Wind flowers, p.17
Wind Flowers, page 17
But when a smile chased away the lingering smoke from her expression, relief flooded my veins.
“Naveen and I finished it this morning.” Deft fingers tugged the metal contraption from her pocket in a swift motion, the sapphire center gleaming in the midday sun. She pointed to the odd gears and shining antennas as she explained, her voice pitching higher as excitement and pride made her soar. “I had Naveen Qualify the stone to reverse the magnetic pull, and then I added a heat sensor…but now, the fae-stone will warn me when Ecei is near, so we can prepare, but she can’t track us directly. Our last location would have been Tsojo’s.”
Right where we wanted Ecei to go, my letter waiting for her. Now we just had to hope and pray to the Breath above she’d take the bait and not kill us for it.
I stroked my friend’s curls, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” Malina snorted as she leaned into the embrace, and for the first time since that night at the Crescent, things felt right again. Whole. Hopeful.
I should’ve listened to the changing wind.
* * *
A burnt-coral sky chased the setting sun as we reached the small city of Kisari, the only relatively large establishment left on this side of the Kawayama Mountains. But even from the outskirts, it was easy to tell that this place was barely a shell of its former self, the buildings crumbling beneath tangled walls of ivy and signs coated in thick layers of dust as the carriage rolled deeper into the streets.
By nightfall, we managed to reach the inner city, luckily finding a few lit streetlamps and people in rags hurrying about the town square as they settled for the night. But as we passed, they fixed us with dirty, hungry looks, assumptions and accusations written in their sunken stares.
I hated how the fancy stagecoach painted a target on our backs, but we had no other alternative if we were going to reach Nehir in time. So I stayed alert, scanning every face as we passed, searching for fellow thieves among the small crowds, or worse—people desperate enough to become one tonight.
Finally, the rickety creak of a nearby sign drew my attention, light pouring from the wide windows of a large wood-front building. The ivy had been beaten back here, only a few defiant tendrils reaching up toward the patched roof, and the front door stood sturdy on its hinges.
“The Frog Hollow Inn.” I squinted to read the uneven sign, the wood decaying in spots. It definitely seemed like a place toads would rest their slimy heads for the night. “Sounds cozy.”
“I don’t care, I just need to stretch.” Naveen popped his upper half out of the coach’s window, eyeing The Frog Hollow wearily.
“And eat.” Riku appeared next to me in a swift motion, too quiet for his own good.
“And sleep,” Kas whined loudly from within the stagecoach, his voice cracking over the word.
I sucked my teeth, contemplating. Something about the spot nibbled at the back of my mind, a warning I couldn’t quite make out despite my fluency in the language of danger. But it was unlikely that we were going to find a better option any time soon, and my back had knots on top of knots. The other Lost Ones were fighters, but they were still young. Still growing. We needed a break.
“Fine. The Frog Hollow it is.” I tugged the reins, directing the horses around the corner to a small stable behind the building.
By the time we had them boarded and the carriage emptied, my stomach rumbled like thunder, demanding immediate attention and erasing any doubts I’d had about stopping. I’d gone hungry before, but after years of comfort in the Treehouse, my gut seemed to have forgotten what it could handle.
“Do you think we can get more than one room tonight?” Irina asked me quietly as she stepped out of the carriage, her gray cloak wrapped tightly around her despite the relatively warm evening.
I opened my mouth to respond, parts of me roaring with victory that she decided to talk to me directly, not just through sideways comments or reactive jabs.
“No,” Malina interrupted before I could speak, hefting her small pack over her shoulder before marching toward the front door. “Too expensive.”
Irina frowned as she followed, eyes narrowing as they flicked between Malina and I. “I know you all slept on the floor, so I’m not complaining, it’s just—”
“Don’t worry, Princess, we don’t need sleep when your lovely face is around to awaken our spirits.” Ren threw an arm around her shoulder, tucking her into his side, the action both casual and confident. Irina stiffened for a moment, but didn’t pull away.
