But that wasn’t what they saw. It wasn’t what heletthem see. If he faltered, Hesper faltered, and he’d be gone to glass before he let that happen.
He’d always kept the watch. Always held the fort. Even when that meant being alone in the night, with an ache in the bone and another empty bottle.
And here he was holding down the fort again. That seemed to be what he did these days. Hold the fort while the fleet sails north. Watch your friends, your wife, disappear over the horizon.Hear nothing of use from bastard scouts for months. Field requests from captains and guilds and traders, all jockeying like sharks in a shrinking tank.
Climb the seawall and watch the ocean painted with the bright flags of ships, hating every one for not being the one you want to see. Then welcome them all, somehow, miraculously back. Manage to build a life, in the aftermath, beyond the celebrations. Have a kid. Watch it grow. Hear its words and wipe its snot and dry its tears and watch it grow. Into a person. A man.
Start to dream of another life. Of peace, and simple things.
Then catch rumours of something wrong. Storms in the south. Ships lost in unseasonable drownings. The wind stinking of sulphur and dark earth. The air carrying the sound of something vast, cracking and rolling across the sky. Crows. Flocks upon flocks of crows arrowing down through the grey rain, skimming the fallow fields, bowing the branches and crowding the battlements as they rested before flying onwards, ever south.
Hearing your dearest friend warn you that something terrible was brewing, resolving to go yourself this time, because she’s got the baby and she shouldn’t travel, and anyway, wasn’t that what men did, what a real man would do?
Marshalling a smile on your face and trading all your goodwill like coin. Pulling the other cities behind you into a great fleet that stroked the surface of the water like an Emperor’s ego.
And finally, finally sailing south.
For a second, Fallon’s fingers linger on the map’s ragged southern scar, and he feels a similar, poorly healed itch in his mind.
No, not today. Today he would hold down the fort again while his friends once again went north, to seek allies, this time. Maybe to win this third war before it started; maybe, just maybe, to get them all enough peace to stretch them to the grave.
And wouldn’t that be a mercy.
38
the rotted barns,
the fallow fields,
the piping call of lean birds
legacy, legacy, legacy
—What Is Born Beyond Blades, Heartshamer
Morning. A horse thunders across the square, trailing half a cart behind it, its owner an arm-span behind. Shipwright watches it go with a flicker of amusement. Hesper.
The dip of the horse’s spine masks Fallon for the briefest second as he descends the tower stairs into the courtyard. Not looking too bad, all in all, broad shoulders rolling in the shadow and a blackwood cane just enough of a sop for the physickers’ clucking. Never handsome, but just sometimes, he was somuchthat you couldn’t help but admire him.
The bubble bursts as he sways at the bottom of the stairs. She hurries forwards and offers an arm. He takes it and pulls her in with surprising strength, planting a kiss on her cheek. ‘My smooth moves worked, I see.’
She sticks her tongue out at him. ‘Your moves have never worked. And they’ve never been smooth.’
He nods cheerfully. ‘Still got myself a good one.’
She smiles wistfully. ‘That you did.’ Only the briefest pang in her heart today. ‘How is she this morning?’
‘Resting,’ he replies, his eyes scanning the courtyard. ‘Like I’m supposed to be. Fuck happened here?’
‘Stray cart,’ Shipwright says. ‘Overexcited horse.’
Fallon tuts. ‘I’m in bed two weeks and the city literally falls apart.’ He walks over, pushes the debris with his cane.
‘Overexcited my arse, that’s a horny stallion. You can smell it in the piss. This time of year, all they want to do is mount something.’ He picks up a shattered urn, sniffs. ‘Not pull carts of sour Midlands wine.’
‘Reminds me of someone,’ Shipwright murmurs.
He grins. ‘Because you’re such a shy violet. How do you not break that skinny little ghost?’
