Cailu’s headache following his conversation with Matt had little to do with the previous day’s inebriations. How could Keke, a member of Matt’s Party, see the necessity of an adept healer, but he could not? At least Tristan seemed to grasp the weight of the task ahead of them.
Browsing what Eshe called the Room of Records, Cailu pulled another leatherbound tome from a cluttered shelf, setting it on the polished desk before leafing through the script penned within. So far, he’d found nothing more than transactions, reports, and trading information in the dozens of books he had reviewed. It was a slow process with one good arm. Eshe had little to say to him in their interactions, which left him to search for Magni’s cursed book alone. As he perused another volume of imported seeds and plants, his thoughts returned to Matt.
To choose such a reckless Class like [Battleguard] without the proper support was tantamount to suicide.
Cailu wanted to believe that Matt’s boorish decisions and crassitude approach to the girls he chose to surround himself with obscured a stubbornness that would keep him alive. He wasn’t entirely inept in combat, and Keke was adaptable, moving instinctively at his side without needing commands. Ceres had performed admirably in their battle with the Ejderha. Ravyn was questionable, at best. But Cannoli had not shown any desire to Level nor any interest in her future Class. Her disdain for Kirti anchored her own progress, and by association, Matt’s.
What is it that clouds your judgment, boy?
In all his years in Nyarlea, one of the many aspects of the other island’s men that puzzled Cailu was their overwhelming, unrelenting attachment to the women in their Party. Allowing emotional attachments to form was not only dangerous, but it also risked the willingness to continue procreating their island. What did they stand to gain by Leveling beyond their Party’s capabilities and halting progress to wait for the others?
The image of Naeemah’s piercing gaze gripped his heart.
He slammed the cover shut and shelved the book. It is not the same. Naeemah has been at my side for far longer…
Doubt does not suit you.
Cailu chose another book.
How long had Naeemah spent at his side? He could hardly recall his first day in Nyarlea or when he’d begun traveling to the other islands. When had time become so mangled? It had taken a century to find Fera and two decades to lose her. A new world presented an opportunity to pour his frustrations and mistakes into honing himself to perfection. This time, he would install a queen open to guidance. Establish an island that bent to his will. Grow powerful enough that the sword of a noble could never bring him to his knees again.
So he had. And still, it was not enough. When would it be enough?
With a grunt, Cailu tossed the tome on the desk, then skimmed through the pages. The ink was still dark and unmarred, the parchment unfaded by time. This was a newer record. He slowed his finger, reading down an imported list of rare Encroacher leathers, silks, and mined metals and ores from Nyarlothep and beyond. All materials for armor.
Transferred to the inventory of Ikrele.
Perhaps he could not convince Matt to find a new Healer, but there were other ways to increase his chances of surviving in Nyarlothep and beyond. He snapped the book shut and collected it under his arm.
Cailu marched to the courtyard that held the castle’s Encroacher farm. Jeenie and Keke peered into an enclosure that held a pair of inyokas—black, serpent-like creatures with sharpened scales and six ruby eyes each. They subdued their prey with powerful constriction and a merciless bite.
Jeenie stroked the top of one’s head as if she were petting a housecat. Keke watched intently, muttering a string of questions as fast as Jeenie could answer. Cailu had intended to find Jeenie alone, but Keke could satisfy a curiosity he’d had since arriving on Ichi.
“Keke,” Cailu called.
“Great,” Jeenie murmured under her breath. “At least he’s nice to look at.”
Keke’s ears perked up, and she glanced over Jeenie’s shoulder, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. “Yes, Cailu?”
“Are you, Matt, and Cannoli still equipping the armor made from the Enchantress’ tigers?” Cailu approached the cage, keeping a safe distance from the inyoka.
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“We are,” Keke replied, touching the tiger skin scarf around her neck. “Is there a problem?”
Matt’s priorities. “It is outdated,” Cailu replied.
Keke bristled. “It’s done a good job so far.”
Cailu narrowed his eyes. “Oh? How did Matt receive such a brutal scar on his chest? Was he in his armor then?” Matt’s erose net of scarring had caught his notice during their fight with the Chikara.
Keke’s features darkened, and her ears flattened against her head. Her tail flicked at her ankles in agitation.
