He chuckled. "That was the idea, I'm sure."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their drinks.
"I was surprised you sent me that letter," he finally said. "What if someone else had intercepted it?"
"It was a risk I had to take. I failed the assignment he gave me—on the off chance he decided to..." She trailed off, not wanting to voice her thought aloud.
"Ah." Gavin nodded. "And the smithy?"
"Is coming with me to Olekoth."
"Good."
She looked up. "Good? The man refuses to carry a weapon, and he's insolent: he looks me in the eye, and he calls me by my first name."
"Nonetheless, good," Gavin repeated. "You'll need a friend there, even one who carries no weapon. Be careful what you drink there, Ayalah. The people of Olekoth tend to trade in strange herbs and concoctions: some are for fun, but others are deadly. Keep him with you to watch your back. And watch his, too."
She didn't ask how Gavin knew this, but she believed him; a chill crept across her chest. "You think—?"
He nodded. "Just because we found him first doesn't mean they won't still try to torture the information out of him. Your task won't be any easier with them on your trail."
She hadn't thought of this before, but it made sense. She nodded reluctantly.
"When do you leave?"
"The ship leaves in a week, so I figure we have another two, maybe three days before we need to head to the docks."
"Your horse wandered back, but I think you should take a couple of standard royal horses this time, so you can leave them while you're gone and not need to worry about them." He set his mug down on the table. "Well, I don't have any clients tonight. Why don't you stay for dinner? For old times' sake?"
Ayalah smiled. "I'd love to."
19
It was the smell of the sea that surprised her. It hit her once they entered the port town, before they'd even gotten to the dock; she had looked at Greyson in wonder, unsure what it could be. Even now, after a week on this trading vessel heading toward Olekoth, Ayalah couldn't get used to the smell. It was refreshing, at once salty and tangy, unlike anything she had experienced on land. She breathed it in greedily and let it out reluctantly.
The sailors swarmed around her, tugging on ropes, letting out and reigning in sails, rowing, shouting—she had lost interest in observing their routines days ago. They were gigantic, surly men, the lot of them, with massive muscles and leathery, tanned skin, and she'd caught them ogling her time and again. Luckily, her warrior stripes had kept them at bay; and if she was a bit bored and starved of human contact—Greyson mostly spent his time belowdeck, so they'd exchanged only a few sentences since boarding the ship—she nonetheless was happy to encourage their wariness to gain a bit of privacy.
Somehow the vast blue expanse of the sea never grew dull. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of a porpoise or a large fish below the surface of the water, and once she caught sight of something enormous, far off in the distance, that the sailors had called Big White. One more week, and she'd get her first glimpse of Olekoth.
She supposed it made sense that the fabled wizard who first split the prophecy long ago would have put parts of it on different continents; it certainly made it more complicated and time consuming to solve the riddle. Still, she thought, it was awfully frustrating. Greyson's clue had been so vague; all it told them was where to go, not how to find the next clue holder once they were there. It wasn't as if she and Greyson could walk around asking people to dredge up bits of rhyming lines here and there in their memories. They'd have to explore the city as much as possible, she thought with a sigh, and hope they found something by chance.
A tap on her shoulder startled her. She didn't know how long she'd been standing there, lost in thought, but the sky was already turning a deep pink, with flecks of orange standing out on the horizon as the sun went down.
"Sorry to sneak up on you," Greyson said with a chuckle.
She shrugged, trying not to feel annoyed. In truth, it was a bit of a relief to speak to someone else. "No problem."
He stood next to her, and the two of them stared over the edge of the ship for some time. From here, Ayalah thought, the world seemed so peaceful and beautiful, like nothing could ever go wrong. She breathed deeply, happily.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Greyson said.
She arched an eyebrow at him. "I hadn't thought you appreciated it. You've spent the entire week in that stifling cabin of yours."
