The owl shuddered in her pocket, and Tes amended the thought. She could find someone else to fight for her. Bex and Calin were sellswords. Someone had hired them. But the city was full of strong magicians with loose morals. Maybe she could hire one of her own. Of course, the shal was the place to do that, and she couldn’t go back there. It was the first place they’d be looking for her.
Tes buried her fingers in her curls.
She wanted to scream. Instead, she turned and kicked the nearest crate, as hard as she could, and then she did scream, a little, in pain if not frustration. She was still rubbing her foot when she heard a voice nearby say, “Well, if it isn’t our illustrious captain.”
Tes turned, and saw the telltale shine of Antari magic.
It twined through the air, the color of moonlight but twice as bright, so bright it almost blurred the figure at its center. But as the threads shifted and danced, Tes saw the tall woman approaching a ship, whip thin, dark hair cut knife-sharp along a pointed chin. She knew her, at once.
Delilah Bard.
One of the strongest magicians in the world.
And unlike the crimson prince for which Vares had been named, Lila Bard was known for using her power, as if hungry for an excuse to put it on display. There was a rumor she’d even fought in the last Essen Tasch, disguised as Stasion Elsor. The real Stasion Elsor was from a port town near Hanas and spent the next year telling anyone who would listen that a strange woman had stolen his identity, and his spot in the final games. Whether or not it was true, everyone said that she was just as good with a blade as blood, or any of the elements. And she was always spoiling for a fight.
And Tes knew then, she’d found her champion.
Delilah Bard stood in her silver shine, one boot lifted on a crate and her head tipped back, chatting with an older man on the deck of the dark-hulled ship. Tes retreated a few steps, into the shadow between boxes.
“Aw, poor Stross, drew the short stick, did you?”
“Nas,” the deckhand grunted. “I volunteered. Let the newlyweds wander off. What about you? Food in the palace not to your taste?”
“Bed’s too soft,” said Bard, rolling her neck. “But Alucard sends his regards.” She kicked the hull. “What have you done to the Barron?”
“Took off a month of salt and grit. You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t say I liked it. She looks despicably decent.”
“Are we leaving port?” asked the deckhand, sounding hopeful.
“Not yet,” she said. “Just came to fetch something.”
“Hey Captain,” said a second, younger man, as Bard started up the ramp, “how long are we stuck here?”
“Till the job’s done. What’s wrong, Tav, not enough brothels in our fair capital?”
“I get dock-sick,” said the younger. “A ship’s not meant to be tied up like this.…”
“Funny,” said Bard. “I thought I hired sailors.…”
With that, she vanished aboard the ship. Tes chewed her nails, and waited several painful minutes, hoping Bard would reemerge. She did, tucking something into an inside pocket of her coat. She strolled down the ramp again, silver threads dragging like star trails in her wake, and Tes followed.
It was a perfect plan, really. Delilah Bard didn’t even have to know. If Bex and Calin were out there, they’d come for Tes. She just had to make sure she was standing close to Lila when they did.
* * *
“How many times are you going to do that fucking spell?”
Bex didn’t look up as another dark curl burned to nothing over the map. “Until I find the girl.”
It was morning, and the Saint of Knives was almost empty at this hour, save for a man who was either sleeping, or dead, and a trio playing a rather subdued game of Sanct. Calin slumped in a nearby chair, nursing his headache with a bottle of spirits. That was the worst of his injuries—the upside to having such a thick skull.
A bowl of stew sat at Bex’s elbow, the contents long cold beneath a film of grease. She was grateful she couldn’t smell them. She’d set her broken nose, bound her wrist, and stitched up her hand where Berras’s blade had gone straight through. It was hardly the first time she’d had to sew herself back together, but she needed both hands to do the spell, and every time, the stitches pulled and the splintered bones in her wrist sent white-hot sparks of pain up her arm.
Calin grunted, and offered her the bottle of strong spirits.
Any other time, she would have thought it poisoned. Today she knew it wasn’t, but still, the gesture rankled her. Let him dull his pain. She preferred to sharpen hers into a point. She waved the spirits away.