Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(33)
It wasn’t difficult to persuade them to drink the brew of allegiance. The empress, it seemed, was not an easy mistress, and they’d not gone willingly into her service.
Evan was glad to be back among familiar faces, though it was difficult sometimes to navigate the change in their relationship. In the space of four years he’d gone from being a kind of shipboard mascot to being “Lord Strangward,” the central deity of a Stormborn cult. All around him, he felt the constant pressure of avid eyes. It was exhausting.
Despite frequent visits to ports in the wetlands, it had taken Evan the better part of a year to track Destin down in the capital at Ardenscourt. But when he’d reached out to him, there had been no response. When he persisted, Destin had sent a brief, curt note telling Evan to let go and move on, that any continuing correspondence would put them both in danger.
No matter what kind of shine Evan wanted to put on it, the message was clear—they had no future, as far as Destin was concerned. A romance on the beach—was that all it had been? It came down to one kiss and a lot of longing—on his part, anyway. It seemed that Destin had been seeking a business partner and nothing more.
And so Evan had done his best to move on. There were other, less complicated lovers in the ports on both sides of the Indio, boys who offered sweet kisses and warm embraces. Still, none could surprise and delight and challenge him like the soldier. Unfortunately, it seemed that Evan preferred complicated and dangerous to simple and sweet.
And then, out of the blue, a note from Destin, this urgent request for a meeting.
Evan knew that it could be a trap. The empress might have discovered the connection between them and used it against him. Back home, he’d already turned away one would-be lover who’d been sent to lure him into Celestine’s arms.
Then again, the empress might have nothing to do with it. Evan’s growing fleet had hammered shipping along the wetland coast, sometimes attacking the ports themselves. The price on his head increased with every taking under his stormcaster flag, whether he was personally involved or not. The capture of the stormlord might be the win that Destin needed to get ahead at the wetland court.
There was no way to justify taking this risk, and yet Evan couldn’t stay away. His crew couldn’t understand it, and made it clear they disapproved.
And so he found himself in the Ardenine port of Baston Bay in the shrinking days just before Solstice.
The city rose from the ocean’s edge like a fine lady whose skirts drag in the muck at the hem. Up above were the mansions of merchants and sea captains, with their towers and widow’s walks. Farther down, a mingle of modest houses and shops. And finally, down at the waterfront, the clicket-houses and taverns and gritty maritime businesses that served the shipping trade.
As the major deepwater port serving the Ardenine capital and the down-realms, the Bay seethed with commerce of all kinds, licit and illicit. Evan had been in the city a number of times over the past two years—though, more often, he’d lain offshore, waiting for some of that commerce to come his way. The richest cargoes and the prime ships came and went through Baston Bay.
This time, though, Evan wasn’t thinking about cargo. He was thinking of a boy who liked to build things. A boy with a wellspring of pain hidden behind his stony face, his eyes the only window into a dark history.
The meeting was to take place at the Barrister’s Inn, one of those places where the name promises more than the establishment delivers. Evan couldn’t imagine that any self-respecting barrister would be seen in this hangdog little dive on the Heartfang River, just west of the harbor itself. Maybe that was why Destin had suggested it.
And now, here Evan was, dressed in his best leathers and linen, Destin’s amulet resting against his chest, Destin’s dog sprawled like a warm rug over his feet. Evan, as nervous as any untouched groom on his wedding day, was surrounded by an unlikely crew of pierced and tattooed chaperones. The only other people in the taproom were the bartender and a table of seamen deep in their cups.
Evan had been watching all the comings and goings through the front door, so he was surprised when one of the seamen heaved himself out of his chair and strolled over to their table. “Lieutenant Rocheford has asked you to join him in the back room,” he said in Common.
“Lieutenant . . . Rocheford?”
“Aye,” the suddenly sober seaman said. “He says the two of you used to go salmon fishing together when you were young. He’d like to buy you a drink.”
Only Destin would know that, which meant either the meeting was on the level, or Destin had betrayed him in great detail.
He kept secrets when you were together. There’s every reason to think that he’s still at it.
Across the table, Brody Baines scowled and shook his head. The message was clear: Don’t fall for it.
“Ah,” Evan said. “Now I remember.” He stood, and the others pushed back their chairs, too.
“He wants to meet with you alone,” the seaman said, stepping into their path. “He says you’ll understand once you hear what he has to say.”
“No, Captain,” Teza Von said quickly, putting his bulk in the way of the seaman. He made an impressive wall. “If he wants to talk to you, he can do it out here.” The rest of the crew muttered agreement.
That was when Breaker burst out from under the table, charged across the room, and began flinging himself at the back door, bouncing off, and doing it all over again.