The days that followed were long and demanding. Adventure hung up its winter skin, as if it hadn't an interest in much without someone else to partake in the fun. Forces were merged and redistributed to bring stability back to needful settlements, and those who had fled to the east returned west, where the grueling task of Oldden's restoration began.
Spring arrived and gave way to summer. The days grew longer still. But when fall nipped the air and the days became shorter, the nights proved worse than the days ever were, demanding in more than just duties and tasks. Time to think. Time to drink. Time enough for the next life. Winter was ceaseless, the snow just like ash. It seemed like spring would never come.
But it did. It always did. The circle, thusly.
" 'Damn all, says I, if this is what kills me.' And I drove the craft straight into the ground, blowing the mainmast clear off her head!" Anouk cast a finger at each child present, the mutts included, still harnessed and snowy. "I crawled from that wreckage with nothing but a crow iron, but the king and I fought that god to the dirt, we did, right at the heart of it all, and won."
The nearest girl, Shae, Sam's youngest, cut in, "Pappy says you ran off, disappeared like."
A knock came at the open door to the northwest corridor. Anouk glanced from the dais. Niska was there, her hair a mess, gray-eyed and blond like all and the rest. "More than a moment," she said, with a nod of subtle urgency. "Please excuse yourself."
"Oh, Niska," Anouk greeted, making light of it. "Am I in trouble?"
"Never. You're needed."
So Anouk turned back to the children and mutts, and at last to their trainers, who knew better than dally. She watched them rise from the floor and hush their flock's sounds of protest. "A shame," she said, concealing unease. "I'll cover Mount Savage tomorrow. Have off."
The kids seemed content with that, but Anouk had already gone from the dais. She advanced on the door. "This way," Niska said, starting ahead. "I'm keeping him busy, but— "
Anouk caught her in the corridor. She turned Niska by the arm, none too gentle. "Oi, slow down," she hissed, glancing about. "What's happened? Who's here? Quit being vague, woman."
"Peter," she answered, tense at the arm. "You're hurting me."
Anouk let her go. "Where?"
"The library. I've sent him your father."
"Tritan," Anouk grunted. "Nicely done, I suppose."
Niska smirked and started off again. "Oh, my. A compliment."
"Don't you start."
"I'll start plenty."
"How long has it been?"
"Four years, give or take. The spring before last."
"The start of the Oldden rebuild, aye. He's been a busy bee out west." They entered the commons, shouldered up at about the same size, spring snow showing no signs of stopping. "What does he want?" Anouk asked, sideways at Niska. "No bones, just out with it."
"He didn't say." At Anouk's silence, Niska glanced. "He didn't," she insisted, looking cross. "He just sent me to get you. He came alone."
"That doesn't bode well."
"I wager it's something between you."
Anouk snorted. "Aye, Redbeard's crooked Backbone."
"Could be." Niska opened the east wing door and smiled at her in passing. "Bet?"
"No bet," Anouk grumbled, ducking in. "You've got it rigged."
"You're daft. You rigged it yourself."
"I'm not daft. You're daft." The library was just up the stairwell ahead, but Anouk stopped at the bottom step. "Four years," she muttered. "Five since the Rift."
Niska lightly patted her back. "He'll have forgotten all about the fight."
"Maybe." Anouk took a moment to nimble up. She felt all about herself, ensuring that things were in proper place. "Damn all," she swore. "I'm not afeard of a muckshit farmboy. Move aside."
Niska saw her off with a droll salute. "Good luck, fearless leader."
Anouk ignored her and marched up the stairwell, snorting up steam like a dirtland goat. Last she heard he'd been headed south, that cousin of hers, kissing babies belike. He was rarely heard on the chain high north. It read to her like a fresh divide and she'd have none and the last of it.
He was laughing with her father when she entered, and he'd come by the age where one changed a great deal in just a short while of not being seen. In four passing years he'd finished his face, the brow line and jaw line and all lines between. He was broad, but not wide. Mannish, she thought. Tall enough still to ridicule. He turned at the sound of the door, drink in hand.
He toasted her. "Ho, cousin," he said, and he smiled. "Sorry to just drop in like this."
Tritan fumbled with a tabletop canister, meaty hands imprinting the metal. "Have a drink with us, Nook," he said, unbearably jovial. "He's brought Ingen ale."
"Get out," Anouk sighed. "Take the ale."
Peter didn't put up any sort of a stink, so her guess had been right. Personal business. He sipped from his drink while Tritan withdrew, cobalt eyes watching her over the cup. And they were different, his eyes; a bit sharper, perhaps. Five years in the chair had toughened his hide.
