Windwitch (The Witchlands #2)v(50)
At last, as the ninth chimes clinked on the breeze, the Hell-Bards led Safi and Vaness to a wide gate in an ancient, crooked wall. Dangling overtop was a massive standard, and this close, there was no missing the serpent looped around the Marstoki crescent moon.
Traffic bottlenecked, more people moving into the Pirate Republic than shoved out. Until at last, Safi was inside—and found the Baedyed claim of Saldonica was nice. Shockingly so. Safi had imagined a slum of lawlessness and desperation, but instead there were roads and rainwater chutes, Firewitched streetlights and gold-uniformed guards to direct traffic. There were even banners hanging from every lamppost.
Yes, the buildings tumbled more tightly together as they progressed deeper into the lowlands. And yes, there were more people crammed here than most cities, yet nonetheless, the Baedyed-controlled part of Saldonica was undeniably not a slum.
Beyond the built-up streets of the Baedyed territory, a marshy delta spanned. On the left, thick, black jungle hugged the swampy landscape. On the right, the soggy earth gave way to a murky bay. Docks spanned for as far as Safi could see, crammed with ship after ship after ship.
It was as if every boat in Ve?aza City had docked in one harbor. Never had Safi seen so many furled sails. Or circling sea gulls.
Cursed birds.
Yet what really drew Safi’s eyes was the arena. There was no mistaking it. As soon as her helm-split gaze cast over the half-stone, half-wooden stadium, she knew what it was. The sheer size gave it away—larger and taller than any other structure in the entire Republic.
At this distance, though, it looked like some enormous ancient fortress that nature had tried to reclaim. Wooden scaffolding had been added, to fill in the missing half, and banners of all colors flapped from eight towers, giving it the look of a dirty bejeweled crown left behind for the crocodiles to enjoy.
Safi soon lost sight of the arena, of the marshes. Of anything at all but the people around her. Everywhere Safi’s eyes landed, she saw people of all shades and histories. Even Nomatsis strutted cool as they pleased down the packed-earth Baedyed streets—as did Southlanders, Fareasters, and ethnicities Safi couldn’t even recognize.
Atop the merchant calls and sailor shouts and all the sounds bombarding her, there were just as many lies—startling after so many days at sea and in the wilderness.
Quickly enough, though, as always happened, the truths and the lies blended into a familiar cascade in the background. One easily ignored, easily forgotten, even as the Hell-Bards led Safi and Vaness into an open market.
Here, billowy awnings traipsed outward for almost as far as the eye could see.
“Anything a man desires can be bought in Saldonica.”
Safi twisted her stiff neck, glancing at Caden through the slits in her helm. He was pale, his face slick in a way that spoke of more than simple sweat from a summer’s day. His wound wasn’t doing well—and that made Safi happy.
He met her eyes with a slight bounce of his eyebrows. “And anything a man loathes can be sold here as well.”
“Is that a threat?”
“I don’t loathe you, Heretic. I simply follow orders—shit.” In a burst of speed, he shoved ahead of Safi, but since he still held her ropes, she was jerked around. Her shoulders almost tore from their sockets.
Pain flashed. A scream split her lips. Then she was dragging her feet, trying to keep up with Caden as he barreled forward.
He was too slow to stop it, though. The empress had fallen, knocked over by a passing cart. Not just any cart either, but one led by three men with the Baedyed standard on their gambesons.
Worse, Vaness’s helmet had fallen, leaving her reddened, sweat-slick face exposed to the world. To the three Baedyeds. She ducked, as if to hide her features, but the way she moved just a beat too slow—and the way she angled her body just far enough for the pirates to see her Witchmark tattoo—rang false against Safi’s senses.
Vaness wanted to be seen; she’d staged the entire accident, and now it was working. One of the Baedyeds was staring at her face, another at her hand, and the third was slipping away as if he had urgent business to attend elsewhere.
Urgent business that would get Safi and Vaness free from the Hell-Bards or urgent business that included killing the Marstoki empress, Safi couldn’t be sure. And there was no time to mull it over either, for Lev was forging a path down a narrow string of stalls, Zander was lifting the unresisting, rehelmeted empress, and Caden was prodding Safi forward into a breakneck pace behind them all.
*
The first inn the Hell-Bards approached was full. As was the next one, and the next three after that. It would seem there was an important holiday in two days, and thousands upon thousands had swarmed the city for an arena fight that happened every year. Baile’s Slaughter, they called it, and now the Pirate Republic of Saldonica was crammed full and bursting at the caulked seams.
Safi took note of that information for later use—just as she tried to record how the Baedyed territory was laid out and how soldiers roamed, clearly on the lookout for the Hell-Bards. For Vaness. Yet with his height, Zander always saw them coming. He’d lift one hand, and the Hell-Bards would break off onto a side street, Vaness and Safi in tow.
The sixth inn was an old tower repurposed into something livable, each level a different style of stone and wood and shutters. There, the Hell-Bards found a space to hole up, though for how long they planned to stay, Safi had no hint.
The room they rented was small and four stories up. Scarcely tall enough for Zander to walk through without crooking his head sideways. Not that it mattered, for as soon as the Hell-Bards led Safi and Vaness inside, the giant departed.