She Who Rides the Storm (The Gods-Touched Duology)
She Who Rides the Storm: Chapter 11

Anwei shoved the cloth-wrapped sword under her bed, then wiped her hands across her tunic before sprinting down the stairs. Knox had said there was some kind of Devoted—maybe more than one?—down in the shop. Dipping a hand into her medicine bag, she once again took up the packet of calistet.

At the bottom of the stairs, Anwei sniffed, looking for clues in the herb room’s cloud of dry green scents. All she could smell was a hint of parched, gritty gray coming from the apothecary shop beyond the door. A scent like flame—salpowder, perhaps?

Concentrating on the scents was easier than the thought of Knox’s face when he’d held the sword. And what he’d said—that something wrong of hers had gotten inside him. And calling her dirt witch? She wiped the frown from her face and pushed through the herb room door into the shop.

Gulya was lecturing two men at the counter. The older of the two was wearing an animal-skin vest with a silver Trib medallion square on his chest, the likes of which Anwei hadn’t seen since she was in the jagged mountains north of the Commonwealth border. His uneven brown ponytail was absent the Commonwealth’s ranking of knots and braids, and Anwei’s nose filled with the smell of furs, horse, and that gritty gray that prickled in her nose like an obsidian knife. Salpowder.

The younger man was about Anwei’s age, and he focused on her immediately, the fringe of hair cut shorter around his face obscuring his expression. It was him that the powder smell came from, as if he’d stashed a firekey lizard down the front of his shirt. There was nothing Devoted about either of the Trib men.

Anwei looked around the room again, expecting a Rooster’s underbraids to pop out from somewhere inside the maze of glass globes, but there wasn’t anyone else to replace.

Gulya paused her lecture long enough to give Anwei a raised eyebrow—it had been only a few minutes since she’d gone running up the stairs to replace Knox. “Perhaps you can help this man. The mole on his chin—”

“I didn’t come to ask about a mole.” The older Trib’s voice seemed to be gaining heat, as if he’d already said as much, perhaps more than once. His accent made the words heavy and long. “The man who lives above the shop—the one who went up the stairs less than ten minutes ago—is the person I came to talk to.”

“He’s not a healer,” Anwei cut in before Gulya could say anything else. She smiled at the older man, then switched to the younger one when the old Trib didn’t so much as glance at her. “I suppose you must know that. Knox is indisposed at the moment, but I may be able to help. Follow me, we can talk in here.” She gestured toward the herb room.

The old Trib flicked a long fringe of hair from his eyes, finally turning to look Anwei up and down. “No. I don’t want to talk about moles, or medicine, or—”

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” Anwei interrupted, this time in the man’s own language. It had been years since she’d spoken Trib, but she liked the way the hard syllables sat on her tongue. The clipped sounds suited her at the moment. “Why don’t you come in and tell me what you would like to talk about.”

Gulya smiled and waved the men along as if Anwei had done something particularly clever. “You won’t regret it, sir. Anwei’s the best healer in the province.”

Gritting her teeth, Anwei held open the herb room door, waiting until the old man grudgingly walked through it. The young man followed, smiling congenially as he passed her. Anwei let the heavy door swing shut on the shop, then unhooked two bunches of herbs to make room for the two of them to sit at the table.

Neither sat. The old man looked impatiently at the stairs even as the younger one grabbed hold of his arm to keep him in place.

Anwei kept one hand in her medicine bag, her fingers replaceing the button closure to the calistet. “How did you manage to track us down? I’m so impressed.”

“What do you mean, ‘us’?” The older Trib inclined his head as he brushed the younger man away, an exasperated take on a traditional Trib showing of respect. “I mean no insult, healer. I had an appointment with the man upstairs on the Sand Cay, and… something happened.”

The Sand Cay? He sat only when Anwei pointed at the bench with her best winning smile. That was the location mentioned in the ridiculous bid from this morning. She’d told Knox not to go nosing around after that job.

The younger Trib hung back, leaning casually against the wall. Anwei didn’t miss the way his hand slid into his vest, but when he drew it out, he wasn’t holding a knife or a sky-cursed firekey lizard. It was a figurine of a little Trib maiden. The same one Knox had lifted from the trade advisor’s office, then left for the magistrate while he slept. “I don’t suppose you recognize this? Your friend—Knox, is it?—seemed very interested in purchasing it.”

Anwei let herself look at the figurine, her stomach dropping a few inches more. She kept her face smooth. “I never knew Knox to be an art collector. It’s very pretty, though.”

