Tundavik made sure all the lids were on tight, all the barrels fastened so not to roll as the ship cut through the water below

  “Seems to be ready to dock.” Potter, a young man with enough fat to show off his family’s wealth, said. Tundavik nodded as he made sure his crate didn’t fall overboard. “Ye ever been to this city?”

  “No.” Tundavik said.

  “Me neither. Always wanted to see.” Potter leaned on the railing. “Ye ever been this side of the Vlylahl Sea?”

  Tundavik sat on the deck and slipped his boots on. His feet ached from the weeks of work while at sea. The ship lurched. When they first set out to sea Tundavik couldn’t keep himself from vomiting, now he was used to it. “I came here a lot.” Tundavik looked to the rocky shores. “A long time ago.”

  “I’m sure it’s just like you ‘member it.” Potter started to whistle a song about a some man climbing a mountain as his head faced the cliffs.

  “Did the captain say where you’ll be heading after you drop me off?”

  “Zadova.” Potter whispered as if it were a secret. “Never been there either. Haven’t been much places, have I?”

  Tundavik shivered at the thought. “Winter’s going to settle in soon. It wouldn’t surprise me if the northern mountains already have snow. You going to stay up there until spring?”

  “I hope not. My family in Verva will miss me plenty. Sure you ain’t wanna come?”

  “I just want to sell my fish and go back home.” But not my western home.

  “Get ready to dock.” The helmsman yelled. The deckhands went to work, Tundavik and Potter staying out of the way.

  The great black cliffs of Gereduss towered over the ship as they sailed into the harbor, almost hidden by the rocks. Large ships, not unlike this one, lined the docks. Workers scurrying atop them. Sun beating down. The sails were raised, and the anchor dropped. “Make it quick.” The helmsman shouted. Some deckhands left the ship. Others stayed. Tundavik was the only one not continuing north. He grabbed his crate of fish and tried not to fall off the gangplank. Potter called out from behind. “Maybe we’ll see one another some other time.”

  Tundavik waved goodbye as a cat stalked from the shadows toward his fish. “Don’t freeze out there.”

  He kicked the cat away. The only other living thing on the docks beside the deckhands. The streets were empty. It was as if midnight had called. It wasn’t even noon. The fish sloshed around in the wooden crate as Tundavik made his way past the warehouses and docks. Looking back at the ships sitting in the harbor, he saw men aboard with plain faces. Where is everyone? Some plague? Has a monster swooped down and gobbled up half the town? Reaching the markets, he set the crate down. A few vagrants walked by, a couple of fishermen, even a child who was going through the stalls looking for food. A wooden sign cracked against a post and Tundavik saw one stall open. The cat came back and stole a fish before Tundavik could catch it, he hiked the crate up to the stall.

  “Ailtè.” A woman with one eyebrow said. “Ya looking to buy some undergarments?” She motioned to her wares, white garments, hastily sewn together. “I’ll take some fish if ya want em.”

  “I was looking to sell these,” he looked again at the empty stalls, “but no one seems to be in town. And, sorry to say, undergarments don’t seem like a fair trade.”

  “Well, today you won’t be getting any fair trade ‘cept my wares. So decide or be gone with ya.”

  The child from before came over with his hands out. He was a mess of dirt and grime, wheezing as he walked. “Podyn?”

  Tundavik’s eyebrows rose. The woman rolled her eyes. “Fish. He wants ta fish.”

  “No.” He clutched his crate harder. “I’m sorry, not without coin. I didn’t sail all this way from the West to hand out fish for free.”

  The one eyebrow on the woman’s head lowered. Wrinkles appearing. “Ya would withhold food from this here sickly boy? What kinda monster are ya?”

  “Monster?”

  The woman bent down to the child. “If I had food with me I would give ya some. I know a nice man near the oppressor’s statue, he gives out bread on days like this.”

  The boy smiled and ran off, as fast as his wheezing would allow. Tundavik didn’t want to look at the lady to face his shame, and when he did all he saw was a scowl. “Where ya from?”

  “Attrima.” Tundavik’s answer was met with a tsk tsk. “I don’t understand. Usually when I visit Coastburg or Dunniage their docks are as busy as Vigura’s Feast. What’s happened here?”

