CHAPTER

6

Quarrah stepped past Drot, moving up the slippery steps to the Be’Igoth. “Excuse me,” she muttered, even though the Trothian man didn’t understand a word of Landerian.

Initially, she and Ard had been suspicious that Drot and his brother, Eggat, might be merely feigning their inability to speak Landerian. It would certainly make them more effective spies for Hedge Marsool. More than four years had passed, but none of them were quick to forget how the Trothian baker, Mearet, had betrayed their hideout to the king.

Quarrah didn’t worry about Drot and Eggat now. In classic Ardor Benn fashion, he had paid three other Trothians, unassociated with Tofar’s Salts, to independently check the language barrier. And if that wasn’t enough, he’d paid three more Landers to approach the brothers on the street with basic directional questions. In every case, the report came back clean.

It made sense to Quarrah. Hedge Marsool apparently spoke flawless Trothian. There weren’t many Landers who risked learning it, since their language was considered Settled to traditional Wayfarist beliefs. Hedge’s ability to retain two exclusively Trothian-speaking employees might give him a sense of security. After all, it was unlikely for another Lander to sway them with a better offer if they couldn’t communicate.

“Quarrah!” Ard greeted her as she shut the door quietly behind her. He was dressed in his usual billowy-sleeved shirt and snug vest. Behind him, Raek was hanging a framed map of the Greater Chain on the stone wall. He looked quite recovered from last week’s abrupt plunge out the back of Lord Capsu’s catamaran. She hadn’t liked the idea of relying on a common fisherman to swing by and reel him out of the water, but they’d paid the man well in advance to make sure he’d be in position.

“I made a few improvements to our hideout.” Ard held his arms out, gesturing to the spacious Be’Igoth. “What do you think?”

A few improvements? This place barely looked like the same room where they’d met with Hedge. They’d stopped adding Heat Grit to the bath while they’d planned the catamaran ruse, greatly reducing the steam. But now Ard had taken the interior decorating to another level.

The first thing Quarrah noticed was the new flooring. Ard had laid wooden planks atop the stone floor. Well, Quarrah was sure Ard hadn’t done it himself—he’d more likely hired it out or asked Raek, who was much less afraid of manual labor.

At any rate, the new flooring completely covered over the bath, effectively doubling the amount of usable floor space in the room. Ard had brought in an array of comfortable seating options—armchairs, couches, and a chaise against the far wall for lounging.

Quarrah noticed that a few sconces were mounted to some of the square pillars. They were the type with a Slagstone ignitor built into the bottom, making it easy to keep the Light Grit glowing brightly in the windowless room.

The rack of Grit pots was still against the back wall, but even the privacy dressing stalls had been given a makeover. The heavy curtains were gone, giving Quarrah nowhere to hide if the need should arise. Instead, the four empty booths were loaded with tables of Raek’s Grit Mixing supplies.

“I’d say all you’re missing is a personal cook,” Quarrah remarked, remembering the lavish setup Ard had rused his way into at Queen Abeth’s Guesthouse Adagio.

“Actually, we’ve got a whole kitchen staff,” Ard said. “Hedge takes every chance he can to squeeze the purses of these good Agrodite soakers. Come to find out, Tofar’s Salts is better known for its drinks and cuisine, served fresh to any Trothian taking a fajumar.”

Quarrah thought Ard was trying to sound abstruse, but he wasn’t the only one who had picked up on the Trothian word for the saltwater soak.

“For obviously reasons, there isn’t a written menu,” Ard continued. “But Raek and I tried a sample platter last night while we were setting things up in here.”

“Too salty,” Raek said, finally turning away from the wall, satisfied that the map was hanging straight. “I think I drank the well dry when I got home last night.”

“But rumor has it that one of the cooks knows some Lander dishes,” Ard said hopefully. “And if that doesn’t pan out, there’s a great little bakery just across the street.”

Quarrah walked forward slowly, passing between a pair of armchairs as she tested the new section of flooring that covered the bath. She tried to peer down between the wooden floorboards, but they were nailed too tightly.

“How much do you trust these boards?” she asked, feeling them flex underfoot ever so slightly.

