34. THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FOUR
FANKALO
Location: South Sea
The lowsun was clawing golden streaks across the horizon when Fankalo finished an over-long shift, only to be summoned to an unexpected meeting in the resource room.
Mitek waited for her, tanned boots kicked up on the table, shining hair strewn over one shoulder, newly grown mustache perfectly primped and waxed.
He flipped a dagger over his head like he was trying to lodge it into the ceiling with a toss.
By the marks in the wood above, he probably was.
Idiot. When he saw her, he flashed his usual thousand-mile grin.
“You called?” she grumbled.
It was late in the summer, and the day had been saltier and stickier that one of Cam’s whores.
They’d plundered as much as the ship could reasonably hold, but still had a full day until they reached Casowhatan to sell their wins.
Her motivation to do anything besides close her eyes in a hammock was as nonexistent as the ocean was wet.
“I have a present for you.”
“You know how I feel about presents.”
“You’re going to like this one.” Mitek’s eyes glinted and he extended pinched fingers, like he might be handing her a pebble. “Eah?” He waggled them back and forth.
It probably was a fated pebble. She wouldn’t put it past Mitek to get excited over a shiny rock. Fankalo stretched out her hand. He planted a pill on her palm.
Her brows pinched. “What is it?”
“It’s an encapsulation.”
“Of?”
“Poisons.”
Her mouth quirked. “Hmm. Who are we taking out?”
His grin widened. “It’s for you.”
She flicked it back at him. “Stop fucking around.”
Mitek chased it across the floor and pocketed it. “You remember Shanlea?”
How could she ever forget the Chira’nanian girl with bigger tits than any fourteen-year-old had a right to? Mitek had disappeared with her every hour of their final week in port.
“Her father was an alchemist. She said he took a daily encapsulation to build up a tolerance to certain poisons in case of accidental exposure.” Amazing that he’d heard a single word that had come out of her mouth, considering the distracting factors. “And I’ve seen you lately.”
Her stomach clenched. She was aware of the way her skin had started to cling to bone with little in between. She wasn’t sure if it was because food turned to ash in her mouth or because she was terrified everything had been tainted again.
“I’m listening.”
“My tutor and I rounded out the most common list of poisons and abstracted their non-toxic doses. Thirteen in all. Take this every day for two months and you’ll resist damaging doses of any of them. Then you can keep the same effect with one every ten-day.”
That was a lot of alchemy for Mitek to digest. He would have needed to gather those ingredients during their last landfall—nearly a full moon ago.
“You’ve tested this?”
“Nope.”
“Who were you planning on using as a subject?”
His face screwed up as he looked up at his fresh dents in the woodwork. “Hadn’t thought that far yet.”
Of course he hadn’t. She clucked her tongue. “Let me see it.”
Pill back in hand, she settled into a meditative state and followed the tendrils of her Luck.
She focused on the encapsulation. The impression twitched, warning her away, but…
it wasn’t lethal. The longer she focused on it, the longer she saw the negative impression solidifying into a positive thread.
The first week or two would have some unpleasant side-effects, but compared to living in fear of eating, it was well worth the cost.
“This… this is good.”
Mitek’s arms punched skyward. “Fucking brilliant, yeah? I’m going to take them too.”
She held the pill up to the light from the porthole to get a better look at the powder inside. “What’s the expense in synthesizing them?”
Mitek rubbed at his neck .“Ah, costly.”
“How costly?”
“Ten silver notes apiece. Less if we make them in bulk.”
Fankalo swore. They’d have to rob the Blue Wing’s armada to afford them for the entire crew.
Mitek seemed to read her mind. “I intended them for us, and to keep quiet about it. Just so we could stay in the clear.”
“Hmm. Agreed. Better that potential threats don’t know we take them.”
“My thoughts exactly. There’s something else I wanted to show you.” He pulled a vial of a burnt-orange liquid from his pocket and set it on the table between them. “I’ve invented something. This is veilstrike.”
Mitek was usually excited about something, but this restrained, confident enthusiasm was new. She inadvertently leaned in closer.
“It stays dormant in the bloodstream until it metabolizes and is pulled into the liver. As the body tries to detoxify it, it releases components that will slowly coagulate the blood until it stops the heart. I haven’t tested it on a person, but based on what we’ve done in practice and with what I’ve learned of human circulation, I’d guess it would result in fatality within ten minutes from detoxification. ”
“And how long is its dormancy?”
