2. Chapter 1
Chapter 1
A groan rolled from my throat as the bells clanged their morning call. Beside me, a moan echoed within the brief pauses of each peal.
“I regret everything! ” Lyana moaned.
She buried her face in my back while I grimaced and grabbed a pillow, pinning it against our ears. We waited until the bells went silent, each of us tense and stiff on our mattress, heads throbbing.
“I told you,” a heaving retch from across the room interrupted my complaint, “Degor messed up his spirits!”
Lyana whimpered and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me closer. “I only wanted to have fun,” she whined.
I gagged and rolled off the mattress. When I collided with the floor, I pushed myself upright. “Your breath reeks worse than rotting fish!”
Her eyes widened with pure betrayal. “Just because you didn’t drink doesn’t mean yours smells of roses, El!”
“Bet it smells better than yours!”
I snorted, then watched Ethyan vomit off the bell tower’s edge. More often than not, he deferred to his younger sister’s lead, proving age wasn’t the sole measure of leadership. Lyana possessed a natural talent for it, while he took on the role of protector, always accompanying her.
I befriended these two street rats when I left Landing’s End five years ago. Now, a few weeks shy of my twenty-first birthday, the seasons spent with them felt more like family than Kelsie’s brood ever had.
Ethyan collapsed in a heap, then threaded his tan fingers through his sweat-streaked sandy hair, giving it a tug. “Never again, Lyana. Never.”
“You say that every time,” she sighed .
She curled up under the flimsy blanket and burrowed as deep as she could into the thin mattress. Stuffed with dried grass, it wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but it beat sleeping on the floor.
I reclined against the stones, knitting my fingers behind my head as I gazed at the brass bell suspended several feet above. It swayed in a steady, slow rhythm, still easing from its morning call. Its rope extended down through the hole in the center of the floor. We made this place our home, a refuge where the incessant noise deterred other street rats. Up here, only the outer flooring remained from the tower’s construction. It lacked weatherproofing. It was deteriorating and noisy—but it was safe.
That much-needed sense of safety was one of the many reasons I’d yet to try spirits. Too often, I watched strangers, kind people, turn into monsters. I witnessed the exploitation of dozens due to their altered states of mind, leading to regrets and lifelong consequences. Booze wrecked too many lives for me to consider drinking for pleasure.
Ethyan coughed and rested his head against the sun-warmed stone. “If only El loosened up and had some fun.”
I scoffed, shrugging off the jab. “Someone has to watch out for you two.”
“Thank the gods you did! Did you see Degor? He was as mad as a dock cat, spitting and hissing like that!” He laughed, then pressed the heels of his palms to his temples, most likely an attempt to ward off a winning headache.
“Which gods would you be thanking?” Lyana mused. “Niena of Luck? We’re not close enough to El’s birthday for that. Perhaps Fiera of Greed?”
“Rumen of Fun.”
He snapped a glare at his sister, who cackled in response.
“Careful with that one,” I said. “He takes what he wants at the end of the story.”
“But his patrons have the best time!”
“Until the end.”
After a half-hearted sigh, I pushed myself off the floor and adjusted my trousers. They were far too short and my shirt wasn’t much better—tied together with a rope I salvaged from the docks. It wasn’t fancy, but it kept me covered. I found my boots and pulled them on, wiggling my toes past the holes.
“Well, thank you for saving our hides, El,” Lyana said as she wormed her way to the side of the mattress.
I straightened, lifting a single brow. “You were too far gone to notice.” Despite my abstinence from spirits, I found it amusing to watch these two partake, even if their drunken antics might eventually land us all in the slammer. “I’m off to relieve myself and perhaps relieve a few traders of their coin. I’ll meet you– ”
“ Ghehent , Elspeth.”
I froze.
That voice —it pulled me a million miles away. Dizzy and lightheaded, a strange, conflicting sensation of ice and fire surged through my veins. Ethyan cursed, his movements frantic as he scurried into the rafters. His sister shouted something, yet it all seemed distant, like an ocean’s murmur against the shore.
Slowly, I faced my mattress, where Lyana scrambled back on her hands and arse, brandishing a blade. Beyond our mat, a muscular figure clothed in darkness crouched on the wall’s ledge, one leg dangling toward the uneven wood planks.
When I met his calm blue gaze, my heart leapt into my throat. “It’s not my birthday.”
Smooth, Elspeth. Real smooth.
His mouth curved in a subtle smile, reigniting all my long-buried teenage emotions. He was as fit as ever. The only way up required scaling the tower or climbing the rope. He discarded parts of his dark leather armor, presumably for the climb, yet it didn’t diminish his bulk. He hadn’t aged a day since I last saw him.
Whereas I had changed quite a bit.
“You know him?!” Lyana’s disbelief and shock were evident in her strangled tone.
She edged against my shins, holding her blade at the ready. I had no doubt she could, and would, use it if necessary.
“Sainte.” His name was a breathy whisper on my lips.
He made no effort to move. Our gazes locked, assessing one another after years of absence. The world around me faded, like distant hills shrouded in mist.