A different animal squirmed in my gut, a beast I thought I’d buried in a ballroom in Anastova.
“Ignore him,” Aya quipped, rolled her eyes as she trudged after them with slow, shaky steps.
I moved to catch up with her, ready to support her weight, but Irina nudged Ren’s side and slipped out from his embrace, instead looping her arm through Aya’s.
“I know, I know, or it’ll go to his head,” Irina snickered, a smile breaking across her face like a wave against the shore.
Warmth spread through my aching chest, unwinding thorny brambles that’d been there for so long, I’d grown familiar with their weight.
I cleared the lump from my throat with a cough, my winds propelling me forward in a quick jolt to meet Malina at the front door before she could barge in without a plan. I splayed my hand across the splintering wood, glaring at my companions from beneath it in a singular warning.
“Everyone stays quiet. Let Malina and I do the talking. These folk aren’t typically as welcoming as the city dwellers,” I reminded them, relying on the information that I’d gotten from Tsojo and Aheni to get us through this long con. None of the Lost Ones—myself included—had been out of the city aside from our trip to Dunyas in ages. We were not on our own turf, and it put us at a disadvantage I didn’t like, especially considering the sensitivity of our mission. My winds drew tighter around us, blocking out the noise from the street—and silencing our conversation to any eavesdroppers that might be prowling about. “Remember, we don’t need to draw unnecessary attention. It’s already strange that we’re traveling in such a big group, and protecting the Princess is our primary goal.”
Irina’s gaze darted up at me from beneath thick lashes, surprise transcribed in their deep brown, but I shifted toward the others, my mission too important for my flippant heart to get in my way.
Nodding heads signaled my crew’s understanding. As feral as they all were, they understood the code of survival, its blood-red brushstrokes written into every scar and scrape among them.
Satisfied with their compliance, I swung the door open, stepping over the threshold and into the part I had to play tonight.
The inside was just as dusty and disordered as the exterior, the wooden bartop cracked in spots, the surrounding stools standing on uneven, untrustworthy legs. A few other bodies—five, by a quick count—huddled around one of the small tables, nursing mugs of something that smelled worse than piss, flies buzzing around the lanternlight that highlighted more gaunt cheeks and broken stares.
Frog’s Hollow, indeed.
I kept my distaste from my face, confidently strolling up to the barkeep with a warm, too-trusting smile swiped over my face.
“Good evening, sir!” I pitched my voice high—like I’d seen far too many annoying tourists do in the Crescent’s embrace. “Is there any availability left for the night?”
The bald man turned, wiping out one of the glass mugs as he scrutinized me. I did the same, noting his stature casually. He was almost as tall as Naveen, his bloated, pale skin wrinkled around the corners of a mouth set in what seemed to be a permanent frown. His thick chin wobbled as he croaked, “For how many?”
“There are eight of us total, but we can share if need be.” I gestured to my group behind me, beaming with pride that would surely grate on any man’s nerves. I leaned against the bar, letting my shoulders sink in feigned submission, my voice still too loud for the quiet, half-dead bog. “You see, we’re all headed to a family reunion back in Yoroko, but we’ve been riding in the carriage all day, and we could use a few hours’ sleep—”
The barkeep grunted, cutting me off from giving him my entire falsified life’s story. But he pursed his lips, looking at the rest of us too closely for my liking.
“Family reunion, ey?” His gruff voice scratched like wood chips against bare feet as he set the mug down, hands gripping the side of the bar like he could snap the thick boards in half. “You don’t look much like family.”
My stomach lurched beneath his heavy stare, but I kept my ignorant smile intact, clapping like an idiot at the fool’s parade.
“It’s technically two families, really.” I waved my hands emphatically, nodding to where Irina stood in the middle of the group. I was overselling it, but if I annoyed him enough, perhaps he’d move on without a deeper look.
On cue, the barkeep sighed and looked to where Irina and Naveen stood out from the rest, their deep skin marking their southern heritage.
