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  The swordsman marched toward him and commanded, “Let’s go. You’re done.”

  “What? I need payment for what they did. I’m trying to tell her I won’t be able to work for weeks!”

  The swordsman drew his weapon and gestured with it. “You’re done,” he repeated.

  The man was baffled. “What did I do?”

  The swordsman made another motion with his weapon. “Last time I’m telling you to leave.”

  The man’s shoulders drooped as he slowly turned and shuffled away. I made a mental note not to raise my voice to the claim inspector. It also seemed that the man had been talking too much. If I’d learned anything from watching Jon, it was the longer you spoke to someone in authority, the better the chances of something happening that you wouldn’t like.

  “Who’s next?” the swordsman bellowed, looking between us.

  Shara stepped behind me. “You can go first.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I joked.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Around Lanhine, it wasn’t rare to glance at someone and think they were irritable, or annoyed, or angry. I’d even say this was a common occurrence. But the claim inspector simply looked mean, like she knew no other way to act. She had straight brown hair trimmed neatly so that it dangled just above her shoulders. It framed the hard glare of her eyes, which repelled my gaze with more force than the sight of a drunken man pissing. I wondered what it was like to constantly listen to people beg for money. Was she incapable of looking at a person any other way?

  I tried to smile as I came before her, but it only seemed to tighten her disagreeable face even more.

  “How much are you asking for?” Her voice was void of emotion.

  “Two dalions,” I said confidently. It helped that I really thought my house was worth three.

  The large amount didn’t surprise her. She made a quick scribble on a scroll, then looked up at me with her beady gray eyes. “Why two dalions?”

  “It’s a fair price for my house, which was destroyed in the battle.”

  I waited for her face to change, but it remained perfectly still. She didn’t speak, only stared, silently trying to will words out of me as she must’ve done to the last man. I wouldn’t make his same mistake. I waited as patiently as I could.

  “How was it destroyed?” she finally asked.

  “It was hit by a flaming chunk of wood that the enemy fired.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I was inside when it happened. The house caught fire soon after.”

  “Is there anyone who can verify this?” Her tone finally had feeling—skepticism.

  “Yes. A soldier named Callyn. I don’t know her surname.”

  The inspector paused to write on her scroll. I thought this was a good sign, for anything she did differently with me than with the last man was probably good.

  “Are you the taxpayer of the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you come to own it?” She wrote without looking up.

  My breath got caught in my throat as I remembered my dead father. Guilt clawed within my stomach.

  “My father was killed just before the battle. He owned the house before me.”

  “You mean during the battle?” Again, she wouldn’t look up.

  “Just before,” I repeated.

  Her eyes lifted. “How?”

  “Callyn killed him.”

  Her whole head came up from the scroll. One eye squinted, causing the wrinkles in her brow to deepen.

  “Shall I fetch Callyn so she can corroborate what I’m saying?” I was determined to get her here if needed, despite her injured leg.

  The claim inspector ignored my question. “How did she kill your father?”

  “He tried to force her out of the house with a knife.” The words knocked the air out of me for no discernible reason. I managed to add, “He was very drunk.” I wanted to say that I’d tried my best to stop him, but from what I knew of this woman, I’d have worse luck lying to her than running from a dog that had caught my scent. So I told the truth. “I should’ve fought for the knife the moment he picked it up, but I moved away in fear he would cut me. I don’t blame Callyn for shooting him with a fireball. I blame myself.”

  I hoped my words had been too quiet for Shara to hear. I wanted to glance over to check. People had a certain look about them when they’d overheard something they weren’t supposed to. But I could feel the inspector examining me closely. Looking away from her would make me seem disingenuous.

  She leaned forward, peering into one eye and then the other. If I’d been lying, it would’ve been easier to convince her to smile than to continue staring at her, but the truth gave me confidence.

