Chapter 26
“Welcome to Storm,” I say, kneeling beside the bench where a young boy sits, a blanket drawn tightly around his frame. He smiles as I press a mossy-green dragonstone shard into his palm. The edges bite into my skin, yet the fragment is weightless compared to the burden in his muted eyes.
Stiller than stone, he says nothing.
Nimbusport’s marina wears the weather like a grey shawl.
Fishing boats sway against damp, algae coated lines, their planks black and sea-slick.
Above us, gull cries are thin and sharp, dragged out by a gustless, salty wind.
The dark skies offer an omen for another storm, and I shudder against the electric chill.
“Go on,” Thaye murmurs, her presence a quiet anchor beside me. “Take it.”
My stomach twists when he finally plucks it from me with trembling fingers, chin dipping in a shy bow. “Thank you, miss.”
“Make an offering at the Motherwood,” Thaye says. “Obdiris will bless you.”
We move along the line of trauma-stricken refugees, placing fragments in their open palms. Each is a silent promise of hope in waiting hands.
Some look at me with startled wonder, others with faint, guarded suspicion. One woman stretches out a shaking palm and clutches the dragonstone without a word, eyes brassy like tarnished gold.
“It’ll be okay,” I whisper. “You’re safe here.”
She nods and slips through the crowd waiting to follow Thaye’s lead up to the temple. My feet ache for a rest, but we’ve been passing out offerings to rain-soaked strangers, seeking shelter from their native factions, all morning, and the line off the boat hasn’t grown any smaller.
“There’s a second ship coming into port this afternoon,” Thaye says, plucking another shard from her pouch. “Once we’ve finished up here and gotten this group settled at the temple, we’ll come back to collect them.”
A cool, humid mist rolls in off the water, carrying the distant creak of rigging. My eyes land on a man wearing a torn crimson cloak, and recognition presses in on my ribs. “These people are from Smoke…”
“Seeking refuge from the slave districts, I’d imagine,” Thaye replies quietly, her tone measured and precise. “We hold their past in anonymity, but you’ll come to find most bear scars on their backs.”
“Oh…” I whisper, fighting the earth’s spin against my feet.
Keep your shit together, Nova. A quick reminder that I’m here, I’m free, goes unheard though.
My own scars sting like they’re fresh as I move down the last few in line.
The terror in their eyes strikes through me as acutely as if it were my own.
My pulse booms in my ears, but I swallow it, desperate for a distraction from past traumas now boiling to the surface.
With each offering, I catch a flicker of hesitation in Thaye’s gaze. She isn’t watching the refugees, but me. When our eyes lock, she shifts in her boots.
“I was unsure if I should let you join me this morning,” she says as I place a shard into the palm of an aging man. His grip tightens around the stone with a swift thank you, and he, too, disappears into the crowd.
“Why?” I ask, not turning to her. The tide laps against wooden docks and stone piers in time with the building thrum of pressure against my temples.
“I wasn’t sure how you’d react. Smoke leaves a mark on its people, and I thought it might follow you here. This piece of our service shows us the brutality of our world, the cruelty of human nature.”
“It hurts seeing them…there are so many faces just like my own here, I…”
“You were a slave?” Her nostrils flare as she places a hand on my shoulder. I fight the reaction to jerk away. “Nova, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“Just as all orphans in Smoke are. I was passed around for a couple years before I was purchased by the man who raised me.”
“Gods, I shouldn’t have brought you with me…” Thaye shifts close enough that the warmth of her presence melts the frost coating my cheeks.
“No, I’m glad you did. If I can provide them the comfort I never received…” The words wrap their claws around my throat and tighten.
“Are you sure? I understand if this is too difficult. There are plenty of other chores to be done today.” Her concern draws a cramp in my already aching side.
“I’m fine. I promise,” I whisper, but there’s a high pitched ringing in my ears that suggests otherwise.
In truth, I’m barely clinging on by a thread.
My heart thuds in my throat and I’m glazed in a sweat that refuses to break.
How can I run away now, though? Thaye and I are the first kind faces these refugees see when they step off the gangway.
Total uncertainty lingers like an impasse before them, and I’m supposed to what—drift back to plush linens and fresh pastries like none of this touches me anymore?
What would that make me? A survivor or a coward?
Fuck. My clothes scrape against my skin too tightly, and my hands refuse to steady, but I swallow my own selfish needs and focus.
The last child in line, a blonde girl no older than twelve, shivers in the blistering breeze. Her eyes shine with something like defiance.
Gods, she could be me with that little snarl and rage-fueled expression. Her fury is a mirror to my own, a reflection of the anger I’ve carried my whole life, taut and volatile like the snapping lines on the pier behind us.
My heart clenches, and for a moment, I hover over her fingers, remembering a younger version of myself—smaller, angry, and afraid. Her tear-streaked face, smudged with grime, is both terrified and hungry. Just as mine was. Her blonde hair is matted and greasy. Just like mine.
