Page 170 of The Space Between Stars

“No.” She wasn’t going to wait another three years. “But I have an address.” She tapped her finger on Avelius’s cross street. “And a couple of good scaling knives. So I’ve decided to invite myself over for tea. I’ll need you three to stand watch.”

She and Mitek exchanged a look. Only he and Drogus knew she was a conduit. She’d held the secret closer than her father’s knife for the three years since discovering what had been done to her brother as a result of it. Zeb and Cam could not be privy to why she was visiting Avelius and what they were standing watch for. She needed Mitek to manage them accordingly.

Mitek crossed his arms. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

She glared at him. “Don’t ask me if I’m sure.”

“Whatever you say, Brat—I mean, boss.”

Fankalo’s nostrils flared. “He’s been laying low for a reason. He’s scared. There are a hundred men who want the knowledge he has. But I’m the only one that deserves it.” Avelius just needed to see her—what she was. He would help her.

“How do you even know he’s home?”

She didn’t, but her Luck promised a fortuitous outcome if the Fates kept their current course. “Call it a feeling.”

“Are we leaving now?” Zeb asked.

“As soon as possible. I don’t know how much time I’ll have.” She looked at Mitek, who shifted awkwardly. She knew what he was thinking: he wanted to get those kids into good hands. Visiting Shrokan always distracted him from his duties.

He still cared about this shitty district, whatever his estranged history with it. More than he cared for the Rapture, she was sure, as often as he cursed the boat, griping about being sick of the food or the hammock or the work or vomiting over the rail. As if it was the ship’s fault he had a weak stomach.

Mitek always looked for reasons to come back to Shrokan, thinking he was being discreet. He made anonymous donations to clean up the district’s water, house orphans and slumlings, facilitate the accessibility of antibiotics. Every time they docked it was something new. She’d had him followed more than once when the ledgers didn’t balance but couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She wrote off whatever went missing following one of his escapades as his haul. Fates knew he brought in enough for them, but...

“I’ll meet you there?” he asked.

She folded up the map and pressed it into his chest. “Don’t be late.”

The grandiose sitting room of Avelius’s Korshuva district flat sat on the fourth story—high enough to see over Seraphinden’s wall into the green Casowhatan. Fankalo had crept through the window during the guard’s blind spot. A soft breeze tugged at the curtains. Back pressed against the wall, she stood behind them for long minutes, waiting.

Shrewd brown eyes blinked at her from the glass of the open window. She didn’t often spend time with her reflection: too long and shapeless, even with the way her curls now bobbed near her shoulders. Mitek had braided them at their roots in an effort to keep them from her face, but it hardly worked. She still wasn’t sure why she’d stopped cropping them. She looked away.

Sunlight flooded the vaulted ceilings, dappling bookshelves and armchairs. Opulence outfitted every corner, with decanters and vases, statues and rugs, and a rack of polished dowagas on display. Repulsive. People who lived like this were clearly compensating for a lack of pride or power. Perhaps both.

A nearly life-sized painting adorned the far wall. In it, seven officers stood shoulder to shoulder. Second to last, beside the Green Wing captain she recognized from the state reports to be Avelius, was a tall man with dark hair. Fankalo couldn’t tear her gaze from his eyes, hauntingly familiar… until footsteps echoed against the cherrywood flooring.

Avelius stepped into the room and made his way to an armchair. He was more diminutive in person than his portrait made him seem. When he sat to pour himself a glass from the decanter on a clawfoot table, she wasn’t sure he even dented the cushions. Fankalo felt out with her Luck to determine whether he was alone.

The old commander’s spine stiffened. “Is there someone there?” he whispered, silver brows pinching.

Nothing could have alerted him to her presence. Nothing… except maybe his own Luck, a possibility she couldn’t discount, considering his affiliations.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Avelius leapt to his feet and pulled a dowaga from the weapons rack. He turned and raised it. “What do you want?” His voice was like the rasping of waves against sand.

“Your help.” Fankalo stepped from behind the curtain, her father’s dagger drawn but only as a precaution.

He scanned her from head to toe before his face twisted with sneering doubt. His dowaga lowered. “How did you get in here?”

She raised her chin. “Dolomite blocks have a lovely aesthetic, don’t they? Ironic that, despite their expense, the mortar between them is so insubstantial. There’s something to be said for rammed earthen architecture: it’s far more difficult to scale.”

“You… you—”

“I climbed. I considered your wide-open window permission. And I stood here patiently until you arrived.”

The sneer returned—not what she had expected from the guardian of Ruxian secrets, but perhaps should have, considering his station. “I doubt that. Who let you through? Who are you working for?”

“I would not make the mistake of underestimating me before we’ve even had a conversation, Mesu Avelius. I’ve come a long way and waited a long time to speak to you, and Chaos knows I won’t leave here without having my word.”