Flint’s table and sank into an empty chair.
Just as I arrived, Kestrel rose, his chair screeching against the floorboards. “Everyone, I have something to say!”
The rumble of conversation died down, pirates and strangers alike turning their attention to him.
Kestrel beamed. “I’ve been thinking about death lately.”
Jeers and boos followed.
“No, really. After that funeral for our fallen comrades, I can’t help but think about things we forget to celebrate while still alive.”
The room quieted into softer murmurs.
Kestrel pivoted toward Flint. “Take my furious friend here. Flint.”
Chuckling, Flint raised his cup.
“You asked me to write something epic to sing at your funeral. And it just so happens that I did. But I thought, since your funeral won’t be for many, many, many years—”
A few crew members laughed, offering mocking remarks.
Kestrel waited just long enough for them to quiet down. “I’m going to perform it right now.”
The crew erupted in cheers. Tankards rattled as fists pounded the tables. Flint’s scarred face cracked into a half-pleased, half-expectant smirk.
Kestrel launched into his song, voice rising and falling in theatrical waves as he spun verses about Flint the Furious.
Flint the Fearsome. Flint the Frenzied. How he roamed the sky and stalked the land, haunting those who’d wronged him.
Every line painted the pirate as a nightmare, a warrior whose very shadow struck fear into his enemies.
Everyone laughed and clapped along. Flint laughed loudest of them all, slapping the table in approval.
My gaze drifted across the man’s weathered features. The scars, the perpetual scowl, the rough edges. Beneath all that, I’d glimpsed something else. Something gentler.
Flint the Kind.
I smirked at my poor attempt at a nickname. I clearly lacked Kestrel’s talent for alliteration on the spot.
But what hid beneath Flint’s surface didn’t matter. The rough exterior was what people saw. He’d successfully wrapped himself in a stony hide.
That’s what I needed to do.
Kestrel finished with a flourish, bowing low as crew and strangers alike roared their approval. He dropped back into his seat beside Flint and me, breathing hard but grinning.
Flint clasped his shoulder. “Now that’s what I call crackin’ epic. Would’ve been a blast as a funeral song.”
Kestrel’s expression softened. “Yes, but why wait to celebrate someone until they’re gone? Isn’t it better to tell people how much they mean while they’re still alive?”
The two exchanged grins, Kestrel’s wide and bright, Flint’s crooked and scarred.
His words stirred something in my chest—memories from Celebration Week in Mother’s honor. All those speeches praising her wisdom, her grace, her beauty. What good did they do? They should have told her while she was still alive. I should have told her how much she meant before—
I shoved the thought aside and drained the rest of my tankard.
As crew members sauntered off to bed, Flint, Kestrel, and I remained at our table, surrounded by empty mugs and the low crackle of the hearth.