The Blood of Whisperers

Book 1: The Vengeance Trilogy

by Devin Madson

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure; Dark Fantasy; Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

An empire on the edge of war threatens to crumble in this action-packed fantasy novel of epic adventure and revenge. They call him the Usurper. Once the Kisian empire was ruled by gods. Now Kin Ts'ai, a man of common blood, sits on the Crimson Throne. At his command, the last Otako emperor was executed and a new era began. But claiming an empire is easier than holding it. In the north where loyalty to the Otako name runs deep, a rebellion grows. And Emperor Kin will learn that killing one Otako, doesn't mean you've killed them all. Vengeance is coming. The Vengeance Trilogy The Blood of Whisperers The Gods of Vice The Grave at Storm's End For more from Devin Madson, check out: The Reborn Empire We Ride the Storm

Release date: August 4, 2020

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 384

Sample

We are judged. That is what the Sixth Law says. The gods are always watching. They can hear the whisper of our souls.

“Are they watching me now?” I asked when Jian stopped the wagon for me to piss. He had been talking of the gods and the laws ever since crossing the border that morning as though being home made him a different man.

“They’ll be watching me bang your head into a tree if you ask silly questions like that.”

I glanced over my shoulder as I finished up. “Is it wrong to be curious?”

“It is to be a nuisance,” Jian said, twisting and untwisting the reins in his hand. “Be quick, Endymion, or we won’t make it to the next town before nightfall.”

“You know I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Yes, but this time you might. We’re getting low on supplies.”

The folds of my Kisian half robe fell back into place as I returned to the cart. It wasn’t as comfortable as the tunic I usually wore and I kept fiddling with the knot in the white sash, but at least Jian hadn’t expected me to wear one of their big fancy robes. It was already hot enough without adding all that extra weight.

As I settled myself back on the seat beside him, Brother Jian set the ox walking. “You’d do well to listen to the laws and stories rather than mock them,” he said, gruff words spoken to the ox’s back.

“I have listened to them for at least sixteen years. I still don’t want to be a priest.”

Jian shifted his weight on the hard seat. He looked at me. Looked away. Opened his mouth only to close it again, and I knew there was no escaping the coming argument.

“You have to aspire to something, Endymion,” he blurted at last. “I know you say you’ll figure it out, but you can’t just wander around—”

“You do.”

“I travel to bring the word of the gods to those who need to hear it. I bless those in need and I give guidance and hope, and with your abilities, you could be so good at it, you could—”

“But I don’t want to use it.”

“Why not?”

Because it stretches me thin. Because it hurts. Because it makes me feel like I’m not here. Because it’s getting worse.

Words I could never say. Especially when Jian turned that concerned look on me. He wanted to help, but all these years together had proved he couldn’t.

I withdrew an arrow from the quiver at my feet and, rather than look at him, checked the fletchings carefully. “I guess I’m just not a good person like you,” I said, knowing it was the quickest way to end the conversation.

“I know that’s not true. A man is made the way he is for a purpose. The gods judge harshly those who reject that purpose and—”

“Let the gods live a day in my skin before they judge me.”

His hurt flared, or maybe it was mine; I couldn’t tell. Only that for an instant, it was hot enough to rival the sun. Then Jian sniffed and settled in for a few miles, glaring at the ox’s rump. Blessed silence reigned.

It was a stifling day, and as the afternoon wore on, heat rose shimmering from the road and everything seemed to droop. It had been six years since we had last been in Kisia, and I had forgotten how hot and humid Kisian summers could get. The air was thick with the buzz of insects, and my linen robe had long since stuck to my skin. No matter how Jian tilted his woven hat, sweat covered the back of his neck and pasted his dark hair to his head in curls.

The ox plodded on, the desultory rattle of the wagon our constant companion. Few other travellers were braving the heat, only the occasional carter long inured to the weather. And soldiers. We had passed three bands of them so far that day and come across another in the middle of the afternoon. A dozen in total, colonising a patch of shade where the road branched. Their tense irritability spread from them as they ordered every traveller to stop and have their cargo inspected.

“This is new,” Jian mumbled, slowing the ox as we approached. A mule driver with half a dozen animals looked up as we halted behind him to await our turn. “We might not make it to Hoturi before dark if this takes too long.”

