just come in from the sand. The wagons were piled high with goods from Last Hope and beyond. And there among the dust-clad Hands in desert red, Mia saw a face veiled in silk. Strawberry blond curls. Dark, shining eyes.
“Naev!”
The Hand turned, eyes smiling. “Friend Mia.”
Mia took her in a hug, returned with fondness. She could smell sweat on the woman’s skin, the dirt and dust of a long road.
“Apologies for intruding,” Mia said. “I know you must be weary. When I asked after you, I wasn’t even sure you’d returned from Last Hope yet.”
“Just arrived.” The woman nodded. “All is well?”
“Well enough,” Mia nodded. “Are you busy?”
“… Somewhat. But Naev can spare a moment for her.”
The woman stepped to a shadowed alcove, bringing Mia with her. Naev waited expectantly, shouts and camels bellowing in the background. Mia decided her friend was in a rush, and that, despite the first of Shahiid Aalea’s golden rules, skipping the foreplay might be best in this situation.
“When we crossed blades in the Whisperwastes,” Mia began, “before I called the Dark, at least … you had my measure. If I fought fair, you’d have bested me.”
Naev nodded. No arrogance in her voice, simple pragmatism.
“She fights Orlani style. A little Caravaggio. Skilled enough. But there are many faces to bladework, and it seems she really knows only one.”
“And you know many.”
The woman’s eyes twinkled. “Naev knows them all.”
“Maybe you can help me, then.”
“What does she need?”
“That depends.”
“Upon?”
Mia smiled.
“Whether or not you can keep a secret.”
1. Constructed on the order of Consul Julius Scaeva, the Bridge of Follies is built entirely of watercraft—ships and boats, scuppers and ferries—strung end to end and lashed together by lengths of rusting chain. By writ of the Itreyan constitution, consuls may sit for only one term, almost three years in span. So when Scaeva broke precedent during the Kingmaker Rebellion and stood for reelection, claiming emergency powers in the Republic’s time of crisis, his most outspoken political rival, Senator Suetonius Arlani, was quoted as saying, “Scaeva has more chance of walking on the waters of Butcher’s Bay than he has of succeeding in his folly.”
When Scaeva won in an unprecedented landslide, he purchased every seafaring vessel he could find, had them lashed together to form a crude bridge, and walked across the bay barefoot. Named the Bridge of Follies after Arlani’s remarks, the span has remained a landmark in Godsgrave ever since, home to a motley of vagrants, the dispossessed and the outcast, grubbing out a living free of rent on the consul’s monument di triumph. Scaeva himself doesn’t seem to mind.
As for Senator Arlani, he was sentenced to life in the Philosopher’s Stone a few weeks after the consul’s electoral victory. The circumstances of his incarceration were entirely unrelated to his public remarks, I assure you.
2. Scabdogs are a voracious carnivore of the Liisian continent, resembling a fat, hairless canine with piggy eyes and a mouthful of razors. The scabdog is an astonishingly vicious close-quarter combatant, but lacks the endurance to chase game over long distances. They frequently feed on carrion, but have also developed a peculiar method of “hunting.”
The creature will maim itself superficially, chewing at its haunches until it bleeds. The scabdog will then make a show of being wounded, limping and bleeding until spotted by a carrion eater, such as a vulture, jackal, or another scabdog. The beast will then collapse, feigning death. This subterfuge can take hours, sometimes even turns.
The beasts are consummate actors, even going so far as to remain still while another carnivore takes a cautious bite. But when the carrion eater finally settles in to feed, the scabdog strikes, tearing its would-be predator to pieces and feasting to its heart’s content.
As a result of their self-maiming, the creatures are frequently covered in scabs, hence their name.
And in case you were wondering, no, gentlefriend, they do not make good pets.
CHAPTER 23
SWITCH
Weeks passed in the Quiet Mountain, and not many of them were quiet at all.
The Hall of Songs rang with the tune of steel on steel. The sharp whistle of bowstrings and the thud of throwing knives. Though she proved a crack shot with a crossbow, Mia still took a beating almost every class. After their previous confrontation, she noticed Jessamine always wore the Trinity beneath her tunic, and the threat of it hung between them like a knife. But though Jess never failed to rub her nose in the dirt, Mia followed Mister Kindly’s advice and kept her anger under lock and