Chapter 1

The horse, a sturdy but aging bay mare, is the pride of our small farm. She nickers softly as I enter, recognizing my scent and presence. I smile, a rare moment of lightness lifting the weight of fatigue from my form. I begin by brushing her coat, the rhythmic strokes of the brush calming both me and the horse. The mare stands patiently, occasionally nudging me with her nose, seeking attention. I speak to her in low tones, recounting events as if she understands every word.

"It's not fair," I rant on. "Everything I do is for him. For them both, but still, he burns me with this look of shame."

A distant sound alerts me to imminent company. And by the tell of the light, crippled gait, it's Erlin. Eventually, he emerges into view, clean and clad in daywear.

"I envy the horse," he says with a fresh flush of colour to him. "You speak to her more than anyone else."

"Well, she doesn't end every conversation with a lecture."

A wince pinches his forehead. "That's not fair."

"That's life," I say, turning away from him to resume her grooming. "I see you are better, but you must keep it that way. Return to bed."

"No," he says defiantly. "I am coming with you today. If I spend another day in that bed, it'll only ail me further, please."

Once I'm done, I check her hooves, cleaning them thoroughly and inspecting for any signs of stones or injury. Erlin waits for my verdict with bated breath, restless where he stands. Satisfied that she is well, I fetch her feed, a mixture of oats and hay, and I fill her trough. 

"Aurora," he whines with an adorable pout. "Please."

"What if Rowen and his boys are there?"

"That's unavoidable," he says, deflating slightly, then he picks up his posture. "But that's why I have you."

~

Wattle and timber-sided buildings line the wide, mud-slicked streets with traders and travelers everywhere clamoring, their trestle benches edging the rims and laid out with a variety of goods. Every village in the Prime province to the corners of Armathis, and the entirety of Urium, quakes with the news of the death of the Dophan. The High King's sole scion. A swirl of rumors is about. It is said that his affliction, a long-term illness, sundered his soul from the earth. A reality I will be forced to face if nothing is done about the mercurial health of my father and brother.

Erlin's head is on a swivel. Even though he has seen markets a hundred times before, his fascination is renewed each time at the offered plethora, from local produce to exotic wares brought in by traders. Artisans and merchants plie their trades. I keep an unrelenting eye on him. He insists he is well enough to accompany me and his fever did break. He seems better. And father is stable. For now. I watch him as his eyes draw to books that entice him, literary works from other provinces. I wish I had enough to purchase at least one. We didn't have a formal education, but father taught us as best as he could, and now we are more well-read and well-spoken than most of the ruffians that roam these streets.

I am not one for reading, but Elrin adores the written word. Most nights when he can muster enough strength, he reads to me. All kinds of stories. One day, I swear on blood and bone, I will procure land to build a great manor with an even greater library filled with books from all over the realm.

"I'm sorry we couldn't get the books you wanted."

"Please, don't return to steal them."

I can't hide my smile. "I don't understand why you all think the worst of me?"

He glances at me sideways with his brow arched. "I think you uphold an unbound standard of commitment to those you love. Even if that love prompts peril."

I free a tortured sigh. "Not this again."

"You cannot be a merchman," he says in a harsh whisper. "Not for lofty-priced herbs and mixes that work little. Did you ever stop to consider what would happen if you were apprehended or your employer considered you a liability? If something were to happen to you, something final would befall father. For I know I would not survive it."

I move the tail of my braid to expose the tattoo on the back of my neck. At the center of the tattoo is a large, stylized skull, its hollow eyes, intricately detailed, with cracks and shadows that give it a lifelike, almost haunting appearance. Coiled around the skull is the sinuous body of a Leviathan. At the bottom of the design, a banner unfurls, emblazoned with the motto, "Mare Nostrum," meaning "Our Sea." This declaration underscores the Merchant's claim over the maritime world and his fearless assertion of power. Every merchman has one and they all differ in design to showcase rank. Mine has had recent additions.

"You and I both know that I cannot renounce my oath."

"Cannot?" Elrin demands, "or will not?"

My shoulders slump heavily. His words are a heavy weight I cannot bear.

"Both," I say, looking away from him and a distant sight seizes my gaze.

A fellow employee. A flicker of rage makes me shift. I had a deal with Malachi that he would never send his henchmen to confront or beckon me around my kin. But that also tells me that if he has, that means it's urgent. Elrin tries to follow my line of sight, so I move on wordlessly and approach the baker, who has a stall to display his freshly baked produce.

"Morning there, lookin for a loaf? Ye shall have it good and cheap."

"How much for two?"

"Five shekels."

"Five?" I blurt. "The week before it was three."

"'Twas the week before," he says with a yellowy, sly smile.

"Three shekels and you keep your rotten teeth."

He huffs and with a cheeky turn in his smile, he says, "You threatin me, lass?"

"No," I say with a smile of pure venom. With a rough arch in my tone, I issue a warning. "I'm telling ya, what ye wife will do when she learns you were wicking the silversmith's daughter."

His eyes flare to the size of plates. "Three shekels it is. I'll have 'em bagged for ya."

"I'll have the same, ey."

Gav encroaches my rear and his beefy hand pounds down on the surface of the table, releasing five shekels. He lingers before he slinks back and peels away from me. I turn sharply to face him. I cast a quick glance at my baffled brother before I snatch two of Gav's shekels to gift them to Elrin.