“A hundred percent,” replied Ard. “We had a top-notch Trothian carpenter install it. And take a look at this special feature.”

He strode over to a chair with a vibrant green cushion. Standing back, he grabbed the wooden arm and yanked upward. Instantly, a trapdoor swung downward on well-concealed hinges. The armchair went with it, but it must have been securely mounted to the hatch because it hung there, facing straight down.

“This is in case you still want to take a swim?” Quarrah asked. If someone had been seated in the chair, it would have dumped them face first into the bath.

“We drained the water,” Ard explained, seating himself at the edge so his legs dangled into the dark opening. Then he reached down and grabbed the back of the mounted chair, using it as a brace to swing out of sight into the empty hole of a bath. “Come check it out,” his voice floated up.

Quarrah glanced at Raek, who made an expression indicating that the space below wasn’t anything to be overly excited about, but it would be best just to indulge the ruse artist.

She crouched down to grab the back of the armchair, and then nimbly lowered herself to join Ard.

“A hideout within a hideout,” Ard said. “I know you’re not fond of windowless buildings with only one door, but Hedge wouldn’t allow me to install another exit. So I thought the next best thing would be to build us a good place to hide.”

He reached out and grabbed a weighted rope. Giving it a long pull, the trapdoor with its mounted armchair rose back into place, plunging Quarrah and Ard into darkness, broken only by a few thin lines of light falling through some of the wider gaps in the boards overhead.

“This is where we’re keeping our stores of liquid Grit,” Ard said, rustling around in the darkness. “We’ve also got a cache of guns and ammunition and enough food and fresh water for the three of us to survive for a week.”

Quarrah raised an eyebrow. “Do you really see that happening? I mean, the trapdoor is clever, but it’s not entirely foolproof. Anyone familiar with Tofar’s Salts would know about the existence of this bath.”

“True,” said Ard. “Still, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Sparks suddenly sizzled through the darkness, and Quarrah squinted at a little orb of Light Grit springing up in Ard’s hand. A quick glance around the large space revealed all the supplies Ard had mentioned. He left his Light detonation hanging in midair and moved to the far end of the empty bath.

“Here’s what makes this little hole really worthwhile.” Ard dropped to a knee and pointed at a metal crank handle. It jutted out of the stone wall of the bath above a rectangular indentation.

With what looked like little effort, he turned the handle a few revolutions. The action was accompanied by a grating sound as the small rectangular section in the wall began to rise like a sluice gate.

“Behold, the complex plug to the bathtub,” Ard said once the gate was fully raised. The opening at the bottom of the wall was about the same size as that waste chute she’d squeezed through while escaping Lord Dulith’s manor.

“The Trothians pitch the seams when they fill the Be’Igoth,” Ard said. “Between the seal and the weight of the water, they discovered that it was difficult to pull a plug on a pool this deep. So they installed this nifty mechanism to drain the Be’Igoth into the baths outside.”

Quarrah dropped to her stomach and peered out the opening. She could see daylight through a grate on the other end. Based on the placement of the pool in relation to the layout of the room above, she guessed this tight passageway was about fifteen feet long. And now that she thought of it, she’d noticed the metal grate next to the steps outside.

“So if things go badly,” Ard surmised, “we drop down here and shimmy our way outside. Hopefully before they find the trapdoor.”

“How secure is that grate?” Quarrah asked. She’d have no leverage to kick it free once she was inside that drain shaft.

“That’s a great question,” Ard said, nodding. “I’ve got people looking into it.”

“Oh?” She stood up as Ard ratcheted the sluice gate shut. “Who?”

“You?” He smiled awkwardly at her. “Will you look into that?”

“It’s probably held in place by a handful of masonry nails,” she said. “I can loosen them and install a latch that holds the grate in place from the inside. Something easy to undo in a hurry.”

“Thanks,” Ard said. “It’s good to have your professional eye again.”

The compliment hit Quarrah so unexpectedly that she couldn’t decide whether to absorb it or shrug it off. Instead of doing either, she decided to point out another flaw in Ard’s escape plan.

“Raek won’t fit,” she said, lowering her voice so the big man above wouldn’t hear.

