Assassin's Bond (Chains of Honor, Book 3) Page 20

  Yanko understood perfectly.

  “Do you have family that’s in danger?” Dak asked her quietly.

  “My publisher is checking for news of them for me. They live in the Narr Mountains on the other side of the continent, and it sounds like the fighting hasn’t been as blatant over there.”

  Dak asked something else, but Jhali pushed her chair back, and Yanko didn’t hear him. She walked around him, her hip bumping the back of his chair. She didn’t notice. She strode quickly out, shutting the door behind her.

  A part of him wanted to follow her and see if she needed help, but he knew she wouldn’t accept help from him even if she did need it. If her leader and colleagues were gone, was there anyone left to offer it to her?

  “Yanko?” Dak asked.

  “Yes?” He turned back to the table. “Sorry, I’m listening.”

  “I learned little more than you and Tynlee did,” Dak said.

  “Were Turgonian fists ineffective?” Yanko forced a smile, though his heart wasn’t in the teasing.

  “They were effective enough.” Dak looked down at his hand—the knuckles were bruised. “But the people here are all talking about the same things. The fall of the city, the fall of Stargrind, and the death of the Great Chief. I hadn’t heard about the mage hunters.” He glanced at Tynlee. “Nothing about Zirabo. I tried to suss out if anyone had heard about the new continent, but the news doesn’t seem to have made it here yet. At least not to the common man.”

  That only made Yanko feel bleaker. With every hour that passed, their people were losing their chance to claim Kelnorean first. Maybe it didn’t matter with everything a chaotic mess here, but he couldn’t stop believing it could act as a catalyst to unite Nuria again. If enough people saw the potential in that kelp-draped continent that Yanko saw, maybe they would put their grievances with each other aside to rush out and claim it. But so far, he hadn’t met anyone who saw its potential the way he did.

  “The captain feels we should move the yacht in the morning,” Tynlee said. “And I’m inclined to agree. I’m not ready to go back to Turgonia, but another less dangerous port seems advisable.”

  Dak pushed a hand through his short, graying hair. “I wish we had some clue where to look for Zirabo. At this point, I can’t even say whether it would be better to head north or south along the coast. Or deep inland.”

  “I’m afraid I have nothing more than uneducated guesses on where he might be,” Tynlee said.

  “It’s not your mission,” Dak said. “It was good of you to bring us this far.”

  “Even if I tricked you into sailing with me?”

  He grunted. “Why you bothered, I don’t know.”

  “To make sure Yanko made it home, not in shackles.” Tynlee smiled. “And because I’m still hoping to hear good spy stories from a real Turgonian spy.”

  “I’m an Intelligence officer.”

  “What’s the difference? You’ve got a notebook full of reports on Nurian activities to take back to your republic.”

  “You looked in my pack?” Dak asked.

  Her smile grew broader. “No, but you just confirmed my suspicion for me.”

  “You’re a tricky woman.” It sounded like half compliment, half exasperation.

  Yanko closed his eyes, hoping inspiration would come to him. Dak, who he’d come to think of as a mentor, didn’t have any more ideas than he did, not for this mission. His math and engineering background wouldn’t help find the prince. Yanko needed another kind of guidance.

  He leaned forward and gripped the table.

  Dak noticed. “Yanko? Idea?”

  “Not yet, but I’m going to visit that shrine we saw yesterday. Just in case the gods want to send a tortoise to guide me.”

  “Ah.” Dak didn’t sound hopeful, but he didn’t dismiss the notion either. “Do you want a bodyguard to come along?”

  Yanko almost said yes, but something about the way Dak and Tynlee were sitting closer together than he and Jhali had sat made him want to give them time to keep talking about spy missions and novels. Nobody else—no other woman—had asked Dak to tell stories of his past. Yanko had no idea if Dak would consider a relationship with a Nurian, but it seemed worth giving them the opportunity to explore the possibility.

