The pyres had all but burned themselves out by the time the sun cleared the Eastern Edge. Alyce watched the smoke from the chilly pier, counting the hills, the streams, and the lakes. Ethos brightly existed among them, a little unguarded after a full night of drinking. Like the days before he'd shut her out, she could feel him dreaming, waking, groaning—
Together they realized why his eyes ached. Together they felt his embarrassment. Together they promptly rolled off a bed and onto hard floor, where they groaned again.
"What are you smiling about?"
Alyce glanced. Kacha sat on the crate beside her, two tin cups in hand, steaming. "Ethos just fell out of bed," she replied. "He's not entirely sure where he is."
Kacha extended one of the drinks. She sipped at the other. "Shall I get him?"
"He'll figure it out." The cup contained a brew of some kind; dark, pungent, the very air clung to its rich aroma. Alyce breathed it in. "Tea," she realized. "It smells good."
"You looked like you could use a boost."
The young winter sunlight liked Kacha's skin; it slid all about like something restless, something alive. It was sometimes hard to comprehend how old she was. "Ethos will choose someone else if you don't want Baroona to go to Mount Savage," Alyce said. "He won't be angry."
Kacha gazed out at the frosty seaport, eyes moving from craft to craft. She was waiting for her drink to cool, warming her hands on the tin. "Baroona can protect him," she replied. "He's strong. And it's important for them to talk. So I'll say nothing."
"You're a real nice lady, Kacha."
"Fool," she grumbled. "I'm not nice. I'm a realist. Realists be the worst." She was scowling again, as she often did, but her wrinkled mouth was meant for smiling. And as she lightly blew on her tea, chasing steam, she did just that and repeated, "Fool."
Alyce contentedly sipped her drink, enjoying what passed for silence in Flint. The early risers were in full swing, going about their morning tasks. Merchants hauling wagons of goods. Shipmen flipping through rosters. A drunkard singing. Seabirds calling.
"You haven't asked me about it yet," Alyce said, inviting Kacha's itinerant eyes. "Why?"
Kacha looked back out at the sea, wind in her shaggy froth of white hair. "Unlucky are we to bear witness this miscreation," she said. "But few have the privilege. That's the truth."
"Do you regret going to the river that night?"
Kacha glanced in surprise. But then she smiled, thinly. "No," she answered. "I regret nothing. If he shattered the sky, I would shield him from it. Fools, the both of us."
"He's in love with you," Alyce said. "Peter says so."
Her amusement ceased in the form of a sigh, clouding up the salty air. "That boy," she swore, like the oathest of oaths. "Touching him even once would send me reeling into the great below. It's too close to sacrilege. And I'm far too old and tired to bother in the first place."
"But you love him back, right?"
"Loving him is self-destructive." Sidelong, she sent Alyce a teasing look. "We're all a little guilty of it," she said. "We'd run for the hills if we knew what was best for us."
Alyce's chest hurt. She'd never so desperately needed comfort. "Do you know what she did?"
Kacha seemed to sense her grief. She held Alyce's eyes for a serious moment, as if she could draw quiet knowledge from them, and when the moment was over, she smiled. And what a sad, lonesome smile it was. "It's much too obvious now," she said. "I'd wanted it to be untrue."
"How long have you known?"
"I've suspected for a time." Kacha's gaze returned to the shoreline. "I deliberately overlooked the resemblance, wished it away like a hopeful child," she murmured. "Could be Hans was doing the same, seeing the son he'd been robbed of."
"But you were enemies. Doesn't it bother you?"
A breeze picked up. Kacha huddled over her drink, holding it close for warmth. "Ethos isn't Hans Redbeard," she said. "He isn't even Ethos. He's someone else, someone new, someone we tend to forget about." She smiled at Alyce, imparting her private, humble elation. "He's the one I'm in love with," she admitted. "The lonely one. The one who was never given a name."