Ard scratched behind his ear thoughtfully, eyes lingering on the sluice gate and the small drain shaft. “Yeah. He knows.” Ard crossed back over to the rope dangling from the trapdoor. “The trick is to stay ahead of Hedge Marsool so we never have to use this squirrel hole.”

“How do we stay ahead of someone who claims to see the future?” Quarrah pointed out.

“Maybe we just keep the future unpredictable.” Ard grabbed the rope and gave it a sharp tug.

Nothing happened.

He muttered something under his breath as he pulled again, but the trapdoor didn’t budge.

“It doesn’t open from the inside, does it?” Quarrah asked with a smirk.

Ard’s face turned sheepish in the glow of the tiny Light cloud. “I guess we didn’t specify that in the plans for the carpenter,” he admitted, swatting the air hopelessly at the trapdoor eight feet above. “But hey. Look on the bright side. We’ve got more than a week’s worth of food and water.” He shrugged. “And the company’s not half bad, either.”

The trapdoor suddenly dropped open, causing Quarrah and Ard to flinch at the appearance of the falling armchair. Raek peered down at them, his bald head shining in the light from the upper room.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said, “but our appointment is knocking on the door, and it sort of ruins the whole secret trapdoor effect if you two come climbing up out of the floor.”

He lent them both a hand, and with the support of the armchair, Quarrah found it quite easy to scramble out of the hole. In a flash, the floor was sealed, leaving no one to suspect that there was any way to access the empty pool with the new flooring in place.

Ard straightened his vest and ran a hand over his short styled hair. Then he strode to the front door of the Be’Igoth and pulled it open.

Drot was still standing guard, but now there were two Trothian women beside him. Quarrah recognized one of them as Geppel, the tall willowy greeter who collected payments at the entrance to Tofar’s Salts. Geppel spoke perfect Landerian and Hedge paid her handsomely, which made Quarrah a little uneasy. But the woman had orders to let Quarrah, Ard, and Raek come and go from the Be’Igoth without charge. In many ways, Geppel had become their primary liaison with Hedge Marsool, passing messages and giving updates to the King Poacher.

“Omligath, Geppel,” Ard greeted her. He waved the two women inside, closing the door behind them.

Geppel’s companion was short, her black hair cropped tightly to her blue scalp. Her round face carried the plumpness of youth while somehow looking mature. If Quarrah had to guess—and it was difficult with Trothians—she’d say the woman was just out of her teens.

“Thank you for meeting us,” Ard said to the short woman. “My name is Ardor Benn. These are my companions, Raek and Quarrah.”

Geppel slipped into Trothian, translating Ard’s words for her companion. “Vorish,” the woman introduced herself.

“Come sit down.” Ard led the way to the seating area over the empty pool. “Can I order you anything to eat or drink?”

After a brief exchange in Trothian, Geppel answered. “She says a glass of salt water would be fine.” Then the translator gave a wily smile. “But if you’re paying, I could go for a fish hrav.”

Raek crossed back to the door to catch the attention of one of the many servers running the boardwalks outside. Ard carefully seated himself on the trapdoor chair with the green cushion, while Geppel and Vorish took the padded bench across from the coffee table. Quarrah remained standing. No sense in being caught off guard.

“Does she know why we asked to meet with her?” Ard asked Geppel.

“She knows it has to do with her home islet,” she answered. “And the Agrodite Moon Glass. But she doesn’t know you plan on stealing it. If you want her to talk, you’d be wise to keep it that way.”

“Wait,” Quarrah cut in. “But you know?” She stared pointedly at the Trothian translator.

“Relax,” Ard said. “She works for Hedge. We’re doing the job for him. Geppel is onboard.” He turned to Vorish. “Tell us a little about the Trothian islets. Have you visited many of them?”

Geppel translated the request to Vorish and spoke her response. “I have been to all of the islets in Ra Skal.” Geppel drummed her fingers on the arm of the bench as if trying to think of the translation. “A skal is like a grouping,” she settled on saying. “Or cluster.”

“And Ra Skal?” Ard said. “Where is it located?”

“To the northwest,” replied Geppel. “Between Strind and Dronodan.”

Vorish continued speaking, and Geppel resumed the interpretation. “Our islets are much closer together than your great islands. There are no cliffs to divide us, just long beaches of soft sand caressed by the lapping waters.”

