Outside, Titus waited until he was at the bottom of the steps before he pealed out a shrill whistle—the call to the tavern. Drinks were on the new Patrei. Decorum in the face of death brought emotion too near the surface for Titus. Maybe for all of us.
I felt a tug on my coat. The seer was huddled in the shadow of a pillar, her hood covering her face. I dropped some coins in her basket.
“What news have you?” I asked.
She pulled on my coat until I knelt to eye level with her. Her eyes were tight azure stones, and appeared to float, disembodied, in the black shadow of her hood. Her gaze latched on to mine, her head tipping to the side like she was slipping deep behind my eyes. “Patrei,” she whispered.
“You heard.”
She shook her head. “Not from without. Within. Your soul tells me. From without … I hear other things.”
“Such as?”
She leaned close, her voice hushed as if she feared someone else would hear. “The wind whispers they are coming, Patrei. They are coming for you.”
She took my hand in her gnarled fingers and kissed my ring. “Gods watch over you.”
I gently pulled loose and stood, still looking down at her. “And over you.”
Her news wasn’t exactly news, but I didn’t begrudge the coins I had tossed her way. Everyone knew we would face challenges.
I hadn’t gotten to the bottom step when Lothar and Rancell, two of our overseers, dragged someone over and threw him to his knees in front of me. I recognized him, Hagur from the livestock auction.
“Skimming,” Lothar said. “Just as you suspected.”
I stared at him. There was no denial in his eyes, only fear. I drew my knife.
“Not in front of the temple,” he pleaded, tears flowing down his cheeks. “I beg you, Patrei. Don’t shame me before the gods.”
He grabbed my legs, bowing his head and sobbing.
“You’re already shamed. Did you think we wouldn’t find out?”
He didn’t answer, only cried for mercy, hiding his face in my boots. I shoved him away, and his gaze froze onto mine.
“No one cheats the family.”
He nodded furiously.
“But the gods showed mercy to us,” I said. “Once. And that’s the Ballenger way. We do the same.” I sheathed my knife. “Stand, brother. If you live in Hell’s Mouth, you are part of our family.” I held out my hand. He looked at me as if it were a trick, too afraid to move. I stepped forward, pulled him to his feet, and embraced him. “Once,” I whispered into his ear. “Remember that. For the next year, you will pay double the tithe.”
He pulled away, nodding, thanking me, stumbling over his steps as he backed up, until he finally turned and ran. He would not cheat us again. He would remember he was family, and one did not betray one’s own.
At least, that was the way it was supposed to work.
I thought about Paxton and the seer’s words again. They are coming for you.
Paxton was a nuisance, a bloodsucking leech who had developed a taste for wine. We would handle him, just like we handled everything else.
The scavengers have fled, our supplies now theirs.
Gone? he asks.
I nod.
He lies dying in my arms, already dust and ash and a ghost of greatness.
He presses the map into my hand.
This is the true treasure. Get them there. It’s up to you now. Protect them.
He promises there is food. Safety. He has promised this since the first stars fell. I do not know what safety is anymore. It is from a time before I was born. He squeezes my hand with the last of his strength.
Hold on to it, no matter what you have to do. Never give it up. Not this time.
Yes, I answer because I want him to believe in his last moments that all his effort and sacrifice are not wasted. His quest will save us.
Take my finger, he says. It’s your only way in.
He pulls a razor from his vest and holds it out to me. I shake my head. I can’t do this to my own grandfather.
Now, he orders. You will have to do worse things to survive. Sometimes you must kill. This, he says, looking at his hand, this is nothing.
How can I disobey? He is the chief commander of everything. I look at those surrounding us, sunken eyes, faces streaked with dirt and fear. I barely know most of them.
He shoves the razor into my hand.
Out of many, you are one now. You are family. The Ballenger Family. Shield one another. Survive. You are the surviving remnant that Tor’s Watch was built for.
I am only fourteen and all the rest are younger. How can we be strong enough to withstand the scavengers, the winds, the hunger? How can we do this alone?
Now, he says again.
And I do as he orders.
He makes no sound.
Only smiles as he closes his eyes and takes his last breath.
And I take my first breath as leader of a remnant, charged by my grandfather and commander to hold on to hope.
I am not sure I can.
—Greyson Ballenger, 14
CHAPTER FOUR
KAZI
Livestock pens were broken and scattered like tinder, and the stink of scorched grass burned our lungs. Rage blazed beneath my skin as I took in the destruction. Wren and Synové rumbled with fury. Our task suddenly fractured and multiplied like an image in a shattered mirror. In the end, the anger would serve us. We all knew it. Our sham excuse for coming here—investigating treaty violations—had suddenly grown, full-bodied, sharp, all teeth, claws, and venom.
The settlement consisted of four homes, a longhouse, a barn, and multiple sheds. They had all suffered damage. The barn was completely destroyed. We spotted a stooped man, furiously hoeing a garden, seemingly oblivious to the carnage around him. When he saw us coming, he raised his hoe as a weapon, then lowered it when he recognized Wren’s cloak made with the patched fabrics of the Meurasi clan. My leather waistcoat was embossed with the revered thannis found on the Vendan shield, and Synové’s horse had the tasseled nose band of the clans who lived in the eastern fens. All distinctly Vendan if you knew what you were looking for.
“Who did this?” I asked when we reached him, though I already knew.
He straightened, pushing on his bowed back. His face was lined with years in the sun, his cheekbones tired hills in a sagging landscape. Partial faces peeked around doors and between cracked shutters in the dwellings behind him, more settlers too afraid to come out. His name was Caemus, and he explained that the marauders had come in the middle of the night. It was dark and they couldn’t see their faces, but he knew it was the Ballengers. They had come just a week earlier with a warning to the settlers to keep their shorthorns off their land. They took one as payment.
Wren looked around. “Their land? Out here? In the middle of the Cam Lanteux?”
“It’s all theirs,” he answered. “As far as they can see, according to them. Every blade of grass belongs to them.”
Synové’s knuckles whitened with rage.
“Where’s your livestock?” I asked.
“Gone. They took the rest. I guess as payment for the air we breathe.”
I noticed there were no horses either. “And the Ravians that Morrighan gifted you?”
“Everything’s gone except for one old dray horse for our wagon. A few of the others went into town to buy more supplies. They won’t be able to get much. Vendans pay a premium.”
His jaw was set hard, his fingers tight around the hoe. Vendans didn’t scare off easily, but he said he was afraid some might be too fearful to return to the settlement.
“You won’t be paying a premium to anyone, nor payment for the air you breathe,” I said. I took a last look at the damage. “It may take a while, but reparations will be made to you.”
“We don’t want more trouble from—”
“The other settlers will return, and it is you who will receive payment.”
He looked at me, doubtful. “You don’t know the Ballengers.”
“True,” I answered. “But neither do they know us.”
And they were about to.