Windwitch (The Witchlands 2)

“I’ll sleep too. Eventually.”

Now came a cautious smile, and Merik tried not to smile back. Cam had that effect, though. A world of darkness, but she could still make a room glow.

In moments, the girl had curled onto the bed and was fast asleep. Merik waited until her chest swelled and sank with slumber before rising, quietly as he could, and tiptoeing for the door. He had two tasks to accomplish before he was allowed to sleep.

First, Merik had a pair of boots to find, though he had no idea where he might do so at this hour.

And second—the task that really mattered, the one that sent Merik hopping two steps at a time down the tenement stairs—he had a gang to find. One that lurked near Pin’s Keep. One that thought preying on the weak was an acceptable way to live.

Why do you hold a razor in one hand?

“So men remember,” Merik murmured as he stepped into the wet morning, “that I am as sharp as any edge.”

And why do you hold broken glass in the other?

“So men remember that I am always watching.” With that final utterance, Merik yanked his hood low and set off for the Skulks.

SEVENTEEN

The Pirate Republic of Saldonica was unlike anything Safi had ever seen. Oh, she’d heard stories of the vast city built into ancient ruins, with its factions constantly at war, their territories shifting and morphing. And she’d heard tell of the famed slave arena, where warriors and witches battled for coin—and where the rivalry between Baedyeds and Red Sails was deemed moot in favor of violence and wagers.

Safi had also heard how a person of any color or background or nation could not only exist in Saldonica but also could be bought or sold or traded. Then there were the legends of crocodiles lurking in the brackish waterways. Of sea foxes bigger than boats in the bay that would tow down men and ships alike.

Yet Safi had always thought those tales nothing more than bedtime stories for an unruly six-year-old who didn’t want to go to sleep yet, Habim, and couldn’t he just tell her one more story about the pirates?

Except it was real. All of it.

Well, maybe not the sea foxes. Safi knew—firsthand—that those creatures existed, but she had yet to see the Saldonican Bay, so she couldn’t confirm if they resided there.

An hour of travel through the steamy foliage had spit the Hell-Bards, Safi, and Vaness onto a second road. Churned up and grooved down the center from hooves and wagons, it was at present packed with hooves and wagons ready to churn it up all the more. Everyone trundled northeast, and only three people gave Safi or Vaness a second look. Actual help or any real interest, though, the people seemed unwilling to spare.

Safi couldn’t blame them. She wanted to blame them, but the truth was that she understood why others might keep their eyes on their own business. Zander alone, with his massive size, would have been enough to send a person running. Lev and Caden only added to the image of People Best Left Alone.

Besides, not everyone was selfless like Merik Nihar. Not everyone was a crazy Windwitch who would fly into fights, heedless of his own safety—or his own buttons.

Before long, the trees opened up to reveal a bridge. Here, the riverbank was scarcely higher than the lazy brown waters running beside it, and one good rain would submerge the wide bridge.

Crocodiles seemed to realize this, for the beasts lumbered and lounged on either side of the warped planks. Gods below, it was a lot of teeth. Caden didn’t need to prod Safi to walk a bit faster.

At last, as the ninth chimes clinked on the breeze, the Hell-Bards led Safi and Vaness to a wide gate in an ancient, crooked wall. Dangling overtop was a massive standard, and this close, there was no missing the serpent looped around the Marstoki crescent moon.

Traffic bottlenecked, more people moving into the Pirate Republic than shoved out. Until at last, Safi was inside—and found the Baedyed claim of Saldonica was nice. Shockingly so. Safi had imagined a slum of lawlessness and desperation, but instead there were roads and rainwater chutes, Firewitched streetlights and gold-uniformed guards to direct traffic. There were even banners hanging from every lamppost.

Yes, the buildings tumbled more tightly together as they progressed deeper into the lowlands. And yes, there were more people crammed here than most cities, yet nonetheless, the Baedyed-controlled part of Saldonica was undeniably not a slum.

Beyond the built-up streets of the Baedyed territory, a marshy delta spanned. On the left, thick, black jungle hugged the swampy landscape. On the right, the soggy earth gave way to a murky bay. Docks spanned for as far as Safi could see, crammed with ship after ship after ship.

It was as if every boat in Veñaza City had docked in one harbor. Never had Safi seen so many furled sails. Or circling sea gulls.

Cursed birds.

Yet what really drew Safi’s eyes was the arena. There was no mistaking it. As soon as her helm-split gaze cast over the half-stone, half-wooden stadium, she knew what it was. The sheer size gave it away—larger and taller than any other structure in the entire Republic.

At this distance, though, it looked like some enormous ancient fortress that nature had tried to reclaim. Wooden scaffolding had been added, to fill in the missing half, and banners of all colors flapped from eight towers, giving it the look of a dirty bejeweled crown left behind for the crocodiles to enjoy.

Safi soon lost sight of the arena, of the marshes. Of anything at all but the people around her. Everywhere Safi’s eyes landed, she saw people of all shades and histories. Even Nomatsis strutted cool as they pleased down the packed-earth Baedyed streets—as did Southlanders, Fareasters, and ethnicities Safi couldn’t even recognize.