“She’s quite poetic, isn’t she?” Ard remarked.

“That is the nature of our language,” replied Geppel. “It’s why so few of your people speak it well. On the other hand, my Landerian is so good because I mastered its secret.”

“Oh?” said Ard.

“I just think of the least intelligent way to say something and it comes out sounding right,” she replied bluntly. “Look, if I’d known your questions would be this basic, I could have answered them. Surely you’ve seen the islets as you sail past?”

The comment obviously bothered Ard. Quarrah knew he always had a masterplan to every conversation. “I’m trying to establish trust,” he explained. “Show her that we’re interested in something she loves.” He leaned forward to better engage Vorish. “Tell us about your home.”

“I hail from the Ennoth,” Geppel translated. “It is the center for Agrodite worship on Ra Skal.”

Good, Quarrah thought. At least they’d brought in the right person. It hadn’t taken much digging to learn that Lyndel was last seen on Ra Skal. And since she was an Agrodite priestess, it followed that she’d be at the center of worship.

“What can you tell me about the features and layout of your islet?” Quarrah asked.

“It was low enough to be chosen as the Ennoth for our skal,” Geppel translated. Then she added on her own, “In your tongue, ennoth would translate to something like ‘sacred site.’ Only two of the four skals have an island low enough to serve as an Ennoth.”

“Low enough?” Ard questioned. “What does that mean?”

Geppel chose to translate that question and let Vorish answer. “Every cycle, our people excavate a network of canals through the sand. They run from beach to beach, filling with seawater that refreshes itself with the crash of the waves.”

“And you do that to make it easier for the fajumar?” Ard said. Again, Quarrah thought he was just trying to impress Geppel with his simple knowledge of her language.

“Not only the soak,” she translated, “but for drinking and cleaning as well. But that is not the primary purpose of the pats. The trenches also ensure that the Ennoth will drown properly during the Moon Passing.”

“Hold on,” Ard cut in. “What, now?”

“You have seen the water rise when the Red Moon passes?”

“It has little effect on our islands,” Ard replied. Quarrah didn’t agree. Throughout the Greater Chain, the nights of a Moon Passing were considered a time to stay indoors. The harbors basically shut down, halting travel between islands while the rising water swelled over the docks. People flocked to the Mooring to witness the lighting of the Holy Torch. Once a cycle, behaviors and routines were markedly different. Why was Ard downplaying that?

“During such a Passing, the water rises and every part of the Ennoth is covered with a blanket of seawater,” Geppel translated.

“The whole island floods?” Ard exclaimed. “That’s got to be hard on the crops and livestock. Can’t you find a way to prevent it?”

Seeming amused, Geppel repeated the question and waited for Vorish’s answer. “We look forward to the drowning of the Ennoth each cycle. Ranching and agriculture are Lander skills unnecessary for the survival of our race. Life on our islets is fully sustained by the sea that surrounds us.”

Ard tilted his head skeptically. “The best bakery I’ve ever visited was run by a Trothian woman. You’re telling me she just opened shop so she could gain my trust, betray me to the crooked king, and jeopardize everything I’d worked for?” He held up his hand. “Maybe don’t translate that last part.”

“Sounds like you’re still working through it,” Geppel said.

“I really liked her pastries,” muttered Ard.

Geppel spoke to Vorish and translated the reply. “There are many Trothians who have found success farming and raising livestock on our higher islets. We have traded and sold product to Landers for centuries. But I am saying that none of that is necessary for Trothian survival. If every Lander were to vanish tomorrow, the sea and the blessed Moon would sustain us forevermore.”

The door suddenly opened and Raek reappeared, a tall wooden cup in one hand and a steaming bowl in the other.

“One lukewarm cup of fresh salt water for the young lady,” he said, passing it to Vorish, who accepted it with a word of gratitude.

“And one fish hrav for the intrepid gatekeeper of Tofar’s Salts. Careful, it’s hot.” Raek passed the bowl to Geppel and dropped into the seat Quarrah had been leaning against.

Undeterred by Raek’s warning, Geppel lifted the bowl to her lips and slurped the steaming liquid. “Did Sochar make this?” she asked, her voice accusatory.