Alyce liked the part of him that had taken after Eadric. She knew that now. And it wouldn't have surprised her to learn that Una shared the sentiment. "Eadric was lonely, too," she said. "Not that he was the sort to admit it. He resented things like pity."
Kacha studied her. "I sometimes forget that you were close," she said. "I'm sorry it ended the way it did. You have my sympathy."
"It's okay."
"And you? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay. Or I will be. It's over now."
Kacha's concern smoothed over like sand. Her eyes slid in the opposite direction, down the street toward Battlefrost Hall. "It is," she agreed. "I've been giving him space. We'll talk once he's nursed the wounds I can't reach. There's time."
Inexplicably, and in succession, the shipmen and merchants looked over at them. Even the circling seabirds fell silent. In seconds the only sounds on the pier were the Dire waters rushing the rocks and the drunkard's ambling, tuneless song.
Someone took a seat on Alyce's other side— a beast of a man, all swathed in furs and Battlefrost blues. He was dripping wet like he'd just come to shore, mane slicked back by a thin glaze of ice. An unmoving shark was bleeding on the ground in front of him, its tail caught in one meaty, veined fist.
The man's incredibly deep-set gaze slowly sank to Alyce, who'd lost herself to the size of him. He stared back in stony, grizzled silence, until she uneasily gave him her tea.
His expression brightened, childlike. He accepted the cup and drank, pinky up, while Alyce dared a glance at Kacha, who, despite her habitual disposition, looked just as stunned as the rest of them. Their eyes met for only a second before they returned to their guest.
The man had all but drained the tin. He tilted his head far back once he had, breath like bloated chimney smoke. "Home," he said, surveying the sky. "A gray day. A dirty day."
Alyce cleared her throat. "Did you fall in the Dire?"
"I fell, aye. And good I did."
"Why's it good?"
He glanced and suddenly went real low, eyebrows forming a flat, hard line. "Who sent you?" he demanded. "Are you scheming with the squids? Are they onto my game?"
"You stink like a bucket of bilge water," she told him. "What's with the shark?"
Somehow finding her suspect, he deliberated a moment longer. "It's a gift," he said, shaking it at her for emphasis. "And it was giving me guff."
Kacha thoughtfully sipped at her tea. "Some gift, that."
Very proudly, he nodded his head. "Aye, and we'll pick it clean like the buzzards."
A nearby shipman approached, wringing his hat in his hands. His expression twitched when the shark-killer glanced. "Tritan," the shipman said. "It's been ages. Where've you been?"
"Howard," Tritan greeted. "I've been hunting a spirit on the far shore."
"You've got to go home, man. Your father's passed."
Tritan Battlefrost, as large in life as he was in the stories. He caught Alyce's eye. "He'd been sick, my father," he explained. "Nearing his end like. We knew he wouldn't keep."
"You're Tritan Battlefrost," she replied, in a daze. "Everyone's looking for you."
His gaze moved high— to the pyresmoke. "Another attack," he guessed. "How many dead?"
"Fool." This, from Kacha. Naturally. She rose from her crate and jerked her chin at Tritan. "Come with me," she instructed. "There's a woodling you need to see."
She didn't wait around to hear his consent. Tritan blinked before making chase, dragging the shark on the cobbles behind him. "Oi, oi," he called after her. "What woodling?"
Alyce exchanged a glance with the shipman, Howard. He didn't say anything, just held her eyes for a dull moment before heading whence he came. There were others watching, but most had returned to their rosters and cargoes, hauling and tallying, their morning routine. Alyce wandered after Kacha and Tritan, resigned to a less predictable day.
And he was a strange sort of man, that Tritan; he came off as harmless despite him being at ease in the wilderness and having wrestled a shark to death. He was extremely interested in Kacha, remarking on her size and her skin, asking where she'd come from. Alyce just listened and followed along, hugging herself from the cold. The Overlooked.
