Daivad and Ben arrived in Luvatha just before gateclose. The entire trip had taken place in silence. When one of them needed to stop to piss, they simply stopped and trusted that the other would catch on. Daivad knew Tobei thought this trip would get them back on good terms, but it didn’t seem to be going that way.
They stayed toward the outskirts of the city, far from the bustling area around the Arena that Daivad knew housed more than a few nobles who knew his face. Without prompting, Ben went to rent a room for them in a filthy little inn if only so they had somewhere to stay out of sight. They didn’t plan on actually sleeping here.
In the alleyway beside the inn, Daivad stood in the shadows, deep within his hood. He lifted his small coin purse from within his waistband by the thin leather bands that held it in place, then tugged it open. There were a few coins, but what Daivad scooped out of it was the small white pebble. He rolled it in his fingers, thinking.
He should use it. He should call the little monster here and gift it a message for Nyxabella. Tell her he was here in Luvatha, ask if she knew where the hunter was. Ask if she was here. But he hesitated.
If he was going to call the monster, he should have done it outside the gates, in the privacy of the wild. If it showed up now, there was no way it wouldn’t draw attention, and that was the last thing they needed here. But even outside Luvatha before gateclose, Daivad had hesitated to call the beast. He hated the idea of trying to talk to the thing, trying to get it to take his words correctly. What if he messed the words up and needed to start over—was there a way to do that? And what would he even say? How was he supposed to talk to her after what happened last time he’d seen her? And what—?
Around the corner, the door to the inn opened and out washed Ben’s scent. Daivad quickly dropped the stone back in the coin purse and stuffed it in his pants pocket before Ben rounded the corner.
They both stood there in silence for a moment. Finally, Ben pried open his jaw and said, “Innkeeper says the busiest tavern outside the forum is two blocks east.”
As usual, Ben had known what Daivad was thinking. Find a busy place where they could hole up and listen for word of any Selachian Inhumans that were supposed to be dead.
“You should stay out of sight,” Ben continued, holding up a key to one of the rooms. “I’ll go.”
That was not what Daivad was thinking. As if he would sit in a cramped room while Ben ventured around the city looking for Daivad’s fight.
For his reply, Daivad simply shoved off the wall and headed east.
“You should stay out of sight,” Ben said, unmoving.
Daivad stepped around him. “I’m the one with the monster hearing.”
“I’m human, but I can still hear,” Ben argued.
Daivad ignored this and started off down the dark street lit by a mixture of flame lanterns and glowstone lanterns.
But he heard Ben grumble, “But suddenly you can’t. Convenient.”
Daivad knew how immature he was being. He knew Ben had every right to be pissed at him for running off alone and returning just to dump a weight onto them that they couldn’t carry. But he was just so damn tired of this.
He hadn’t asked Ben and Tobei to come with him at Haven, when he’d abandoned the crown. He hadn’t promised them wise and steady leadership or even just a friend who made good choices. He hadn’t asked anyone to follow him. He hadn’t agreed to take on all this responsibility, but it seemed like everyone he met just kept dumping it on him. And the second he shrugged it off, or even sat down for a moment to rest, they all acted like he’d betrayed them. Like he’d let them down. Like he’d broken their heart.
It shouldn’t bother him so much, the disappointment on their faces, the bone-chilling deadness in eyes normally so green and alive, looking at him like he was Nothing, but he couldn’t shake it off. And now, this judgment from the one man he could usually count on most was just—he couldn’t deal with this shit right—
The scent of blood was what initially snagged Daivad’s attention, but it was the stench of raw, concentrated fear, a smell normally reserved for the battlefield, that actually made Daivad look down an alley as he passed. A kid who couldn’t be older than fifteen, with short hair and baggy pants leaned against a wall for support, their breathing ragged and eyes wide and panicked, looking at something no one else could see. They were filthy and sporting two budding black eyes on a brown face with speckles of white skin down its center. [~~~ TW] Around them stood a small gang of people that looked to be in their twenties, circling the kid in a way that could only be seen as menacing.
Ben drew up beside Daivad and slowly readied his staff. Daivad felt Ben’s eyes on him, ready for the signal.