“See my wife there, with the short hair? The tall one is her brother,” I explained the difference away, Irina’s face blooming pure red. I winked once at her before tugging Malina closer and ruffling her curls. “My sister here and the rest of my siblings are all meeting their parents for the first time since the wedding. It’s really an overdue reception.”
“Yes, it’s very exciting.” Malina pinched my side, but fell right into her role without hesitation, batting her long lashes at the barkeep, her voice sweet as honey. “We all wanted to make the trip, but with the Blight, it’s been difficult. I’m only a single seamstress, and his wife is unfortunately a bit slow…so she washes clothes for me, but the pay isn’t what it used to be.”
I shot Malina a glare for the underhanded quip at Irina, but the man’s broad hands released their death grip from the ledge, his frame softening under her candied coaxing. His tongue darted quickly across his bottom lip, like it was about to strike out and swallow Malina at a moment’s notice. “Money is tight around here too, with all the blasted taxes and the Blight. Do you have coin?”
“Yes, a few silvers.” I slipped him two, more than enough for what this toad-stooled shithole could offer. Still, I’d rather overpay and have fewer questions asked than have to haggle in unfriendly waters.
The man grunted again, snagging the silvers with swollen fingers and tucking them into his apron. “We only have one room.”
Disappointment twisted through my ribs, but I didn’t let it translate across my face, my dimpled cheeks unwavering from their posted grin. I snuck another copper onto the wood. “And perhaps something to eat, if the kitchen is still open?”
The man flinched, hands clenching at his side, sending a trickle of apprehension running like sweat down my back.
“It’s closed. My wife cooks, but she’s been ill,” he snapped out each clipped word, a pain I knew too well hidden beneath his layers of gruffness. “I’ve got some jerky and bread you can take.”
I should’ve just nodded, should’ve taken my crew and the jerky to the room and let us get some Breath-damned sleep. But the wind tickled the back of my neck, urging me on.
One more favor. One last kindness to erase my recent sins.
“Perhaps I can help out for the evening?” I rolled back my sleeves, peering behind him toward the kitchen entrance. From the size of this place, it couldn’t have been too small, even if it was a mess. I wrapped my truths in a careful lie as I smiled again. “I’m a cook myself, back at a small hole in the wall in Hiku City. It’s got nothing on this place, but I could whip something up, offer your other guests a hot meal.”
The barkeep swallowed tightly, his bullfrog chin trembling with the action.
“There’s nothing to whip up,” he rasped, as he shook his clenched fist. Not at me, but at a larger, looming, unseen adversary we all were running from.
Hunger. Sickness.
Death.
Vicious blame poured from him. “The Breath-damned Dunyasians haven’t sent produce up this way in weeks. We’re getting by on scraps ourselves, but with my wife sick, we haven’t been able to travel into the city to restock on supplies.”
Some of the other heads in the bar lifted, grunting in famished agreement.
The Frog’s Hollow might have once been a place of rest and respite, a warm inn where hot stew with fresh frog legs from the river were served by the bucketful. But now, it was exactly what it’d named itself: hollow.
Much like the rest of Babylon since the Blight had carved out our insides.
I nodded to the barkeep, the pangs of hunger and loss still too fresh in my gut to ignore his. “I hear you, sir. The room and the jerky are more than enough.”
“But that can’t be right,” a voice nagged behind me, and my stomach clenched with a different pain—fear knotting my intestines as Irina stepped forward, her brow furrowed. “The trade agreements all say that Dunyas sends deliveries all the way up the Black River once a week.”
“Pssh, you were right about this one,” the barkeep snorted at Malina, twirling his finger by his temple in an unkind gesture typically saved for the total wackjobs. But the darkness that crept over his expression chased away any humor of the moment, his nose twitching as he glowered at Irina. “The agreements don’t mean shit to those southern cocksuckers. It’s always this way after their Breath-fucked party. They’re all too drunk and high to get back to work. Not that they do much of that anyway.”
“You could say that again.” Malina stroked his ego with a smile, but it didn’t quite read as sincerely this time.