But the lifeless shark and the trail of seablood didn't dissuade the locals. A crowd soon formed of butchers and bakers, tanners and tailors, each of them eager to hear where he'd run to. Tritan met them with genuine friendliness, describing in detail his nights on the Edge, the bears and the wolves, and the spirit he'd tracked, which had shone like gold as it played on the far shore.
Kacha, who'd been lost to the crowd, reappeared at Alyce's elbow. "Find him," she urged, as she surveyed the scene. "Make sure he's presentable."
Alyce knew who she meant. She nodded and picked her way through the crowd, head bent to avoid making eye contact with anyone unsavory. But she wouldn't have to go much farther; she could sense Ethos sitting in Battlefrost Hall. His hangover was her hangover.
The sound of the doors drew more attention from the tono than she'd have liked. The survivors were beginning to pack up their belongings, expressions bare from days of unrest. She navigated around them, passing all the tables and fires until she reached the end of the Hall, where, crammed between yawning Retaliant shipmen, Ethos was adding a hole to a belt, pig-sticker flashing with every rotation.
Alyce approached with the intention of calling out, but a hand on his forearm stopped her short. It lightly crept up the curve of his shoulder, and then around the back of his neck. Anouk appeared close behind him, whispering as she reached for the pig-sticker. Nonreactive, he said something to which she slyly retorted, and their eyes met for a private moment. He said something more; a question.
Nameless, Kacha had called him. Not Eadric. Not Ethos.
Softly, Alyce greeted, "Ho, monster."
He glanced up in surprise. He smiled. "Ho, peanut."
"Tritan's headed this way," she told him. "Kacha's with him."
Ethos processed that and quickly took his knife from Anouk. "It's about time."
Anouk persuaded his wielding hand to the table. She ignored his resulting sidelong glare and lazily sank against his back— a ploy, perhaps, to keep him seated. It worked. "No weapons, seabird," she said, in his ear. "You'll only fire him up. Be civil."
He scowled. "I'm civil."
"Aye, and I'm a custard tart. Be civil."
"He's crazy big," Alyce inserted. "And he's got a dead shark."
That last part got their attention. They blinked at her in open bewilderment before turning on one another. Ethos cleared his throat and asked, "Is this considered normal for him?"
Anouk sneered. "The fish must've started it."
"That's not an encouraging answer."
Something about his expression amused her; she let out a happy bark of laughter and snared him into a headlock. "You turkey," she said. "Don't look at me like that."
Peripheral movement caught Alyce's eye. Peter and Una were arguing in the open doorway to the northeast corridor, Peter with his hands on his hips, Una whispering angrily. They kept glancing down the passage as if at something fast-approaching.
The Battlefrost sisters, Alyce knew. But Ethos had other problems. In the throes of a struggle against Anouk, his eyes made a fractional jump to the entrance, where, not so surprisingly, Alyce felt a wintry gust. He was ducking before she could turn around, taking his tiny assailant down with him; the bloodied shark promptly sailed overhead and crashed into the dais behind him. The chairs and tables there splintered apart.
His expression as he cautiously rose was one that Alyce would never forget. He numbly glanced about the room— back at the dais, aslant at Anouk, and then up, up, up, at Tritan, who'd circled the table in record time. A startled attempt to stand had Ethos tripping backward over the bench, and his efforts to keep himself grounded fell short when the giant apprehended his foot.
Tritan held him high, nose crinkled. "She made you sound bigger."
Ethos gave up. Dangling, inverted, he sighed and let his arms hang. "She who?"
"The old one who shakes her stick and cries 'fool.' "
"Ah. Kacha. Then I have her to thank for this." Ethos tilted his head to one side and thoughtfully considered him— an accomplishment, really, considering his position. "Tritan, I'm guessing," he said, brow furrowed. "I have business with you."
"Business? What business?"
"Business business. Oldden needs us."
Tritan grunted. "Again with the war? Did Bagley send for you?"
"Oldden's forces need outside support," Ethos pressed on. "I know you've met with the Bonesteel delegates, and I'm sure you've heard all about their leader. We have a moral responsibility to prevent a takeover from happening."
