A Queen of Ice (A Trial of Sorcerers #5)

Chapter 8

8

T he evening air brought with it a chill from the sea that cut through the humidity that clung to the city walls like graffiti. Eira relished in the brisk breezes. For a city so cramped, Qwint benefited greatly from its proximity to the ocean.

The group had divided themselves. Ducot, Crow, and Fen had decided to go to the markets down by the docks and scope out materials they might need for their ship. Eira had given them leeway to procure whatever they thought was necessary. She was still learning the ins and outs of running a ship and trusted Crow far more than herself to know what needed to be acquired for the next stage of their journey.

Lavette and Varren had gone off on their own to reunite with the other survivors of the tournament. Eira had briefly considered joining them, in a display of solidarity. But she ultimately decided that was a meeting that her presence would do more harm than good with. Eira knew just how illogical survivor’s guilt could make someone. It would be all too easy for one of them to ask why she, a random woman from Solaris, was there in Qwint when their loved ones were not.

That left her, Cullen, Yonlin, Olivin, and Alyss to explore together. Lavette had given them a general direction that she recommended they go in and the rest was up to them.

Their footfalls echoed on the cobblestone streets, a drumbeat that pulsed underneath the cacophony of the market that they emerged into. It was a massive square containing all manner of stalls. Wares were laid within wooden cabinets positioned underneath wide awnings that were affixed to the sides of the buildings. Tents were set up in the center, creating a hazy maze of fabric and heat. They moved through the opulence, senses heightened, taking note of all there was to see, smell, and hear.

“I’m going to see if I can find a new journal,” Alyss announced.

“Another?” Eira asked. “Didn’t you get one in Black Flag Bay?”

“I did, but it is already full.” A sheepish grin curved Alyss’s mouth. “Besides, I think I’m about ready to begin writing the story itself.”

“Oh? Am I to believe that we will no longer be used for research, then?”

“You will always be research.” Alyss’s grin was not encouraging. Eira kept her cringe inward, not wanting to discourage her friend. But it seemed to have failed because she erupted with laughter. “You know, some would be flattered to be immortalized.”

“I’m sure some would be,” Eira said dryly. “I’ll let you know if I find anyone.”

Alyss snorted. “Just think of what book two will look like.”

“I’ve yet to even formulate my thoughts on book one.”

“It’ll be published soon enough.”

Published . The word stuck with Eira but she couldn’t quite figure out why. Of course she wanted that for her friend—wanted Alyss to succeed at all she set her mind to. But the notion of Alyss publishing felt…off, somehow.

As Eira was struggling to figure out why, Yonlin chimed in, “You know, I actually think we have friends of friends who owned printers in Risen. They focused more on the paper pamphlets of news.” His eyes darted to Olivin, who nodded.

“Assuming they still exist.” Olivin’s words were soft and somber. Barely audible even to Eira, who stood next to him. There was real hurt in his softened gaze.

Yonlin either did not hear, or ignored it, because he quickly turned back to Alyss, even more eager. “But I’m sure they have information on the printers for books—if they couldn’t do it themselves. And I think we might know some bookbinders, also…”

Their discussion trailed off as Yonlin and Alyss walked in the opposite direction. Eira didn’t miss how Yonlin’s hand seemed to drift awkwardly, twitching at times. As if he wanted to maybe link elbows with Alyss, or grab her hand, perhaps even put his palm on her hip. But couldn’t decide which one. And probably didn’t know if the gesture would be welcomed.

“My brother’s hopeless.” Olivin wore an amused expression, coming to a stop next to her. “He’s never taken an interest in someone before. He lacks experience.”

“As long as he doesn’t hurt her.” Eira was sure her tone did away with any notion that what she had with Olivin would prevent her from choosing Alyss if it ever came to that.

“He never would, not on purpose.”

She agreed. Her defensiveness aside, Yonlin was a good man. Better than Olivin or Cullen was, honestly, which made him slightly worthy of Alyss. She couldn’t stop a huff of amusement and a little smile. Alyss deserved only the best.

“What is it?”

“Thinking of how well-connected your family seems,” she lied, rather than admitting to her real thoughts.

“We were one of the premier noble families…before Ulvarth.” His eyes were filled with longing. Voice steeped in hate. “If my sister hadn’t betrayed us, our lives would’ve been vastly different. We probably would’ve grown up in the queen’s inner circle.”

“Perhaps for the best you weren’t.” Eira linked her arm with Olivin’s, tugging him away from the spot, and hopefully the memories of Queen Lumeria’s box exploding at the end of the tournament.

