Page 83 of The Space Between Stars

Truth? What in the unheavenly realms was the truth if not a five-minute monologue about the Shadewalker and his Ghosts? “Out with it.”

“I was inducted into the Shadewalker’s Ghosts by an old friend, Drogus Meinforg. We first met over a game of stackers in Toboba during the Grey Period. He was an officer in the Chori Navy long before he found his way into the Shadewalker’s embrace. He offered me continual updates and information on the Kovathian state in Azadonia, in exchange for me garnering intelligence for the Ghosts.”

Attilatia’s breath caught. Everything she’d waited for, for sixteen years, and it rested between Pinto’s liver-spotted ears. “The Shadewalker has intelligence on the Kovathians? And Azadonia’s rebels?”

Pinto shifted, with an expression like he was trying to hide a nasty spot on the rug. “Drogus Meinforg, specifically.”

He was leading her to water, but forcing her to find her own fated spoon. “What intelligence have you given him in exchange?”

“My old trade records: sailing routes, the port hubs where I sold, contacts and connections… and one thing more.” Pinto cleared his throat. Shifted again. “Drogus commanded the southern fleet of the Chori navy to invade Casowhatan on information provided by a deep-rooted alliance with your old acquaintance, Deshpian Thacklore.”

Year: 740 Post Cataclysm: 8 years previously

Location: Chira’na

Green dakura smoke curled in wisps, casting a haze over Deshpian Thacklore’s sitting room. Fankalo sat in a wingbacked chair—more opulent than she’d ever seen—beside her father.

Thacklore set a leatherbound book on his desk between them. “This is the journal of Abiathar Methu’su. You want to understand the Tera’thian scourge? It will tell you everything you need to know.”

Fankalo reached for the journal.

Thacklore placed his hand over it. “It’s not that simple.”

“We’ve paid you what was requested,” her father argued.

“This is worth far more than notes. If I give you this, I need insurance—knowledge travels quickly without restraints—and a favor. An old acquaintance of mine has fallen into my confidence: Drogus Meinforg of the Chori Navy. Politics being what they are, the Nelfinden government would not appreciate my housing him, and the Chori would execute him for his failed assault. Keep his hands busy for a while, and the journal is yours. His expertise alone is worth its weight in gold.”

Thacklore was going to keep a tag on them? And not just any tag: a Chori tag, whom they would technically be smuggling. Fankalo’s father gave her a calculating look. She was sure he would say no. Methu’su’s journal was as good as gone.

Instead he locked eyes with Thacklore. “I am no nationalist. I harbor no prejudice against the Chori. If he’s a good man, and he does good work, I will accept your condition and his services.”

Attilatia’s eyes narrowed. “Deshpian Thacklore?” She still shivered at the taste of that name.

Pinto winced. “And Thacklore, also inducted by Drogus into the Shadewalker’s envoy, made the release of Kovathian intelligence conditional: I am required to keep watch on you.”

As the pieces snapped into place in her mind, Attilatia’s vision constricted down to a singular point. It was Pinto. It was all Pinto.

“Are. You. Fucking. Kidding?!” Those four words escalated from a growl into a screech. Attilatia forgot the dagger at her bodice and reached for the closest weapon: a doll, heavy with porcelain. She shattered its arm against the shelves to create a jagged point.

Pinto raised his hands. “You were so calm when I revealed my Ratka, I—I assumed you would take this as lightly. Take a breath, and let’s talk this out over a cup of tea.”

She shook the doll inches from his throat. “Please explain to me how one takes tea while they’re bleeding out on the floor?”

“Atti, you have to let me—”

“Filthy. Despicable. Old. Man.” To think she’d spent the past four ten-days giggling over her cup with the person who’d sent the Kovathians after her. “Why? Why tell me any of this?”

Tears blurred her eyes as they darted from Pinto’s sorrowful gaze to the severed porcelain limb in her hand and back. When he didn’t respond, she screamed and chucked the arm at the shelves. It knocked another doll to the floor. She grabbed it and slammed it into the wall, scattering a half-dozen more.

“I trusted you!” If he’d been acting like a bastard this whole time, this would be so much easier: put a hand to her throat, pull out the dagger she now knew he stowed in his robes. But he only hung his head. “I-I even—”

“Atti, just listen. I am, and I have always been, a patriot. The moment Thacklore disclosed to me who you were and whom you were guarding, I made a solemn vow to keep you safe. I was alone—an aging man with no family, no legacy—and I decided that someone needed to play this game on your behalf. Why not me?

“Yes, I entertained Thacklore’s request, but that does not mean I have fed him anything other than carefully crafted truths that would shield my own intentions.”

She paused, chest heaving, a hand over her burning eyes.

“I have been giving Thacklore information on you for five years. And I have put in a lot of work to make the lies I’ve fed him look believable. But they would have seen me for what I was if none of my leads were successful. I stopped a number of them personally. The others…”