But Valick clearly knew his way.
She followed him down the stairs and through a corridor packed tight with rooms. More than once her steps slowed before a curtained alcove, hoping to steal a look at the contents within, but Valick’s voice called her on, around a corner, up one set of stairs and down another until they finally reached the only stretch of open space on board, the lower deck. The captain’s other nephew, Katros, leaned against the mainmast, carving a bit of wood into a Rasch piece. At the sight of Lila Bard, he straightened, eyes flicking once from the platform on the side of the ship where visitors were meant to board to the way from which she’d clearly come. But Lila’s gaze went straight to the deck.
Even in the lantern glow, she could see the damage. The stain of blood on the wooden boards, the fractal scorch of magic.
“What happened here?” she asked, following the tendrils of the shattered ward to a section of splintered rail. Katros and Valick both opened their mouths, but it was Maris who answered.
“I was robbed.”
She had clearly taken another route, and dressed on the way, trading the robe for a white linen tunic and pants, her silver hair pulled back into a braid. The old white dog trailed silently behind.
“Robbed?” Lila’s hand fell away from the rail. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
“It shouldn’t be,” said Maris, crossing her arms.
Lila wanted to ask how they’d done it, but questions were like coins to people like Maris, you had to be careful how you spent them. So instead, she asked the more pertinent question. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Three thieves came aboard my ship. One got away.”
Lila scuffed her shoe over the bloodstained deck. “And you want me to track them down?”
“The thief matters far less than the object they took—or who might have wanted to collect it.”
Katros held out a slip of paper with a drawing on it.
“It was damaged in the attack,” said Maris. “But it could still work.”
Lila studied the drawing. It looked like a detailed sketch of a box, its only decoration an iron ring set into its front. It looked simple enough, but when Lila was young, she’d stolen something that reminded her of it—a puzzle box, the kind designed to hide its own key. It was small and made of wood and brass, with pieces that slid and turned, hinges that shifted and clasps that would only come free if you moved all the bits in the right way and the right order.
It had taken her three hours to open that box.
The first two to try and solve the puzzle, the third to crush it with a rock.
This one looked basic enough, but then again, it was on the Ferase Stras. Not just that, but Maris cared enough for her to track it down, when it might not even work. Which meant the chance it did was enough to make the old woman call in her favor.
“What does it do?” asked Lila.
Maris sighed and gazed out past the ship, into the dark. It was a moonless night, the sea so black that they seemed to be floating in the sky. The old woman had a faraway shine in her eyes, and Lila had a feeling she was about to hear a story, whether she wanted one or not.
“Antari have always been rare. But there was a time when you could count them on more than one hand. A time when most people hadn’t only heard tell of their power, but seen it up close. Seen it, and wanted it for themselves. It’s hardly surprising. A drop of blood, a single phrase, and you can turn flesh to stone, can shatter walls, or seal them up, heal a mortal wound, or open doors within the world, and between them.”
“I’m well aware what I can do,” said Lila.
Maris shot her a warning look. “Everything you do can be done with a spell. That was the theory. So fabricators set out to design spellwork that could emulate your gifts.”
A bad feeling was beginning to curl in Lila’s gut, but this time, she didn’t interrupt.
“Antari magic,” continued Maris, “is the place where spell and element meet. It is simple, and elegant, and the craft needed to replicate it was none of those things. It was volatile, and complicated, and required devices to contain the magic, to keep the spells from falling apart, or unraveling in horrible ways.”
“But it worked,” guessed Lila.
“But it worked,” said Maris. “The object they stole is called a persalis. A doormaker.”
Lila’s bad feeling turned to horror. “Tell me this doesn’t make doors between worlds.”
“Thankfully, no,” said Maris. “Only Antari were ever able to manage that. But it does make doors within them. The iron ring in the front comes free and is used to mark the destination. The box creates a portal.”