Page 46 of The Space Between Stars

There was more muttering from the crowd than anything now. Niklaus had bitten his nail down to the finger. He could hardly believe it; he might have a wallet again.

Dex gave him a pointed look and snorted.

Trokus whistled, and the next round began. Borodus released a war cry as he hurled himself towards the mute, guarded only by two broken halves of a wooden dowaga and an aloof expression.

The mute dropped the pieces and, as Borodus released his first swing, leaned forward to catch his opponent’s dowaga along its center hilt. Then, using the momentum of the attack, he dipped his head and flung both man and weapon over his shoulder. Borodus crashed to the sand in a twist of limbs.

The mute spun to kneel over top of him, snatching up one of the wooden halves he had discarded. He held it to Borodus’s throat—a kill move. Borodus’s hand shot into the air.

“End match,” Trokus shouted. It had only lasted six seconds. “Victor, Nameless.”

The crowd erupted, sending a bubbling wave of relief through Niklaus. He was going to live through this campaign. The marshal’s disbelieving eyes darted across the crowd toward him, and Niklaus flashed him his most obnoxious smile before whooping and screaming with the rest of them.

His celebration faltered as he looked over at the mute. Something in his face snaked ice down Niklaus’s spine. He still held out the splintered dowaga. And his expression…Wrong. Something was wrong. He was about to commit murder. He was about to—

The mute lobbed his broken weapon aside. Then he stooped and helped Borodus to his feet, a gentle giant.

Niklaus shivered, but his unease ebbed. It had to be the cold and the withdrawal. He’d imagined things that—

“Alright, Meyernes,” Dex shouted over the din, his expression irritated and astounded all at once. “You’ve won sixteen moons’ worth of Red Wing stipend. What are you going to do with it?”

“Nothing recommended,” Niklaus admitted. “Except I might treat our friend to a spare set of clothing. He smells like he’s been wearing the same pissing tunic since he got here.”

“That’s the first decent thing I’ve heard come out of your mouth.”

“What, that Nameless smells like shrat in the sun?”

Dex crossed his arms. “Don’t ruin it for yourself.”

They both looked to the victor. A number of men had surrounded him, slapping him on the back or otherwise trying to engage him. In stark contrast to the mute’s posture of a lethal beast moments before, his shoulders now cringed toward his ears.

“Should we rescue him?” Dex asked.

“Yes, let’s.”

ELEVEN

NIKLAUS

Year: 746 Post Cataclysm: Twenty Months Previously

Location: Korshuva District, Seraphinden

When tropical winter set into Seraphinden and the afternoons promised a misting of rain, the crowd at the Muddy Horse couldn’t be beat. Latouda sat in her usual spot. Low light from the red Aetech lamp was reflected on her bronze skin, forming a halo of burgundy around her turban. She was a thing art should envy.

Niklaus pulled up a stool beside her, eliciting a side-eye, a sly smile, and a slow pull from her drink. Only then did she free her hands to signal.

She pushed the metal tin along the countertop toward him.

He pocketed it. Fates, but she was a blessing—he’d nearly run out. Knew him better than he knew himself.

Niklaus had taught her to read and signal, against the ordinance, following the accident that took her hearing. She was much better at signaling than him now, and he usually preferred to let her read his lips than stumble through the gestures. “You are always too good to me.”

Niklaus wrapped an arm around her and planted a kiss at her hairline. Claynard was mopping down the counter at the far end of the bar. He caught Niklaus’s eye and tilted his head to the side.

Niklaus wove through the other patrons to order a round.