over the side like that?”
“I needed to do something,” Rysn said. “To prove courage. I thought . . . I needed to be bold . . .”
“Oh, child. This is my fault.”
“You were his babsk,” Rysn said. “Talik, their trader. You set this up with him, so I could have a chance to trade on my own, but in a controlled setting. The trade was never in danger, and you are not as sick as you appear.” The words boiled out, tumbling over one another like a hundred men trying to leave through the same doorway at once.
“When did you figure that out?” Vstim asked, then coughed.
“I . . .” She didn’t know. It just all kind of fell together for her. “Right now.”
“Well, you must know that I feel a true fool,” Vstim said. “I thought this would be a perfect chance for you. A practice with real stakes. And then . . . Then you went and fell off the island’s head!”
Rysn squeezed her eyes shut as the Reshi woman arrived with a cup of something. “Will I walk again?” Rysn asked softly.
“Here, drink this,” Vstim said.
“Will I walk again?” She didn’t take the cup, and kept her eyes closed.
“I don’t know,” Vstim said. “But you will trade again. Passions! Daring to go above the king’s authority? Being saved by the island’s soul itself?” He chuckled. It sounded forced. “The other islands will be clamoring to trade with us.”
“Then I accomplished something,” she said, feeling a complete and utter idiot.
“Oh, you accomplished something indeed,” Vstim said.
She felt a prickling pressure on her arm and opened her eyes with a snap. Something crawled there, about as big as the palm of her hand—a creature that looked like a cremling, but with wings that folded along the back.
“What is it?” Rysn demanded.
“Why we came here,” Vstim said. “The thing we trade for, a treasure that very few know still exists. They were supposed to have died with Aimia, you see. I came here with all of these goods in tow because Talik sent to me to say they had the corpse of one to trade. Kings pay fortunes for them.”
He leaned down. “I have never seen one alive before. I was given the corpse I wanted in trade. This one has been given to you.”
“By the Reshi?” Rysn asked, mind still clouded. She didn’t know what to make of any of this.
“The Reshi could not command one of the larkin,” Vstim said, standing. “This was given you by the island itself. Now drink your medicine and sleep. You shattered both of your legs. We will be staying on this island for a long while as you recover, and as I seek forgiveness for being a foolish, foolish man.”
She accepted the drink. As she drank, the small creature flew up toward the rafters of the hut and perched there, looking down at her with eyes of solid silver.
“So what kind of spren is it?” Thude asked to the slow Rhythm of Curiosity. He held up the gemstone, peering in at the smoky creature moving about inside.
“Stormspren, my sister says,” Eshonai replied as she leaned against the wall, arms folded.
The strands of Thude’s beard were tied with bits of raw gemstone that shook and twinkled as he rubbed his chin. He held the large cut gemstone up to Bila, who took it and tapped it with her finger.
They were a warpair of Eshonai’s own personal division. They dressed in simple garments that were tailored around the chitinous armor plates on their arms, legs, and chests. Thude also wore a long coat, but he wouldn’t take that to battle.
Eshonai, by contrast, wore her uniform—tight red cloth that stretched over her natural armor—and a cap on her skullplate. She never spoke of how that uniform imprisoned her, felt like manacles that tied her in place.
“A stormspren,” Bila said to the Rhythm of Skepticism as she turned the stone over in her fingers. “Will it help me kill humans? Otherwise, I don’t see why I should care.”
“This could change the world, Bila,” Eshonai said. “If Venli is right, and she can bond with this spren and come out with anything other than dullform . . . well, at the very least we will have an entirely new form to choose. At the greatest we will have power to control the storms and tap their energy.”
“So she will try this personally?” Thude asked to the Rhythm of Winds, the rhythm that they used to judge when