Chapter 38
the rotted barns,
the fallow fields,
the piping call of lean birds
legacy, legacy, legacy
—What Is Born Beyond Blades, Heartshamer
Morning. A horse thunders across the square, trailing half a cart behind it, its owner an arm-span behind. Shipwright watches it go with a flicker of amusement. Hesper.
The dip of the horse’s spine masks Fallon for the briefest second as he descends the tower stairs into the courtyard.
Not looking too bad, all in all, broad shoulders rolling in the shadow and a blackwood cane just enough of a sop for the physickers’ clucking.
Never handsome, but just sometimes, he was so much that you couldn’t help but admire him.
The bubble bursts as he sways at the bottom of the stairs. She hurries forwards and offers an arm. He takes it and pulls her in with surprising strength, planting a kiss on her cheek. ‘My smooth moves worked, I see.’
She sticks her tongue out at him. ‘Your moves have never worked. And they’ve never been smooth.’
He nods cheerfully. ‘Still got myself a good one.’
She smiles wistfully. ‘That you did.’ Only the briefest pang in her heart today. ‘How is she this morning?’
‘Resting,’ he replies, his eyes scanning the courtyard. ‘Like I’m supposed to be. Fuck happened here?’
‘Stray cart,’ Shipwright says. ‘Overexcited horse.’
Fallon tuts. ‘I’m in bed two weeks and the city literally falls apart.’ He walks over, pushes the debris with his cane.
‘Overexcited my arse, that’s a horny stallion. You can smell it in the piss. This time of year, all they want to do is mount something.’ He picks up a shattered urn, sniffs. ‘Not pull carts of sour Midlands wine.’
‘Reminds me of someone,’ Shipwright murmurs.
He grins. ‘Because you’re such a shy violet. How do you not break that skinny little ghost?’
She taps the side of her nose. ‘Trade secrets.’
He laughs and she smiles. It feels good to talk shit again.
She claps an arm around his shoulders, ‘So what are we up to this morning? Other than adding hot air to this hot air?’ She fans herself, pointlessly.
‘Sweaty as a boar’s tit, isn’t it? I thought you and Shroud might want the tour. It’s been a few years since you were here after all. Plus, we should get you fitted out if you’re heading north. Then maybe lunch? There’s a place I want you to check out.’
She frowns. ‘What kind of a dive is this? Knives out?’
He shakes his head. ‘Arses out at worst. It’s practically civilised.’
She waits as he stops to speak with the stable hand who has stopped, doubled over, a while down the road. Some coin changes hands, and Fallon thumps him on the back consolingly. The man’s legs buckle a little.
She watches him with a smirk as he rejoins her. ‘You soft-hearted old man.’
He taps the cane on the back of her legs. ‘I prefer benevolent ruler, thanks.’
‘I call it like I see it, Declan. You never change.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Part of my ineffable charm.’
The street widens as they exit the square, pushing down through the forested slopes of Bitterhaven and the hillsides dotted with pillared houses, their empty windows looking out to sea.
Shipwright feels a tug in her heart as she remembers an evening of firelight, dark sea and strong drink among the pines.
‘Emptier than last time I was here.’
‘So what? I like the quiet.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘Fine, I don’t, but don’t push me on this, Ship. Do you have any idea how hard it is to sell real estate at the moment?’
He slips a coy expression on his face. ‘So beautiful, so spacious. So regal. And what happened to the previous owners?’ His voice changes. ‘Oh, they were rendered into strips by a psychopath bitch made of crows.’ He mimes horror. ‘Perhaps we’ll look elsewhere.’
Shipwright frowns. ‘I’m sorry Declan.’
He rolls his shoulders. ‘I’m not. One day those houses are going to be full of drunk idiots and noisy fucking and fat babies, and I’ll be drinking out her skull. I’m a patient man. I can wait.’