  The only fear of an honest man is how his honesty will be taken. He’s invested in his truth, yet it doesn’t control him. A liar is the opposite. The lie is everything to him in that moment. More importantly, it’s something. The truth is just the truth—it’s what already happened. But a lie is tangible—something new created in that moment. Look for it, and you can see and hear it. Look for the truth, and you’ll find nothing. I’d learned this well from Jon. His every other word was a lie.

  “Very well.” The claim inspector gave one nod of satisfaction.

  She focused on writing for a while. I looked over to Shara. She had her hands turned up and her eyebrows raised, silently asking, “Well?”

  I shrugged. Shara smiled. Her hopeful look made me smile back.

  “Age?” the claim inspector asked.

  “Sixteen.”

  She scribbled it down. “Name?”

  “Neeko Aquin.”

  I waited for more questions, but none came. She wrote quickly, squinting up at me here and there.

  Soon she was done. She turned and grabbed a stamp off the table behind her, shoved it into a glob of wax, then pressed it from one side to the other on the bottom of her scroll. The gentle nature she took in this last act was a strange contrast to the rest of her behavior, especially as she thrust the scroll into my face.

  The guard waved his weapon at me. “Move.”

  I took the parchment and walked away, going farther and farther until his fiery glare finally shifted back to Shara. I was too far to hear what was said between her and the claim inspector and too interested in my scroll to care. It read:

  This claim of damage or injury has been investigated by Betsy Baker.

  I had to stop and glance at the claim inspector once more. Betsy Baker? What an unfitting name. Betsy Baker was a girl full of life. Betsy Baker didn’t care about a smudge of dirt on her dress. She was too busy playing with her friends, a bright grin on her face. Betsy Baker…this woman? She should’ve been called Emotionless Drudge or—I stopped myself as I realized how distracted I was getting.

  This claim of damage or injury has been investigated by Betsy Baker.

  Amount: Two dalions

  To: Neeko Aquin

  Age: 16

  Height: Medium

  Build: Medium

  Hair: Light brown

  Other identifiable features: Dimples when smiling

  The last stopped me in my tracks. Did I have dimples when smiling? More importantly, how in two hells would she know that? I remembered smiling at Shara, but when I turned back to Betsy Baker—even in my mind the name was so unsuitable it made me cringe—she was still writing.

  I knew describing my age, height, build, and features were important to ensure I didn’t give this scroll to someone else. But dimples? I’d never heard this before. I tried to remember the last time I’d smiled into a mirror, and I couldn’t. Then I remembered smiling at Betsy when I approached. That must’ve been it, that brief moment. She must look for identifiable features the instant she meets someone. I wondered what she would notice about Shara.

  I’d already figured out what this scroll was telling me. I would be paid for my house. As the curiosity about my dimples faded, relief came down my spine like the light scratch of a fingernail. I took a dee
p breath and enjoyed the sensation. It was important to appreciate moments like this, as they didn’t come often.

  I read the rest of the scroll.

  Neeko Aquin’s house was destroyed in a battle in Lanhine on day 20 of the 4th month of the year 1527. He has until day 35 of the 4th month of the year 1527 to bring this parchment to the master of coin for redemption.

  There was a time limit! It was a good thing I’d taken a moment to enjoy the feeling of relief, for now my body felt hot with panic. I had just fifteen days to bring this to the master of coin.

  I didn’t understand why Betsy Baker had added a time limit. I looked up to find Shara walking toward me. She was reading her own scroll, a smile on her face.

  Suddenly she stopped, her mouth dropping open. Then she spun around. “There’s a mistake,” she insisted with fearless certainty. The claim inspector scowled, but it didn’t stop Shara. “Fifteen days is too short a time to reach Glaine.”

  “Fifteen days is right!” Betsy screeched. “That’s the rule. No mistakes.”

  The swordsman started toward Shara. She didn’t seem to notice as she continued toward the inspector, petulantly waving the parchment. “Fifteen days would make sense if we were in Antilith, but we’re in Lanhine! There are few places in this kingdom farther from Glaine than Lanhine!”