  “No, thanks. I’m not planning to chew on any strange stale plants and go into a trance, so I shouldn’t need protection.” Yanko nodded to them and stood. “I’ll keep an eye out for the watch.”

  Dak looked like he might protest, but he glanced at the door, and only said, “Be careful. If you’re not back by dawn, I’ll come find you.”

  Yanko didn’t hear or sense anyone in the corridor outside. Did Dak think Yanko meant to go after Jhali? Hardly that. He wouldn’t know where to look to find her even if she wanted to be found, which he highly doubted. No, maybe it was delusional, but he truly hoped the gods would give him some guidance if he went to visit that shrine.

  “Thank you, Dak.”

  Right away, Yanko found the source of magic that had made his senses tingle from a mile out at sea. The tortoise statue cemented into the floor of the shrine was made from jade, and after a few minutes of examining it with his senses, he realized that magic had long ago been integrated into it to keep anyone from stealing it. He struggled to push aside his disappointment. He’d hoped for something more, something that might help him truly communicate with the gods.

  Sighing, Yanko sat cross-legged on a reed mat in front of the jade tortoise. Rocks at the corners kept it from flapping away in the ocean breeze. The lantern he’d seen the night before wasn’t lit now, but a gibbous moon hung over the rocky terrain behind the beach, so he could make out the six pillars and arches that surrounded the tortoise, the open walls also giving him a view of the sea. It was choppier out there tonight, and the air was heavy, suggesting clouds would obscure that moon soon and a storm would come in.

  “The storm is already here,” he muttered.

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to open his mind to the gods or whoever might listen to his prayers. He’d joked with Dak about not having any of that plant to chew that he’d used on that island, but he wouldn’t have minded a little assistance in pushing his thoughts aside so his mind would be receptive to visions. As the minutes ticked by, the chilly wind ruffling his topknot and tugging at his silks, all he could think about was his mission and what he would do if Zirabo was dead or couldn’t be found. What was he without that mission? Nothing. A boy who’d failed to pass the entrance exams to Stargrind. A nobody. A nobody without even a family, not unless he could find that island and rescue them.

  But to go off and look for them was to abandon his mission to find Zirabo. And he still felt the press of time, the awareness that his people might lose their chance to claim the new land if they didn’t act soon.

  Yanko shifted, his butt aching from the hard stone under the mat. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but the moon had moved noticeably in the sky. He feared he wasn’t in the right mind to receive guidance.

  He rose to his feet, resting a hand on the cold jade statue. Movement out at sea caught his eye. The waves? No. The moon shone its silvery light on the water, and he spotted what looked like a large fish jumping. A large finned fish.

  “A dolphin,” he realized.

  There were several of them. They leaped in the water as they swam, perhaps excited by some school of fish they’d found.

  They soon moved out of the moonbeam, and Yanko lost track of them among the waves, but he kept gazing in that direction. Was it possible the gods had sent a sign? Were dolphins nocturnal? Or did they usually sleep at night? And did they typically swim this far north? From what he’d heard, they were mostly tropical creatures.

  Yanko hadn’t communicated with animals for weeks, and he found himself reaching out to them, as he’d done before with everything from his hounds to the large denizens of the sea. He didn’t particularly want anything from the dolphins—it wasn’t as if they would know w
here Zirabo was—but he had the urge to touch their minds.

  He sensed from them the pleasure of the hunt and of being together in a pod of many. They felt safe from predators and enjoyed being with their kin. The leader sensed his presence and invited him out to swim with them.

  He conveyed that he had to stay on land but attempted to do the dolphin equivalent of thanking him. Meanwhile, a lump formed in his throat. Something about seeing them together and sensing their community made him aware of how much he missed his family. Even though he was fortunate enough to be traveling with friends, he hated not knowing where his brother and cousins and great uncle were. Even his father. He wanted everybody to be back in their mountain valley with their home intact.

  The dolphins swam out of his range, and Yanko drew a shaky breath. His cheeks were moist with tears, the wind cold against his wet skin.