“Sochar?” Raek raised his eyebrows to show that he didn’t know who that was. “Is it, maybe… too salty?”

“It’s fine,” Geppel remarked. “I just don’t like the way he cuts the shark tentacles.”

Quarrah shuddered. She’d eaten shark before—the meat from its side was almost like beef. But she couldn’t imagine slurping down those slippery tentacles from the big fish’s mouth. It was no wonder Trothian cuisine hadn’t taken root among the Landers.

“So what did I miss?” Raek asked. “Did she tell us where Lyndel keeps the Moon Glass?”

“We’re getting there,” said Ard. “She just finished explaining that the island where Lyndel lives completely floods during the Moon Passings.”

Raek shook his head. “That’s gotta be hard on the crops and livestock.”

“That’s what I said,” Ard remarked, nodding emphatically.

Sometimes it was eerie how similarly the two men thought. And yet, at other times, they seemed so wildly different. Quarrah thought Ard would be a lot more tolerable if some of Raek’s easygoing demeanor rubbed off on him. But then, Raek had his own issues, starting with his unwillingness to do anything about his Heg addiction.

“What happens to your homes during the Passing?” Raek asked Vorish.

“Our dwellings are built to withstand the rising water,” came her answer.

“So do you just swim all night?” asked Ard.

“It is a night of celebration,” she said. “The old and the weak can rest on the rooftops of our homes while everyone else sings and the priestesses recite poems. Some play gras oronet.”

“Is that a musical instrument?” Ard asked.

Vorish chuckled when the translation went through. “It is a game,” she said. Then Geppel added, “The literal translation would be lucky fish.”

“Then why didn’t you just say that the first time?” Raek muttered under his breath. “You are the translator.”

“During the drowning of the Ennoth,” continued Vorish, “fish will swim across the flooded islet. It is considered good luck in the cycle to come if you can catch a fish with your bare hands. The bigger the fish, the greater the luck.”

“Is that even challenging?” Ard asked. “I’ve heard Trothians are experts at fishing by hand.”

Quarrah remembered the first time she’d watched a group of Trothian fishermen outside Leigh’s southern harbor on Dronodan. She’d been a little girl then, ignorant of so much of the world, and fascinated by the blue-skinned divers. Four of them would take a net, each holding a corner, and dive deep into the InterIsland Waters. Long minutes would pass, and just when Quarrah had been sure they’d drowned, the divers would resurface with a full load of wriggling fish.

“Our vision normally allows us to see deep into the sea,” Geppel translated. “But on that night, the reflection of the Moon on the water’s surface creates an impenetrable glare to our eyes. It is as if the Moon has laid a great red blanket over the sea. Those who play gras oronet must keep their heads above water and go by feel alone as the fish swim past their legs.”

“What do they do with the fish if they catch it?” Raek asked.

“Once they have proven a catch and shown off its size, they release the fish in gratitude,” explained Vorish.

“Makes sense,” said Ard. “It would probably be exhausting to swim around all night while holding a slippery fish.”

“In many places, the water is shallow enough that we can stand,” Geppel said for Vorish. “Especially near the Ucru at the islet’s center.”

“What is the Ucru?” Quarrah asked, already exhausted by the effort of keeping all these foreign words straight.

“It is a building designated for Agrodite worship,” explained Geppel.

“What’s it like?” asked Quarrah.

“It is constructed in the shape of a large dome,” she answered. “Its base is sealed well, so the sand inside stays forever dry, even during the drowning of the Ennoth. A priestess is chosen to remain within the Ucru during the Passing. Bemdep is soaked in Stoshk and the root smolders inside the dome. The priestess sits in the haze, staring through the Moon Glass until her mind is awakened with a vision from the gods.”

“So the shards of Moon Glass are kept in one of these Ucrus?” Ard confirmed.

Geppel repeated the question. “There are only three pieces of Agrodite Moon Glass. One is held in the Ucru on Ra Ennoth. The other is kept in the Ucru on Mei Ennoth. The third piece moves between locations, safeguarded by the Shoka priestess.”

“Does that have a translation?” Raek asked.

“Of the tides,” answered Geppel.