Sourly: "Myron Bonesteel, the mousey twit."
"You're acquainted, then. Even better." Ethos tried for nothing to right himself. His patience was clearly thinning. "I'm also aware of your howling situation," he went on. "But I know firsthand that your men are tough. The city will be safe even with only half of them here to defend it."
Tritan's eyes narrowed. "You want half of my men?"
"And in return I'll give you the north."
"How?"
"By invading Wulfstead while it's undefended," he replied. "We'll seize the Bonesteel supply lines and attack at their heels. If Myron finds himself trapped between allied forces, he might be persuaded to yield." He craned his neck to see Anouk. "And if he doesn't, we'll make him."
Anouk leered. "Like a good wedge of cheese."
The Battlefrost sisters joined the fray. "Howlings have snapped at our door for centuries," Tanis scoffed. "We've learned better than to underestimate them."
Aria agreed, "It's not worth the risk."
Tritan abruptly dropped Ethos in delighted favor of Aria. He scooped her up and spun her around: doting brother, incarnate. As if she weighed nothing, he held her at arm's length and smiled. "You look good," he remarked. "When did you get here?"
She glared at him a little flatly. "You never change, Tritan," said she. "Put me down. You're in the middle of an important discussion."
"But I've missed you. You weren't at Ronen's departure ceremony."
"And you weren't at father's. They said you were camped on the Edge again, mad like."
He made a face like she'd hurt his feelings. "I was hunting."
She continued to glare for a few moments longer, but the fire had gone from her eyes. She heaved a sigh and looked away. "I'm sorry about Ronen," she conceded. "Now put me down."
Alyce peered over the table, one knee on the bench. Anouk had joined Ethos on the floor, and was thumping his back while he muttered and winced. He said something that made her laugh. She said something that made him scowl. They both glanced up when Tritan crouched with them.
"I've had a thought," the great giant announced, and he gestured between himself and Ethos. "We should do battle, you and I. For the marbles and whatfor. I'll give you half of my men if you win."
Cautiously, Ethos ventured, "And if I lose?"
"The battle's reward enough."
"That doesn't seem right."
"It's right. No one will fight me anymore."
Ethos stood with them, rolling his shoulder. "I wonder why that is."
"I guess they all got tired of losing." Tritan looked at his daughter and tugged her ear— a greeting, of sorts. "Even Nook-Nook here," he said. "Called me names and stormed off angry."
Anouk slapped his hand away. "You codfish," she spat. "I was eight."
"You were thirteen and mean as a sea snake."
Ethos was grinning. "Nook-Nook."
Alyce still hadn't registered how large Tritan was. He truly towered over the others— even Peter, who'd begun his approach with Una in tow. Just as Anouk had, Tritan thumped Ethos once on the back and asked, "What do I call you?"
"I call him seabird," Anouk cut in, and she made a little flapping motion with her hands. "He can fly, you know, da. They all can. The dark ones."
Tritan balked and surveyed the room. "They can fly?"
"No bones about it," she replied. "Seen it myself, how high they go."
"Where'd they all come from? The muddy south? Offworld?"
A ringing in Alyce's ears prevented her from hearing the rest. The Hall was suddenly stifling. It was a sensation that she knew well, a herald of things to come. Her knees shook like she'd been running, and she sank to the bench, blurry hands reaching for something to cling to. She might have faintly called out for Ethos, but she couldn't be certain, couldn't remember. Little white spots were filling her vision; she blinked them away, gut turning. Whispers arose from the tono survivors.
Ethos met Alyce's eyes through the fray, and his expression was softly blank with surprise. It was a strange moment, very intimate. She wondered if he shared such moments with everyone, as she knew he did with their closest members. She treasured his rare authenticity.
The whispers intensified. A shout rang out. The ring of discussion immediately stopped, and each participant searched the scattering tono crowd for the source of the commotion.