My lungs retract before I allow myself a breath.
“Take this,” I whisper, placing my last shard into her hand. “It’s nowhere near enough, but it’s something.”
“I don’t want it,” she bites.
“What?” My shoulders tense. The sky darkens further and a low hum whistles between buildings, like the storm god himself breathes judgement down on me. “Please, you can offer it at the Motherwood. Obdiris will bless you.”
“Fuck his blessing, and fuck you,” she seethes, canines drawn into a snarl. “Obdiris can’t bring my family back or heal these scars on my back, can he?” My lips thin and she shakes her head in response. “That’s what I thought.”
“Look, I know how you’re feeling right now. You’re angry, and have every right to be, but let the priestesses help you. They can’t erase what you’ve been through, but they can give you a new life.” I take a knee beside her and lock on to her vibrant gaze.
“You know nothing about me. I don’t want a new life,” she says, lips trembling. “I just want them back.”
Fuck, I can’t breathe, can’t look her in the eye.
How do I tell her this rage she feels now will never cease?
Or that the scars she wears on her back will be a constant reminder of everything stolen?
It’ll be okay. You’ll learn to live with the pain.
You’ll be happy again. None of these comforts are grounded in truth.
I swallow the hot bile on my tongue and reach for her palm.
“Nothing I can say or do will make this okay,” I whisper. “But I promise you, a life in the temple is far better than anything in Smoke, okay?”
She wipes the tears streaking her cheeks. “Fine.”
I fold her fingers over the dragonstone and guide her to other refugees.
She’ll be okay, I tell myself, but I know it’s a lie. The truth is salted and wet with rain. None of these people will, because the damage has already been done. The trauma, the grief, is as permanent as the scars…just as mine is. I rise from my feet, stiff and controlled, and stand beside Thaye.
“Are you alright, Nova?” She scans my features.
“Yes,” I murmur, but it’s nowhere near convincing. The blonde girl wraps her overcoat tighter and disappears through a break in the group. I watch her golden little head until I no longer see it, then flick my eyes to the ground.
“Why don’t you take the afternoon and we’ll regroup tomorrow morning?” Thaye offers me a sad, understanding smile.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Nova…” Her ice blue eyes rally with mine. “You don’t have to be.”
“I said I’m fine. I need to help them, okay? Please, just let me help.”
She grows silent for a moment but nods her head. “Okay. Let’s get them checked into medical, then.”
Once we’ve led the group back up to the temple, I search for the girl once more. My heart lurches when her little eyes lock on mine, terrified and angry.
The world stops spinning, and the overcast skies crack. Thaye catches my wavering balance before I fall.
Nausea whips through me.
I can’t breathe.
Maybe my heart’s stopped.
I don’t know anymore.
Not when those adolescent eyes, supposed to be filled with innocent wonder youthful life, are as grey and faded as the cloud cover. She’ll be okay, I repeat to myself, but I’m not sure if I’m still referring to the girl anymore.
My vision tunnels when Thaye wraps her arms around me. “Nova, I need you to go get some rest. I promise you, I can handle this myself.”
“No, I’m fine. I just need a moment,” I reply, fighting the tears welling in my eyes.
“Look at me.” She draws her palms to my shoulders and tips my gaze up. “You are not fine. If they see you like this, they’ll panic. It’s okay if you can’t handle this. Go home. Get something to eat. Rest. You’ve done enough today, I swear it.”
Everything outside of our locked eyes disappears, but my heart still pounds on my temples with a relentless force.
“I’m—”
“If you say you’re fine one more time, I’ll have you escorted home,” she snaps.
“Okay. I’ll go,” I say, sputtering on defeat, or guilt, I’m not sure which.
“I will see you in the morning,” she says, slow and steady.
“The morning…” I repeat solely because my tongue is incapable of anything else.
“Good,” she whispers.
I linger a moment longer, letting the sounds of the temple fill me—the hush of mumbled conversation, the groans of the Motherwood, even the distant, sorrowful cry of a gull.
Each is a small stubborn proof that life persists.
I find myself cataloguing each face like contraband.
All of these people, just like the shards of dragonstone they now carry, are little fragments of me.
Maybe we collectively form something tired and broken.
Maybe we’ll never really be whole, even amongst each other.
My head spins, my heart breaks.
I leave Thaye and the refugees in silence. The storm on the horizon creeps closer like a rolling drum of pressure.
Nausea overwhelms me and I dart into the shadows of an alley before I spill my damned stomach in broad daylight. The pain and heartbreak so clearly etched on that little girl’s face seers in my mind, coming again every time I shut my eyes.
This rage coursing through me is raw, unfiltered death and when finally I’ve emptied my stomach of bile and breakfast, I wipe the tears and stand tall.