“And why is that?”

“I can’t imagine it’d go over well for a member of the ‘queen’s inner circle’ to be close with a pirate.” Or engaging in piracy, for that matter .

Olivin’s eyes shone with amusement. “That’s the nice thing about power, Eira. When you have it, you get to make the rules.”

“And what rules would you make?”

He paused, an emotion almost akin to longing crossing his features. The question suddenly became much more serious than she intended. “When I was younger, I had a lot of feelings on how to make Meru a better place. Perhaps because I had been so betrayed by the leader of the Swords of Light—the people sworn to protect the Faithful of Yargen, and then felt so wronged in the aftermath, I was consumed by righteous indignation and composed a list of what I’d change if I could. It’s what drew me to the Court of Shadows in the first place.”

“Really?” Eira was surprised to realize they’d never talked much about his motivations behind joining the Shadows. She’d always assumed it was solely because of his need for vengeance against his sister, Wynry. And that likely was the case also. But not the only reason.

Olivin nodded. “Deneya suggested that my hate could be used to make something good. Not that I suppose any of it matters now, with Meru as it is. I doubt I’ll be rubbing elbows with any nobles or royals any time soon.”

“Take it from me, you’re probably not missing much. Being close to royalty isn’t all it’s made out to be,” Cullen chimed in, doubly surprising her. The two men were friendly with each other. But going out of their way to offer comfort or encouragement wasn’t usually their manner.

“I’ll take your word for it. Can’t say I’ve ever had the opportunity.” There was a note of finality in Olivin’s tone that had the conversation moving on. But a question lingered in Eira’s mind as they browsed the stalls.

Would you want it?

She remained the default leader, guiding them from one stall to the next. There was a natural ebb and flow between them. When one got too close, the other would respectfully step away. Suddenly fascinated by something else. Then, as the other neared, the first would back off. Eira was mindful not to show either of them too much favor. Things were still in a state of unknowns between the three of them.

The last time they had addressed their feelings, it had been left in a place of “we’ll see” with both of them. An opportunity for her to explore and learn the pathways of her heart. Them aware of, and content with, the other. Then, they had gone to Carsovia and the mines had happened. Since then everything had been…

Eira paused.

The thought of Noelle had been what had originally stilled her. But now Eira’s eyes snagged on a dagger laid out among several on a table toward the very back edge of the market. It wasn’t anything overly fancy. Unadorned, really. But there was a small serpent etched into the pommel, coiled around a ruby so tiny that it looked like a drop of blood. Eira had seen these weapons up close in the mines of Carsovia. The guards all had them strapped to their waists.

“See something you like?” an unfamiliar voice said, startling her back to the present. A man with a shaved head leaned in the doorway behind the table, Eira was certain he hadn’t been there when they’d walked up. The shadows seemed longer. More ominous as they clung to him. He was dressed in a similar style to Cullen—loose trousers, shirtless, a knitted scarf draped over his shoulders and chest. Lines were tattooed across his pale body in dark blue ink. They seemed to move like ribbons in the oscillating light of the market.

“Perhaps,” Eira said noncommittally, returning her focus to the dagger she’d just been looking at. Hoping she was wrong, she allowed her magic to sink into the blade. She barely managed to conceal a flinch, instantly regretting the decision when a barked order and a scream echoed from a time before. Her fingertips rested on the edge of the table, frost spiking around them. “More curious as to why you have a dagger from the mines of Carsovia.”

The moment the words left her lips Cullen and Olivin were on edge. The shifts in their stances were doubtless only perceptible to her.

The man merely smiled. “Call it a trophy. A memento of personal triumph.”

“Triumph how?” A lot hinged on what he said next.

“Of using it against my oppressors.”

“And you would part with it?” Eira still wasn’t sure if she could take him at his word and kept her magic at the ready.

“No…” He plucked the weapon from the table, sheathing it. “Was merely waiting for it to catch the attention of the right buyer. Which it seems like you are.”

“And why is that?”

“You strike me as someone who would enjoy using Carsovia’s weapons against them. Come”—he gestured inside—“my best wares are inside.”

Eira tapped the table in thought.

His pale eyes darted around, as if looking for anyone who might be too close. His voice dropped. “I assure you, the heir of the pirate queen will find my stock worthwhile.”

She wasn’t sure if she was more unnerved or curious. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Eira assessed him. He wasn’t calling her Adela’s daughter, but heir . Was that a guess based on Eira being Adela’s daughter? A colloquial terminology? Or…was this man a pirate? Did he have some information and his coy yet careful wording was intended to lure her within so he could impart some information?

