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CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Two ragged days later, days of near-constant contact with Master as he and Leicht update me on what’s happening at the estate, of worrying for those who should have been able to rely on my family for safety, of grieving for the father I thought I had—pitiful as he was—we sail into the harbor at Trijmbin. Master followed through on his promise, and our instructions are to head directly to the naval yard, where a clipper is waiting for us and there’s moorage ready for Peiris’s boat.

As we sail past Trijmbin proper—the yard is a mile from the small city—I notice a dragon circling some ways inland, and the remnants of smoke hazing the air beyond the town.

“Was there an attack near here?” I ask Leicht. Surely not. They’ve been striking at backwoods villages and farms, not this close to established cities with trained fighters—and mages in residence. Even before this crisis arose, there were mages who’d chosen not to live at the academy making their living in cities like these, where they can sell practical magics. There have to be at least two stationed at the naval yard—the Navy loves mages. They help make ships more watertight and structurally sound, and air mages can give sails a little help when the wind isn’t cooperating. A small-scale zombie attack so close to here would be doomed to fail.

“A village two miles inland,” Leicht confirms, and my heart sinks. “Nobody was injured, and the zombies are no more.” He pauses, and it feels as though he’s talking to someone else. “The dragon and rider assigned to the city had just begun their morning patrol when they spotted a group of people behaving oddly. The zombies didn’t even get beyond the outskirts of the village.”

That’s something, at least.

Jaimin joins me by the railing, his eyes on the same dragon I’m watching. “Do you think?—”

I fill him in on what Leicht just told me, and he makes a frustrated sound. “It’s not good that they’re venturing this close to densely populated areas. What are these damn necromancers planning?”

“I wish I knew. I wish we knew who Domys was working with.” Whoever they are, they’re clever—very clever. I’m still not sure how many necromancers are out there, but the more I think about it, the more inclined I am to believe there aren’t many. Maybe only one, other than Domys. The mage masterminding all of this has managed to slide under the radar for a long time, and if there were multiple necromancers hungry for power, vengeance, or whatever their motive is, it would be hard to keep them leashed and the entire operation secret.

This is someone with patience, with resources, and who’s put in a great deal of time on research and study. They’ve negotiated an alliance with the temples—gotten the high priests to agree to cooperate with the slaughter and desecration of thousands of people. My opinion of the temples has been low for a long time, but even I don’t believe they’d do that without great temptation. This mage knew exactly how to manipulate them—and perhaps cause the downfall of millennia of religious tradition.

In other words, this is a dangerous person.

We reach the yard, and the commander is walking down the dock even as Peiris and Coryn throw ropes to the waiting sailors.

“Talon Silverbright?” he calls crisply, and I half raise my hand, wondering if I’m supposed to salute.

“That’s me.”

His gaze flicks over me, but his expression gives nothing away. “Good. The ship and crew are ready to depart when you are. We can take care of locking down your vessel.”

I glance over at Peiris. It’s their boat, so their decision.

“Thank you,” they say politely. “And thank you also for keeping it while we’re away.”

“I understand that your mission is of the greatest urgency.” His gaze shifts off to the right, to where the lone dragon still patrols. “That it has to do with our current troubles.”

“That’s right,” I confirm cautiously. I’m not sure exactly what he was told.

He nods. “Then we’ll do whatever it takes to aid you. Camblish Naval Clippers are the fastest seafaring vessels in the world—we’ll get you where you need to be as soon as possible.” He looks me squarely in the eye. “There was an attack a few miles from Trijmbin this morning.”

“I know.” I point up, where Leicht lazily circles. “The dragons talk.”

He blinks. “You’re a rider?”

Turds. Turds. How could I have forgotten? “No, I’m a telepath.” I leave it at that and hope he’s ignorant of how Talent works and the fact that even the strongest telepaths can’t talk to dragons.

That seems to satisfy him, because he continues, “I don’t want those things any closer to the city. It’s bad enough they’ve been raiding villages up and down the river.”

What?

“We just came downriver,” Jaimin says. “We didn’t see any sign of raids. When did this happen?”

The commander’s blank expression shifts to annoyance. “They’re staying inland enough that we’re useless against them. Any village or farmstead more than an hour from the river is at risk.”