When they were alone, he asked, "How have you been?"
"Aye, like you care. Ignoring my calls."
"Avoiding," he corrected. "I've been avoiding your calls. Ignoring you is impossible."
"You married a fjorder, Peter. They're mortal shifty."
He grinned at her. "Is that a fact?"
"Fact, enough. Lena said your mom split a table."
His eyebrows jumped in surprise. "I thought they didn't care what I did."
"They care. Of course they care. They talk my ear off about you." Having sort of put it out there already, she rubbed at her face. "It's easy to say untrue things in anger," she grumbled. "You, me— all of us. It's all rotted out. We shouldn't have to apologize."
Peter set his drink on the table. He took his sweet time surveying the books there, fingertips gliding along dusty spines. "Alyce came to Oldden this morning," he said, and he smiled a little, but more to himself than to her. "She's gotten taller."
So that was it. "I told you she'd crop up eventually."
"She wanted my help. She said you turned her away at your gates last month."
"I've resigned as earl of booger bay," Anouk sneered. "She can take her crusade elsewhere."
He glanced up. "Not when it points her to Flint, she can't."
They stared at each other for a few long moments. Those troublesome eyes of his, freshly honed, reading into her every reaction. "Alyce was never the same after seabird," she said. "You remember."
"This is different." Peter folded his arms and approached, leisurely, like he'd nowhere to be. "How often?" he asked. "Alyce wouldn't tell me much unless I agreed to help her."
Anouk's nose crinkled up. "How often what?"
"How often does he visit you?"
She'd known it was over, of course. She'd known from the look on Niska's face. "Once or twice with the seasons," she said. "It's never lasting. Never more than a week."
"Is he here now?"
"No."
Peter stopped in front of her, still staring, still trying to distinguish the truth from a lie. "The first time, then," he backtracked. "When did you find out?"
She made a hard line of her mouth. "After the long winter."
"So you've known for years."
"Peter…"
"How did he survive?"
Anouk shook her head. "Go home, Peter."
"I'm not going anywhere until you answer my questions."
It was her turn to stare. She could tell he was serious. He'd take it farther than she'd like. "He's a little different," she explained. "He doesn't remember it like we do."
Peter frowned. "What do you mean?"
"He's just shaky on it, is all. Says there's static."
"What the hell is static?"
"I don't ask about his words." He was putting her on the spot. She shrugged, on edge. "He's nicer, I guess," she said. "Real honest— especially in the eyes."
Peter looked relieved. "Does that mean he's back to himself?"
"Hard to say. His answers confuse me." Anouk watched Peter turn away. "Don't get involved with Alyce," she said. "She's out for blood. She's set fire to half of his dens. More. She calls him coward and needs little rest."
That caught Peter's attention. "Did you say 'dens?' "
"Aye, they're all over," she replied. "Dugouts and the like. She notices when he stops for a time."
He sat at the table to muse, bristled chin perched on a fist. He made a torn sort of sound. "She'd be useful," he reasoned. "But it's cheating, I think."
"Aye, and you'd just piss him off all over again."
Peter's eyes moved to her. "You haven't said how he survived."
She sat with him. "Maybe I don't know."
"He hasn't said anything?"
"Just where he came to. The crater, over a year later."
Recognition smoothed his expression. "So Alyce was right."
"Seems it. She said he was just a shadow at first."
Peter's hand ran through his hair. It went to his mouth and stayed there, in thought, and his eyes moved all about, real low. They returned to Anouk when he asked, "He was dead?"
"We don't know for sure. Just that he was gone."
"For over a year?"
"He said the trees were turning in."
"That's fall. Autumn. How he'd describe it way back."
"Aye, and we lost him at winter's end. A year and a half." Anouk crossed her arms, loath to relive his appearance in Flint. He hadn't even understood what he was doing there until he'd seen her. "I think he wandered for longer than he realizes," she muttered, remembering the dirt and the grime. "He was shaking when he came to me, confused like. He hurt some of my people. Slept for days."
Peter was glowering at her. "You should've told me."
"You should've taken my calls."
"Ballsch. Four years. You were keeping it from me."
Anouk made a sharp sort of sound at him. "Aye, and so what," she said. "He needed a break. He didn't even know what to call himself." She shoved at the table, just because. Peter jumped. "You're a selfish irredeemable whelk who gets off on tearing better folk down. And you know he's better. It's why you treat him differently than you do the rest of us."