“Might not be a bad thing, it’s bleak there,” the mule driver said, standing amid his animals, the languid swish of their tails sending their bells tinkling. “A patrol from the local garrison got slaughtered a week or so back. Left in pieces, I heard,” he added, glancing at the soldiers and lowering his voice. “Tiny pieces.”

“Pieces?”

“Like a burst plum, I heard.”

The man seemed to be enjoying himself, but before he could elaborate, a soldier called him forward, and he moved up with a swish of his tasselled guiding whip.

“Names.” An imperial soldier stood beside the cart with his arms folded. His face was flushed and he looked ready to murder someone, but the fear scratching at his skin was far more awful. I looked away.

“My name is Father Jian Eko and this is my novice, Endymion.”

“Eko? Like the court priest?”

“Yes, but once we take the Oath of Word, we give up all family ties.”

“Father Kokoro Eko is your…?”

Jian sighed. “We have the same mother and the same father.”

“So he’s your brother?”

“No, because when we take the Oath of Word—”

The soldier waved him into silence with an irritable shake of his hand. “And what’s in your wagon, not-the-brother-of-our-illustrious-court-priest?”

“Nothing more than our belongings and many copies of the Word of Qi if you are in need—”

Another irritable wave of the hand. “I’ll have a look.”

Not a request. He was already walking toward the back of the wagon when Jian thrust the reins into my hand and hopped down. I gripped the worn leather tight and stared at the road, breathing as slowly as I could, though the pressure of fear and nervousness pressed in more oppressively than the heat. Behind me, the wagon shook. Footsteps tramped around inside. Muffled conversation continued, and I just stared at the road and recited the death prayer in my head over and over until Jian returned. He must have taken the reins back too, for we were soon moving again. The ox plodded on, and bit by bit the fear ebbed away.

I let go a long breath. “What was all that about? Even the soldiers at the border gave us less trouble than that.”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Jian said. “There’s still time to turn around. We could pass the winter in the north and skip all the snow and ice. And the rain.”

No longer having the guards’ fear clogging my veins, I shook my head. “Someone attacking patrols of soldiers has nothing to do with us. I can’t make a decision about my future until I understand my past.” He took a deep breath, ready to argue, so I added quickly, “Speaking of the past, since when do you use your last name when asked to give it? And I’m not a novice.”

“Since I got the feeling Kisia isn’t safe right now,” he said, ignoring the second part. “Being related to His Majesty’s own priest might at least smooth the way.”

“You mean being not related to him.”

Jian smacked my knee and barked out a laugh. “You watch it, boy.”

The afternoon shadows lengthened as we neared Hoturi, and climbing onto the roof of the wagon, I watched the sun begin to set, gilding the sharp, craggy slopes of the Kuro Mountains. They framed Kisia, their distant outline a work of art upon the misted sky. I had spent most of my life outside Kisia, but even in Chiltae, the image of the western mountains could be found on pots and frescoes, and seeing them with my own eyes gave me the feeling of coming home.

Home. Wherever that was.

Hoturi was one of northern Kisia’s largest trading posts. About a day’s travel south of the border, it was where most travellers stopped for the night, leaving it a bustle of constant noise. Usually, cities crept up on me, first one heart, then ten, then hundreds, but Hoturi hit me like a thrown stone. I gasped, gripping the edge of the roof. We weren’t even in sight of the city and already it was screaming. Bleak, the mule driver had called it. Grim and wrathful would have been more accurate.

Step after heavy step, the ox drew us on.

The mountain groves thinned, and a gatehouse rose from the cleared undergrowth, tiles missing from its roof like a toothless grin. Its painted gates were still open, and against the darkening sky, crimson flags snapped. Just like the soldiers on the road, the gate guards were inspecting a merchant’s cargo. As we approached, there was much gesticulation, papers changed hands, and eventually the man was waved in.

“You had better get down here,” Jian said. “They might take exception to me bringing a monkey in with me.”

With an effort, I prised my fingers from the edge of the roof and climbed down beside Jian. “Try to relax,” he whispered. “And have your papers ready.”

I took a deep breath and let it out as Jian slowed the cart, bringing the ox to a halt in front of the gate.

“Papers.”

The guard held out his hand, and I dropped my papers into it, taking care not to touch his skin. Not that the precaution helped when he stood so close. Trying not to breathe him in, I stared at the row of gold fasteners along his shoulder, each moulded into the long dragon of Emperor Kin Ts’ai.

