and die. She couldn’t help but see the parallels between her and the fallen Moon. Stitched into the tapestry around her. Unfolding like destiny. But the difference was, Mia hadn’t died when her father tried to kill her. Hadn’t fallen to earth and shattered into a thousand pieces. Hadn’t broken. Hadn’t crumbled. Instead, she’d become something harder. Not iron or glass.
Steel.
“All you are? All you have become? I gave you. Mine is the seed that planted you. Mine are the hands that forged you. Mine is the blood that flows, cold as ice and black as pitch, in those veins of yours.”
She could see the truth of it. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t a truth he’d live to regret. And Mia could see the truth in Sid’s words, too. Taking a beating so she knew how much it hurt, and how much she didn’t want to feel that way again.
I never want to feel this way again.
And so she looked into the flames, eyes alight with her prayer.
Her vow.
Father
When the last sun falls
When daylight dies
So do you.
CHAPTER 21
AMAI
“What is that smell?” Jonnen asked, screwing up his little face.
Up at the head of the line, Sidonius pressed a finger to his nose and blew a stream of snot from each nostril.
“Sewage.”
“And fish,” Bladesinger nodded.
“TIMBER,” said Tric. “TAR. LEATHER AND SPICES. SWEAT AND SHIT AND BLOOD.”
“Quite a nose you’ve got there,” Sidonius smiled.
Ashlinn met the deadboy’s glance, saying nothing.
“We’re here.” Butcher stretched in his saddle and yawned. “It’s Amai. You can smell it from miles away. There’s a reason they call this city the Arsehole of Liis.”
They’d been riding for almost two weeks, miserable and dripping the whole damn way. The Lady of Storms had calmed her temper after a turn or so, softened her howling tempest into a depressing, relentless drizzle that soaked everyone to the skin. It was as if the goddess were saving her strength, coiled and ready like a waiting serpent for the moment Mia took to the ocean again. But it made the ride easier at least.
They had no more trouble on the road—the citizens they passed stepped well out of the way of Centurion Sidonius and his tiny cohort, and the few soldiers they met simply gave bored salutes and marched on. Each nevernight they’d bed down in whatever shelter they could find, or huddle together in the lee of the wagon. Tric would prowl about on guard and Butcher would run Jonnen through his paces with the blade (the boy’s form was actually quite good, and he was a frighteningly swift learner) and Mia would pace back and forth inside her head. Thinking of Bryn and ’Waker, of Mercurio and Adonai and Marielle, of that bitch Drusilla and that bastard Scaeva and all they’d taken away.
Soon, she promised herself.
Soon.
But first, there was an ocean between them to conquer.
“You said you grew up in Amai?” Mia asked Butcher, shifting her numb arse on the driver’s seat. Jonnen was holding the reins, watching the road studiously.
“Aye,” the man nodded. “Shipped out when I was fourteen.”
“Shipped out?” Bladesinger asked. “I thought you hated ships.”
“I do. But you grow up in a place like this, you’ve not got much choice. Fuck working in some pub or market stall. Right in the earhole.”
Ashlinn frowned. “Were you a fisherman, or…?”
“Fisherman?” Butcher scoffed. “I ought to box your bloody ears, girl. Could a fisherman slay Caelinus the Longshanks in single combat in front of twenty thousand people? Or gut Marcinio of the Werewood like a fish?”
“Aye,” Sid said. “A fisherman could probably gut a man like a fish, Butcher.”
“I was a pirate, you fucking cunts,” the Liisian blustered.
“But…” Mia frowned. “You were seasick, Butcher. You spewed your guts out the entire way from Whitekeep to Galante.”
“Well, I was a shitty pirate, wasn’t I?” the man cried. “How d’you think I ended up a damned slave?”
“O…,” Mia nodded. “That … makes a surprising amount of sense, actually.”
“Point is I grew up here,” Butcher scowled. “I know this city like I know women.”
Ash raised her hand—
“Don’t,” Mia hissed.
“Right,” Sid said. “So what can we expect from the Arsehole of Liis? And they should really think of a better name for it, by the by.”
“It’s about as dangerous a pit of murderers, rapists, and thieves as you’re ever likely to come across,” Butcher said. “If you’re not salted, you’d best watch your damned step. Life is cheaper than a ha’-copper sweetboy here.”
“Salted?” Ash asked.
“Aye, crewed,” Butcher nodded. “On a ship, like. If you’re part