"That's not why I treat him differently."
"The why isn't important." Anouk sat forward. "This thing with him needs to end. That's it. This power play or whatever it is. Because sooner or later it'll get ugly again. Like last time."
Evenly, Peter said, "I had his best interests at heart."
"You believe that?"
"Aye, as it's true."
"You're the worst kind of man."
Peter continued to glare, but in silence, and his eyes eventually fell to his drink, which he took and had his fill of. Sated, he turned the dented cup in the light, brow furrowed. "You said he hurt some of your people," he remarked, circling back. "Any dead?"
"Fourteen were injured. It was a poor judgement call."
Peter glanced from the cup. "I didn't ask about your injured, cousin."
Asshole. Gone were the days when he couldn't read her expression. "Three dead."
"Three. And you let him waltz in whenever he likes. How transparent of you."
"You weren't there, Peter." Anouk's voice was rising. She stopped to calm herself, mostly because she couldn't hit him anymore. "You weren't there," she repeated, more controlled. "My people thought he was hostile. He only hurt the ones he felt threatened by."
"Why did they think he was hostile?"
"He looked dangerous."
Peter clearly couldn't imagine such a scenario. But then his brow softened. "How did he do it?" he demanded. "Was it the same as before? Is it starting again?"
"You're asking how he killed them?"
"Aye, the method."
It had been a temperate day. "Uther died of a crushed trachea," she said. "We lost Norman later to head trauma. All usual things."
"And the third?"
"Marius."
"I don't give a shit what his name was."
Anouk blinked, put off by his blatant disregard. He was angry. "It ended on the steps to Battlefrost Hall," she said. "My men were managing to pin Ethos down, and Marius ran in to finish it. He fell dead where he stood as I opened the door."
"There needs to be contact for him to assimilate."
"Seabird doesn't do that anymore. I'm not even sure he remembers how."
Peter set the cup down, loud. "So what happened?"
"To Marius? His heart stopped."
"It just stopped?"
Anouk shrugged. "Gods."
"That's not an explanation, Anouk."
But it was the only one that she had, and he knew it. Anouk flipped a book open and closed it. "I'll tell him you were here," she said. "And I'll tell him why. Could be he'll visit you next."
Peter made a sound of contempt. "He won't."
"No, probably not."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"He never does. We don't talk much, if I'm honest."
After a heavy silence, Peter sighed. "I didn't think you were one for a drifter."
Anouk shrugged it off, a little reluctant to be too honest. "He doesn't do things like say goodbye," she said. "He'll just be gone. I used to wonder if I'd see him again."
"You don't wonder anymore?"
"No," she replied. "He always comes back."
"But it still bothers you."
Slowly, she nodded. "I've never been the patient sort," she admitted. "Once he's enough of himself to remember, I'll have my answer, by hook or by crook."
Peter searched her face. "Answer?"
"Roam, roost, or rule." Anouk held his eyes. "Whatever he decides to do, I want to do it with him," she said. "Roam, roost, or rule. I'll forge the path he chooses."
"You're crazy if you think he'll want rule."
"He's different, Peter. He might."
"Then you'd be crazy to let him. Think of what I can do."
Anouk sent him a look. "You like the chair," she said. "I knew you would. It runs in our blood. But no crime or misdeed in all of creation could make you kill seabird. And if he decides we'll rule, we'll rule, regardless of your opinion."
Peter had gone very stiff, very quickly, brow line and jaw line and all lines between. "But he could just as easily choose not to," he countered. "He could settle for Flint and be happy."
"Aye, or we could disappear. Just as easily."
"Then why even tell me?"
"A courtesy. I play fair, unlike some."
He stared. "Quite the premise for an end to power play."
"You don't get it, Peter. If he chooses rule, you'll be wise to roll over."
For just a moment, Anouk sensed danger. They were sitting so close that she could smell Oldden, a fragrance of lumber and ale and smoke, and Peter's black expression read well. He could close the gap in an instant. He wanted to. A part of her wanted him to try.
But the moment passed. Peter stood up and fished through his pockets. He kept his eyes low as he tore a page from an old notepad. "Expect me to return," he said. "Give this to him."
She took the page from his fingers. It depicted the legendary tono witch, wielding a great wooden ladle about while squinting and holding a jar to the light. Peter was gone before Anouk could remark.
"Whelk," she seethed, rising. "Still a whelk."
Older, matured, but a whelk all the same. Anouk stuffed the page in her pocket and left, closing the door with a swing of her heel. Her father and Niska were gathered at the bottom of the stairwell, locked in a vile embrace at the mouth.