My thoughts fly to Wat and his farm that’s a few hours’ ride inland from the nearest town. Dammit. Maybe I should have told him about the zombies, told him to get his family and stay in town with Virk for a while. I can’t change that now. “Commander, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but as my friend said, we just came from upriver, and I don’t think people are fully aware of how serious things are. Perhaps have your men advise that those on outlying properties should temporarily relocate. Safety in numbers, and all that.”

His face goes back to blank. “I have my orders.”

Fuck . I nod. “Of course.” I’m going to need to talk to Master about this. The monarchs have to start protecting people better, and that means encouraging the isolated ones to leave their homes for the short term. “We’ll be ready to go in half an hour. We just need to use your facilities first—and confer with Leicht.”

“Leicht?”

I point up again, and the commander nods.

“Of course. The hospitality of the Kingdom of Camblin is yours.”

“We need to find it,” Arimen says for what must be the thousandth time. “It’s here somewhere, and we need to find it!” He leans over the scroll he, Jaimin, and Peiris have been studying for two weeks, his expression frantic. When we told him and the others what Master and Leicht had told me about my childhood home, he took the betrayal of the temples personally. I think he feels it’s his responsibility to represent the gods now that their priests have failed them.

I don’t know what my godly self would think of that, but the person I’ve been during this life repeats what I’ve said many times already: “We’ll find it. This isn’t your fault, Arimen. Try to relax. It’s going to be okay.” None of us are sure if we believe that last sentence, but we’ve still been saying it over and over. It’s going to be okay.

Everything will be okay.

I really miss Tia. And Leicht. Even though he’s in my head, I haven’t seen him up close since we set sail in Trijmbin.

After eleven days, the hospitality of the Kingdom of Camblin is still good, but our patience is wearing thin. The novelty of beds and decent food only lasted a few days before we all decided we’d rather just arrive , already. The benefit of riding was that at least we were doing something all day. Aboard ship, we just sit around trying to think of how to bring the Wasianth part of me to the fore, and it’s not fun.

The horses might disagree. I did ask Sweetie if she had any ideas, and just got a snort and a bruised toe for my efforts. Part of me is struggling to believe the other me loves that horse enough to want her with me through eternity.

“This is the part that confuses me,” Jaimin says, pointing to something on the scroll, and he and Peiris launch into another discussion about word choice that I tune out. Maybe I should be paying closer attention, since this is, after all, about me, but I can’t get my brain to focus. Instead, I turn my head and stare out the porthole.

The downside of this being a military ship is that there isn’t anywhere fitted out for us to congregate. We’ve been given the officers’ cabins to sleep in, and this room is the captain’s dining room, where the officers take their meals. These ships weren’t built with the expectation that people would need space to sit and spend time. They’re supposed to be working, sleeping, or eating—or be the captain.

“Do you need a hug?” Coryn asks me softly. He’s sitting beside me, sharpening a knife. He’s made friends with a few of the sailors, and they invited him to some dagger-throwing contest being held on the foredeck tonight. Apparently, Agony Anbry is the one to beat. I didn’t ask why he’s called Agony Anbry, because at the beginning of our voyage I asked about Twofer Fren, and I really wish I hadn’t.

“Not right now,” I tell him, even though I could really use some hugs. I’m afraid the kindness will make me break down, and I can’t afford to do that right now. It turns out that the whole world is counting on me, and the me they’re counting on isn’t here. The me that is here doesn’t know if he—I—really wants the other me to make an appearance. What will happen when he does? Will I disappear? If I was supposed to know who I am from the beginning, and I didn’t, and there were parts of “me” that were Tia, does that mean I was never supposed to exist?

Will being Wasianth to save the world mean that I, Talon, have to give up my life and friends? Give up Jaimin? Will I know that I’ve given them up, or will I just no longer be?

I’m not used to these kinds of thoughts, and I don’t like them very much.

“I guess your father and mine would get along,” Coryn muses, and I stir myself enough to muster a commiserating smile.

“They definitely would. Though yours hasn’t betrayed his monarch and country or contributed to the death of his child. Not yet, anyway.”

He snorts. “Not yet.” He falls silent again, drawing his whetstone along the blade, and just when the repetitive sound is starting to lull me into a stupor, he says, “I was thinking… if I asked, I’m sure the king would send me to the City of Knowledge as part of the annual guard assignment. Then I wouldn’t have to see my father so much, and I could see you and Jaimin and Leicht all the time.” There’s a note of insecurity in his voice that makes me want to choke his father with his own intestines.