“Endymion?” the man said.

“It’s a Chiltaen name,” Jian returned, leaning a little across me to address the guard. “It means lost sheep.”

“Then he’ll have to register with the—”

“Chiltaen by name but not by birth, Captain, as the papers say.”

The captain grunted. On the other side of the wagon, Jian’s papers were handed back to him. “Have you been here before, Brother?” the other guard asked. “I can provide you with directions to the Sanctuary Square.”

“Yes, I have,” Jian said. “Thank you. On the north road not far from the bridge?”

The man nodded and stepped back. “We’ll search your wagon now.”

Beside me, the captain was still frowning at my crumpled papers. He let out a discontented huff, his breath sour. “You’re not a novice.”

“No, Captain, he is not.”

“Let the boy answer for himself,” the captain snapped. “You are not a novice, boy?”

“No.” I forced the word out through dry lips, wishing he would step back, that he would take his weight away from me. Jian had said that with the peace, it wouldn’t matter that I looked Chiltaen, that it wouldn’t matter I wasn’t a novice, but these men were tense and angry and I dug my fingernails into my palms.

“Yet you travel with a priest?”

The wagon rocked, footsteps sounding inside. A step, a pause, then the murmur of voices.

“I am an orphan,” I said.

Again, Jian leant across. “We are travelling to Shimai so he might take the oath and become my novice.”

The captain glared at Jian. “I don’t like the boy’s papers.”

“They are as the governor made them.”

He looked back at the document, running his fingers over the seal and feeling the paper.

The others returned from their inspection. They exchanged nods and the captain pursed his lips, his troubles seeping off him like a stench. He looked at me. He looked at Jian. He looked down at the papers and, licking his fingers, pinched the corner. Long seconds went by.

A gong sounded, its deep tone reverberating over us. Upon the walls, a guard rehung the striker, the last light forming a halo about his head, while down on the road, his fellows hurried about, preparing to close the gate for the night.

“Very well, go through,” the captain said. “But if you make trouble, you won’t easily be forgotten. The streets around the garrison are closed and a curfew will be enforced at midnight. Enjoy your stay in Hoturi.”

He handed back my papers and stepped away, leaving the road open. Jian took up the reins and, giving thanks, drove us in beneath the stone arch. I could feel his relief as we passed into Hoturi, could taste it on my tongue. But it only lasted a few seconds before souring into horror. “What—?”

Death met us inside the gates. A pair of gibbets stood on either side of a great tree, its branches and the hasty structures filled with dozens of corpses swinging gently. I felt nothing from the dead, but the fear and disgust of people around me buzzed like flies, and Jian’s fingers tightened about my hand. “Read the sign,” he whispered.

It had been hammered to the tree trunk, its neatly painted words reading: For the crime of witchcraft. Two men hanging from the main branch had large eyes painted on their bare chests, or what was left of their chests. The summer heat and the crows had left the bodies foul and oozing.

“Witch—?” The word stuck in my throat and I had to clear it and try again. “Witchcraft?”

Jian didn’t answer, but the flicker of his gaze toward my wrist was enough. Behind us, the gates slammed closed.

“We should… find the Sanctuary Square,” Jian said, glancing back at the gates. “Get some rest.”

I didn’t answer, couldn’t, just sat stiff and tense as the ox pulled us on through the town. Despite the dead hung as a warning and the oppressive anger, the people of Hoturi acted like it was a normal day. Shopkeepers were closing their shutters and bolting their doors, while street merchants filled the dusk, stalking citizens with their produce, their food trailing mouthwatering odours and their hands held out for coins. A boy was lighting a string of lanterns as we passed beneath. Perched like a sparrow upon the eave, he held the tinder between his teeth, a bag of candles hanging from his waist. The town bustled in time to the beat of its own fear. And from every corner, guards and soldiers glared.

Jian glanced at me. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just hungry.”

“We can eat as soon as we stop. There’s some leftover smoked fish and yellow beans.”

“Ginger?”

“If we’re lucky.”

He might have said more but was forced to mind the road. It was no easy task to avoid the slew of carts and palanquins clogging the streets, most citizens having no time to spare for a shabby prayer wagon.