They quickly parted at the sound of her approach. She scoffed at them. "Me being okay with this union wasn't permission to grope in the halls," she said. "Fall off, da. Give me the ale."
Tritan looked crushed. "You said I could keep it."
"That was before Peter ruined my mood."
Anouk reached the landing and snatched the canister in passing. Niska fell into step. "It went well, then," she teased, sidelong and knowing, Tritan at her heels. "Are we at war?"
"Not yet," Anouk said. "He didn't get the full story from Alyce."
"Don't tell me they've thrown in together."
"It's a matter of time."
"You need a plan."
"You're smothering me."
"It's my job to smother you."
Anouk took a swig of the ale and rerouted toward the pit. "Give me the night," she said. "I'd rather not have either of them killed if I can help it."
Niska slowed at the juncture. "It won't be easy."
"Nothing worth doing is ever easy." Anouk glanced back. She stopped when she saw that they wouldn't be following. "Seabird broke himself," she said. "Peter's right about that. He overindulged at the cost of clarity and it broke him. New seabird doesn't have that problem."
"New seabird could do with a good dose of caution."
"He's cautious when he needs to be."
Niska regarded her from afar. "Be careful," she said. "Take the night and think it through. I'll find you in the morning. Yeah?"
Anouk tossed the canister back. "Yeah."
Niska seized Tritan's sleeve before he could head in the same direction. "You're benched," she reminded him, steering him off while he groaned and objected. "Poor Ned's still in intensive."
The pit was underneath Battlefrost Hall, accessible via the rearmost barracks where the men who'd grayed in service were roomed. It had been used as a storage area for years, and Anouk had gone most of her life without seeing it. But with the constant threat of the howlings resolved, they'd cleaned it up with a purpose in mind.
It was a great deal warmer below ground, viridium arteries webbing each stone, brightening all the long corridors. The deeper she went, the sounds of shouting escalated, and surges would hit her now and again, a result of the door at the end of the passage, someone coming or going, perhaps. And while she'd been there plenty of times in the past, and she knew how loud it was unfiltered, entering the pit itself was always a bracing experience.
Raw noise and commotion, it was. Soldiers and townsmen filled the space around a raised fighting ring, waving papers, shoving forward. Something valuable must have fallen somewhere near the betting board, because the immediate crowd had hit the floor and was at each other like badgers. The oddsman snarled and fended them off. Onlookers laughed.
Anouk went above, where few others could, to the platform surrounding the bareknuckle ring, where the view was no less than exceptional. She'd known that Ethos would become popular, especially among the young troops and having regained the muscle he'd lost. Second only to Tritan. He looked comfortable there, running on that incredible instinct he possessed. Anouk sat down on the edge of the platform and watched him for a few carnal minutes, critiquing movements, admiring sway. She'd asked him once if he remembered his training, and he'd said that his body had done it for him. He was always like that, fueled by a simple internal logic.
"Ho, seabird," she said, and she did so quietly. "Wrap it up."
Ethos glanced up and got clocked in the jaw, which must have been a trigger of sorts, because he reacted by raising his elbow up and snapping his opponent's arm over it. The crowd went wild. But it hadn't been deliberate, and Ethos mostly looked embarrassed as he helped his competitor out of the ring, no doubt apologizing under his breath and swearing he'd shoulder the medical fees.
Another fight gathered on the blood of the last. New bets were made, the old ones collected, and Ethos calmly weaved through the crowd, smiling good-naturedly at each of his fans as they rushed him with towels and water or ale. Anouk was reading the betting board by the time he made it up to the platform. He sat with her, legs dangling. His voice was uncertain.
"Are the kids getting tired of war stories?"
Anouk looked sideways at him. There was blood on his face, with here-and-there bruises at various stages of healing. But he was otherwise fit, hale and hearty, recovered from his previous life. "Peter was here," she told him. "He knows you're alive."
His eyes moved back and forth between hers, head cocked slightly as if in confusion. He was quiet a moment, gears turning.
"Peter," she repeated. "The farmer."
Ethos gave a very slow nod. "The one who found me."
"We've talked about him, seabird. Remember?"
"I remember. He's king."
Anouk turned on the platform, facing him. He suddenly seemed concerned by her expression, and he gave a start when she touched him. "He'll be back," she said. "He's afraid of what you stand for. He knows he's sitting in your spot."
"Are we in danger?"
"Aye, all of us. And he has Alyce."
