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I frowned, accepting the knife. It had an obsidian hilt like Grant’s saber and was attached to a slim but strong belt, which I slipped around my waist.

“You’re not coming?” I asked, pulling the knife partway out of its sheath and glancing at it. It looked quite sharp.

“Phira are I are on good terms, but I would not be seen in her company without direct invitation.” Demery removed several papers from the sheaf, folded the rest together and handed them to Grant, who tucked them into an interior pocket of his coat.

My eyes lingered on the former highwayman’s hand, the strength and movement of it. Capable hands, I thought. Warm and pleasantly large.

“You are my vanguard,” Demery continued, shooting me a narrow-eyed look. He’d seen me watching Grant, and that was enough to cool the heat in my cheeks. “If all goes well, you’ll return with the invitation today and negotiations can begin tomorrow.”

I nodded slowly, no little pressure settling on my shoulders. I exchanged a look with the former highwayman and was relieved that my heart stayed steady this time, the shock of his new appearance past.

I held out my arm towards him. “I see. Shall we be off, Charles?”

He took up his cloak from the table with a murmur of affirmation, swung it around his shoulders with overdone drama, and took my arm.

TWENTY-FOUR

The Enemy’s Magic

SAMUEL

Hartentered Hesten Port several days after my conversation with Benedict. Still, as an Usti pilot guidedHartto her dock in the district called the Temweish, the memory of my brother stayed with me. So did the cloying, false sincerity he had plied, and the impact of his words.

You are ill, Benedict. You will only make it worse.

You’re just as ruined as I.

Black Tide Sons.

He was correct. My Sooth’s magic was tainted. And whether he had intended it or not, Benedict’s reminder of that had left me uneven, and my reluctance to enter the Other multiplied. The last time I had gone, Mary’s light had been elusive, and it had taken me three attempts to return to my own flesh.

But I sensed Mary’s nearness and as Hesten was the closest port, I decided we were most likely to find her there.

I found Slader in his cabin and stood by as he paid the pilot and sent her on her way. Fisher was notably absent, her usual vigor checked by her brush with death, a sprained wrist and numerous torn muscles. Slader had offered her extra time to rest, and she had taken it.

Slader turned his attention to me as the pilot vanished and the door closed. I noticed he was dressed more richly than usual, wearing a fine pale blue frock coat and a lightly embroidered cream cravat. He was freshly shaved and a wig sat on its stand nearby, newly powdered and smelling of citrus.

“Are you going ashore, sir?” I inquired politely.

“I am,” Slader returned in a tone that made it clear he had no intention of sharing more. “How close is the Stormsinger?”

“Close,” I replied, coming to stand in the middle of the cabin, hands clasped behind my back. “She may be here already.”

“You cannot say, precisely?” The captain squinted at me and ran a hand down the buttons of his coat, then checked the froth of lace at his sleeve cuffs.

I remained composed and shook my head. “No, sir. There are many Stormsingers here, and even moreghistings—theshipyards alone have enough to obscure anyone nearby. I would like to speak to the harbormaster concerning Demery’s ship and make some discreet inquiries. Perhaps they can be bribed to alert us when he arrives, if he is not already here.”

“Very good,” Slader affirmed. “But there is more than one harbormaster inHesten—onein each quarter. The Knocks, Temweish and the Shasha. The military docks we needn’t concern ourselves with, however. He’d hardly dock there. But I’ll take a wander past there myself, later today. Just to be sure.”

I nodded, noting his ensemble again. I was curious as to the rest of his intended outing, but asking would only irritate him, and my dreamer’s sense was quiet.

“I will see to the rest,” I agreed.

Slader met my gaze, obviously pleased. “Take the day, then.”

Greatcoat buttoned against the biting Usti cold, I made my way to the Temweish’s harbor master, but the woman was absent. Back in the street, I stood aside as laborers shoveled snow and manure into a cart before endless rows of fine flat-fronted warehouses and shops.

I screwed up my nose against the smell and a vision came, lashing like a whip from the shadows. I saw Benedict and I as boys, waiting for the grooms to finish saddling our horses. I glimpsed Benedict’s face on a day not yet come, a noose tightening around a screamingthroat—butI could not tell if the throat was his or mine.