“Of course it’s you.”
“Skies, Pelkaia. What’s going on here?”
He crossed to her side and toed an empty bottle. Not booze, as he’d first thought, though there was a fair amount of that kicking around nearby. The distinct tang of medicine – sedatives, painkillers – hung on the air, clinging to Pelkaia like a cloud despite the soft breeze.
“They left,” she said.
“Who left?” He hunkered down into a crouch beside her and reached to check her pulse via her wrist. She didn’t so much as flinch when he touched her. The beat of her heart was sluggish, but steady.
“Everyone.”
Shit. Coss, the crew… Coss. No wonder she was drinking herself stupid with anything she could find. He hadn’t been with those two long, but even he could see they’d cared about each other, and Pelkaia’d seemed considerably less nutty with Coss around to keep her stable.
“You gonna let their leaving kill you?” he asked.
She squinted at him. “You are such an idiot.”
“So I’ve been told. Come on now. Sit up. I’m not your biggest fan, Pelly my dear, but I’ll be damned if I let you waste away on the deck of this ship. You know how hard it is to clean a rotten body stain off hardwood?”
“Tip me over the side, then.”
“Pits.” He wrangled an arm under her shoulders and hefted her more or less upright, got her legs slung over the side of the chair so she’d be forced to bend them. Every move she made her joints crackled, and it was real hard to ignore just how firm her bone-braces had gotten since last he’d seen her. If Coss leaving wouldn’t kill her, the bonewither soon would.
After she was more or less stable, he went rummaging through the ship for some water, and came across cactus pulp juice. Good enough. She probably needed the extra nutrients.
By the time he returned she was looking a little more clear-eyed, but not much. Still managed to sit up straighter when she saw him, though, so that was something. Pride could get a body through a lot of things.
“Drink this, you damn fool of a woman.”
He helped her sip down half the bottle before she started spluttering.
“Why do you care?” she asked.
“Saved your ass once or twice before. Seems I’m making a habit of it.”
“Honding.” The sharpness was back in her voice, the subtle edge of exasperation. He grinned at her, and her frown just got deeper. That was as good a sign as any.
“Need your help.”
She snorted and reached for the juice. He handed it off to her, watched her throat bob as she forced a bigger swallow than she was ready for. “What is it this time?”
“You still want a shot at Thratia?”
There it was. She was back in a heartbeat, everything about her sharp and alert. If Detan knew one thing for sure about dear, crazy Pelly, it was that revenge would keep her walking and talking long after she’d been buried in a deep grave.
“Explain.”
“I’ll need you to work with an old friend of mine, name’s Gatai. He’ll handle most of the logistics, but he’ll need your particular talent. Once you’ve finished, you’ll have to return to Aransa, then wait for Thratia to come crawling back with her tail between her legs.”
“You think I can make it to Aransa in this shape?” She flung an arm out, taking in the whole of the empty Larkspur. Her arm trembled from the effort, and he wondered if she’d meant that to be part of her little display. Probably not.
“Gatai will get you a flier you can handle. You’ll be out of the city, en route to Aransa, long before the party even begins. You’re in poor shape, Pelly dear, but we both know you can rally yourself for one last push if it means a shot at Thratia.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, but she nodded. “I’m listening.”
He gathered himself, and explained his plan, such as it was. She listened with rapt attention, eyes growing brighter as each word fell into place. When he was finished, he didn’t need to ask her what her answer would be, but she provided one anyway.
“I’ll do it, but not alone.”
“Gatai will provide you with–”
She kicked one of the empty bottles hard enough that it shattered in a puff of glass shards. “Your wedding is in two days. That is no time at all to prepare what you ask, even with your friend’s help. I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
Her brows rose. “I doubt that. But all I need is for you to deliver a letter to Nouli. Can you?”
“Absolutely.” If he couldn’t do it himself, he could always hand it off to Gatai.
She took a moment to scrounge up some paper from a pocket and scrawled something brief, folded it, and passed it over. He put it in his own pocket and stood, offering her his hand. She eyed him a moment, then took it and allowed him to heft her to her feet.
“Chances are I won’t be seeing you again, I think,” he said. Skies, he wasn’t very good at this good-bye goatshit. Pelkaia was a walking nightmare for him more often than not, a crazy murderous nightmare, but he still had a soft spot for the nutter. At the very least, he understood her reasons.
She squeezed his arm, a soldier’s grip, and offered him what might be the first real smile he’d ever seen on her naked, true face. “Good luck.”
“And you.”
He left her to prepare, and waited until he was halfway back to the palace before taking a peek at the note she’d written Nouli.
The favor I must ask of you is, as it turns out, for all our benefit. I will come to discuss matters with you soon. As a token of my faith, here are the coordinates to a Catari meeting place. I will leave you once our task is complete, but if you travel to this location, leave a message in my name – Pelkaia Ariat Teria. The shamans will come for you, and share their knowledge. May you find your cure, as I could not.
Skies keep you.
Chapter Forty-Nine
A week after Ripka’s plea to the forum, the Honding palace rang out a peal of bells to mark the day of Detan’s wedding. Birds roosting on the roof of the stationhouse took to the air, sending the citizens’ brigade members – Ripka included – ducking for cover lest they be shat upon.
“Oh happy day,” Tibal said, to the nervous chuckles of many of those gathered. At least something had broken the tension.
“For those attending the festivities.” Forge removed a carefully wrapped parcel containing four wedding invitations she’d counterfeited with the supplies Detan had sent them. One each for Ripka, Tibal, Enard, and Honey. Watch-captain Lakon had received his own, legitimate, invitation the day before.
Ripka undid the bundle and handed them out to her well-dressed companions, feeling stiff and awkward in her own fine, carnelian dress. At least Thratia’s taste in fashion made wearing a high slight and leggings beneath acceptable. Mobility would be key tonight.
Latia’d procured somber black suits for the men, subtle pleating allowing them a greater range of motion, and a dye-dipped dress of oranges and reds that made Honey look like she was the smoldering wick of a candle, her hair the golden flame.