  The swordsman was about to come between Shara and Betsy, but the inspector stepped forward and pushed out her hand to stop him. “Let me explain something to this insufferable teenager.”

  Amused, the swordsman let out a warning laugh. “Should’ve kept walking,” he muttered to Shara.

  The lines deepened down Betsy’s cheeks and across her forehead as her scowl worsened. “King Quince is the greatest king who’s ever lived. Arguing against any of his rules demonstrates how ignorant you are. Because you couldn’t possibly match his wit, I will impart the knowledge you should’ve asked for instead of complaining.”

  She jabbed her finger at the parchment. “This is not money that you’re owed. You’re being helped so that you can get back to work and continue paying your taxes. When you have nothing, you’re just a leech to the kingdom. The longer you’re a leech, the worse off the kingdom. If you’re actually as destitute as you claim to be, you will make the effort to acquire the funds you need. If you aren’t destitute, then you won’t. Now if you’re still too slow to understand that, so be it, but don’t stay here complaining or you’ll regret it. Fifteen days, stupid child. Leave now, and do everyone the favor of making it there, getting the money you claim you need, and start contributing. Or give up, leech, and die…makes no difference.”

  I felt sorry for Shara. I hadn’t known the master of coin resided in Glaine. I still didn’t know where Glaine was. But if I did, it easily could’ve been me being torn into like a piece of meat.

  I couldn’t see her face, but Shara’s body was completely still. I came up to her side and found that she had her parchment clutched against her stomach with both hands, probably fearful it would be taken from her. She turned to me but looked down at my feet.

  It was an awkward and silent walk for a while. “At least you got a parchment,” I said, still unsure how far Glaine was from Lanhine.

  Shara’s gaze came up to mine. I could see the frustration in her face as she bit her lips. “It’s useless.”

  “Where is Glaine?” I asked.

  “In Arish.” She looked at me with surprise. “I thought everyone knew where the king lived.”

  “How far is it?”

  “Haven’t you ever looked at a map?” She set down her bag and opened it. Atop a pile of rumpled clothing were numerous scrolls. Gods, she was far more prepared for this than I was. Shara took one out and unrolled it.

  I knew enough to tell this was a map of the north, the land of our king. Lanhine was the most southern town. Its edges were just about touching Jalljal Forest to the west and Lake Gohime to the east. I’d seen this image before—the only path into the north from the south was through Lanhine.

  I looked for the word “Glaine” among numerous towns, forests, rivers, and lakes, recognizing few of the names my eyes passed over. Shara strangely started to sing.

  “Miles and miles of land and water, miles and miles we need. How many miles will this woman walk…” She noticed me looking and stopped. “Sorry, sometimes I like to sing.”

  The unresolved rhyme bothered me. “How does it end?”

  Her mouth scrunched as she contemplated whether to finish it. “Before her feet begin to bleed.”

  “Why sing about it?”

  “Song helps me focus my thoughts. It gives them direction.”

  I was too exhausted to figure out what that meant. “Where is Glaine on this map?”

  She pointed a dirt-encrusted fingernail toward the top of the map. “Glaine,” she said as she poked a square with a crown in its middle. Nothing was written beside it.

  “Why isn’t it named on your map?”

  “Because everyone knows this town is Glaine.”

  Not everyone, I refrained from muttering. My mother probably had taught me where Glaine was at some point, but I must’ve forgotten.

  There were many towns between Lanhine and Glaine. I recognized Cessri, where I’d lived with my mother and where I’d met Eizle. It was northeast of Lanhine, so close on the map that it felt as if I could walk there in a day, though I knew I couldn’t. It had taken three when Eizle’s brother brought me from Cessri to Lanhine in a carriage. When he’d tricked me.

  I had fifteen days to reach Glaine. It looked easy. “How many miles away is it?” I asked.

  “I’m trying to figure that out now.” She fell into mumbles as she took her finger and moved it about the map. She counted, hummed, then mumbled some more. “If this map was perfectly accurate, which no map is, then it would be two hundred and ten miles to Glaine from here.”