  As he wiped the tears away, he wondered if this was the sign he had sought. Did the gods believe he should give up his hunt for Zirabo, at least for now, and find his family? If they truly were on the awful-sounding island, they could be in danger every day. Didn’t he owe it to them to free them?

  Further, if they were being held with a lot of other important moksu families, someone in the camp might know where to look for the prince.

  Yanko lowered his hand from the statue. “Of course. Who better to ask than those from families who have long been allies of the Great Chief’s family?”

  It made sense. At least, he thought it did. Or was it only that he was homesick and longed to see his family again?

  “No,” Yanko said. “It makes sense because freeing all those people would be the right thing to do, even if it doesn’t lead to finding Zirabo.”

  He just had to convince Dak.

  As Yanko left the shrine, heading back down the dark beach toward the distant lamps of the city, he debated how he could do that. Maybe if he said he truly had seen a vision, Dak would believe him. After all, they’d found the Mausoleum Bandit’s stash after an ancient tortoise communicated with Yanko. Dak might believe something similar had happened.

  Except that Yanko couldn’t imagine himself looking Dak in the eye and lying. He wasn’t a good liar, and even if he were, Dak could probably suss out dishonesty. If he couldn’t convince Dak with logic…

  “I’ll just have to accept that we may need to go different ways,” he said with a sigh.

  “You’re supposed to talk to the gods at a shrine,” a woman’s voice came from the shadows. “Not yourself.”

  Was that Jhali? Yanko squinted toward the rocks at the back of the beach and made out the white of her garb.

  “The gods weren’t interested in talking to me.” Yanko decided not to mention the dolphins. She might mock him if he tried to explain that he’d seen their passing as a sign. Lakeo definitely would. He didn’t know Jhali well enough to know what to expect from her yet.

  “I suppose I won’t have any better luck then,” she muttered, the words almost lost on the wind.

  She gazed toward the shrine, the stone pillars still visible in the moonlight.

  “If that’s what you came out here to do, you might as well try,” Yanko said. “Just because they didn’t see fit to advise me doesn’t mean they won’t feel differently toward you.”

  “I barely believe in them. I just thought…” She looked at him. “Never mind. It was dumb. I’m going back to the city.”

  Despite the words, she didn’t turn back toward the port. Because she didn’t want to walk with him? Or because they were just words and not the truth? Maybe she’d been waiting for him to leave so she could try her luck. Her gaze turned back toward the shrine again.

  “I’ll leave you to your walk then,” he said, not wanting to impose on her quest for guidance or solitude. Whatever it was.

  But he’d only taken a couple of steps before she said, “Damn it, White Fox.”

  She pushed her hood back, and the wind whipped at long black hair.

  He stopped and looked at her again, waiting for more. If it had been Lakeo, she would have punched him in the shoulder after swearing at him. And then mocked his chin hair.

  Jhali turned her back on him and walked toward the shrine. She stopped before she reached it and sat against a driftwood log, drawing up her knees and glowering at the ocean.

  Yanko knew it would be safer for his ego and possibly his life if he left her alone, but it went against his nature to abandon someone in pain. He wished he knew if she wanted company or not. It was hard to imagine her wanting to talk to him. But it was also hard to imagine someone, even a hardened mage hunter, not being devastated after finding out that her surrogate family had been destroyed.

  Yanko walked back toward the shrine. He slowed down when he reached the log, but she turned a glower on him, and he picked up his pace again.

  “Forgot something,” he explained, then walked all the way back to the jade tortoise. He bowed, pressed his head to the cool statue, and whispered, “Tortoise god, if you have any advice on how to handle women, I’d appreciate it.”

  The tortoise did not respond, and the dolphins were gone.

  Yanko took a deep breath and headed back toward the log. Jhali hadn’t moved. As he approached, he braced himself to be snapped at. He wished he could cheat and use his senses to get the gist of her feelings. But she had her mental defenses in place. He would have had better luck reading the log’s feelings.

