Page 81 of The Space Between Stars

“Pinto, I think he’s working for the Shadewalker. And I need to know why they are trying to kill me.” Just another fan to add to her list.

Pinto paled. “Hashod?”

When she had first shown Pinto the Ratka weeks ago, she had told him Hashod wore it, but chosen not to reveal that Roskaad did as well. “Not just Hashod. I only gave you his name to cover my bases.” It was a funny way of saying ‘I didn’t trust you before but I do now,’ but Pinto seemed to understand, forgive, and appreciate all in one grandfatherly gesture. He pulled her into his chest.

“Atti… no one is coming to tell you about the Shadewalker,” he whispered hoarsely. “I was putting you off.”

What? She stepped back from Pinto, and he paced toward the window.

“But, given the present situation, I will tell you the things I know.”

Attilatia tried not to let her irritation show. Pinto loved gossip. He loved sharing his knowledge and connections—it was what he lived for. If he was sheltering her, it must be with good reason.

He took long moments to watch the steam curl from the teapot. To let another layer of dust cascade and settle over his countless treasures. Attilatia was about to clear her throat when he jumped into a nervous speech.

“The Shadewalker… let’s begin by saying I have not met him. And what I know of him is conflicting in nature. But if there is one thing to be said, the Shadewalker is orchestrating a dangerous game—and he’s been very successful at amassing his players.”

He shifted his robes down one shoulder and pulled at their hem, revealing the space beneath his collarbone to show that mark—the same as Roskaad’s. His expression was like a snake poised to strike.

“This mark is my tender for secrets,” he hissed.

It should have caused her to backpedal into the shelves. But, Fates, she was so well over the turning of events these past few weeks, it honestly just made her want to go to sleep.

She crossed her arms and sighed. “Fates behave.”

“I—I expected you to be more alarmed.”

“I’ve seen more twists and turns these past months than a Shrokan whore’s seen one-eyed show-stoppers. I’m honestly shocked you didn’t admit that you are the Shadewalker.”

He brought a wrinkled hand to the back of his balding head. “With that out of the way… Let’s talk about the Shadewalker’s silent rise to power and the Ghosts he commands. Maybe then you’ll know why one of us wants to put you under, eah?”

She could only hope to learn something.

“It starts with the mark—the Ratka—he imparts on his own.”

Year: 742 Post Cataclysm: 6 years previously

Location: Casowhatan Sea

In her quarters, Fankalo wrung her shirt into a rope and pulled it firmly between her hands.

“Do it, Mitek,” she commanded from the floor.

Mitek’s hand trembled on the knife. “Let’s take another few days to think about this.”

Even a few seconds put her farther from stopping Cul’Mon. “We have do this. We can’t just pass rumors to every Shrokan slick and Korshuva qahuaist and expect to buy widespread belief. But there is no stronger currency than blood.”

“Brat—”

“Don’t make me do it myself!”

She took the cloth between her teeth and bit down hard. Mitek brought the blade closer. He nearly closed his eyes until she glared at him. Then he moved: three lightning-fast cuts, splitting pain, blood in the air.

But it was done—a mark, just the same as Calver’s. Mitek had already pulled back the blade.

He worked his jaw and nodded. “Alright. If we’re doing this, I’m going to make this fucking thing look good on me.”

Pinto’s hands laced in his lap. “Any who swear fealty to the Shadewalker are instructed to speak of him—to tell any and everyone they can about him—but to not disclose their allegiance to him, under penalty of death.”