Chapter Twenty-five

  Sandstone Silence

  Sultan Atakan’s palace was a veritable, though very beautiful maze. Elias stared up at the domed ceiling of the entrance hall as they first stepped inside—and maybe that was the moment the directions they’d been given fell from his head—letting his gaze wander through another labyrinth, this one formed of a thousand yellow and blue flowers and the swooping scripts of a language he had never seen written before his arrival in Azir.

  Saba Khali, the sultan’s master of coin, had an office on the main level. As potential business partners of His Excellency, Elias, Bertrand, and Briley had been granted access to the royal residence and offered instructions that might have been clearer to fresher minds. Despite the pleasantness of their present surroundings, they were each still wading through an expansive swamp of trauma and exhaustion. They had barely slept. They had barely talked. They had barely made it to Azir alive.

  Saba, once they finally found her, was an obviously busy person who it seemed could only spare half her attention at any given time. She was a handsome woman of fifty or so, with silver-streaked black hair and orange-robed attire that, while fashionable, appeared almost modest compared to the clothing of some other palace dwellers they noticed on their way in. Perhaps her utilitarian outfit said something about the woman and her role here as the sultan’s master of coin.

  “Sailor’s Rise, you said?” she confirmed as they sat down across from her, a wide marble desk keeping them at a comfortable distance. Her office was less modest.

  “That’s right, ma’am,” Elias said, sitting between Bertrand and Briley.

  “How was your journey over?” she asked.

  “Not without a few snags, but we’re here in one piece,” he answered.

  “We were attacked by pirates,” Bertrand clarified.

  “That is quite the snag,” Saba said. “Did you fly through the Dry Ridge Mountains?”

  Elias and Bertrand confirmed as much. Briley wasn’t speaking—or at least seldom feeling the need to.

  “Your timing was unfortunate,” she continued. “The skies there are normally patrolled, being the fastest trade route to Sailor’s Rise, but that responsibility lies with the Kingdom of Belrania. The sultan offers financial support to see it so, a generous arrangement considering protection from pirates benefits both nations, but Belrania has been undergoing an uprising of late, recently reneging on their agreement with us and using their airships to instead quell a great many dissidents. Things fell through only a few days ago, and pirates are nothing if not opportunistic. We have sent letters to our clients, advising an alternate route you may wish to take upon your return. It will add another day to your journey, but it will be safer. We do apologize. The timing has been… very unfortunate indeed.”

  At least that explained a few things. They felt no less unlucky—but a bit less like idiots, like they had done something wrong, made a youthful miscalculation. It wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t Irvin’s fault either. The letter wouldn’t have arrived before their departure. Assuming it had by now, Captain Fairweather was probably worried sick about them. And Mable: Elias didn’t even want to imagine.

  “Now, onto business,” Saba said, her attention dividing once more. “Tell me about The Two Worlds Trading Company.”

  “We’re not a big venture,” Elias admitted. Irvin had described Saba as a straight shooter, and he knew better than to stretch the truth. A stretched truth was bound to tear, and she was clearly searching for holes. “We’re still new”—their age probably made that obvious enough—“but we have a few regular clients and a fast ship, medium in size. We’re quick and competitive on price.”

  “And you can fend off pirates, apparently.” Saba smirked, rearranging a stack of paper. “We have a couple of smaller contracts available that might be appropriate for a company of your size: seasonal deliveries to Sailor’s Rise, one for spices and black powder and another for textiles and rugs.”

  “Can I ask how much you’re currently paying for them?” Elias inquired.

  “You could, but that is not for me to disclose,” she said. “Anything else?”

  “We just arrived here a few hours ago,” Bertrand chimed in. “Perhaps you could recommend somewhere a few weary travelers might find comfortable accommodation?”

  “How comfortable?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “Not too comfortable,” Bertrand added.

  “The Garden District,” Saba said. “It’s where most out-of-towners stay. I’m sure you’ll find something to your liking and budget.”

  They thanked her and escorted themselves to the door as she half-heartedly wished them the best of luck. It had been a quick conversation—Saba was economical with her words too—but they now knew what contracts to bid on. It wasn’t exactly an encyclopedia of knowledge, but it was a foundation upon which they could build a better plan, upon which they could figure out their price and their pitch.

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  On their way out, navigating the domed entrance hall with a bit more spring in their steps, Elias nearly walked into a fountain, his attention drawn elsewhere. He recognized her instantly, for she was instantly recognizable: the woman that saved them in the sky rift. Jalander had said her name was Constance Eve.

  “That’s the Valshynarian lady.” Bertrand saw her too.

  Briley had heard their story second hand enough times that no additional context was required.

  Their haggard party of three already stood out amid the sultan’s pristine palace, dressed and fatigued as they were, and stopping and staring only made them more conspicuous. The woman, Constance, took notice.

  She wasn’t alone. There was a man next to her that Elias immediately recognized as a fellow collector: his emerald eyes, his Valshynarian outfit (a green waistcoat with a golden trim), and a certain intensity that radiated from him even as they stood about casually in conversation. He was younger than her, in his twenties perhaps, with a statuesque jawline and long flaxen hair tied in a neat ponytail. A single escaped lock brushed his collarbone as he turned toward them.

  Constance, whose expression upon The Sleeping Sparrow had been utterly unreadable, looked a little surprised, furrowing her brow as she met eyes with Elias. The man next to her observed this exchange with a charming curiosity. After a moment, she nodded toward Elias and Bertrand, and awkwardly and stiffly, they nodded back.