Or was he one of the rare less savory types that Lavette had warned them of? It was possible that he had identified them as potential targets being new to the city and was guessing based on the rumors that swirled at her arrival. Eira had certainly made a show of herself.

Only one way to find out.

“Sure, show me what you got.” Eira shrugged as if it mattered little to her.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Cullen whispered under his breath, taking a step closer to her.

“I’ve weighed the risks.” She ducked her head to hide her words as she followed Olivin around one end of the wares counter and back toward the opening. Even if there were people waiting to ambush them, Eira was confident that the three of them could handle themselves with little issue.

Eira had been expecting a trap at worst, an extension of the shop at best, but she was met by neither; rather, a dimly lit, one- room home. A hearth smoldered underneath a pot on a hook. A single table, two chairs. A bed. Everything was…simple. Of decent quality and make. But nothing like the lavishness that sprawled across Lavette’s home.

“This way.” The man pulled on a shelf in the back of the room. It slid to the side, revealing another doorway that he pushed through. That was a bit more suspect, and a bit more in line with what she’d been cautious about.

Olivin looked back to Eira and she gave him a nod of approval. They pressed on. Cullen remained close to her, taking up the rear. She could feel the tiny currents of air that swirled as he searched for anyone who’d come up behind them.

“Do you have a name?” Eira asked around Olivin’s broad shoulders as the man led them up a stairway wedged between buildings, so steep it might as well be a ladder.

“Drogol,” he answered without looking back. Instinct told her the name was real. It flowed easily off his tongue, but not without a moment’s hesitation—as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell them. Perhaps he was a very good actor.

“Eira.” She extended the same courtesy in reply.

“I know.” They stopped on a landing between buildings, only big enough for Drogol and Olivin to stand on. Eira and Cullen were still behind on the stairs. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Lovely,” Eira muttered under her breath. But she was finding she minded it less and less. If she was going to inherit Adela’s fleet someday, then she should get intimately familiar with infamy.

Drogol led the three of them into a dark room. With a snap of his fingers, a lantern popped to life, casting an orange glow on the walls lined with all manner of weapons. There were swords and daggers, of course. A particularly impressive-looking crossbow. But, in the back, there was an entire wall of flashfires.

In the shine of the firelight, she was leagues away. She was back on a field of blood and flash shale smoke. There was a rider approaching, a knight of Carsovia drawing her flashfire.

Eira’s attention swung, following the barrel of the weapon to meet a familiar pair of dark eyes.

“Save me,” the specter of Noelle whispered. Each word was a dagger to Eira’s heart. Her whole body fell under cold more brutal than the longest winter. More unforgiving than frostbite. “Eira…”

“Eira?”

Eira blinked. A bloody hole had been carved in Noelle’s chest. A dribble of crimson ran down her lips as she whispered, “Why?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Why hadn’t she been stronger? Been smarter? Why hadn’t she been able to protect the ones she loved most? It was the question that gnawed a hole in her chest as wide as Noelle’s, but nowhere near as bad. Never as bad. She had paid the ultimate cost for them all.

The specter opened her mouth once more. “Why?—”

“Eira?”

She blinked again and the real world came back into focus. Olivin stood before her, illuminated on one half of his face by the dim lantern light. She swallowed thickly. The dagger had brought her mind to places she hadn’t allowed herself to wander for weeks.

“Sorry,” Eira muttered, and turned her focus back to the wall of weapons.

“It is an impressive collection, I know.” Drogol was either legitimately oblivious, or very polite. Either way, Eira was grateful. “But there is one I think you will find the most interesting.”

Drogol retrieved a key from around his neck and unlocked a thin, wide drawer that he proceeded to pull out. There, lying on a bed of silk the color of Noelle’s blood, was a flashfire smaller than any other Eira had seen. She took a step closer, assessing the weapon at a silent invitation by way of a wave of Drogol’s palm.

The entire flashfire was smaller than her forearm. It had all the makings of its larger cousin—the usual flashfire that she’d seen wielded with one strong arm, or two hands in most cases. There was a wooden handle at one end, a rune that mirrored the same one imprinted on a small, silver ring set off to the side. There was a space for a small flash bead. However, unlike the other flashfires she’d seen and the ones on the wall, this had dozens of runes engraved down its steel barrel. Each one shone with a glint of power left entirely to the imagination.

“What is it?” Olivin asked for them.

“My master calls it a pistol, ” Drogol said proudly.

The name wasn’t what stuck out to Eira. “Your master?”

“Yes, the woman you are going to rescue for me.”