She had Detan’s eyes.
“Welcome to my home.” Her voice was clear, strong. She must be in her seventies, Ripka marvelled, and yet looked ready to race a rockcat.
“Your hospitality is most welcome,” Pelkaia said, pausing two strides before the Dame. “If surprising.”
The Dame smiled. Ripka could not help but study every line of her face, seeking out other traces of Detan hidden away in the aged countenance. “All the little birds of the Scorched whisper in my ear. Your arrival was expected, and anticipated.”
“You understand the nature of my crew, my ship?” Pelkaia tensed, fingers curled as if ready to form fists, or grab for a weapon. The Dame’s advisors shifted restlessly. Gatai flicked a piece of lint from his collar. The Dame inclined her head.
“I know what you and your crew are, and that your ship is stolen property. It matters not to me. You are free in my city, and Thratia’s ability to keep what’s hers is her own business.”
“If we stay here, she will come for it.”
Dame Honding graced them with a grim smile. “She will come regardless.”
“We have come to help you, if we may,” Ripka said.
The Dame’s gaze snapped to her, and in that proud stance and steady stare Ripka saw a shadow of what Detan might become one day. Could become, if only he’d figure out how to keep a handle on himself and accept the responsibility he’d been born into. Watching those eyes, Ripka was not sure that that would be a good thing.
“You must be Captain Leshe. I heard a rumor that my wayward nephew took your life in the firemount of Aransa. I’m pleased to see you recovered.”
Ripka cracked a small grin. “It seems your little birds have incomplete information, Dame. I will be happy to fill in the details when you wish.”
“There is only one detail that matters to me.” She turned her hard gaze upon Tibal. “Where is my nephew?”
Tibal lingered toward the back of the hall, the drooping edge of his hat tugged down to shadow his eyes. “Exactly where he always is: wherever he wants to be, and to pits with the consequences.”
Stiff backs all around, a slight flush of anger rouged the Dame’s cheeks. Ripka started to say something, saw Gatai shake his head behind the Dame, and sealed her lips shut. Whatever was going on here was older than Ripka’s relationship with Detan.
“Have you failed me after all these years, then, little bastard Honding?”
Chapter Three
Aella had cut him down from the ceiling, but left his wrists bound behind his back and the sack slouching over his face. She’d plopped him down in the center of the room, told him merrily there were shards of glass strewn across the floor, and traipsed off to join Misol in concocting whatever foul plan they had in store for him next.
He wasn’t about to let a threat of glass and the fact he’d consented to this madness keep him corralled.
Rolling his shoulders to loosen his stiffened neck, Detan unfolded his legs and slowly, carefully, felt forward. Grit so thick it might as well have been glass dragged at his toes, at the soles of his feet. Aella must have had some poor grunt haul sand up from one of the island’s beachheads.
Painstakingly, he edged out the boundaries of his new space. Aella had left him maybe a stride in all directions clear of the sand and glass. A little halo of safety that was, at best, a paltry illusion. Really, she needn’t bother. No matter how much rope she gave him, he wasn’t about to hang himself by running off. He’d made this trade willingly, bent knee to her not only to free his companions but to find out all there was to know about himself. Such fences as the glass, as the ropes and the chains, were laughable. If he wanted to leave, he could. And though he desired to leave with every fiber of his being, greater forces held him at bay. Locked him in place.
He was corralled tighter by fear than he’d ever be by iron or glass.
Worldbreaker.
Misol tapped her spear butt against the ground, alerting him to their return. Knowing she was there, he could just pick out the whisper-soft patter of Aella’s bare feet against the stone.
“Welcome back. May I fetch you some tea, or some cakes?” he drawled, amused by the sharp halt of Aella’s tread. He could kiss Misol for her subtle announcement. Any chance to startle Aella was one worth taking. “I wouldn’t want you to find my hospitality lacking.”
“I’ve found you some friends to entertain. Misol, bring them.”
Aella stepped beside him, her small body a heavy presence in the air to his left. She yanked the bag off his head. He blinked in the light, twisted until he could see the door.
Two women in Remnant-issued beige jumpsuits shuffled into the room, everything about their posture taut and wary. One had straight black hair cut short, the other hair like wet mud clinging to her cheeks. Both appeared to have taken up the strange hobby of repeatedly getting their noses broken. He’d never seen them before, and for their sake wished he wasn’t seeing them now.
Detan forced a smile and inclined his head to them. “Welcome to my sitting room.”
The brown-haired woman took one pointed look at the circular pit that had been Detan’s training ground for the last few weeks and snorted. “You need a better decorator.”
He grinned. Leave it to Ripka to find friends with cheek, even in this monstrous place.
“This here’s Clink,” Misol said, nodding to the brown-haired woman, “and this is Forge. Ladies, say hello to Detan Honding.”
“Ain’t that a fancy name?” Clink asked.
Forge snorted. “I faked a manifest for a Honding ship once. Big load of dehydrated cactus, tasted like candied diarrhea. More money ‘n sense in that family.”
“Ah. Auntie Honding has always had a questionable palate. Wait. Did you say faked?”
Forge gave him a look like she’d give a slow child. “What you think I’m doing on the Remnant, sightseeing?”
“Speaking of.” Clink narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing here?”
“Would you believe sightseeing?”
Both women smirked. Detan decided to like them. He had to like someone around here, and it might as well be these women who had supposedly helped Ripka out during her stay.
“Detan is here to learn the nature of himself,” Aella said.
“Sounds like a waste of time,” Clink said.
Misol hid a smile by turning her head away, but Detan didn’t bother. He laughed out loud. “Feels that way, most of the time. But I’m afraid it’s best for everyone’s safety if I get myself figured out.”
“Everyone’s?” Forge asked, incredulous.
“Everyone’s,” he agreed. Their smirks vanished. Whether they believed him or not, they certainly believed he meant what he said.
“And you’re going to help him.”
“We ain’t the altruistic type,” Clink said, eyes narrowing, but Aella had already shifted her thoughts to the experiment to come, and was deaf to her protests. For all the brainpower that girl was packing, she could be remarkably single-minded at times. Focus like that was a rarity in the adults Detan had stumbled across in his day, but common enough in any hunting viper’s path he’d had the misfortune of crossing.
Aella stepped through the minefield of sand and glass on the tips of her toes, light as a stone skipping across still water. Taking her cue, Misol dug around in a pouch slung about her hips and produced two leather sacks, stitched up tight and bulging all around at the seams. Detan licked his lips. He didn’t need to use his sel-sense to know there was selium in those bladders.