“Scumbag!” Lyana shrieked, struggling to her feet. “You shriveled chunk of gutter dung! You’re worse than the entrails of a crab! The pox on your–”
“She knows of me?” Sainte asked, one dark brow rising in amusement.
Lyana aimed the blade at his crotch, ready to throw. “What did that heap of sea scum say?!”
My heart raced. Each frantic, stuttering beat sent pins and needles down my fingers. “Only good things,” I choked out, registering the fact that she didn’t understand High Wynter.
“Good things? Him? ” She whirled, her sun-colored hair whipping my face. Her features narrowed on me with rage-induced skepticism. “Girl, just say the word, and I’ll kill him. I swear.”
She spun back, positioning herself between us. Though shorter, her fierce demeanor was akin to a cornered wildcat. I glanced up at Sainte, his figure framed against the golden frizz of her hair.
He tipped his head, as if fascinated. “She has a low opinion of me.”
I drew in a deep breath, lifted my chin, then spoke in Common Muik to spite him. “She’s not the only one. ”
I was no longer the poor little girl he left five years ago. Well, ‘poor’ was an accurate description, but that broken, fragile person he once knew, was gone.
“Curse it all, El! What’s he saying?!” Lyana stomped her foot like some spoiled child.
I sniffed. “He refuses to speak the common tongue. It’s below him.”
Amusement dropped from his handsome face, and his brow pinched in thought.
I turned my back on him. He left me. And I outgrew that version of myself. “Meet me at the usual place,” I said to my friends.
Lyana’s tone was both perplexed and repulsed. “What about him?”
As I strode toward the opposite wall, I peered over my shoulder. “He’ll disappear. He always does.”
Sainte slid both legs to the wood planking and straightened, flashing a furious glare my way. No matter his agility, he couldn’t clear the gap at the tower’s center.
Ethyan cursed from his position up in the rafters, bowstring drawn and arrow nocked. “Don’t move, pretty boy. I’ll have you pegged like a hare on a spit before you can say, ‘Squash El’s heart.’”
I tipped my chin, giving him a small smile.
“Elspeth–”
Gods. No matter how long I fought to forget that voice, it resounded in my dreams every night. I ignored him and swung my legs over the aged wall. “She’s dead.”
Gravity embraced me. Wind snapped at my clothes and hair as I surrendered to the descent.
The fabric canopy caved with the impact of my weight, and I tumbled head over heels, grunting as my neck and back contorted in ways they weren’t designed for. The shopkeeper blurted a slew of curses as I scrambled to the overhang. I hit the ground at a run, but he still managed to pelt me with some rotten fruit—a sun-baked tomato by the sound of its withered splatter.
I sped toward the beach, pumping my legs as fast as I could. On nimble feet, I maneuvered through the crowd, spinning and dodging. I leapt over a cart, snatching a starfruit along the way. A wave of insults and slurs nipped at my heels, but I ignored them as my teeth sank into the sweet fruit.
He was here before my birthday?
As much as I’d like to believe he never found me after I ran away, I couldn’t lie to myself. Lyana and Ethyan quickly grasped that we had become nearly invisible on the day of my birth. We could pilfer or raid as we pleased, wander the slums ‘til dawn, or slip into a noble’s estate for the night. Regardless of the scheme’s audacity, it always worked out, and with a laugh to spare .
That mysterious luck had nothing to do with the goddess Niena, and everything to do with Sainte. He never showed himself, but I sensed him watching over me. Every year, I found it increasingly difficult to push the limits of his protection. It was a sick, twisted punishment. He would suffer by cleaning up my mess, or his precious princess would be harmed. Either way, it would hurt him, and that’s what I wanted.
My petty thoughts had me scoffing at myself. I was an adult. I should act like one. My steps slowed, and I came to a halt. The crowded market swarmed around me, but the path to the beach was clear. The warm golden sand beckoned me… but Sainte knew that was my safe space. I muttered a curse under my breath and turned on my heel. I would pick a few pockets, or perhaps venture into the slums, where I blended in better. Though, if Sainte had coin to spare, I’d be ratted out soon enough.
My gaze danced over the busy stalls. Vendors hawked their wares, shouting above one another. They kept a careful eye on potential customers and any riffraff that lurked about. I ducked into a small alcove between the stalls of a crystal merchant and fishmonger. We were close enough to the port that the catch was fresh, but still carried the pungent scent of the sea.
Where would Sainte not think to look for me? He never showed up early. Despite all the years I wished he’d stay longer, he arrived the morning of my birthday and left before nightfall. If anything, he was predictable.
“Oi, lass! Git!”
The fishmonger clearly had enough of my loitering and yanked a handful of my short hair, while hitting me with a bloody carcass. I yelped, freeing myself of his hold and wiped the slime from my shirt the best I could. With a vulgar gesture, I backed into the crowd and let its flow carry me.
I cut my hair right after I ran away. The orange was terrible, and I didn’t have the funds to keep up with the potions. So, I gave up coloring it and hacked it off, instead. I left enough length to manage a small braid on one side. The short plait was thick and messy, but was better than the two-toned disaster I had before.