Alyce's name had a sobering effect on him, but his smile soon crept back. He leaned in and lightly bumped her forehead with his. "Then I have work to do," he said, and he mussed her hair. "Let me clean myself up and we'll run some numbers. Have you eaten?"
Somewhere deep in the pit of her belly, there eased a great knot of tension. Old seabird had been afraid to raise his voice. He'd have resented the task. He'd have clung to the shadow. But that wasn't who he was anymore, this tawny prizefighter of hers. New seabird rather liked the light; he was vibrant and quick to return a smile, embodying confidence. She'd been right to think he was ready.
She upturned his hand and gave him the notebook page of his witch. She watched his eyes as he unfolded it. "It's from Peter," she said. "Does it mean anything to you?"
He studied it silently. "I killed this woman."
"Do you remember her name?"
"Bird woman. Kacha." Ethos ran his thumb over the drawing. His brow crinkled together. "I loved her," he said, softly. "But I killed her."
"It's important that you remember why."
He glanced from the sheet. "Did she make me do it?"
So he had a grasp of at least that much. "You're a good person, seabird, and what happened back then wasn't your fault," she said. "Don't let Peter tell you different."
"He was in love with the girl who died with me."
A rare form of speech, normal to him. Death, impermanent. His natural order. "Your sense of time is still pretty off," she sighed. "For the best, says I. The past is past."
He didn't seem bothered by it. He reached for her necklace. "I remember enough," he said, turning the pendant to and fro. "Like this. I gave this to you when we were in Roheim."
"Aye, a putrid fang with your blood all over it."
He flashed a smile. "You didn't seem like the type who'd wear diamonds."
Anouk scowled and slapped his hand away. "You must have a selective memory," she said, having resigned all attempts to comprehend it. "You remember a word here or there, but not Peter."
"He's just an old story to me. Better he is, if we want him dead."
Immediate response. No indecision. "You understand what will happen," she said. "It'll throw you out in the open again. Hans Redbeard, reborn. The people will want to take a side."
"Ours, I hope," he replied, ever wily. "You'll be the littlest king in Karnan history."
She grinned. "We really could do it, you and I."
"Are you proposing to me?"
She loved his smile, how big and honest and charming it was. Anouk scowled and pushed his face where she couldn't see it. "You turkey," she said. "I'm trying to be serious."
"I know, I know." He caught her hands and snuck in a kiss, laughing at her sound of surprise. That smile would be the death of her. "Sorry," he said, his head on her shoulder. "I'm feeling very vulnerable right now. Comfort me."
"Turkey. Spriggan. You're covered in sweat."
Ethos sat back. He was smiling again, and it was for her— all of it was, from the heat in his eyes to the strength in his hands. "It's okay," he promised. "I won't break so easily."
"You broke before."
"And I've learned from it."
"I'll hang the cooks if I lose you again."
He laughed a little. "What'd they ever do to you?"
"They burnt my birthday roast. Which you missed, as usual. Seacalf."
"I had business high west. I wasn't gone long."
"What were you doing high west?"
"There's drought. I was helping." He returned to his feet. It seemed he was off to wash up. "I'm curious," he ventured, pausing instead. "What exactly do you think I stand for?"
Anouk hadn't thought he'd ask. "You don't know?"
"I wouldn't ask if I knew."
"Spriggan." She stood with a chuckle. "It's Karna," she said. "It's always been Karna, even before you disappeared. You stand for the land, like a guardian."
He watched her closely, hands in his pockets. "That's high praise."
"It's true praise. Just tell me I'm wrong."
He smiled at the challenge. His eyes went gold, but didn't take; they drifted low, a little indecent, like maybe he'd lean in and kiss her again. "I suppose it could do with some protection," he settled. "It's special, you know. This island."
"I know." She touched his face to get his gaze back. When she was sure he was listening closely, she said, "Tell me you're finally ready for this."
"For what, specifically?"
"For having people who believe in you. Protecting them."
His smile spread. "But I already do that."
"That's not what I meant."
"I'm aware." He looped an arm around her shoulders guided her down the empty platform. He was quiet a moment. "Fine," he said. "Sounds fun."
Anouk glanced at him. "Well, shit, seabird. That was fast."
"I'm outgrowing the pit, but your father terrifies me. I figure I'll aim for the middle ground."
She met his eyes and tried not to smile. "So what's the plan?"
"We leave for Nahga first thing tomorrow."
"For what? His family?"
"For the Monolith." Old world technology, dormant in the belly of Onaga Blight. The gleam in his eyes was privately eager. "It's time I put it to use."