that smashed through the door behind them, the bellowed order from one of the men Holden had let escape. “Van Gast! Kill him!”
Instinct and the prod of his little-magics propelled Van Gast, made him grab a groggy Holden and drag him through the second room, made him smash the window with the butt of his pistol before the pathetic, depleted mage had a chance to gather his limited power.
They ran, their prayer bells to Forn, god of the sea, jangling in harmony, sending a prayer with every chime. Laughing at the thrill of it along the path and off into the little cut-through that led up to the rocky headland. The fear/joy pumped thrill in his veins, made him know he was Van Gast again, the rack, the one the others all wanted to beat. Made him want to kiss the sky and swim the sea for reflected stars.
Not just that—it was the chance, and the knowing how stupid it was. The chance to catch Josie, to go to the most dangerous place on the western coast for him, to brave the Yelen council and their guards, to thieve and scam and burgle his little heart out, all mixed up together. The twist of their lives. Knowing that the men they’d left behind would report to the Yelen, that they’d be looking for him for this and other things. Knowing he could twist out of it, if he was lucky, and if he wasn’t he’d be dead.
Risk was how he knew he was alive, what made him laugh into the night, and suddenly he had all the risk he could handle. Risk was why he stood on the salt-blown deck, grinned up to the gods and thanked them for granting him the threat of death, for granting him a chance with Josie, as Holden called the careful orders that would see them past the reef and out into the wide and capricious sea.
Chapter Two
Rillen stood before the Yelen council, his hands clasped behind his back to hide their white-tipped clenching. If only he could do something about the sweat on his brow.
“Report?” asked his father, Urgaut.
“We’ve contained the Remorians as best we can. Most are nothing more than gibbering wrecks. The rest—we’re rounding them up, but they’re like wild animals. We’ve some of them hemmed in down near Mucking Lane. The racketeers can deal with them.”
“So the Godsquare is safe finally? The docks? The traders?”
“Safe enough for now, at least the licensed docks and inside Estovan’s walls. The delta islands have too much shoreline to patrol, so I’ve concentrated the men on protecting the city.”
“Satisfactory, Rillen.” His father’s face belied the words, looking almost disappointed he had nothing to berate his son for.
Rillen let out a small, silent breath, but the respite was short-lived. One of the council’s guests spoke up. Rillen tried not to stare, but it was impossible.
Three Remorian mages sat atop the dais like small glittering mountains, hunched and monstrous. Their magic glowed on their skin, a shimmering geography of crystals with ridges for brow bones and dark valleys where their eyes peeked out. Of the three, two had large patches of blankness—pale, clammy skin where they’d lost their magic in the chaos of their country falling to pieces.
The death of their Master had left them and their slaves free of the mage-bonds that held their minds and wills, and made them prisoners to their mage masters. The sudden freedom after a lifetime of being told what to do, to see, to think had sent many of the slaves mad. That was Rillen’s task—to keep that madness outside the walls of the city of Estovan, where Remorian ships had been berthed when the bonds went and the madness took hold.
The stench of the mages, of Remorians, of stale magic, assaulted Rillen even from here, seemed to clog his nose and choke his throat. A voice floated away from them, a hoarse croak through lips that barely moved. “We promised the council that our subjects will be made sane and safe again, just as soon as you can contain them. In the meantime, there are other matters to discuss. A trade and an alliance.”
Alliance was prudent but made Rillen itch in his head. Remorian mages here, ready to mage-bond people, enslave them, bend them to their will and make them dead-eyed puppets.
“The Remorian Master is dead, the mage-bonds dissolved,” Urgaut said. “The Remorians you’re trying to control need those bonds back, need the limits on their minds, or