The crowd carried me past the lewd district, and I hesitated in thought. It was early, yet women already exposed their goods to potential customers. Exhausted patrons stumbled out of makeshift huts pressed against the port walls. The streets bustled, though far less than the main market.
A safe place? No, but Sainte wouldn’t think to look for me here. I pulled myself out of the throng and stumbled into the lovers’ lane.
The fine hairs on the nape of my neck raised as if someone watched me, but surely Ethyan held that draw long enough to give me a head start.
That or he could have shot him in the leg.
Or arm.
Or crotch .
I wouldn’t be mad about any of those outcomes.
“Well hello there, girly.” A prostitute lifted a thin brow, appraising me as if I were her next meal.
I glanced her way and grimaced. Was it possible to catch a disease by just looking at someone? Her lips were bruised and swollen but painted red, as though that made them more attractive. She was plump, but her hand-me-down corset was so tight it creased her bust, as if it couldn’t support the sagging things any longer. Her hair was an unnatural purple shade, littered with mats that hadn’t been brushed out in gods knew how long.
I coughed, keeping hold of my coin purse. “A copper.”
“Oh honey, you’re not gonna have much fun with that.” Her leer lingered over my frame.
“I only need a few hours.”
“At a copper?!” She threw her head back and cackled.
I was desperate, not stupid. I would not throw all my coin at a whorehouse and not have any to bribe my way out of a guard’s hands later.
“Off to the hag district, sweets. Even the inexperienced cost more than that!”
So be it. “Where would that be?”
“You sure? You’ll catch more than just a bit of fun, if you catch my meaning,” she crooned, shuffling closer.
I gritted my teeth and held my ground as a musty-sweet scent rolled over me—cloying incense and cheap perfume hung about her like a cloud.
“Where?” My tone sharpened with my impatience.
“At the end, to the left.”
Her burst of laughter sprayed my face with spittle. Stuck between a scowl and a gag, I rushed off, hoping it didn’t appear as if I fled. With any luck, an old hag would gladly accept a coin and let me be, allowing me to wait out Sainte undisturbed. I doubted a hag would be up to any… promiscuous activities, anyway.
I kept my head down and pace quick. Neither patrons nor workers spared me a glance. Albeit the lewd district was a deadend, it was the best place to hide from good folk. Sainte probably fell under that description. He rescued a tiny, helpless child after all. Never mind that he crushed my heart and abandoned me. I couldn’t picture him walking through here, let alone taking advantage of the services offered.
Men had their needs, didn’t they? Ethyan often dallied with tavern wenches. I didn’t share in those desires, but weren’t all men alike? I’m sure a good handful were loyal to their wives.
That thought pulled at my frown. Sainte never spoke of a family. A wife. Babes. Surely, he didn’t have any.
I don’t know why I seemed to need convincing of that .
At the deadend, I turned left where a pair of suboptimal guards sat at a table smoking some suspicious herb, though the rank concoction in their drinks was far more unpleasant. They eyed me in passing and went back to their game of chance, happy to ignore me as much as I ignored them.
Old women slumped on stools and crates along the grime-covered street, backs propped against their little huts made of driftwood and scraps. As I strolled by, they barely stirred, their eyes mere slivers of interest. A handful appeared as still as statues, prompting me to question if they drew breath or had silently slipped into oblivion, and no one cared to move them. The smell certainly didn’t seem to belong to anything living.
A rasped word to my right pulled my notice. She was old—far older than I expected to find here. Her thin, wispy hair was grimy and peppered with lint. Her eyes were cloudy, and she lacked a good amount of teeth. Age spots flecked her face and scalp. Her hut was small, but large enough for two people to sit in… or do other things.
“A copper?” I murmured, stepping closer.
“Bless you.”
Her voice was as dry as the skin on her hands as she took the coin from my palm. Covered in a blanket from head to toe, she shuffled into her hut. I followed close on her heels, turning around to drop the cloth door into place.
“I simply want–”
Her sigh of relief cut my words short. When I turned, she lay sprawled on the bed. With a happy moan, she let the blanket fall aside, revealing every inch of her worn, withered, very naked body. A gag choked my throat, and I scrunched my eyes shut, knowing that image would haunt me for all my days.
“That’s not–” I hissed, clamping a hand over my face for good measure. “I simply want a seat!”
“I can,” she sucked in a slow, wheezing breath, “sleep through anything.”
“Fantastic,” I drawled.
After I cracked my eyes open, I grimaced, then pulled the blankets over her body. She was already snoring. I heaved a sigh and nudged her aside to make room. Before I sat, I eyed her makeshift mattress with a scrunched nose. It probably had things living in it I’d rather not see. Part of me was thankful for the weak lighting. Considering the stench, the sludge-slicked ground didn’t seem a safe bet either.
With a plethora of muttered profanities aimed at Sainte and the problems he caused, I perched on the bed’s edge. Hopefully, whatever diseases infested this place couldn’t travel through fabric. I’d need a soak in the ocean after this. Salt residue be damned. At least I’d be clean.