(*** TW)
“Please,” the kid panted. “Just—if you just tell her I’ll have it tomorrow night—”
“This is your third strike, Pait,” one of the gang said, a stocky person with bronze-colored hair that reminded him of Richard. “Either you’re out, or you pay with something else.”
Fake Richard reached out to tug on the kid’s waistband.
(***End of TW)
Daivad started to move—but before he could get down the alley, Ben right next to him, the kid had driven their boot straight into Fake Richard’s crotch. And didn’t stop there—when Fake Richard doubled over, the kid braced their back against the wall, planted their foot on Fake Richard’s face, and shoved, sending them flying into the opposite wall.
The kid shouted, “I just watched some shark-looking fucker literally rip a giant in half with his bare Mother-damn hands—you think I’m scared of you?”
In an instant, the two other gang members had daggers out while Fake Richard moaned and spat and swore in a heap on the ground.
Eyeing the daggers, the kid whispered, “Shit,” and bolted down the alley.
But Dagger 1 grabbed the kid’s cloak as it fanned out behind them and yanked. The cloak wrangled a choking noise out of the kid’s throat before jerking them off their feet. Dagger 2 reached down to grab the kid, but took Ben’s staff to the face with a crack instead. Daivad grabbed Dagger 1 by the back of the head and smashed their face into the wall so hard their head actually rebounded off it. And then Daivad bounced their head off the wall again. And again. And again. And he was gearing up to do it once more when Ben tapped his shoulder, jerking Daivad out of the loop he’d gotten stuck in.
He looked around. Fake Richard was still in a heap, Dagger 2 was tied down by thick vines that had burst from between the cobblestones to wrap around their wrists and ankles, and Dagger 1, of course, was slowly sliding down the side of the building. The kid stood bug-eyed in the middle of the alley, teetering on the edge of fight or flight.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
[~~~ End of TW]
“Kid,” Daivad said. “You hurt?”
For a moment it seemed like they hadn’t understood him, but then they sucked in a violent breath like they’d only just remembered how to breathe and said, “Fine. I’m fine.”
“You need to get somewhere safe,” Daivad said.
In response, the kid rushed forward and tackled Daivad in a hug.
Oh no.
The kid hadn’t taken that as an invitation, had they? Mother, why was it always him? Ben had helped just as much as he had. This was the last fucking thing he needed. Daivad held his arms aloft, not to avoid the filth they were smearing him with but to avoid the hug, and waited for the kid to release him.
“Thank you,” the kid blubbered into his cloak. “You saved my life.”
Daivad was incredibly uncomfortable. Stiff, he said, “Seemed like you were doing alright on your own.”
“Where are you headed?” Ben asked gently. “We’ll walk you.”
Sniffing, the kid finally retracted their arms and straightened. Daivad took a few steps back. They said, “No, I’m—I’m okay now. Just going across the street. But, Mothers bless you both.”
“The shark-looking fucker,” Daivad asked, wanting to distract the kid from their gratitude in case it convinced them to assault him again. “Where was he?”
The kid swiped their cloak over their white-and-brown cheeks—which was odd since Daivad saw no tears there. “You want to keep your footsteps far from him. He’s … I’ve never seen a beast like that. He’s … evil.”
“Just name where you saw him.”
The kid looked back and forth between him and Ben a few times before they said, “It’s beneath a gambling house on 3rd Street East, but that was an hour ago, maybe more.”
Alarmed, Ben asked, “How old are you?”
The kid straightened, lifted their chin so the lantern light illuminated their speckled face—and purpling eyes. They cleared their throat and said, in a tone much deeper than the one they’d just been using, “Eighteen.”
Ben, momentarily forgetting he was supposed to be mad at Daivad, shot him a disbelieving look.
“Sure,” Daivad said. “The gambling house have a name?”
“The Pot of Gold,” they said, “but everyone just calls it The Pot, on account of the smell.”
Daivad nodded and started back toward the street without another word—but stopped after just a few steps. He looked back down the alley, at the three gang members in their various incapacitated positions. Then at the kid.
Daivad opened his mouth to ask them if they had somewhere safe to go, but stopped himself. Because he knew the answer. A kid this young didn’t hang around gambling houses or beat up goons in dark alleys if they had a family waiting for them around the dinner table.