So he was.
“Do you have a point, Cailu?” Jeenie interrupted. The inyoka at her fingertips hissed. “You lose your allure the longer you talk.”
“Yes.” He turned to Jeenie and held up the book. “Who is Ikrele?”
“You could have started with that,” Keke grumbled.
“Ikrele is—was?—Magni’s armorsmith. She has a huge place in the First Shell where she made whatever he wanted.” Jeenie sniffed and rested her arm at her side. “Leather, plate, whatever. She made Magni’s armor and all of the Ejderha’s stuff.”
She must have come from Nyarlothep. No one on Ichi Island could have taught her such a wealth of Skills. “Where can I find her?”
“First Shell, directly west of the castle. It’s the only forge there; you can’t miss it,” Jeenie paused, chewing her lip. “Assuming she’s still there, at least.”
Cailu frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Are there working eyes in that pretty head of yours?” Jeenie snickered. “Everyone in the First Shell was sure you came here to kill them—Magni said as much. And then your lot blew the door off the castle, and you killed the damn king.”
“In a sanctioned duel,” Cailu snapped.
“That changes nothing,” Jeenie snarled. “A lot of us were terrified; I know I was. We thought we were next. Many girls fled the city before Magni drew his last breath.”
“You can’t blame them, Cailu. If a handful of catgirls went missing to help Rājadhānī’s new queen resume her rule, there are no questions asked. Our lives aren’t nearly as important as yours,” Keke said. “You’ve said as much yourself.”
Brainwashed simpletons. “It is the truth. However, I am not the murderous villain so many of you believe me to be.”
The inyoka nearest Jeenie whipped its head toward Cailu, baring its glittering teeth and licking its chops.
“Do you need anything else?” Jeenie hissed.
“No.” Cailu gestured to the cage. “I suggest keeping your monsters muzzled in the future, lest you lose a hand.”
“I won’t be the one losing a hand,” Jeenie countered, shifting her attention to the enclosure.
Keke’s gaze lingered a few heartbeats longer on Cailu, flickers of concern in her expression. Then she turned back to the inyokas and her conversation with Jeenie.
Cailu turned and made his way back to the castle, swallowing the creeping feeling of doubt that pecked away at the edges of his thoughts.
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As Jeenie had said, the building was easy to find. Ikrele’s home was expansive, even compared to the other enormous dwellings within the First Shell. A metal sign depicting a hammer crossed over a needle swung above the front door, and green awnings covered every window. The chimneys over the forge were clear of smoke, and the clank of metal against anvil was notably absent.
Cailu knocked on the door. There was the sound of someone moving inside, but no one came to the door. He knocked again.
“We’re closed!” a stern voice called.
“Then make an exception, Ikrele,” he barked.
Another few seconds passed before the door swung wide. A thick-armed woman with skin like tanned leather and a mop of silver hair tied back at her neck stared up at Cailu. Her dark eyes were cold and hard; twin pieces of ore the heat of the forge had never reached. A stained smock covered a pair of thick trousers and a grime-pocked tunic.
“The king killer, is it?” Her voice was gruff. “Come to clean up the rest of his little helpers?”
“If you thought I would kill you, why answer the door?” Cailu challenged.
“I’d prefer to keep my dignity in my last moments. Not let you chase me around my house like a goddess-damned kitten.” She crossed her arms and frowned. “Though, I might have a chance if you’re down an arm.”
“Your life is not mine to take,” Cailu replied, holding out the book. “I came to ask for your help.”
Ikrele wrinkled her nose and accepted the tome, flipping through its pages. “You here to loot my supplies, then?”
Cailu sighed. “No, Ikrele. I need armor made.”
“I don’t work for free.” She closed the book and passed it back.
“As you shouldn’t. I can pay you well. From my own pockets or Magni’s stores, whatever you wish.”
Ikrele raised a brow and leaned against the doorframe. “That’s as tempting an offer as I’ve ever heard. What do you need, king killer?”
“Please, just Cailu.” Matt, Keke, Ravyn, Ceres. “I need four—” Cailu hesitated. Cannoli. He sighed. “I need five sets of armor crafted. Name your price.”
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