“Well,” Jian said as he navigated a sharp turn into the walled square. “I think the walls have grown taller. You’d think they were ashamed of us.”

The walls encircling the Sanctuary Square hid us completely from the rest of the town. There was a well and the usual bags of grain but nothing else to make priests feel welcome. At the other end of the square sat another wagon, the ornate designs upon its panels weathered beyond recognition.

“It looks like times are hard everywhere,” Jian said. “Or the people aren’t valuing their souls as they should.”

While we tended the ox and gathered a meal, the priest from the other wagon ambled over, fatigue marring his gait and staining the air around him.

“Well met, good brother,” he said as he neared. “You wouldn’t be Brother Jian by any chance?”

“I am,” Jian said, his hand stopping halfway to the outer lantern, tinder burning in his fingers. “Why do you ask?”

“Ah! A letter came for you a week or two back. I wasn’t here, but the priest who was gave it to the next wagon to arrive, and then last night it was handed to me with instructions to pass it on. Seems whoever wanted to get in touch with you knew you’d be coming through here.”

The tinder had gone on burning all the way to Jian’s fingers, and as the man finished his explanation, Jian yelped and dropped the smoking stub. He brushed his hand upon his robe, then held it out for the letter. The priest handed it over, his brows lifted in expectant curiosity. But if he had hoped for an explanation, he was to be disappointed. Jian looked at it long enough to ascertain the seal had not been broken before tucking it into his sash. “My thanks,” he said. “From where have you travelled, Brother?”

“I was in Risian a few nights back, but I have been keeping clear of the big towns as much as I can. The reward is not worth the trouble.”

“Ah, Risian. We are headed that way ourselves. Any news we ought to know?”

The priest grimaced, his whole face contorting as though he had just bitten into a lemon. “You want my advice, you won’t go south. Go east. Go west. Keep to the small roads and the villages and hope this all blows over soon.”

He made the sign of Qi as he spoke, honouring the dead.

“Is it as bad as that? We’ve heard there have been clashes over land redistribution since the peace treaty, but not that it was more than a nuisance.”

The man tilted his head to the side. “You’ve come from Chiltae?”

Jian nodded.

“I’m sure His Majesty will be glad to know the worst of it hasn’t leaked out yet, though it’s only a matter of time. The fights over the land are getting worse, and the return of the Vices is a whole other thing.”

Despite his visceral fatigue, the man agreed to walk with Jian to the nearest shrine so he could impart the whole story. Curious though I was, I was glad to be left alone, but there was no peace to be had when my thoughts kept veering back toward the hanging bodies and Jian’s unwilling glance at my wrist. I plucked at my sleeve as over and over one question plucked at my mind. Was my Empathy witchcraft?

When Jian returned, we ate in silence as long as I could bear it, which wasn’t long. “Who are the Vices?” I asked before he had taken more than a dozen mouthfuls.

Jian heaved an enormous sigh, puffing out his cheeks. “Monsters.”

“Monsters?” Disbelief coloured my words and Jian frowned.

“As close as man can get, and you know I am not one for exaggeration. A group of men with… abilities that make yours look laughable. They came from nowhere about eight or nine years ago and, within a season, were the terror of the empire.”

“I don’t remember them.”

“You think I would tell a ten-year-old about the hundreds of whores who were killed and turned inside out or the two dozen people at a teahouse who were all found strangled? I don’t even want to tell you about it now.”

A patrol from the local garrison got slaughtered a week or so back. Left in pieces, I heard. Tiny pieces. Like a burst plum.

“Why do such things?”

Jian shrugged. “I don’t know. Because you can? For power? To make people afraid? If they ever caught them or found out who they were or why they did it, then it’s more than I ever heard.”

“They weren’t caught?”

“No, and you can be sure they had the empire in such a fearful frenzy that His Majesty would have paraded them through the streets if they had. They just… faded away. You see, they used to leave a mark at the scene of every death. An eye.”

“Like the one painted on the dead men at the gate.”

He nodded. “It made me feel sick to see it again after so many years. Brother Catuxi said he heard rumours of their return a few weeks ago. As if the attacks on northern strongholds weren’t enough of a problem. We shouldn’t have come. We can leave first thing in the morning.”

Whenever Jian lied, a twinge of guilt and shame always followed, but though I waited for it, it didn’t come.