He glanced at Ben, torn. He could already see the exasperated look on Ben’s face if he brought yet another stray home, could feel the panic of a camp that was crumbling under its own weight. But then he looked at this scared, bloodied child—
No. He couldn’t.
“You’re just going across the street?” he asked.
The kid gave a single nod.
Daivad told himself the kid would be fine, and even if they weren’t, he couldn’t make that his problem. He couldn’t. And anyway, if he didn’t find the Selachian before Z did, there’d be no camp to take the kid back to. So Daivad left before he could change his mind.
Ben caught up with him a few blocks down after staying behind to try to convince the kid to let him walk them home. The wave of scent that came with him had a spiced hint of frustration in it.
“Our eyes saw the same kid, right?” Ben asked, low.
Daivad just cut his gaze to the side at Ben, waiting for whatever point he was trying to make.
“Black eyes and bloody knuckles, covered in muck? And you just left her in an alley with those assholes?”
“They weren’t getting up anytime soon, and the kid said they were going right across the street.”
“I talked to her. She knows them, which means they know her, and when they do get up, they could come after her.”
“Not my problem.”
“You…!”
Daivad rounded on Ben. “What? What do you want from me, Bennen? You’re pissed when I help people, now you’re pissed when I don’t.” A growl bubbled out of him, low so that the passers-by wouldn’t hear the words. “I didn’t ask for any of this, so why is it always on me?”
“It’s not.”
Behind Ben’s eyes, Daivad could see there was more Ben wanted to say, just trying to find its way to his mouth. Maybe if Daivad gave him a minute or two, the words would come. Or maybe if Daivad took the chance to really consider it, he would come to understand on his own, like usual. But they couldn’t do this here, on the streets of fucking Luvatha, when they had a Selachian to find and kill. So Daivad started back down the street.
It was easy to find their target the moment they stepped onto 3rd Street—
“—FIGHT ME YOU BUNCHA MAINLAND PUSSIES—!”
Daivad had never seen a Selachian in person before, only a few illustrations in some of the Colonel’s journals, but they didn’t do this man justice. Perhaps that was just because he was covered in blood and viscera and sharp edges, cackling maniacally and fighting a winning battle against eight different ropes that had been lassoed around him and the scores of people on the ropes’ other ends who were trying to rein him in.
“Well,” Daivad said in a low voice to Ben, like their argument had never happened, “suppose we found him.”
“Doing this quiet won’t be easy,” Ben said.
Those in the street who weren’t trying to contain Ubika seemed inspired by the commotion. They had begun to jeer at nothing and grab loose cobblestones and toss them at shop windows. Horses reared in panic and screamed into the night. Someone was recruiting people to help them overturn a merchant’s stand.
Well, with all this going on, Daivad didn’t think a little foul-mouthed monster would draw much attention at all. He dug in his pocket for his coin purse. “Keep eyes on him. I’ll send a message that we’ve found him and—,” wrong pocket—he checked the other one, “—see if she can keep Z away until I find a way to put him down quiet.”
Ben nodded, eyes already locked on Ubika, who was amusing himself by dragging his would-be captors along behind him.
“Where the—?” Daivad didn’t think he’d tied his purse back to his waistband—why couldn’t he find it?
“What?” Ben asked as Daivad searched his pockets for the third time.
“Did I give you my coin purse?”
“No, I paid for the room with my own coin.”
It clicked then. The kid’s enthusiastic hug and fake sobs.
“Shit,” Daivad hissed. “That fucking brat. Right after we saved her. Mother damn it!”
Ben stared at Daivad with that signature stoic expression. And then he burst out laughing.
A growl rumbled out of Daivad. “Shut up.”
But Ben just lifted a fist to his mouth and laughed into it, shoulders jerking.
“Shut up! Kid probably took yours too.”
In response, Ben simply lifted his free hand to display his own coin purse dangling by its tie from one finger and continued to cackle.
Daivad snapped, “The stone was in there, asshole. Now I can’t send her a message.”
Ben finally got his giggles under control and wiped his watering eyes. “I’d still name it Funny.”
His words laced with a growl, Daivad said, “Keep your eyes on him. I’m going to find that kid.”