No one had ever found her, not in the two years she’d been in Chaol. Not her informants, not the gangs who left letters at her drops. No one. It kept her safe from gang bosses who wanted a poisoner to work exclusively for them or no one at all. More importantly, it kept her safe from the snake-tooth man. Arun’s murderer knew Anwei, probably moved around erratically partly because of her slowly narrowing search. At least, Anwei liked to pretend it was because of her.

Regardless of who these northerners were, they’d walked into the wrong apothecary.

“You think she works for…” The older man glanced at Anwei, lowering his voice to a gravelly whisper that did little to disguise his words. “A healer wouldn’t have anything to do with Yaru, Altahn. And she’s a girl besides.”

“Let’s talk to her and replace out.” Altahn’s tone was a hair too patient as he tucked the statue away. “She’s seen this before.”

“You think?” The man’s face squished into a pout as he looked at her, as if trying to shove two ideas of who she was into a space that was too tight. “Well, if that’s the case, then would you please go get your master upstairs?”

Anwei sat, easing the calistet packet open with one hand and grabbing for Gulya’s stack of cheap rice paper with the other. “I wish I knew what you were talking about, but maybe I can ask Knox when he’s available?” What would Gulya say when she found two dead men on her worktable? Anwei didn’t think the old apothecarist would believe it if she blamed the mole on the older one’s chin. “What are your names? I’ll pass along your message.” She pulled Gulya’s inkpot and quill over, dipping the nib.

“Shale Berantiz, kynate of the Verac clan.” The man puffed up ever so slightly.

Altahn pressed his lips together, much less happy about sharing the old man’s status as clan leader to someone he knew must not care but could use the information against them. He almost patted Shale’s shoulder but stopped himself just in time. “It isn’t very complicated.” Altahn kept his voice light. “We’re interested in purchasing another… artifact. Like the figurine. There’s a tomb being excavated in the sea cliffs outside of Chaol. One of your shapeshifter kings, I think?”

“You want a shovel to go with that pretty statue in your pocket?” Anwei asked, batting her eyelashes. “I don’t think they sell things that come out of the ground in those excavations. I don’t like the idea of them being dug up at all, to be honest.” Anwei awkwardly made a sign to ward off ghosts, dripping ink across the paper with the quill. With her other hand she twitched the packet so the powder was all in one corner, planning. She’d have to use her sleeve to protect her nose and mouth. It might take two throws to get Altahn, and then she’d have to run to Gulya’s garden pond to wash off any residue and…

“We’re after a sword. It belonged to my great-great-… many-greats-grandfather.” Shale glared at Altahn when the younger man nudged his arm hard. “You say she works for Yaru and now you don’t want to tell her anything? How’s she supposed to steal it for me?” He turned back to Anwei, talking louder when Altahn tried to cut him off. “The dig director probably knows its value, and that’s why he’s here, the old serpent. It’s a miracle he’s got enough learning to know.”

“Old serpent?” Anwei gauged the distance between her and the stairs, the angle the powder would fly. She took a deep breath and held it in her lungs, about to throw the poison.

Shale pulled his lips back in an old man’s indignant snarl, rubbing his left canine tooth with one finger.

Serpent. Anwei froze. Why did he touch his tooth like that? That’s where house marks are carved.

The memory of the nothing smell seemed to pulse in Anwei’s nose. The snake-tooth man had a house mark carved into his canine. A snake. It belonged to a house long dead, their compound burned to the ground with the family inside more than seventy-five years earlier. That was one of the first bits of information Anwei had hunted down once she got to the mainland.

“The Warlord’s had him digging up every shapeshifter tomb she could replace. It’s been going on for almost three years.” Shale looked down at her. “Haven’t you seen the notices?”

Anwei blinked. She had seen notices promising a reward for any solid information on pre-Common-era tombs. Altahn was shaking his head, giving up on stopping the old man from spilling everything without a thought to consequences.

“We knew the king who stole the sword was buried near here, so we sent word through the right channels. They found the entrance a few months ago.” Shale licked his lips, leaning toward her. “I need your friend upstairs to get in there and take the sword before the archeologists uncover it.”

Clutching the calistet packet, Anwei was frozen, unsure for the first time in her whole life. “If you know that much, then why are you contracting the work out?” she asked slowly. “Why not walk in and take it?”

Altahn’s head came up, a smile starting on his lips.

