The Pony circled toward the fields north of Azantiia, preparing to dock.
As the ship turned, so did Shiya. The bronze woman’s face swung in the opposite direction. She even shifted to the other window, forcing him to stumble out of her way. She fought to keep staring toward the cliffs of Landfall.
What is she doing?
Then it dawned on him. He finally recognized what had been troubling him all morning. Throughout this trip, she had seldom said a word, a few one-or two-word comments, mostly expressing urgency toward some goal known only to her. For the past two days, she had always stared to the west. Rhaif had told him about this peculiarity of her behavior and his belief that whatever Shiya was seeking lay in that direction.
Only over the course of this long morning, Shiya had begun to turn, like the shadow of the sun shifting across the dial of the yearlong clock at the center of Kysalimri. Her face had swung, tick by tick, shifting from due west until now she looked to the east. It was even more apparent as the Pony circled to land.
What had changed?
He approached her as she stood at the window. She stared off past the cliffs toward the ancient greenwood of Cloudreach. Farther in the distance, he could just make out the highest tier of this land, nearly swallowed by the clouds, the Shrouds of Dalal??a.
As the wyndship circled to land, Shiya continually turned to maintain her view east.
“What’s wrong?” he muttered, more to himself than her.
Still, she answered without looking his way. “We must go back.”
“Where?”
She went silent again.
“Shiya, where do you want to go?” he pressed.
She continued to ignore him. Still, the hues of her naked skin stirred more fiercely, expressing her agitation.
Fearing something was dreadfully wrong, Pratik turned to the cabin door.
Where is Rhaif?
33
“HOW?” RHAIF ASKED as he was marched at knifepoint down the Pony’s central corridor toward his cabin. That one word held a number of questions: How could Llyra be here? How had she found him? What was her plan for them all?
Llyra kept behind him, keeping the point of her dagger at his left kidney. She had forced him out of the commons after collecting his basket of warm cheese and bread, which she carried in the crook of her left arm. She clearly didn’t want him attempting to use the basket as a weapon.
As he continued down the passageway, a stream of blood ran down his back and along the crack of his arse cheeks.
“How did you find us?” he asked, settling on this one question among the many rattling in his head. The last time he had seen the guildmaster she had been manning the blockade at the edge of the Boils.
“I nearly did not, not until the last moment,” she said with an irritating level of calmness. “Over the years, I had forgotten how shrewd and slippery you could be.”
“Years I lost because you betrayed me to Archsheriff Laach.”
She shrugged, dragging the blade higher, slicing deeper. “Such a betrayal served to further ingratiate me with Laach, a relationship that has served the guild well over the past two years.”
“Ah, then I should be grateful I was so helpful,” Rhaif said, almost respecting her ruthless practicality. He half glanced back at her. “But you still haven’t told me how you ended up here.”
“Back at the Boils, word reached me about a clutch of Klasheans leaving a whoremonger’s house, a place that backed against the one I torched. Only then did I recall a dark face hidden next to yours when I ran into you at Anvil’s gaols. I was so startled at the time I failed to add weight to that circumstance.”
Rhaif pictured both Pratik’s countenance and the flames dancing across the rooftops as they fled to the streets.
“Unfortunately, that word reached me too late, especially as a certain carriage had already slipped past my barricade. I only had time to mount a swift horse and dash after you. Gauging the time of night, I estimated you were trying to reach a wyndship. To stop you, I dashed headlong up Jagg’d Road toward Eyr Rigg.”
Rhaif remembered how long it had taken their carriage to climb that path’s switchbacks. Other horses had indeed swept past their foundering carriage, carrying lone couriers or late passengers.
One of them must have been Llyra.
“I ended up boarding the wyndship bearing the Klashean Arms, mistaking that for your destination.” The dagger point dug deeper. “From that ship, I watched a group of robed figures rush from a carriage and aim for a craft bearing the curled horns of Aglerolarpok. I cursed you so loudly that I’m surprised you didn’t hear me. Still, I disembarked and made it aboard here just before the mooring lines were tossed. And lucky I did.”
Rhaif pushed down the rise of guilt at the fiery destruction of the other ship. But it seemed more lives were to be laid at his feet.
“To search this ship unseen,” Llyra said, “I heeded your guidance. I followed a trio of Klasheans, broke into their room, and quickly dispatched them. I then borrowed a byor-ga to keep hidden.”
Rhaif briefly closed his eyes, wondering how much bloodier his hands could get. “And this unscheduled landing at Azantiia?”
“I sent a ship’s skrycrow diving toward the city last night, letting them know who was aboard. Word returned this morning, ordering the craft to land and prepare to be searched.” Llyra shifted closer. “And until that happens, I intend to make sure you stay put and never leave my sight.”
Rhaif had reached his cabin, recognizing he was defeated. But he held out one hope, and it lay beyond his door. He keyed it open and let Llyra shove him through. As she shadowed him inside, she kept hold of the neck of his robe and the blade at his back.
Pratik took a step toward him, his face lined with worry—then away again when he spotted the fully draped figure accompanying him. “What is this?” he asked, repeating the same in Klashean, mistaking Llyra’s identity: “Byr se quaan?”
Llyra ignored him and gasped instead at the sight of the cabin’s other occupant. She stopped Rhaif a few steps past the door’s threshold.
Rhaif used her momentary shock at the naked figure of bronze to speak. “May I introduce Shiya,” he said. “Shiya, this is Llyra hy March, guildmaster of thieves.”
Pratik took another step away, now recognizing the threat standing behind Rhaif.
Shiya cocked her head toward them, blinked once, then casually turned back to the window.
So much for a bronze warrior queen rushing to my rescue.
Outside, the ship tilted enough to bring the approaching mooring fields into view.
Llyra never loosened her grip on his collar. She rapidly collected herself. “Amazing. I had no idea the breadth of this wonder,” she muttered. “I see now why you stole it.”
Rhaif heard the avarice in her words and tried to bend it to his advantage. “It’s worth a king’s ransom. A ransom even more valuable if we split such a bounty two ways.” Pratik frowned at him, so he corrected himself. “Or even three ways.”
Llyra remained quiet, contemplating his suggestion, surely weighing her options. She could kill them all and try to abscond with the treasure on her own. But she had already overplayed her hand by alerting Azantiia. For any hope of stealing this prize, she would need their help. She could always dispatch them later. Of course, the easiest and safest choice would be to stick to her current plan and hand the prize over to the legions in Azantiia, where she would collect some meager reward for her service.