He grinned. "I wasn't in my cabin. I was at the forges; I made something for you." He held up a thick metallic band Ayalah hadn't noticed he'd been holding.
"What is it?"
"It goes around your wrist. Here, hold out your arm." She obeyed warily, and he snapped it into place on her forearm. "It's a bracelet of sorts," he said, "with two uses. It can be used as a shield, to block a sword thrust" —he demonstrated the technique— "and also to store medicine in."
Ayalah stared at him. "But what possessed you to make me such a gift?"
He shrugged. "I came up with the idea after you told me about the herbs in Olekoth. There's a tiny amount of medicine hidden in the bracelet—within this section on the inside of your arm, do you see? You unscrew the stopper to get to it."
She nodded, stunned. The bracelet was a bit heavy, and it was certainly clunky—the wide swath of metal covered nearly half her forearm—but the thought behind it was touching, and the final product was surprisingly clever and useful, kind of like portable armor.
"Well?"
She smiled. "It's wonderful. Thank you, Greyson." Maybe having the smithy around wasn't such a bad idea, after all.
20
All too soon, the ship was docking in Olekoth. The harbor was swarmed with people, and Ayalah felt herself growing irrationally angry and short-tempered with everyone around her as the noise and the stink of the harbor grew clearer and sharper. Still, she supposed the opportunity to view Olekoth's fleet was nothing to scoff at. In one direction, their warships stretched out before her in a line that reached the horizon; in the other direction, a mishmash of fishing boats and large trading vessels lined the dock, jostling for space. The sheer size of Olekoth's navy fleet surprised her as they drew closer, and, upon disembarking from the ship, Ayalah discovered that her fists had been clenched involuntarily at the realization of how vastly superior Olekoth's fighting force was to anything she had ever seen. King Mathais, she thought, was a fool to slight this country's royal family.
Here, too, as on the ship, the sailors gaped at her as she walked by. There were a few other women dotting the dock, but these women were stocky and grimy like the other sailors, a sharp contrast to Ayalah's tall, thin frame in her tight leathers. She stood, letting her hair blow in the breeze. Let them stare, she thought with just a twinge of a smile. It seemed harmless, indulging her ego for once.
The sailors here, however, didn't seem to understand that the stripes on her clothing indicated that she was a warrior—that it was forbidden to touch her, and that, moreover, she herself was a deadly weapon. As she and Greyson moved along the pier, heading toward the bustling city, the sailors began to jeer at her and shout. She couldn't hear what they were saying over all the noise, but it certainly didn't seem friendly. Her sword was strapped tightly to her back, inaccessible at the moment; she rested her hand on the pommel of her knife—just in case.
Then she felt it. They passed through a group of men, and as Ayalah stepped carefully over the planks of the dock, there it was: a warmth, a squeeze, a chuckle from behind her.
She whipped around, pulled out her knife, and sliced the man's throat.
A few of the surrounding men jumped back with strangled oaths, watching the man open and close his mouth wordlessly as blood spewed out from the gaping hole in his neck. Bystanders noticed and cut off their conversations to stare; soon the entire dock had gone silent.
Greyson gaped at her.
"Well?" Ayalah shouted. "Does anyone else feel they can't re
strain themselves from touching or talking to me?" She glared around her, daring someone, anyone, to take her up on her challenge. Nobody did.
She sheathed her knife with an audible hiss, glared around once more, and continued on her way.
"That wasn't exactly the most diplomatic move," Greyson observed drily once they were in the privacy of the inn Ayalah had chosen at random.
She shrugged, sitting on the tiny bed she had claimed as her own. "Someone had to teach those sailors a lesson." She watched Greyson for a moment, noting his discomfort with a twinge of disappointment. "Don't tell me you're of the mindset that a woman's body is subject to the whims of the men around her?"
"Of course not." Greyson looked surprised, almost offended. "It's just that you could have been a bit more subtle."