  Two hundred and ten miles sounded frighteningly far.

  “If we are to get there in fifteen days,” she said, “that means we’ll have to walk—”

  “We?” I interrupted. She’d said it twice, so I knew I’d heard her right. We.

  The hand she was using to gesture froze in the air. “Are you not interested in going to Glaine?”

  “I’m going.”

  “And how do you expect to get there if you don’t even know where it is?”

  “I was going to buy a map.”

  Something between a hum and a snicker escaped her throat. She sang, “A map, he says, will guide him there, when nothing he knows of the land. Of all the things that will be a snare, the worst should be the sand.”

  Her singing was beginning to bother me. “Will you stop that? Your rhymes aren’t even very good.”

  She folded her arms. “Unless you can do better.”

  I waited for the rest of her sentence, but it didn’t come. “Unless I can do better…what?”

  “Then keep it to yourself,” she snapped. “I wonder how you haven’t heard this saying. Were you born on the moon?”

  I tossed my hand. I was already exhausted, and trying to communicate with Shara just made me more tired. I needed to separate from her so I could figure out what to do next. “Unless you have a map of the north you can sell me, I’d better go find someone who does.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, appearing confused. “If you don’t know the land, it will be a very dangerous trip. A map doesn’t tell you what lurks in the forest or waits beneath the ground. It doesn’t tell you of the strange customs in Antilith that could get you hung if you aren’t careful, and it certainly says nothing of the war. Didn’t you see the bodies?” She looked into my eyes for something. Whatever it was, she didn’t seem to find it. Shaking her head, she took my arm. “Come this way.” The moment I matched her stride, she let go.

  It was a quiet walk to the western end of the city. I wondered why she was so intent on going with me, someone she just met. My first thought was that she’d seen my money pouch and planned to steal it. Then I changed my m
ind. Shara wasn’t a thief. Money was important to her, but it was just as important to me, and I wasn’t a thief, either.

  My trip to Glaine wouldn’t just be for money. Facing my aunt was long overdue. I would’ve already gone back to Cessri if I hadn’t been so worried Jon would follow me. Eizle was there, but it would’ve been an embarrassment for him to meet the man I’d abandoned my mother for. Also, the trip would’ve been expensive for two people, especially when I would’ve paid for Jon to stay at an inn so he didn’t share a room with me at Eizle’s. Even worse would’ve been leaving Jon in Lanhine. The house would’ve been missing a wall by the time I got back.

  Now, of course, I could leave without worry.

  I grumbled and wondered what was wrong with me. My father had just been killed, and rather than grieve, I was planning a trip I’d wanted to make while he was alive. He hated when I apologized, so I thought of what else I could say to him. I hope the heavens are overflowing with libertine women and deep pools of the finest whiskey. Gods, something really was wrong with me. I was still making light of it. It’s the exhaustion, I told myself. It’s not that I’m a terrible son.

  My last thought took my breath out of me. I was a terrible son. My poor mother. I shivered as I thought about seeing her sister in Cessri. What was she going to say to me? This was really happening. I would be there in a few days.

  I looked at Shara beside me. I needed to find some way to let her know without hurting her that she couldn’t come with me. Sure, her singing was somewhat annoying, and I didn’t like the way she seemed attached to me, but those were small grievances that I easily could overlook. She was smart in areas where I wasn’t. She knew the land well. But if I brought her, I couldn’t use pyforial energy. She might report me if I did it in front of her. I didn’t care how dangerous the trip was. I could protect myself just fine so long as I could use py energy.

  Of course I couldn’t tell her this. I needed some other reason, and chances were it would be painful to hear.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Over there.” Shara pointed between dilapidated houses with charred walls and roofs, where soldiers in black trudged in and out of view. At any one moment, about half of them had their arms full. They seemed busy in the same way a family would be while loading belongings into a carriage before a trip.