The Shattered Vine Read Free

might not have deigned to noticeher, wrapped in his own importance. “It is true, my . . . it is true. The birds, when released, veer north or south, but will go neither east nor west to the ocean, no matter what magics we use. They veer, and then they return.”
    Messenger-birds were spelled to follow the flow of magic, were sensitized to the flow of magic, in ways only they—and Vinearts, who crafted the spellwine—could comprehend. If they would not go a certain way . . . something terrible came.
    The Washer kept his hands steady, and only the solitaire saw the faint, fast twitch in his cheek. He had not known this.
    Neither had she, nor any of her sisters, else word would have reached her, a warning. This was new, uncanny. A solitaire, trained to sword and hound, did not trust that which was uncanny.
    At her side, the hound whined once, pressing its head against her knee as though seeing reassurance. Like the Washer, she had none to give.

P ART I
Revenant
     

Chapter 1
    T HE B ERENGIA
    Autumn
    A
box edge hit
against the rail, nearly cracking the wooden slats. “Ai! Careful with that!”
    The hands holding the box curved in an unmistakably rude gesture, and Ao raised his arms in disgust. “Go ahead then, ruin it. It’s not as though it were expensive, or rare, or . . .”
    Mahault glared at him over the top of the crate, her arms straining with the weight. “You want to come here and handle it, then?”
    Ao gestured grandly at the stumps of his legs, hidden under the blanket across his lap. “I am somewhat indisposed at the moment. . . .”
    Jerzy leaned against the railing a few feet away, feeling the sway of the
Vine’s Heart
below him, his body almost unconsciously moving to the lull of the waves, and wasn’t sure if he was too tired to laugh.
    Probably.
    It was good to hear the two of them bickering again. It had been difficult weeks since they fled the coastline of Irfan, and the disaster of their journey. The quiet-magic he had used to keep Ao from bleeding to death immediately after the serpent’s attack had not prevented infection from setting in soon after, and between Ao’s fever and Jerzy’s own exhaustion, the mood had been grim enough without the others’ overanxious guilt and fears bringing them down further. Even now there was cause for worry: Jerzy had stopped the bleeding that would have cost the trader his life, but despite Ao’s determined cheer, the pain was still obvious on his face, and the risk of rot setting in still too high for anyone’s comfort.
    After the first week passed and Ao did not die, Jerzy had banned both Mahault and Kaïnam from the main cabin, treating the injured trader by himself. The others, worn down by the need to keep watch and keep the
Heart
on a steady course, aware that at any moment the Washer’s ship—or another—might swoop down on them from the deeper ocean, were only too happy to leave him to it. Even when Ao recovered enough to sit up on his own, and come out on deck for the fresh air, the fear lingered among his shipmates.
    Two months since they had fled the shores of Irfan, two months of steady sailing with only three able-bodied crew, and one of them him; they’d been forced to cast the weigh-anchor at night, when the winds died down, and sail as hard as they could dusk and dawn. Sighting the Berengian shoreline the night before had improved all their spirits.
    The sooner they were home, the better.
    “Children,” Kaï said now, passing them by with his own packs balanced almost carelessly in his arms. “Play nice, or I’ll throw it all overboard.”
    Kaïnam’s attempt to pull a princeling’s superiority did make Jerzy laugh. As they turned toward the welcoming harbor that morning,Kaïnam had asked Jerzy to heat water for shaving, and Mahault had abandoned her trou and tunic for a more reputable dress that covered her arms and legs, while the others had brushed out their clothing as best they could, looking for something not faded into