  * * *

  The ancient city of Azir, capital of the Azirian Empire, was older than any other major metropolis still standing on the Great Continent. The millennia-old empire had sprouted from the city itself, over hundreds of years and hundreds of wars, its border ever-shifting—but more often than not, expanding. And still, wherever its boundaries of the day were drawn, the desert empire’s pale green heart had always been its capital.

  Every district they passed through provided a history lesson, some of them built as recently as a hundred years ago, while sandstone structures that had stood for over thousand dominated the city center. The oldest parts of Azir rose up from the delta between two forking rivers, though the sprawling city now encompassed the entire oasis that once encompassed it.

  The Garden District, where Saba had suggested they seek accommodation, was near the river’s edge between two bridges. It was an older neighborhood, though not the city’s oldest, brimming with ancient wonders and wandering canals. As the name suggested, it was a lush area too. Between inns, taverns, and a few brothels Briley eyed suspiciously, a multi-block plaza formed the verdant center around which the Garden District organized itself.

  They meandered along snaking pathways that led nowhere but around the bustling plaza, past towering palm trees that were taller than the buildings around them, around stone-rimmed water fountains where people from all walks of life rested their tired legs, laughing and gossiping as the expectation of a long day faded in the evening’s dimming embrace.

  After booking a nearby room with three simple beds and a view of an alley (the cheapest-looking inn they could find still wasn’t very cheap), three tired travelers found a small haven of solitude near the edge of the plaza: a circle of stone benches almost hidden between overgrown flowerbeds. The flowers were yellow and blue—the colors of sun and sky—like the ones whose likeness had decorated the domed ceiling of the sultan’s palace. Summer nights were balmy in Azir and best spent outdoors.

  Bertrand stretched his legs, straightened his elbows, and reclined on both arms, digging his fingers in the soil behind him. “Time to relax,” he said, “though I’m finding relaxing rather difficult at the moment, stressful even. I keep reminding myself that we’re safe now, but my body doesn’t want to believe it. We’re definitely taking the long way back, Elias.”

  “Obviously,” Elias replied, unsure why he had been named specifically in that statement.

  “Well, I never know with you.”

  “Don’t blame me for what happened. How was I supposed to know about civil unrest in Belrania? It’s the same route your father normally takes. Maybe the sultan’s letter arrived a day after we left. Who knows? We had terrible timing, but we survived.”

  Bertrand sighed and shook his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. You just seem so, I don’t know, cool under pressure—like what happened doesn’t even bother you.”

  “It bothers me,” Elias insisted. “I’ve hardly slept a wink since the attack. I may keep it together in the moment, but I pay the price every night.” He wanted to say more, wanted them to understand. He wasn’t some emotionless killer, nor was he a fearless hero. It was neither savagery nor bravery from where he sourced his strength, if it was strength at all. More like a sad steadiness one acquires after their world has already trembled and cracked. No, he wasn’t strong. He simply knew how to keep his balance.

  “My mother was sick for a long while before she died,” he eventually said, “and the last thing I wanted was to add to her worry. I knew I couldn’t save her, but I could be her rock. I could give her that. That and a promise.” The promise, Elias kept to himself. Sorrow seeped from his words and into his body, as was its sneaky nature, and so he stopped there—before the leak could drip. “Some things stick.”

  “I should probably be thanking you, not judging you.” Bertrand sounded reflective too, for openness was contagious. “If not for your cool-headedness, I don’t think we would have survived that attack.”

  “I wouldn’t have survived it without Briley’s handiwork with a blade,” Elias said, his wave of his grief receding back into its ocean. “She made a human pin cushion out of that pirate.”

  “Three times.” Briley finally said something. “I stabbed him three times.”

  “Three is all you need, really,” Bertrand commented.

  “And you, my friend, you sent that big bastard over the bulwark.” Elias smiled for the first time since the incident.

  Bertrand chuckled. “I still can’t believe it, truth be told. That moment feels more like a dream than a memory.”

  And just like that, without knowing it, Elias and Bertrand had each taken their first steps out of the swamp from which there had seemed no escape. It was only when they turned around that they realized one friend was still stuck in the mire, waist-deep, watching on.

  No one appeared more baffled by the sudden swelling of tears in her eyes than Briley herself. She tried to hide it by hiding her face. Elias and Bertrand said nothing, the latter nearly reaching over before thinking better of it. Briley wouldn’t want a hug—only the space to pick herself back up.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said, sniffling, speaking about her emotions like a malfunctioning steam engine.

  Bertrand almost laughed at her as Elias said, “Let’s do something fun tomorrow. I know we have to prepare our pitch, but we can do that in the morning. We’re only in Azir for a few days, and I dare say this city has even more to offer than Sailor’s Rise.”

  “We could check out the markets,” Bertrand suggested.

  “We can do better than that.” Briley straightened her spine and pointed them toward the city center and the grandest sandstone structure of all, round like the base of a pillar and yet visible from every district in Azir—a man-made mountain within and born of the flat metropolis. “Like Elias said, we’re only here for a few days. I say we go to the colosseum.”

  Elias needed no convincing, though Bertrand wondered if they hadn’t already seen enough blood spilled for one week.

  Briley shrugged.

  Bertrand shrugged back. “The colosseum, then.”