“Because I’m not a thief.” Shale spat the words out. “The dig is guarded. The tomb itself is fitted with traps and poison and all sorts of other nonsense. And…” His hand flitted up to touch his forehead. A gesture to ward off ghosts, like she’d done.

Altahn put his hands flat on the table in front of him. “While I’m sure my dear kynate would like to tell you everything, I think it might be prudent at this point to ask who you are before we speak further. Anwei, right? I don’t think a name’s going to be enough right now.”

The old serpent. Anwei kept her smile pinned to her cheeks, her fingers on the calistet packet trembling. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The guard at the trade advisor’s compound had been infected with the nothing smell. Then these two with information about a man with a snake on his tooth being in town? Anwei felt light-headed, sick almost. She’d been excited the night before—but this wasn’t whispers of odd behavior and aukincy. Was it possible that she had finally found not only traces of Arun’s murderer but the man himself?

The flare of excitement extinguished in one flash of smoke. It wasn’t possible. Believing in good luck was like believing in gods who were only carved bits of stone. It was her blasted hope again, wanting to believe without seeing proof in front of her eyes.

But it might be a lead. All Anwei had to do was get information from this old man, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as if he didn’t know what happened to people who spoke too much.

“Yes. My name’s Anwei.” Anwei buttoned the calistet packet and let it drop into her bag. “And… I guess I do know a little about Yaru.” Saying it felt like prying herself open. When you exposed yourself, beasts came sniffing after the blood. But if it meant replaceing out something—anything—about the snake-tooth man, then Anwei could let the beasts circle a bit closer before she silenced them.

Altahn’s smile was a little too cold. “And your friend upstairs?”

“Is unavailable at the moment. So sorry.” She smiled her best smile, watching as Altahn’s eyes flicked down to her dimple and across her mouth. “Just so I understand the, um… message. You need someone to sneak into this dig, get past a few old traps, and bring you a sword that… might be inside?”

“It’s there,” Altahn said firmly.

Shale nodded. “They haven’t located the burial chamber yet. The moment they do, all the artifacts will be catalogued and taken to the Warlord’s seclusion in Rentara, so we’ll need this done very quickly—I need you to stress that to your master. Maybe write it in all capital letters?” He craned his neck to get a look at the bit of rice paper Anwei was scribbling on. “And we’d want Altahn right there with him, managing things. None of the dangerous work, of course, just being the leader you unfortunate criminal types need—”

“Based on the reports we’ve intercepted, the traps they have been able to identify are beyond our abilities to diffuse.” Altahn gave his kynate a pained look. “At least, not without destroying the whole tomb before we can secure the sword.”

Destroying the whole tomb? Anwei let her eyes rest on Altahn for a moment, flicking across his hands. He had burn scars all across his knuckles, the black, gritty smell of salpowder stinging in her nose. She smiled when she met his eyes, letting her expression empty and shallow, though it was obvious he wasn’t buying her act. “Why don’t you tell me more about this man we’d be stealing from?” Anwei switched her gaze to Shale, keeping her face empty, impassive. Inside she was nothing of the kind. “The snake. What exactly would we be up against?”

Shale’s hand twitched toward his mouth again, as if he meant to once again rub his tooth. This man he was talking about had to have some kind of house mark, even if it wasn’t a snake. She only just now remembered how dismissive Trib were of the practice, marking servants as if they were belongings. It could all be hope skewing what Anwei heard into the shape she wanted to see. But it might not be. “He’s a tricky man, if my reports are right.”

Altahn put a hand on Shale’s arm. “I think the kynate would be happy to share more if we knew you were committed to doing the job.”

“Yes, when can we talk to Yaru—Knox? Whatever his name is, hiding upstairs?” Shale asked. “I was pleased with his work last night.” He poked Altahn. “Show her the figurine! Yes, I was very pleased. I need the sword, and I think he’s the fellow to get it.”

“She’s already seen the figurine.” Altahn’s teeth barely let the words out of his mouth.

Putting down the quill, Anwei tried not to flinch when Shale bumped a stalk of drying flowers, showering the table with petals. “You must really need this sword. I mean, twenty thousand silver rounds is a lot.” She leaned forward, watching Shale’s face. “What do you want it for?”

Shale started blustering, his jowly cheeks wobbling. “I demand to speak to your superior, young lady. I will not be subject to—”

Altahn placed a hand on the kynate’s shoulder, probably to calm him, but the blustering was all Anwei wanted. She could tell Shale wasn’t lying, exactly. But also that he wasn’t telling all of the truth. Altahn was telling even less of it. So that left the question: What were they really after?