The wind’s song turned sinister, and I stepped closer to the Princess, gripping her arm before she could walk herself into thicker mud. But she jerked herself from my grasp, her own anger deepening the red of her cheeks. She trembled as she spoke. “The people of Dunyas work very hard, and the Masque is a celebration that they earn as a reward.”
“The nobles of Anastova haven’t sweat in years, girlie, and the farmers are all too opium-whipped to give a shit,” the bald man growled, nostrils flaring as his voice carried through the bar. “By the Breath, what pipe are you smoking?”
Irina blinked, tears lining her lashes, and my facade slipped away, protective parts rallying through my muscles as I tensed.
One last jab.
“Hey, watch how you talk to my wife,” I warned through a tight smile as I tucked Irina beneath my arm, my eyes never leaving the old frog. But I didn’t need to hear the wind’s alerts to know this would turn messy fast if we didn’t find a way to sweep it under the rug. “Dear, you must be tired. Why don’t we head to the room and get some rest? All of us?”
The others nodded—Ren and Kas shuffling Aya closer to the staircase while Naveen and Riku pulled closer to me; reinforcements, just in case.
The owner eyed our little group—noticing how young we were, most likely—and pulled a key from his pocket with a scoff and a glare.
Victory bells rang in my head until Irina opened her mouth again.
“Fine,” she pouted with a sniffle and a dismissive wave—and folded herself closer to my side. “I don’t need to argue politics with someone who clearly doesn’t know very much anyway.”
At that, the other patrons’ heads swiveled again—the insult a declaration of war to desperate hearts already looking for a fight— and the barkeep’s expression went purely animalistic.
“If you want the room,” the man dangled the room key in front of me with a sneer, exposing the full maw of half-rotted teeth, “you’ll teach that whore wife of yours to shut her stupid mouth.”
Two distinct things happened at once, neither of them things I could’ve predicted.
Irina gasped like she’d been smacked across the face.
Then, something in me snapped.
I barely recognized my own voice, low and taunting as it was. “If you’d like, I can teach your wife a little something, too.”
Wrong thing to say.
Faster than I imagined for someone his age, the man leapt halfway onto the bar top, his fist skimming just below my jaw as I spun Irina and me out of the way. The Princess yelped in my arms before I shoved her behind me, positioning myself between her and the barkeep.
“Well, shit,” Naveen huffed as the other patrons hopped up, shouts erupting. But he dropped into a grappler’s stance, long limbs strong and ready. Here—and in Hiku City—the poor and desolate stuck together, having nothing but each other.
The owner huffed as he slid over the bar, face beet red and bloated with pressured rage.
So much for a good night’s sleep.
Two things happened in tandem again, reality splitting into cross breezes.
Like clockwork, Malina scrambled on swift feet to the door, directing the kids out, giving me the freedom I needed to unleash.
And then the toad of a man attacked, his hands reaching not for me, but just past me—locking around Irina’s throat.
One choked sob escaped her mouth, fingers clawing at his hands for purchase, but she didn’t get a chance to latch on.
Instinct took over, and I became the wind, a gale force of rage that blew the man so fiercely he flew across the room. He slammed into the far wall with a sick crack, rotted wood splintering under his weight as he crashed into a table.
The bar descended into madness.
The five other men sprinted to us, slurs spitting past their lips as they attacked.
“City-dwelling pricks!”
“Just a rat with a Dunyasian whore.”
“I resent that remark,” Naveen grunted as he tripped one, smashing him into the next. They both groaned as they hit the floor, Naveen standing over them with a frown. “Very impolite.”
Shoving Irina back—hoping she’d have enough sense to flee for the door after Malina—I lurched forward. In a singular, practiced motion, I snatched one man’s cloak and wrapped it around his neck, yanking back until he choked and fell, the wind leaving his lungs.
Mentally, I latched onto his air, his lungs squeezing until his eyes floated to the back of his head, unconsciousness dragging him under. I released him, sending him off to dreamland for a bit.