  “Nothing’s happened. Ya arrived on the day of la durnid.” The woman spat at his feet. “Coastburg?” Her head was shaking. “I can’t even stand the sight of ya, refusing that poor boy food. Get away from me stall unless you want something.” He shook his head. “Than find another buyer.”

  Tundavik’s mouth was opened in disbelief as he continued down the stretch of market stalls. Thousands of people. Nowhere to be seen. He turned and saw the ship he was on getting ready to depart. If he went back he would end up in Zadova, not the best place to be when winter decides to come. A few more women were walking the street. They smiled and touched themselves as they passed, hoping for some business no doubt. He could hear moans to his left, where a sign showed a woman with her legs spread open. If I wanted a woman I would’ve stayed in Baragio.

  A dark headed man came stumbling out of the brothel with tired eyes and a swollen lip. He held his head and his stomach. “Fun night?” Tundavik called out.

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  The man looked up but waved him away. Tundavik chuckled and saw a statue in the distance. If the man with bread is there, maybe he’ll buy some fish. The man from the brothel came closer, now his eyes fixated on Tundavik. Is he that upset at my jape? He didn’t want to drop his crate, but that was the only way to get the dagger in his shoe. One step closer.

  “Do I know you?” He didn’t sound like he came from Rowan, his accent was eerily similar to Tundavik’s.

  His shoulders relaxed. “Excuse me?”

  “You look familiar.” The man hiccuped as he massaged his bruised face. “Do you come to the market a lot? The whorehouse?” His hands rested on his hips. “I don’t think we’ve fucked before, but I don’t remember most nights.”

  “No, we haven’t.” Tundavik looked the man up and down. Do I know him? He couldn’t find a matching face in his memory.

  The man’s eyes widened. “Lord Tundavik Vandes?”

  It was like an arrow pierced his stomach. He set the fish down so he wouldn’t drop them. “How do you know that name?”

  “Because I know you,” the man’s swollen face contorted into a smile. “You don’t remember me. I mean, why would you, we only talked for a day or so. It was a crazy time.” He straightened his posture and pushed back his hair. “I am Sir Mar. We spoke before you went to Panscar and I went to Awara.”

  “During the war with the Rainvealandians.” Tundavik thought back to the war, before his campaign along the Bezir. A short, young man had been making jokes all night, mostly about the mites and his prowess.

  Mar stepped closer. “Yes.” Now it was his turn to look Tundavik up and down. “It’s been so long. I didn’t even know you were in Gereduss.”

  “I’m only trying to sell my fish. I sailed here from Attrima.”

  “Attrima? So that’s where you went after the mess that happened.” Mar’s smile faded. “You know, no one really knows why you left.”

  “That’s the way I want it.”

  “There are rumors. Rainvealandians, the king.”

  “All rumors.”

  The knight gave a nod and bent over, stumbling for a moment on the cobbled road, and picked up the crate of fish. “You won’t find many people out today, come with me. I’m sure the prince would love to buy these.”

  “The prince?” Tundavik didn’t have time to object as Mar strolled down the street with his fish. They walked in silence for a few minutes as they went north, through both narrow streets and a large field where tourney games were usually held. “And where is everyone? I think it would be difficult to empty a city of thousands.”

  “It’s that time again.” Mar must’ve seen the confused look on the old lord’s face. “Every few weeks, and especially after a tourney, the Gorthair gather in their chancellery to discuss their feelings or something to that matter. I never go.”

  “Why not? Don’t you live here?”

  Mar laughed. “I’m sure you remember when Rowan burned?” Tundavik nodded, remembering hearing the news of revolt and killings and the kingdom almost crumbling. “Well, they don’t like people like me all that much, or the people I serve. And I don’t feel like getting thrown in a river like a certain dead queen.”

  “I just wanted to sell some fish. Maybe make enough stallions to hire a boat to Viguran.”

  “Coins?” Mar laughed. “No coins in the Gorthair Marches. You’ll have to barter, take whatever you find down to Coastburg then hire a ship from there.” Tundavik scratched his head. The domaton rose in the distance, chisels and hammers sounding like instruments. Either it was being rebuilt or stripped of its valuables. I guess the flames really did change Gereduss, and I thought Coastburg got it the worst. “Did I hear you right?” Mar asked. “A ship to Viguran?”