  He walked past her, then sat down a few feet away, his back to the same log.

  “What are you doing?” She sounded more wary than irritated.

  “Resting,” Yanko said.

  “Resting?”

  “It’s a long walk from that shrine back to town.”

  She looked toward the sea again. Yanko leaned into the log, wishing it offered protection from the wind. It had grown chillier as the night deepened, and he felt like a loon for sitting out here. He was positive she didn’t want him here. Maybe she wished she had company but not him. Not the dumb moksu kid she’d been ordered to assassinate.

  “I lost my uncle at our family’s salt mine when one of the rebel factions attacked,” Yanko said, also looking toward the sea and not at her. “Just a day before you came to my village.” He didn’t add, and burned my family’s homestead to the ground. He didn’t want to make accusations, and besides, she’d said before she hadn’t been the one to do that. She’d only been hunting him. “I’d been around him off and on as a boy—our whole extended family lived in the area—but it wasn’t until the six months I worked in the mine for, uh, hardening, as my father called it, that I got to know him. And he came to respect me, I believe. There were a couple of times… well, I’d just started to appreciate that he wasn’t as hard to please as my father.” He decided there was no point in complaining to her about his relationship with his father. He just wanted to offer commiseration, to let her know he understood what it was like to lose someone. If it mattered to her, or if it helped her somehow. “Then rebels attacked, wanting the mine because of the salt, because it provides a valuable resource. They killed many of the workers, and they killed my uncle, who was the overseer there. He died in my arms.”

  Jhali kept looking toward the ocean and didn’t say anything.

  “I hadn’t experienced death before that. I still don’t know if… I mean, I’ve been so busy since then that I couldn’t say I’ve had a chance to grieve or think about it, you know? I’m not sure yet if the rest of my family is alive.”

  “I lost my mother when I was eight,” Jhali said, startling him because he hadn’t expected her to reciprocate the sharing. She was still staring at the ocean, but she looked at him when she added, “To pirates.”

  To his mother. He didn’t have to ask.

  “She was in the Great Fleet during the war,” Jhali said. “She continued to sail in the fleet and patrol Nurian shores for part of the year afterward, when my father was home, and he could watch me. During the summers, he fished in the Northern Seas. In the winter, he sold bait and
made lures for local fishermen. I helped when I wasn’t at school.”

  “What happened to him?” Yanko asked.

  She’d ended up in mage-hunter training, orphaned to the sect, it had sounded like. She must have lost both of them.

  “The year after she was killed—murdered—he died fishing. It was always dangerous work, but… I think he was less careful after he lost my mother.” She shrugged, the gesture seeming to convey indifference.

  Yanko had a hard time believing that.

  “You’d think I would be used to losing people by now,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear it.

  The words weren’t meant for him. Just because she’d spoken didn’t mean she didn’t see him as an intruder. Just because she hadn’t fought his presence didn’t mean she welcomed it.

  He placed his hands in the cool sand, intending to push himself up, when barks and snarls came from the high grasses and rocks behind the beach.

  Coyotes? Wolves? Or—he glanced at the lights of the city—dogs?

  He stretched out with his senses and learned that it was indeed a pack of dogs. They were as bony and gaunt as the people in the tavern—more so. A mix of breeds, they seemed more like pets that had been left to fend for themselves than feral animals. Or maybe, he thought, his heart swelling in sympathy, their owners had been among those shipped off to the internment camps, and there was nobody left to care for them.

  More snarls sounded, and Jhali shifted, drawing a dagger and peering over the log. The animals themselves weren’t visible, but their location was, the grasses shifting as the dogs fought over a rat that one had caught.

  “They won’t bother us,” Yanko said, lifting a hand.

  “You sure? They sound hungry.”

  “They are.”

  “We’re two miles outside of the city. They might see us as tasty morsels.”

  “I doubt it.” If he was right, and they had been people’s companions, they would be more likely to see humans as sources of food rather than food itself. “But I can convince them otherwise if necessary.”