“Whydon’tthey destroy him, then?” the other raider sneered.
The first raider stabbed his knife into the wall of the pilothouse. “They don’t need to. The Pious God doesn’t exist.”
When he was younger, Ben would have argued. Monxeshad ingrained devotion and loyalty into him above anything else.“Those whose souls are corrupt will spew falsehoods. The Devil lies, in whatever form.”
Now Ben’s disagreement didn’t come from devotion. It came from knowing the truth.
“You’re wrong,” he said, and the raiders faced him, eager for a fight. But Ben didn’t speak maliciously. He was tired. “My father is the Pious God. If your gods can destroy him, tell them to do so.”
Ben left, moving to join Gunnar on the edge of the cramped deck.
As morning crested, the scenery changed from open lake to dense jungle. On the horizon, a river branched around a towering fort with a curved ivoryVon the outward-facing wall.
People around Ben whispered, “Fort Chastity.”
He had known the Church had imprisoned people on Grace Loray during the war, either executing them or branding them with anRfor “redeemed” and releasing them. But for the Church to target a group here in such a personal way... it was cruel.
It was Elazar.
The midday hour meant boats were out, though not many. Those other boats kept a steady pace, their crews staying tucked inside the pilothouse, not wanting Argridian defensors or Council soldiers to cry,Magic! They’re seeking magic!
Everyone on the deck of Ben’s steamboat shifted uncomfortably, realizing their inability to hide from patrols. And as they drew closer, angling down the branching river that ran along the southern part of the city, Ben saw docks around Fort Chastity buzzing with activity. Defensors unloaded cargo from steamboats in various sizes and shapes—all flying Argrid’s navy flag with the white curvedVcut through by crossed swords.
“What’s happening there?” another escapee whispered behind Ben.
But the Tuncian raiders didn’t respond. Ben looked back, seeking an answer, only to find their faces gray and twisted in confusion.
“Fort Chastity was empty when we left,” one raider finally said. “The Council wasn’t even there. Thought they’d all moved out to join up with Elazar.”
Another raider shot Ben a glare. “What do your people need in Fort Chastity?”
Ben swallowed his helplessness, bitter and vile. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
Elazar had listed Port Mesi-Teab in his proclamation—that the coming light would start in Grace Loray’s outlying cities, such as this one. Whatever the light was, defensors were preparing for it. And Ben still had no idea how to stop his father or what solace to offer his victims. Or even what Elazar was truly planning to do. He didn’t have permanent magic yet, so why was he still moving forward withpreparations for his coming light in Port Mesi-Teab? What had Ben missed?
The raiders huffed. Next to Ben, Gunnar shifted closer. Or maybe Ben just wished he had.
Beyond the fort, a city of stone and wood rippled in the distance: Port Mesi-Teab.
Over the years, Ben had visited two cities in Tuncay with Elazar’s retinue for various social engagements. The empire was a sometimes-hostile unification of five different peoples. Tuncian stewards had told Ben that he would need to visit the outlying villages to truly experience the cultural differentiations between the five groups, but each major city had become a hub of integration. From the architecture—buildings with spiraling narrow towers cozied next to squat structures with ballooning onion-shaped roofs; to the cuisine—some storefronts proclaimed that eating only food grown from the earth pleased the God of Rebirth while others peddled freshly slaughtered goats, but all adhered to a love of spices.
Port Mesi-Teab was a testament to Tuncay’s diverse peoples, fused with Grace Loray’s climate and resources. The architecture showed more practicality than design, with only two twisting towers poking the sky. The rest of the buildings were multistoried and looming, built of the island’s lumber in stages of additions—new, old, decrepit—and reminded Ben too much of the areas in Deza his father had forbidden him to go to for fear of kidnappers and thieves.
The Tuncian raiders turned the boat down one of the narrow, meandering rivers that cut into the port. The streets held an aura of silence and fear, with those who shuffled down the cobblestones huddling in protective groups. The only noise came from the patrols at every major intersection: a mix of defensors and Council soldiers around a bellowing monxe or priest.
“The light is coming!” these evangelists cried. “In a matter of days, the Eminence King’s light will bathe this city! Prepare your souls; cleanse yourselves of—”
The raiders on Ben’s boat glared at him. His body ran ice cold.
Elazar had chosen Port Mesi-Teab as the first port to receive hislight.Coincidence, that it was also the port of the raiders who had overthrown the Port Camden prison?
Ben felt ill.
Getting the boat to the sanctuary required backtracking, gliding through shadows, sending scouts ahead, and heavy silence. The moment Ben’s boat docked, barely avoiding Council soldiers ransacking a storefront, he and Gunnar were swept into the madness of escorting people into the sanctuary. They wove through the port, into a building, down a dark staircase, and emerged back outside in a burst of sunlight and campfire smoke and conversations in Tuncian dialects, Grace Lorayan, and now Emerdian. Various food smells blended together too, zesty spices and syrupy sugars and something acidic that might have been ale.
The sensations overwhelmed Ben in a welcome shock.
He didn’t know what he had expected. But it hadn’t been this.