"Go buy that book you saw."

Elrin gapes at me like a fish out of water.

"Gav here is a good friend of mine. He doesn't mind."

"Take what you fancy, lad," Gav affirms.

Elrin looks at it like he has just borne witness to a divine miracle.

"Go," I urge. "I'll follow soon."

He nods brokenly before he hurries off. I glare back at Gav and a man I don't recognize. Both are tanned and rough from long hours spent in the sun and wind. With long and unkempt, matted hair, varying in burnt shades and tied back with fabric strips. The only difference is a wild beard frames Gav's narrow jaw.

"Cap'n's callin' for you, now."

"He said he wouldn't have any need for me until a fortnight."

"He ordered me to fetch ya. I ain't paid for nothin' but followin' orders. Best not keep him waitin'. Send yer precious brother home; you've got work to do."

"Are you waiting to hold my hand?" I ask sardonically. "I can make my own way."

"Well, we were bred to be proper, so we'll see ya to the port. No arguin', we insist."

I chaff at the contrived chivalry. This was worse than I thought.

"We'll give ya a moment to see off your brother," the other man offers.

"Who knows," Gav adds irksomely. "This chance might be yer last."

Anger shoves me to the brink. "What I say about that mouth of yours?"

"Want to help me shut it?"

He leans in as if going in for a kiss. I force him back with a belligerence that makes him stumble like a drunkard. His counterpart catches him swiftly, keeping him from falling flat and still Gav laughs triumphantly as if he got the exact reaction he wanted.

"There she is," he says with a serpentine smile. "The she-wolf."

I walk away, tracing my steps back to the bookstand I saw. When I reach there, my Elrin is nowhere to be found. My eyes flash to faces and panic starts to paw at me. After maneuvering through the thickening crowd, I spot Elrin afar, and a rough ring formed around him. I knew already that it wasn't Rowen and his rabble. Not after what I did to them the last time. However, these bent-backed bastards are also familiar to me, old friends of Rowen perhaps. He might have sent them to avenge the scant remains of his dignity. But I rather not find out.

This time I'm less courteous. I shove past people until they split to give me way. I can hear the young men jeering at my brother as they shove him around, making him rebound within the hostile circle. Even though they are older. I am stronger and almost as tall as his adversaries.

"What's this?"

His entourage, no more than thirty winters on their backs, glare back at me.

"Rowen sends his regards," one of them says smugly.

"Couldn't send it himself?" I ask with a barely stifled snort. "Or is he still licking at his wounds?"

The circle tightens around us.

"I wouldn't strut so proud if I were you."

"Erlin, this way."

"Neither of ye are goin' nowhere."

I whip around so fast that I come nose-to nose with him. "Who's going to stop me?"

He lifts his hand in mock surrender and pretends to retreat. I see the move coming miles away. The leader lunges first, a crude swing aimed at my head. I duck effortlessly, strolling away with a nonchalance that enrages him. He attacks again with a ferocious roar and in a lightning-quick counter, I drive my elbow into his ribs with enough force to make him gasp and fumble back. No time to rest; another scoundrel is already closing in.

With a fluid spin, I kick high, and my foot connects with his jaw in a brutal, bone-jarring snap. He drops unconscious when he hits the ground. The next two come at me in a high-action tandem, hoping to overwhelm me with numbers. I sidestep with feline agility, grabbing one by the wrist and twisting sharply. He cries out in pain, his arm bending unnaturally as I flip him over my shoulder, slamming him into the ground.

My eyes flick up at the other man, who hesitates, but I give him no chance to rethink his attack. A devastating knee to his midsection doubles him over, and I finish with an uppercut that sends him sprawling, blood spraying from his mouth.

The second last one, the smallest but no less vicious, tries to surprise me with a knife.

I break into a humored smile. "Try not to cut yourself, love."

He lunges and I deflect his fervent slash with a swift block, then I disarm him with a deft twist of his wrist. The blade clatters to the cobblestone. With a combination of rapid punches, each one precise and catastrophic, I leave him reeling and dazed before he drops to the ground.

Only one remaining. "You."

He flinches like the word stabbed him.

"Tell Rowen, next time, he'll be forced to collect corpses instead of collapsed men."

I savor the sound of faint groans leaking from their mouths. I come to the leader, who is still trying to gather himself. I sink to my haunches to stare down at him. My blood is still burning, the heat warming me from within. "If either of you comes near my brother, whether I'm there or not," I say, slanting closer so my lips can graze the shell of his ear. "I will cut you cock to throat."

His eyes flit to mine with a fission of fear. I rise, casting a long shadow over him. Elrin, awe-struck and safe, rushes to my side. Gav waltz over to applaud the spectacle with a foghorn laugh. I grip Elrin's bony bicep to lead him away to talk in hushed tones.

"I need you to go back to the swells, take the mare, and go home."

"What of you?"

"There are affairs that need my attention."

Elrin casts a questioning look at the burly brute.

"Keep your eyes on me," I order.

He obeys.

"Get the bread and buy your book." I place a quick, loving hand on his cheek before I give his shoulder a hearty clap. "Go so tonight you can read me a story, so choose a good one."