She scoffed. "I've noticed over the years that subtlety is generally wasted on men. They think they have the right to own everything and to do whatever they please with the women surrounding them. Words don't work; swords and knives do."
He was silent for a moment, ostensibly concentrating on the curtain he was hanging between the beds to serve as a partition. Finally, he turned to face her. "It's not that what you're saying isn't true. I've observed it myself, even with my own parents. But the way you speak of all men as one united body intent on doing what we want to who we want—it just—it bothers me."
Ayalah found that she was biting her nails and forced herself to stop. "Why?"
He shrugged. "Well, I'm not like that. I would never impose my will on you. For example. Or try to—to do anything inappropriate."
"I know," she said. And she did. There was something about this smithy that was unlike all other men she had known, even Gavin. She watched him moving about the room with a smile on her face. "Come," she said, rising. "Let's go explore this city in the hours we have before dusk."
21
Olekoth was a massive, sprawling city, with its streets laid out in a grid so regular and precise, it was obvious that it had been carefully planned long before the mainlanders colonized this continent centuries before. It was easy for Ayalah to figure out how to get around and to remember where their inn was along the city grid, but something about the orderliness of the city bothered her. Most of the buildings were nearly identical to one another, made of dark wood and stone, save for a few more modern buildings here and there, particularly closer to the palace, that were bigger and had flashier flourishes. The locals wore bright fabrics that looked light and airy, making the city seem almost as if it was filled with tropical birds getting ready to fly away. Ayalah envied their clothing: this far north, even toward the end of summer, the sun was stifling and the breeze did not do much to cool Ayalah beneath her leathers.
She and Greyson wandered the streets for two days, enjoying themselves and seeing the sights the city had to offer; they'd retrieved the queen's jewelry right away from an unimpressed-looking servant, so they had no real obligations while they waited for their ship to set sail once more. But inwardly Ayalah was tense and frustrated, with no idea how to find the next prophecy holder. Their ship was leaving the next day; trading vessels, the captain had explained, didn't typically stop over for very long in any given city. He wanted to stop only as long as it took to unload one shipment and load the other, and then he'd be off. It maximized his profits, he explained, and Ayalah couldn't fault him the practicality. But the thought of leaving so soon, after such a long voyage and without finding what she'd come here to find, was infuriating. She'd tried looking around the shops, visiting the bars, and listening closely to street performers' lyrics for cryptic hints, but to no avail.
Curse that wizard and his vague instructions, she thought. She tossed and turned all night, repeating the lines over and over in her head—Go along, my child, sail the lonely blue / The land of friends and myst'ries has long awaited you—but no brilliant realization came to her, and she awoke to a bright orange sunrise, with a long voyage home to look forward to.
She dressed with a sigh and pulled back the curtain to see if Greyson was ready to go. He was; he smiled at her uncertainly, noticing her frown. She hadn't explained to him that she was looking for the next piece of the prophecy, and she didn't intend to.
"What—" he began. A trumpet interrupted him.
They looked at each other in surprise. Shouts and cheers could be heard now through the thin walls of the inn; people were milling about outside, talking animatedly to one another.
Ayalah opened the door to their room and flagged down one of the inn maids. "What's all the commotion about?"
"The queen, of course!" The maid was flushed with excitement and could barely contain her smile. "The entire city is on holiday. Good day!"
Ayalah stared after the maid and turned back to Greyson. "Did you hear—?"
But Greyson, she found, was distracted. He'd stuck his head out of the window and was having a shouted conversation with someone below. She waited patiently until he straightened up and turned back to her.
"Well?"
He smiled. "It appears the queen of Olekoth has been delivered of a baby boy."
"Yes, and?"
"Well, this is the first male heir to the throne. The other royal children are all girls. According to Olekian tradition, there must be a citywide celebration of the event. Until then, most businesses are closed and no one may enter or leave the city."
She gaped at him. "No one?"
"Well," he amended, "no one except the royal family, should they have a need."
