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Her words anchored in my mind, clear and precise and compelling.
Free us. Free us with fire.
The door crashed open. The ghistings vanished and I spun to see newcomers, bundled in landsman’s clothes. One had a dragonfly lantern in his hand, another a cudgel. Guards.
Usti words assaulted me. I stepped back, disorientation replaced with genuine misunderstanding. And theirvolume—Saint,they were loud. We’d certainly attract attention. If Lirr was as close as Samuel hadsaid…
“I’m not Usti,” I protested, speaking just loud enough to be heard. “Please quiet down!”
“What are you doing here?” someone demanded in accented Aeadine, fae lanternlight filling her indignant expression. “You’re not allowed to be here! How did you get in?”
“What are you wearing?” another asked, more heavily accented.
Cold leapt back to my awareness, and with it, remembrance of how I wasdressed—ina party ensemble, panniers wide, hair falling from its pins. I must look ridiculous, hiding in the warehouse like this.
“There were gunshots in the streets,” I replied, straightening my shoulders. “I ran. Please be quiet!”
Usti scoffing and curses were the only response. I licked my lips, quickly navigating the situation. I had moments before they forced me to leave, and I couldn’t let that happen.
But the situation was already far beyond my control.
Gunshots rang out. Two of the guards went down in heaps and the last turned, lantern swinging. The butt of a musket caved in his face with a nauseating crunch.
More forms flooded the doorway and surrounded me in the dark. Lirr came last, swift and brusque.
I blinked. Samuel claimed to have injured Lirr, but though there was a gash in his coat, he showed no signs of pain.
Stooping, the pirate picked up the guard’s fallen dragonfly lantern and opened its door with a slow, considerate care that seemed entirely out of place. The small creatures immediately flew free, streaking off and taking their glow with them.
In the new and deeper darkness, Lirr looked from me to the figureheads.
Brother, the ghistings whispered, reverence in their voice.
“Siblings,” Lirr replied.
PART THREE
AN EXCERPT FROM:
A HISTORY OF GHISTLORE AND THE BLESSED; THOSE BOUND TO THE SECOND WORLD AND THE POWER THEREIN
THE STORMWALL ISa perpetual storm which divides the Winter Sea from the eternal ice of the far north. The origins of the Wall are unknown and steeped in folklore. Various theories have been put forward in recent decades, from fault lines in the fabric of the worlds to the adverse effects of sorcery, but as traversing the Wall is improbable at best, little can be proven. However, it is generally agreed that the storm is not a natural phenomenon and has deep ties to the Other.
THIRTY-THREE
A Good Name
SAMUEL
The shipyards had burned, and Lirr was gone. After a night of futile searching and dodging musket fire, I stood in the shipyard gate as Usti soldiers flowed in and out. The yard was in ruins, all ice and char under the weak morning sun. I walked through the crumbled ghisting warehouse, now little more than blackened stone walls. Every figurehead was ash, their ghistings freed and longvanished—backinto the Other, or to a Ghistwold.
Mary’s corpse was not there. Blackened bones lay under a fresh dusting of snow, but they were not hers. She was a light on the horizon, fading with Lirr at the edge of my curse’s sight.
Now we had been summoned to thepalace—we,being the newly minted Captain Fisher and her first officer, Samuel Rosser. Slader was dead, and despite how troubled our relationship had been, I felt no relief. For all his faults he had been an experienced captain, and without him I was unsure whatHartwould become. It was not that I doubted Fisher, but she was still young as captains went. So, for that matter, was I.
“One ofyourpeople, a man who you, Captain Fisher, have been commissioned to apprehend, and you, Captain Ellas, should have stopped, has orchestrated an attack on my soil.” Queen Inara’s voice echoed off the expanse of marble floor between her throne and our small forms, filling the vaulted ceilings and cutting through shafts of light from the high, narrow windows. Colorful tapestries of ancient Usti gods and saints hung between each window, but otherwise the space was adorned solely by the carved throne, inlaid with enough black pearls to buy Aeadine.
The queen stood before it. Her gown was blood red, her waist narrow and her panniers modest, a beautiful, middle-aged woman: regal, but not overdone. Though she addressed Benedict’s scar-faced Captain Ellas, Captain Fisher and Captain Demery, her gaze included Benedict and I.