“I love that idea,” I declare and am rewarded by the smile that blooms on his face. “I think we can do better than the guard assignment, though. You’re too highly skilled to be an academy guard.” Not that they’re not skilled, but Coryn is renowned for his abilities, and the academies aren’t exactly known for being a hotbed of danger. The location in the center of the continent, right beside the dragons’ valley, makes the City of Knowledge the safest place on the continent.

“I don’t mind being a guard,” he assures me, though he doesn’t sound convinced.

“What about helping to train the dragon riders to fight?” I counter. I’m sure I can use Tia’s name to pull enough strings to get him the job, and then he’ll easily prove his value. He might even be able to help train the healers to defend themselves.

The idea turns his smile into the broadest grin I’ve ever seen. “That would be fun.”

“It’s a plan, then. We’ll get through this, then you’ll come back to the City with us.” I glance toward our youngest companion. “Arimen will probably come too, at least for a while.” The sensible thing to do would be to send him home to his parents and local priest, but he may have turned eighteen by then and not want to go. It all depends on how long this drags out for.

That depressing thought draws my attention back to the debate over the prophecies.

“…I’m confused about how it would happen,” Jaimin is saying. “?Made whole’ implies pieces or parts. If Talon’s consciousness is part of a greater whole, where are the other parts? Do we need to find them first? Are they people?” He makes a frustrated face. “I don’t like the idea of Talon having to be changed in that way.”

“Me either,” I chime in. “If the other parts of Wasianth are people, will they all be living in my body? That could be uncomfortable.” A joke is the only way I can think of to make this conversation less weird, but nobody laughs. Probably because we don’t know if it’ll turn out to be true or not.

“If it’s people, the logical place to find clues about their whereabouts would be the place Talon was born,” Arimen says thoughtfully. “But if that’s where the zombies are, would there be any clues still there? The priests at the Sanctuary had copies of these prophecies and were studying them. They might have worked out where we need to go and hidden all the clues there.”

My heart stutters in my chest, and Jaimin looks up in alarm. I take a deep breath to calm myself, and he turns to Arimen. “That presumes that they know Talon is Wasianth,” he protests. “The only people who know that are Talon’s master, who would never endanger him, and the people in this room.”

Arimen shakes his head. “What if someone else guessed? They know Talon is the keeper of the stone. What if they started to wonder why?”

This is getting off track. “It’s possible someone has made a guess and gotten it right,” I admit, “but there’s no way for us to know that, and no way for them to know for sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. If there are clues at my family home, we’ll figure out a way to find them when we get there, but until then, let’s keep thinking. It would be better for Wasianth to be the one who faces down the zombies than it would be for us to sneak around the estate and hope nobody notices.” Depending on how many zombies are there, that might be downright impossible.

“I think there might be a problem with my translation,” Peiris says quietly, and we all look at them. “You’re speaking of pieces and parts, but I don’t know why.”

There’s an awkward little pause as we realize our dilemma might not be real. “Uh,” Jaimin begins, but Coryn jumps up.

“I know this one!” He grabs one of the muffins from the plate in the center of the table, considers, and puts it beside him. “Too crumbly.” He reaches for a piece of fruitcake instead. There’s plenty there, since the sailors get around the navy’s “no drinking aboard ship” rule by soaking the fruitcake in enough rum to make your eyes water. “Now, this is the whole slice of cake,” Coryn instructs, then breaks the slice in half, and both halves into quarters. “These are pieces or parts of the slice. When I put them together, they make up the whole slice.” He moves the bits of cake around to demonstrate. “So to make Wasianth whole, we need the pieces of him. Talon’s one of them.”

Jaimin nods. “Exactly that. Does it make sense now?” he asks Peiris, who’s smiling fondly at Coryn.

“My deepest apologies,” they say. “I didn’t explain the translation correctly. ‘Make whole’ is the literal meaning, yes, but the context is important. You see, with this word preceding it, it’s still ‘make whole,’ but more in the sense of… ‘make better,’ perhaps? Or?—”

“Heal?” I ask. My heartbeat has picked up its pace, and Jaimin and I stare at each other, the word hanging in the air between us.