No treasure was worth twenty thousand silver rounds. Which meant there was something else at stake here. And probably no money, which meant Altahn and Shale expected Anwei and Knox to be too stupid or too dead at the end of this job to try to collect.

Maybe this was all a front, and the governor was coming for his stolen candlesticks. But if that were the case, why would the governor fabricate such a ridiculous job and reward in order to tempt them out into the open? Altahn already had proof enough in his pocket that Knox was a thief.

Which meant it was probably a trap for Anwei. Maybe not even for Anwei the thief and Yaru, but for Anwei the scared little girl who had found her brother’s bed soaked with blood. Anwei took in a long, slow breath, focusing on the smells coming from the two Trib men. Silver. Horsehair. Salpowder and sweat. Not a single hint of nothing.

But Anwei couldn’t let the thought go. What if instead of Anwei replaceing the snake-tooth man, he’d found her? What if he’d already set a noose and was just out of sight, waiting to pull it tight around her neck and rid himself of her once and for all?

“No, Altahn, I won’t be shushed.” Shale gestured dramatically, petals falling all around him when his open palm hit a clump of dried colis. The smell of blood flooded Anwei’s nose, the memory of Arun’s room suddenly a stark and fearsome thing in her head. Her hands began to shake.

And Knox. Anwei leaned forward, the medicine bag pressing hard into her stomach. Her brother’s blood littered her thoughts, but suddenly it wasn’t on his bed and his floor anymore. It was all over the room upstairs, Knox’s bed soaked in crimson. The snake-tooth man didn’t mind death, and he’d already taken all the people she cared about. Arun. Mother and Father. A town full of people who had loved her…

The memory crashed around her, wind whipping her braids, waves threatening to swallow her, and rain like icy needles on her skin as she rowed toward the mainland, blood still dripping down her arms. Not all of it had been her own.

An ache deadened Anwei’s chest, every inch of her feeling like lead. Knox was all she had in the world—all she’d allowed herself in the last seven years, after what had happened back home. Making him go would kill her.

Not making him go might kill him.

“Why don’t you sit down, Shale.” Anwei steepled her fingers, pressing them together to hide the way they shook. When Shale and Altahn finally stopped whispering so loud that she could hardly think, she gave them her best smile. “I’m sure you understand that discretion in our line of work is important.”

She waited until they both nodded before setting aside her medicine bag. “Knox will be intrigued. We’ll need an advance, of course. All the information you’ve collected so far. And a promise you will never set foot in this shop ever again. Not you or Altahn. Knox would never accept an outsider trying to manage him anyway.”

“I beg your pardon?” Shale spat.

“We can do that,” Altahn interjected.

“You’ve got information on the dig itself? The traps they’ve uncovered, maps? A roster of workers and guards?”

Altahn spoke before Shale could sputter a response. “They’re not letting much out of the dig at all. We managed to intercept a few reports about artifacts, and we do have a map of both the compound and the tomb itself as far as it’s been explored.”

“Guard schedules? Names of the archeologists involved? How many workers and where they came from?”

“We’ll provide you with everything we can, of course. Including all the background information we have on the man in charge.” Altahn smiled, and Anwei could see he hadn’t missed her interest. “But if you aren’t willing to work closely with me, then there are some things we can’t hand over until you’re ready to take the sword. I’ll be there outside the compound when you go in and meet you when you come out. Maps, details about obstacles we’ve managed to identify.” He shrugged at her flat expression. “You could take any information we’ve lifted and turn us in to the magistrate. I’m not willing to take that kind of risk.”

Anwei watched his face, his hands, his fingers twitching this way and that. He wasn’t comfortable with what they were doing. The thieving, or whatever the real purpose of this job was. After all, no employer would want to be at the scene of the crime as it was being committed—the risk of getting caught was far too high.

This was definitely a trap. Definitely dangerous. And Anwei definitely couldn’t pass it up. She’d sailed straight into a storm to escape the carnage the snake-tooth man had made of her life. This time the wind, the rain, the thunder and lightning, wouldn’t be coming for her. This time Anwei would ride the storm just like the vacuous sky creature so many in the Commonwealth called a goddess.

And Knox would have to leave.

Anwei sat up straight, dipping her quill in the inkpot and putting it to vellum. “Tell me everything you can.”