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Chapter 2
Four Years Ago
A harsh whisper cleaved through the frigid night. “Petra.”
“Yes?” I answered.
“I can’t sleep.” The other side of the bed moved as Larka turned to face me. The contours of her face were illuminated by the silvery moonlight pouring in from the sole window in our bedroom. I could see her long lashes dancing. She always blinked too much when she was excited. Even at twenty three, her eyes were the thing to give away her excitement.
“What do you think it’ll be like?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied, whispering into the night. “Nothing to compare it to.” I could practically hear Larka’s eyes roll at my bland answer. Our bed was comfortable enough — small, if anything, but enough for the two of us. My sister and I had shared this same bed our entire lives. She was three years my senior, though some said we didn’t look anything like sisters. While her hair was silken, fine, and golden blonde like our mother’s, mine was coarse, wild, and caramel brown, supposedly matching some distant cousin I’d never met. Her eyes were the color of ice, while mine resembled tree bark. And though we were both taller than average, she was all fluid grace while I was awkward and clumsy.
“The harbor is going to be crowded. What if the ships crash into each other? No, they wouldn’t. They’re captains for a reason, right? Saints, it’s going to be amazing,” she continued, whimsy entering her voice as she droned on, answering her own questions as she went.
I laughed. “I hope there’s one from Eddena,” I replied. Eddena’s lapis lazuli mines were known across the world. The stone was crushed into a fine powder to dye textiles, and the color was my absolute favorite. Larka and I swore that one day we’d go to Eddena and mine some for ourselves. We’d laid out a plan to see the whole world, actually, as soon as we could save enough money to make sure our parents would be all right while we were gone.
“Youalwaystalk about Eddena. What about Zidderune? I bet their sails are lovely,” she crooned. I noticed the sound of light footsteps on the road outside, not at all an odd occurrence considering Copper Street was used heavily by Inkwell residents, but strange considering the hour and…had they paused?
I rolled my eyes, shifting my attention back to the conversation, ignoring my paranoia. “You want to see the Zidderunian ship because you know the Zidderunian Prince will be the one captaining it,” I sneered.
She snorted. “That doesn’t hurt either. You’ve heard what they say about him.”
I sighed. Tomorrow marked Eserene’s first time hosting Cindregala. The celebration marked the end of the War of Kings, when Faldyr, Blood Saint of War, sent a tide so high that it destroyed many coastal cities, Eserene included. Katia, Keeper of Benevolent Saints called upon her kelpies to keep the wave from washing too far inland and destroying the whole world. The festivities were held in one of 120 cities around the world each year, each a coastal city that had been swamped by Faldyr’s tidal wrath. Eserene was the very last city on the list, and after tomorrow the list would return to the first city.
Tomorrow was also my twentieth birthday.
The entire city had been preparing for the event for months. Dilapidated buildings had been restored, streets had been recobbled and swept and swept again, shrubbery had been planted, tassels and banners hung from every corner. The city gleamed like a jewel on the Invisible King’s crown. That is, except for our district, Inkwell.
The noblemen and women that would be arriving for Cindregala had no business in the slums of Inkwell among the poor and the wretched and the rats, save for a few of the most depraved who sought anonymity in the Painted Empress Brothel. The city saw no reason to clean up the district, so Inkwell remained caked with the same soot and dirt it always had.
“I’m nervous,” I whispered to Larka.
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. I’m just…nervous. Big crowd. Lots of strangers.”
Larka scoffed. “You worry too much.”
“Someone’s gotta,” I countered. But she was right. Larka had a tendency to say the wrong things at the wrong time, and the thought of being around so many people tomorrow who could unknowingly antagonize her set me on edge. Larka let out a giggle and turned onto her back, sighing deeply. The heavy moonlight did nothing to warm the night breeze that slipped through the planks of our bare walls. Our father had tried to nail the gaps shut more than once, but it seemed that for every gap he sealed, two more replaced it. His hands shook all the while, the tremors having worsened over the last few years.
“Fresh air does us good, Da!” Larka cheerfully chimed a few months ago as our father stood exasperated in our room, his frustration visible in the creases of his face.
“Maybe in the summer, girl, but come winter ye won’t be saying the same thing,” he rasped, trying to keep his tone even. He held a rock in his hand in place of a mallet, not able to afford a replacement after a tremor sent the old one crashing to the ground while he patched up the roof one rainy spring day.
Larka just moved in to embrace him, assuring him that we would be fine. She and my Da had always had a special bond, some sort of deeper understanding of one another, like their souls were molded from the same clay, by the same hands.
Those gaps whistled and hummed as an autumn gust assaulted the house. Larka said nothing, so neither did I. I hoped that Ma and Da couldn’t hear the creaking of the planks from their room downstairs. Guilt already wracked them. I didn’t need to add more.
“How’s it feel?” Larka asked.
“How’s what feel?”
“To be almost twenty!”
“Feels like being nineteen.” I shrugged. Larka snorted, throwing her hands in the air in a dramatic display of exasperation.
She pulled the thin blanket up to rest under both of our chins. “Enjoy our last night together, Petra.”