  They turned to the west toward the black cliffs and the palace atop it. Hundreds of stairs slithering up the hill. “You heard right.” His old home called to him. Not since he left has he wanted to go back. So why now? He didn’t question it, it was as if no matter what he did his body ached to go home. “I wish to see it before I die.”

  Mar almost dropped the crate due to his laughs. “You’re not that old. Unless the gods have cursed you.”

  “I just want to see it.” He shrugged, for himself as much as for Mar. “Attrima is so much different from Ritaeum.”

  “I bet.” Mar climbed the first step to the cliff. “I’ve never been to Baragio, the only thing I know is the wine. Maybe we can trade places.”

  Tundavik was already tired after a few steps. How am I supposed to make it to the top? “How has life treated you? The Savior of Vikry, once a renowned knight of Viguran, living with some prince atop a cliff.”

  “Well, you know knights can’t refuse orders.” Mar took a deep breath. “Maybe the Gorthair people were right about that no king thing.”

  Tundavik looked back at the city. The cliffs along the shore and the large, rocky hills that made up the marches, stretching inland as far as he could see, the city growing in the center of it all. The domaton being worked on. A crowd by the statue. The empty market. An ornate bell tower that rang out on the hour. “Maybe they were.”

  The palace seemed so far, as did the city behind them. A few guards stood along the cliff side. Mar chatted whenever they came up on one, asking about their day and telling them about some fight during the tourney. The guards wore surcoats over their chainmail. An owl. In the owl’s talons, a bushel of wheat. As they continued, Tundavik had the sinking feeling like he didn’t want to know which prince lived with Sir Mar. He felt the dagger pushing on his foot. Revenge? Come to Rowan and kill a prince before fleeing back to Attrima? Would I forgive myself? He didn’t want to think anymore, he took deep breaths, some because of the thousand steps, to rid his mind of thoughts. Sir Mar smiled as they reached the top.

  The castle hugged the edge of the black cliffs. There was no wall, only bricks with towering spires and large central buildings ten stories high with sloping roofs for the rain and snow. There were guards with owl surcoats along the path. Guards with horse surcoats manned a tower above the steps, watching with bows at their side. Mar nodded and said pleasantries to a few. Tundavik followed to a central courtyard, bricks littered the grass, masons and bricklayers hard at work on the eastern wing.

  “What happened here?” Tundavik asked, stepping over small shards of glass.

  “When the Flames broke out,” Mar began, “the castle was taken over by the people. They looted it and some even moved in. We had to take it back when we came seven years ago, the city was not happy, but we had more swords and arrows. Kicked all the vagrants out. It’s been in a constant state of rebuilding since. These things take a while.”

  Mar continued to talk to guards as they entered through a stone door, carved with snaking wisps. The halls were lit by torches. The shadows dancing off the walls. The floor beneath was black like the cliffs, muffling footsteps as they wandered. “Not as fancy as the elvish palaces, but nicer than your ducal place in Ritaeum.” The knight laughed.

  Tundavik could barely remember his home before the blood splashed the walls like paint. “Dreary though.”

  “That’s the Gorthair for you, dreary people.”

  They made their way up more stairs, Tundavik’s heart wanting to burst from his chest. He couldn’t tell if it was from the long climb or nerves for the person who could be inside. A single door was waiting. They had to be on the third or fourth floor, he had lost count focusing on his breathing.

  Mar opened the door. “Greetings. I’m sure you missed me.”

  “Where have you been?” A tall, pale man said, sounding like he was hiding an accent. “And who’s this?”

  “An old acquaintance who just happened to be in Gereduss, Tundavik Vandes.”

  The man’s face puzzled. “Who?”

  Tundavik’s boot buzzed as a child came in from the stone balcony. “Tundavik Vandes? As in the Duke of the Woodlands?” The child was blond, his face a younger version of his father’s. Tundavik couldn’t see all the hate of the king in his son though. He played through the consequences of taking his knife out and stabbing the child’s throat. They would only kill me. Not much worse than that. The kid came closer. Tundavik’s fingers itching to grab the dagger. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Tundavik’s hand stopped moving. The boy’s voice broke as he said that. Just a child. He held out his arm and the Prince of Viguran shook it.