Kacha. She was as much a statue standing there, tin forgotten at her side. Her eyes were too wide, like they wanted to speak. The cudgel rolled to a stop at her feet.
It was thunderous, the sound of the tin striking floor. Tea spattered. And as Ethos crossed the room to her, she very slowly studied her fingers, the tips of which had gone bright gold. The light steadily spread to her knuckles, swirling and churning like something alive.
And it was, of course. Alive. Alyce had seen it before. Ethos tore through the bystanders and took Kacha's face in his hands. "How do I stop it?" he asked. "Tell me what to do. I'll do it. I'll fix it."
Kacha searched his eyes. Tea lapped at her toes. "Just be what you be," she answered. "Don't be afraid. There's nothing wrong with it."
Ethos swore and addressed the room. "Everyone out!"
The tono certainly didn't need to be told twice. They sprang into action, gathering up what little they had. Baroona was the only exception; he approached the two and spoke not a word, only shook his head when Ethos repeated his original question.
Alyce fought the tono tide, desperate to squeeze closer— and she wasn't the only one. A sidelong glance at similar movement yielded Peter near to her left. "Calm," she heard Kacha say through the panic. "You had to know this might happen."
The doors to Battlefrost Hall clattered open, and all of the tono went scrambling out. When Ethos replied, the foul winter wind carried his voice. "Does it hurt?"
Alyce slowed as she came upon them. They were close and staring down at her hands, which shone with all the might of the sun. But Kacha still smiled when she looked back up at him. "You try so hard," she crowed. "Your heart would surely break if you had one."
He didn't laugh. "That's a cheap shot, Kacha."
The smile dissolved. Her eyes moved over his face again. "I should have told you," she said. "I'm a fool to have let you walk away twice."
"You were doing what you thought was right."
"Bah," she said. "Pretty words. I was doing what I thought was safe."
Ethos stopped her from pulling away. "Sometimes the safe thing is the right thing."
But it didn't help; she wouldn't look at him anymore. "Don't die at my hands," she muttered, body turned like she wanted to run. "Don't you dare."
He stepped in and hugged her, one hand holding her head to his chest. There was something in his expression that Alyce couldn't identify. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I don't know what to say to make you feel better."
She laughed against him, looking small. "Just take care of it," she said. "No more games. Embrace the madness and end it."
"It's never been a game for me."
Again, she laughed. But not like it was funny. She laughed like it hurt. "You're a simple creature, Ethos," she said, and she stepped back, out of his arms. "Half of the things you do are for fun, and the things you find fun can be dark and contrary. Stop playing with your food. Eat."
He finally smiled a little. "I thought you told me to be what I be."
"Fool," she said, but his smile was catching. "You're sullying our final moments."
The glow had risen well past her elbows. Ethos lightly gripped her above it, as if to prevent it from going higher. Her boniness made his hands seem large. "I might not be," he said, eyes low. "You could change her, become her dominant personality."
Kacha's gaze slowly slid to Baroona. He nodded once, as if giving the go-ahead. "We call her a compound soul," she responded. "Forty-one women, wrapped into one. I see them all in her from time to time, their undead habits, smiles and gestures." She glanced back. "You'll see me, too, Ethos, just like that, but don't let it fool you into thinking I'm there."
His earlier expression returned. His hands fell. "You must hate me."
Her eyebrows jumped. But then she smiled. "Dumb fox," she cackled. "I worship you."
"It's time, Kacha," Baroona interjected. "You need to relocate. There are too many people here."
He was right; Battlefrost triad notwithstanding, most of the Retaliant shipmen remained, some still seated and watching on, unaware of the forthcoming danger. "It's too late," Kacha replied, imparting a stern, sideways look. "I'm counting on you to protect him, Baroo. Don't be a fool."
Baroona nodded, just once. "I'm no fool."
"I know." Subtly, she smiled again. "And I'm sorry," she said. "You were right."
Her final words. The invasive glow swallowed her face and spilled like sunshine out of her eyes. A bomb might as well have gone off.