“You’re not just saying this so I’ll agree to go back to Chiltae.” Not a question, a statement, but still Jian shook his head. “You really believe in this stuff.”

“And of all people, you don’t?”

The squirm of horror in my stomach was made all the worse for the hope it was only mine. Jian had never seemed to fear me before, and yet… “You think I’m in danger here,” I said. “Me, specifically, because of this.” I touched my inner wrist. “Because I’m like them.”

“You would never do any of the things they—”

“Then you think I’m like them but with better morals. Is that why you want me to be a priest, to make sure I never turn into one of them?”

He rose onto his knees, pushing back from the table. “Where is this coming from? If I have ever said anything to make you believe—”

“You don’t have to say it. I feel it. What does the letter say?”

The sudden change of topic made him blink. “The letter?”

“The letter someone sent to you here. What does it say? Is it about this? Is it about me?”

Jian gave me his chastening look, a look beneath which I had always bent, always quailed, but anger kept me buoyed, and it was he who looked away. A few long seconds passed, then with a grunt, he tugged the letter from his sash and threw it on the table. The seal had been broken and the scroll unrolled just enough to reveal Jian’s name at the top in the neatest calligraphy I had ever seen.

I snatched it up. Jian flinched as though he would have liked to take it from me, but he sank back down on his cushion and said nothing.

Dear Jian,

If you have received this letter, it is because despite my strongly worded advice, you have chosen to go ahead with your plan to bring the boy into Kisia.

I bristled at boy and at the stiff tone but read on.

Given the current tensions, this course of action is even more unwise than when you first projected it, though if wisdom was capable of turning you from your path, you would have abandoned this long since. Therefore, I have made the necessary arrangements to ensure a safe meeting. I dare not write the place for fear of this falling into the wrong hands, but you know it. It is the same location where you came into possession of the boy in the first place. I will be there alone at the day and time of your birth, but a wise man would not come. A wise man would give the boy a different future.

May Qi guide your steps.

I set the letter down.

“We can be across the border by tomorrow night if we travel swift,” Jian said. “We could—”

“Where is this place?”

He hesitated, staring at a few grains of rice spilt upon the table. “It’s… a little inn off the main road, a few miles north of Shimai. I used to stop there a lot. It won’t be easy to get there in seven days though. If the trouble in Risian is as bad as Brother Catuxi said…” Jian trailed off and a sad smile turned his lips. “You want to go anyway.”

“I have to know, Jian. I dream about her every night. Could you just walk away from that?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“You don’t have to come. Tell me where to find it and I can go on my own.”

“Persuading me to let you go on your own will be about as fruitful as my attempts to persuade you to give this up and take the Oath of Word.” He laughed but there was a flash of bitterness only I could feel.

Although half our meal remained, it had long since gone cold, and neither of us showed any interest in picking at the leftovers. Darkness pressed close to the windows and I felt tired, constricted into a body smaller than I had woken with, but sleep was far from my thoughts.

“I think I might go for a walk,” I said.

Jian smiled, a sad thing brimming with the disappointment he always tried to hide. “Are you sure that’s wise given how many soldiers are around?”

“I will keep to myself and give them no trouble.”

He did not argue. “You do whatever you need to do. I’ll be right here.”

Right there with his sad smile and his barely concealed repugnance, but though I hoped one day these would be powerful enough to turn me from my course, today was not that day. Taking my cloak, I stepped out into the Sanctuary Square. The night was still young. Still warm. In his wagon, Brother Catuxi was singing. It made me smile.

The smile soon vanished as the onslaught of the town hit me from all sides, the emotions like waves buffeting me in a stormy sea.

Do whatever you need to do.

I carried Jian’s words with me like a mantra all the way to the pleasure district. I held them close as I sat in the alley outside one of the rich brothels and let the waves of euphoria wash over me, drowning out everything but the kernel of shame deep inside that was the only sign I still existed at all. And once curfew had been called, I carried the words back with me, an excuse to cling to like a life raft in the face of Jian’s silent but inevitable disgust.

It took six long days to reach Risian, leaving us all exhausted, especially the ox. One more full day on the road would get us to the inn near Shimai on time, but for now, the spreading town of Risian promised rest. Until the gate guard looked at my papers.

“I don’t like these,” he said as though they had looked at him askance. “Take yourselves elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” Jian leant over, his face red from the summer heat. “We have been on the road since dawn. We need rest. Our ox needs rest. Where else are we to go?”