“What does this tidal priestess do?” Quarrah asked.

Vorish explained as Geppel translated. “She splits her time equally between the Ennoth on Ra Skal, and the one on Mei Skal. She also visits the Trothians who are living on the Greater Chain to assure that the Agrodite teachings are remaining pure and uninfluenced. During the war, she was charged with military command over Trothian troops in council with our Sovereign allies.”

Ard stood up abruptly, as if the excitement about what he’d just heard had propelled him out of his seat.

“Does this Shoka priestess happen to be called Lyndel?” Ard asked.

Vorish nodded. “Her name gained some renown during the war,” translated Geppel. “But Lyndel is among the most devout of our Agrodite priestesses.”

Quarrah and Ard shared a glance. Obviously, Lyndel’s people had never heard about her research with Isle Halavend. Quarrah doubted she’d be referred to as devout if the Agrodites knew she’d consorted with a Holy Isle.

“We knew her before the war,” Ard admitted. “And you’re telling me that Lyndel carries a piece of the Moon Glass with her wherever she travels?”

“Not exactly,” Geppel said for Vorish. “But she does determine which Ennoth will receive it during the Passing. In such a case, two priestesses are selected to remain in the Ucru overnight.”

“This makes so much sense,” Ard muttered. “If she was the tidal priestess, it explains why Lyndel was in Beripent when she met Halavend. It explains how she could give Isless Malla a piece of Moon Glass without raising questions.”

“And it explains why she was in such a position of power during the war,” Quarrah said, remembering how Lyndel had led an unprecedented capture of the Archkingdom’s harbors on Pekal.

“Where is Lyndel now?” Ard asked Vorish.

“When I left Ra Ennoth three days ago,” translated Geppel, “she was there, planning to stay for the Moon Passing at the end of the cycle.”

“Then that’s where we need to go,” Ard said with far too much enthusiasm.

“Wait a minute,” Quarrah looked at him. “Don’t we want to avoid her? If I remember right, things didn’t exactly end on a high note between you and Lyndel.”

Going back on his promises, Ard had not let Lyndel use young Shad Agaul as a bargaining chip to stop the naval conflict against the Trothians outside the Pekal harbor. Quarrah vividly remembered the flat look of cold anger on the priestess’s face and the words she had spoken.

“You have made an enemy of me this day, Ardor Benn.”

Ard waved his hand. “That was nothing. Time heals old conflicts. Aren’t you and I living proof of that?”

Quarrah didn’t know how to take that. There had certainly been plenty of conflicts between the two of them, but were they truly healed? He obviously thought so, and the idea made her resent him a little more.

“So you just plan on taking a friendly walk along the beach with your old pal Lyndel?” Raek asked Ard.

“Seems like the perfect distraction to get her away from the Ucru so Quarrah can slip in and grab one of the pieces of Moon Glass.” Ard’s voice was backed with full confidence in her ability.

“But if both of the Ucrus already have a piece,” Quarrah said, “then why bother with Lyndel at all?”

“Her presence on the Ennoth assures us that there’ll be two pieces of Moon Glass lying around,” explained Ard. “Raek can check my math, but I’d say that doubles our chances of swiping one.”

“And Lyndel really doesn’t worry you?” Quarrah checked.

“On the contrary,” said Ard. “I’m counting on Lyndel to allow us to come ashore. Have you ever sailed up to one of the Trothian islets unannounced?”

Most things Quarrah did were unannounced, but not this. She’d never stepped foot on the sandy shore of an islet. From what she’d heard, Landers weren’t typically well received.

“Ard and I gave that a try once. Before the war,” Raek jumped in. “We’d been caught in some cross fire leaving Dronodan, and the Floret was taking water like a sieve.”

“Technically, I don’t think you can call it cross fire if it was intended for us,” Ard interrupted.

“Unimportant,” Raek brushed him off. “The point is, we were bailing with buckets in our teeth, limping our little boat across the waves toward the closest land, which just happened to be a Trothian islet. The minute we’re in range, they send a warning shot over the prow.”

“Never mind that we’d even thought to run up a white flag,” Ard added.