“As long as three days.”
Unholy Chaos. She remembered seeing bruises and bandages on his forearms the whole week before. He’d been letting his own blood for this.
Fankalo picked up the vial and swirled its contents. It held all the innate beauty of anything lethal. “Your gift-giving game has improved, Mitek.”
“I figured we could drench our tanka bits in it. In the case of an emergency or an attack. Or if we required a clandestine elimination.”
She handed the vial back to him. “You do that. I don’t need poison bits when my shots hit where I want them to.”
He shrugged and pocketed it. “Suit yourself. It can be my trick card.”
Mitek had always felt about as threatening as any good puppy. He’d never taken an interest in anything that wasn’t dicking off. But since the mutiny, he’d developed an edge. “You like this alchemy stuff, eah?”
He returned to flipping his knife into the ceiling. “It’s neat.”
“It is. Keep working on it.”
“Your orders, Captain.” The words were stamped by superfluous salute.
Calver suddenly pushed through the door into the resource room. Mitek’s spine straightened as if it had been drawn up on a hook.
Calver’s eyes shone brighter than they had in the three months since they had found him. Fankalo settled into the currents of her Luck and felt him there, a steady light like he once had been. She restrained herself from latching onto him—or the hope that he had finally come around.
“Yes?”
She frowned. Several heartbeats passed before she understood he was asking about her name.
He had learned rudimentary signaling, but his memory seemed to lag in the places most people required to function.
He still spent his days in her cabin, intermittently reading and exercising, refusing interaction.
“It’s the name I was given by my father, Captain Alberous Keane.”
He winced, like her words caused him pain.
The last time Calver had been present like this, Cul’Mon had come for him. But this time they were in Nelfinden waters, skimming the coastline between Chira’na and Gembolta. How long could she keep him with her before he disappeared again?
“What do you need?”
Was he angry? She couldn’t tell from that blank expression.
She’d told him a dozen times how she was shifting the narrative: dissociating Calver from the Shadewalker for his protection, but making use of his reputation.
The crew had been instructed to propagate the name. To build an icon. He hadn’t reacted.
“It’s not your mark any more. You’re not the Shadewalker. You are my bodyguard. My reaper.” And Calver, as he was, couldn’t carry the mantle of what she wanted to build.
Mitek’s chuckle was scornful. “First sign of reason he’s shown.”
It was remarkable how quickly she could flip from appreciating Mitek to wanting to shove her boot so deep down his throat, it would kick him where it counted. “And it’s the first time you’ve shown the spine to grumble about him to his face. Done it enough behind his back, haven’t you?”
Mitek’s expression fell. “I’m just protecting our own. Shadewalker. Brother. Reaper. Call him what you want, he’s a fucking accident waiting to—”
“He’s one of our greatest assets. You’re in a position of authority now, and the crew listens. I need you to remind them he’s with us. Not raise concerns.”
She had to honor the once-boy who now wore the Shadewalker’s skin. He was right in front of them, stone-still, eyes hard on the floor.
Fankalo waved a hand. “We’ll talk about this later.”
Mitek scowled. “Fates, the moment he enters a room, you change. Like he catches you in his gloom. I know you still think you can bring him back. But is it worth it?”
“You’re my brother, too. You tell me.”
Calver shifted.
Mitek moved for the door. “I’ve got grappling with Naru. See you in the galley later.” He nodded towards the pill, still in her hand. “You’re going to want to take that with something already in your stomach.” He tromped from the room, door clacking heavily behind him.
Fankalo brought her fingers to her temples. Mitek had come a long way in very little time since his promotion—he’d progressed through studies faster than she’d anticipated—but he’d struggled to drop the habit of giving her hell at every turn.
Calver asked, picking up right where he’d left off.
“Using the Shadewalker to build a following?”
His nod was stiff. He was angry. She’d filled him in on this plan for months; he’d been catatonic. Now, struck with a lightning bolt of perception, he suddenly wanted to argue?
“I’m building a resistance. We’re going to avenge all of Kaidech,” she lied. “Our mother.”
If she didn’t plot against the Tera’thians, no one would.
They already controlled half of Kath. With a Ruxian at their command, they would be invincible.
She had two options: find Kotar Avelius—and by extension, Methu’su—and learn how to distort herself, or gain enough support to cut off the Tera’thians before they achieved their goal.