“There is a village a few miles east. A hostelry there might take you in.”

“So might we rest in Risian’s Sanctuary Square. Endymion’s papers may be travel worn, but they were written up and signed by the governor the same as yours and mine. Please let us in. We must be in Shimai tomorrow, and it will add considerably to our journey to have to go around Risian on cart tracks.”

The guard rubbed the paper between his fingers and peered again at the signature scribbled on the bottom. “What is your purpose in Shimai?”

“I am to meet one who was once my blood—Father Kokoro Eko of the Imperial Court.”

“Is that so?” The guard went on rubbing the paper between thumb and forefinger, though it seemed mindless now, his thoughts elsewhere. Everyone else who had been stopped at the gates had already passed on into the town, leaving newcomers to stare at us. Their curiosity nagged at me. “Well I’m afraid you’ll be late, because I don’t like these papers. They’re good, so good they might even be real, but it’s not a risk I’m allowed to take. I was born in Giana. My papers have Governor Ortono’s signature, and it doesn’t look like this.”

“What governor doesn’t rely on his secretaries to—?”

The papers were thrust back into my hand. “The answer is no. Now move out of the way, you’re blocking the road.”

Considering the anger and frustration that bubbled inside him, it was impressive how calmly Jian thanked the man and blessed him and turned the wagon around. People grumbled as we got in their way and threw Jian unwanted advice on how to better handle the reins, but the guard who had refused us entry remained impassive.

While the wagon turned, I had a good view down the main avenue into Risian, and there were the same trees and gibbets hanging with bodies that had graced every town along the way. There had even been collections of them swinging by the roadside, some burned to charcoal, others left to be pecked apart, always with the same warning sign. For the crime of witchcraft.

As they disappeared from sight behind the wagon, I fiddled with the band of cloth wrapped around my wrist and wondered how many of them had been like me.

By the time we left the Willow Road just short of Shimai, we had already missed the rendezvous. Jian tried to be hopeful despite his fatigue, but under the weight of his frustration and my own doubts, my head drooped like the red and yellow wildflowers that ran in patches beside the road. To keep myself afloat, I took to loosing arrows into every passing tree and dashing back to collect them. Jian warned me I would tire myself out, but as archery always kept me calm, he didn’t try too hard to dissuade me.

Not wishing to proclaim the arrival of a travelling priest, Jian parked the wagon in a distant field and walked to the village wrapped in a travelling cloak. I remained behind and fretted, and by the time he returned, I had not only loosed the ox from the wagon’s shafts but also washed some of our clothes in the sluggish stream, put on the rice, boiled water for tea, and climbed into a cluster of fruit trees to pick sour plums. These I peeled and sliced with the quiet focus I only ever found when completely alone.

“He was there last night,” Jian said, returning while I was loosing arrows into yet another innocent tree, taking solace in the rhythm of nocking, drawing, and loosing. “But he left a message with the innkeeper. He won’t be seen two nights in the same place, but there’s a small estate a half mile south of here, and he’ll be there tonight and only tonight. Then he goes back to Mei’lian.”

“An estate?” I lowered my bow. “You mean the home of a lord?”

“More likely a merchant or a councillor if it’s small, but yes. It would have been better to have met him at the inn. The innkeeper is an old friend of mine.”

Worry itched at me, but with answers so close, I could not abandon the search now. I had been given to Jian as a child, too young to remember more than a few closely held memories and images of my former life. Jian had taken me in, had treated me as his own; he had fed me and educated me and helped me develop ways to cope with my unusual burden, and yet for all his kindness, I had never been satisfied. He could tell me nothing about my past.

This time, Jian didn’t say we could turn around and go back to Chiltae because he had already said so a dozen times. Nor did he show surprise when I said we would go to the meeting. More than ever, I needed to know who I was. And what I was.

We tended the ox, cleaned the wagon, said prayers, and ate our meal in silence, and when darkness fell, we gathered our cloaks and started for the estate.

The heat had not abated, but wind whipped at the skirt of my short robe as I slid my feet into my reed sandals. To reach the estate of the unknown maybe-lord, we had to walk a short distance back toward the Willow Road, following the innkeeper’s instructions beneath the faint guiding light of a half moon. We walked in si