“Your undershirt was gray, at best,” Raek said to his partner. “Anyway, we have no choice but to lean into the rudder and make for Pass Harbor on Strind, knowing there’s no way we’ll reach it in time.”

The two men shared a glance full of nostalgia, and then Ard spoke. “That’s why we’ll be counting on Lyndel to let us in.”

“Hold on.” Geppel raised a hand. “What happened in your story? Did you make it to Pass Harbor?”

Deep inside, Quarrah was interested, too, but she’d spent enough time with these two to know not to egg them on. Geppel’s curiosity played right into their egos.

“We had a basket of fresh-caught fish,” Ard started. “We put it on the sinking prow and took off the lid. Within ten minutes, a genuine flock of seagulls had gathered.”

“I threw a net over the birds and lashed the ends to the bowsprit,” continued Raek. “Those blazing seagulls kept us afloat and towed our ship all the way to Strind.”

There was a moment of sincere contemplation among the women in the room, and then Quarrah called the story what it obviously was. “Dragon slag. What really happened?”

“Our ship sank and we were left treading water until some Homeland-sent cargo vessel pulled us aboard,” answered Ard.

Raek reached over and smacked him with the back of his broad hand. “I thought we had an image to maintain. You have changed.” He sighed melodramatically. “Anyway, the point of the story wasn’t to explain our escape. It was to prove that we can’t just sail up to the Trothian islets uninvited.”

“We have Lyndel!” Ard exclaimed as if he’d been repeating the same logical phrase all afternoon.

“Who considers you an enemy,” Quarrah reminded.

“We don’t know that for sure,” said Ard. “And maybe that’s as good a place to start as any.” He turned to Geppel. “Can you get a message to Lyndel on Ra Ennoth?”

She and Vorish conversed for a few seconds before Geppel answered. “Vorish’s family returns home from their vacation in two days. She has agreed to share a message with the Shoka.”

“Good,” Ard said. “Tell Lyndel that Ardor Benn will be coming to see her.”

“Would you like to tell her the reason?” asked Geppel.

Raek screwed up his face. “That we’d like to steal the Moon Glass?”

Geppel shot him a flat stare, then turned back to Ard. “Something that might convince her to allow you ashore?”

Ard took a deep breath and Quarrah saw a number of ideas flicker across his face. “Tell her that I wish to apologize.”

Quarrah leaned in as if she’d misunderstood him. Did Ardor Benn say apologize? Without an official letter? Quarrah had been on the rare receiving end of profuse apologies from Ard—sorry for excluding her, sorry for not hearing her, sorry for a dozen other things. But the words always sounded brittle falling from his mouth.

Ard turned to Geppel and Vorish. “If you don’t have any questions about my message, then that’ll be all.”

The two women stood, taking their cup and bowl with them as they exited the Be’Igoth.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to go over there wishing to apologize?” Quarrah asked when Ard turned around. “Won’t Lyndel get suspicious when you don’t?”

“Who says I won’t?” Ard replied. “I’m not sorry for getting Shad Agaul home, but I do feel bad for the way things ended between Lyndel and me. I’ll apologize for what I can and let her decide how much she wants to forgive me. Meanwhile, you’ll be creeping your way into the Ucru to swipe a piece of Moon Glass. Would you prefer darkness or daylight?”

“Daylight,” Quarrah said. “We’re talking about sneaking past a village full of Trothians.” Darkness would provide her no advantage against their superior vision.

“While you two do your thing, I’ll keep the sails rigged and ready on the Double Take,” Raek said. “I’m hoping we don’t need a speedy getaway, but it doesn’t hurt to be ready.”

“Speaking of being ready,” said Ard, “where are we with Lavfa’s other requests?”

“I’ve got the Void and Barrier Grit divided into secure kegs,” reported Raek. “And the black leather backpack was an easy purchase in the Char.”

“And the bricks?” Ard asked Quarrah.

She pulled back her head. “Why are you looking at me?”

“We need four bricks from the Royal Concert Hall,” Ard said, like it was self-explanatory. “I just assumed. Raek gets the Grit and the backpack, you get the bricks, and I get the Moon Glass.”

She tilted her head. “Now, who gets the Moon Glass?”

“Well, technically, you do,” said Ard. “I just meant that I was running point on that part since it was the most complex.”

