The Bone Shard Daughter (The Drowning Empire, #1)(18)
I waved the insects away from Alon as I returned to him. “Let’s go,” I said.
Alon gave vague directions. His home was a “little ways” up from the dock and “beside a big tree”. I let him lead us in the dark, crickets singing in the brush all around us. It was busier than usual this time of night, other refugees searching for shelter like sea turtles dragging themselves onto shore, hoping to nest. We finally stopped in front of a modest home with a thatched roof next to a towering banana tree. Despite the vague directions, it seemed to be the correct house. I knocked on the door loudly.
A man answered, his face pale. And then he broke into sobs when he saw Alon. He knelt, grabbed the boy and held him. Beyond him, I saw a woman lying across a bed, her face flushed, sweat beading at her forehead. Her eyes met mine briefly. I knew that hollow look. Shard-sick. Somewhere, her bone shard was in use, and it had nearly drained her life. No wonder Danila had been so desperate to save the boy. I couldn’t hold her gaze.
Instead, I found myself staring at the bald pate of Alon’s father as he buried his head into his boy’s shoulder. “We’d heard,” he said. “We heard what happened.”
I wasn’t sure what to say – I’d brought them back their son, but he’d lost a sister, and was soon to lose a wife. When the man finally drew back, he looked up at me from his spot on the stoop.
“Danila asked me to save him,” I explained. “I owed her a favor.”
“A moment,” he said, before retreating back into his house. He came back with ten coins, all silver. A small fortune for a fisherman. He pushed them on me. I took them graciously. I’d just dumped two boxes of witstone into the sea; I couldn’t be expected to start turning down money. I wasn’t a monk. Even if I were, I doubted the walls of a monastery would save me from the Ioph Carn.
“Join us for a meal? It’s the least we can do, and no one will be sleeping tonight, not after the news.” Alon was kneeling at his mother’s side, stroking her hair with careful fingers.
The hard pallet and blanket on my boat called to me. I might not be able to sleep on it tonight, but I could at least rest my head on something. “I’m setting sail in the morning,” I said, “but thank you. I’m searching for someone. They left on a boat – a little smaller than an Imperial caravel – with dark wood and a blue sail.”
The man was nodding, and my heart jumped. “I saw such a boat only yesterday. It must have stopped for supplies, but if you’re trying to catch it, you’d best hurry. I was out fishing, and the thing skipped right past me, faster than a dolphin sailing the waves. Only one person aboard, as far as I could see. It was headed east. I’d say Nylan.”
Emahla. I’d find my answers. I’d find her – I just needed to catch that boat. “Thank you. And one more thing.” I beckoned him close. “Your son. I rescued him before the Tithing Festival. The records are gone. Scar him in the right spot and no one need know.”
Alon’s father pulled away, his eyes wet with tears. Alon’s shard would never be used to power a construct; he’d never need fear his life draining away at any given moment. “Who are you?”
The disappearance of the island had shaken me to the core, wiped away my levity. But now, I found a measure of it again. Who was this man going to tell? I’d saved his son. “Jovis. Best smuggler in the Empire.” I pulled up my sleeve to show him my navigator’s tattoo – I really, really ought to wrap that.
And then I turned and headed back toward the docks, feeling more pleased with myself than I had in days, the silver coins jingling in my pocket.
I felt quite a bit less pleased with myself when I awoke the next morning, gasping for breath, my jaw aching. I must have clenched it in the night – dreaming over and over of the shaking island, the whole of it sinking into the sea. And I dreamt I was with it, my body sinking into that endless depth, the darkness closing in on me, the weight of the water crushing my lungs. But I was still on my ship, the water calm, my pounding heart louder than the gentle knock of boats against the docks.
The docks around me were full, with more ragged boats anchored offshore. Deerhead Island was no small land mass, and though most people had not escaped, some still had. The Emperor would have to send constructs, soldiers, food. The chaos would at least buy me some respite from the Ioph Carn. If I were very, very lucky, they’d assume I was dead.
Though I would have liked to have left at first light, I needed to start making up for the money I’d lost from tossing the two boxes of witstone. So, after wrapping my tattoo with a strip of cloth, I headed to the market.
The market was no grand, sprawling maze of merchants’ stalls. It consisted of two alleyways, the smell of refuse mingling with the scent of dried peppers, frying goat meat and baked goods. The cramped alleyways were made even more cramped by the unwilling visitors from Deerhead Island, seeking out supplies as they sought out loved ones on other isles. I ran a few quick calculations in my head and stopped at a merchant selling sweet melons. They were grown mostly on the southern isles during the dry season, and since we were headed into the seven-year span of a wet season, they’d become more valuable. And they’d be even more scarce now that Deerhead Island was gone. I bargained down the merchant with ruthless efficiency, though the price was higher than I would have liked. She’d just finished tying the twine around the boxes, and I’d reached to lift them when a voice sounded from my right.