She sank down onto the bed. "So we can't leave until the celebration?"
"Correct."
"And when is that?"
"A week from today."
She was having a hard time grasping the concept. Could she really be so lucky? "So we aren't leaving today?"
Greyson shook his head. "We have no choice; our ship won't be able to set sail. We must stay here another week."
Relief flooded her body. Maybe she would be able to find the next piece of the prophecy, after all.
Her first order of business was to go shopping. Being stared at and avoided for two days was fine, but she didn't relish the thought of another week of it. Her Miltinian leathers were too conspicuous—word traveled fast in this city, apparently—and she'd realized that if she wanted information, she'd need to make herself a little more approachable. She opted instead for a soft, long dress in a purplish grey, the most muted color she could find, matching the airy fashion of the Olekian ladies. The bodice fitted her tightly and the skirt flared out in a most becoming fashion—and besides, the merchant had practically thrown the dress at her, so eager was he to be off and celebrating for a week. She had insisted that Greyson, too, blend in with the crowd, wearing the more open-styled tunic of the Olekian men, and the two of them, garbed in local fashion, made their way through the city streets with feigned confidence.
It looked like most of the shops had closed, but the bars remained open—and consequently, they were flooded with people. The bars, now that she thought about it, seemed like the perfect place to start: people who had been drinking were more likely to open up to her, anyway.
"Care to stop in for a drink?" she asked.
"I can't imagine you taking the day off," Greyson said. "Do you even know how to sit in a bar and relax?"
She'd been surveying the street, looking for the best place to go, but now she snapped her eyes back to Greyson and opened her mouth to retort angrily—but Greyson was smirking at her.
Oh.
"Very funny," she said instead. "Of course I know how to relax. I just don't have the opportunity to do so often." In truth, she hadn't frequented any bars back home since her warrior training days, more out of a lack of drinking partners than because she was busy. But still, she could hold her ale as well as most of the men she knew, and there was no reason she couldn't loosen up a bit while she tried to find the next prophecy holder. "Come on," she said, "Let's see how well you hold your liquor."
22
Ayalah was be
ginning to enjoy herself. She and Greyson had been gallivanting about the city for nearly a week now, and she'd managed to drink him under the table every single night. They were making their way around the city methodically, one city block at a time, led mostly by the shouts and laughter of the patrons inside, and, at meal times, by the enticing smells of food wafting out into the streets.
The entire populace of the city seemed to be enjoying itself; even the barkeeps and barmaids were weaving on their feet and slurring a little. She and Greyson made friends everywhere they went, Greyson because he was naturally friendly and Ayalah out of a conscious effort to blend in and glean information. To keep wandering hands off of her, they made it clear that anyone who touched Greyson's "wife" would get his neck sliced—though they didn't specify who would be doing the slicing.
Greyson, she was amused to notice, loosened up a bit after he'd been drinking—but only a bit. He'd been so drunk one night, she'd had to keep him from falling off his seat, and yet he had suddenly turned to her and, stiffening, pronounced his disgust at the debacle occurring on the other side of the room. She had looked to where he pointed to see one of the barmaids with her skirt hiked up and one of the drunken reveler's hands disappearing under the many folds of fabric. She'd laughed at Greyson at first, but then wonderingly realized that he was serious about his disapproval, even when falling-over drunk. He never ceased to surprise her—he still insisted on making eye contact with everyone they met, for instance, despite the impropriety of doing so—and she had begun to value his moral integrity, uptight as he sometimes seemed. He was a good man, this smithy. Perhaps Gavin was right about him.
Tonight they had moved on to a part of the city that had something called "herb bars," a term Ayalah had never heard before. She discovered right away that they certainly didn't have anything like this back in Miltinoth. The herb bars functioned in basically the same way as a traditional bar, except that instead of ordering drinks, patrons ordered some kind of strange-looking pipe, which they would sometimes share with one another and sometimes puff on by themselves.