“And you don’t think I can do complex?”

Ard held up his hands. “I’m sorry.” See, there it was. How much weight did that word carry for him? “I’ll get the bricks.”

“Because you think I can’t?” she retorted. “I know the Royal Concert Hall better than either of you. The southeast corner is the most worn. A cloud of Silence Grit, a pinch of Void, and I should be able to separate four of the bricks without any trouble. I’ll get them tonight.”

A subtle grin tugged at the corner of Ard’s mouth, and Quarrah wondered if she’d just played right into his hands. Before she could grow any more upset about it, Raek changed the course of the conversation.

“I don’t feel like we really explored any alternatives to Baroness Lavfa’s demands,” he said.

“She didn’t leave a lot of wiggle room,” said Ard. “And Hedge made it clear that he wouldn’t give us the documents we need until Lavfa’s property is secured.”

“I know,” said Raek. “But what about a forgery? Are we breaking our necks trying to fill her backpack, when it would be just as easy to present her with a regular shard of red stained glass?”

“How would we forge something like that?” Quarrah thought back to that day in Lyndel’s Beripent apartment, surrounded by papers and writings from the recently murdered Isle Halavend. “Looking through the Moon Glass was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.”

“We know that,” continued Raek. “The three of us have seen a real piece, but it’s unlikely that Lavfa has.”

“I agree that the baroness might not recognize a forgery,” said Ard, “but getting the glass to Lavfa is only the first step in our job for Hedge. It wouldn’t be hard for her to check the authenticity of the glass with a Trothian who actually knows. Then we show up on her doorstep with a dragon and she doesn’t let us in?” He shook his head. “It’s too risky. Better to do the job right.”

“But what’s the purpose behind this?” Quarrah asked, catching a smile from Ard. That was usually his line. “I mean, I’ve worked for plenty of people who accept goods instead of Ashings.” She justified her curiosity. “But Lavfa’s request is… unusual.”

“Seems to me like she’s planning on framing someone,” Raek said. “I mean, it would look really incriminating if the Regulators were to apprehend someone wearing that backpack.”

There was a pregnant pause in the room, and then Ard seemed to realize that Quarrah and Raek were staring at him. “Me?” he cried with incredulity. “You think she wants to frame me? Why?”

“Maybe she’s among the many who don’t agree with your reformed character,” Raek said. “After all, she didn’t name her price until after you pushed me out the window.”

“That was supposed to gain her trust,” Ard said. “To show her that I couldn’t tolerate anyone plotting to abuse her good name.”

“But what if it had the opposite effect?” Quarrah said. “Maybe Lavfa lost trust when she saw you—a supposed Holy Isle—reverting back to your criminal ways.”

“First of all,” Ard rebutted, “I’m not a supposed Holy Isle. I’m the genuine article. And I don’t think Lavfa has anything so devious in mind. You both heard her on the catamaran. She’s an absolute shark when it comes to business deals. And she couldn’t stop bragging about her vast assortment of rare trinkets and baubles. I think she’s just using us to expand her collection.”

That had been Quarrah’s first thought, too. Moon Glass made sense. Even the bricks from the Royal Concert Hall. But the twenty panweights of easily accessible Grit? And why specify the type of backpack to carry it in? Something definitely felt off about this whole thing—starting with Hedge Marsool’s mysterious summons to the Be’Igoth.

“Now I guess we just sit back and wait to hear if Lyndel returns our message.” Raek kicked out his feet in a relaxed stance.

“We only have a week until the Moon Passing,” Ard said. “If we wait until next cycle, Lyndel could move and we won’t know where she’ll be. I say we ready the Double Take to sail to Ra Skal in three days. That’ll put us just a day behind Vorish’s message.”

“And what if Lyndel’s answer is, ‘Don’t bother coming. Apology not accepted. I hate you’?” said Raek.

“Then we claim that the message must have been garbled in translation,” said Ard.

Raek nodded in approval, but Quarrah stared at the cavalier pair. “Is no one else worried that the success of this job rests on Ard’s ability to apologize?”

More than anything, I’m writing this to clear my conscience. To acknowledge my vast shortcomings and misbehaviors.