“They can only do that because there are people like us to worry about all the others,” Taavin murmured.
Vi brought her attention back to the ale slowly growing warm in its flagon. She took a sip and refocused herself.
“What’s our goal tomorrow?” Vi produced the worn book, still filled with the maps Tiberus had gifted Adela years ago. Vi had added onto those maps over the past months. “I’d propose we head north through the tunnels.”
“Seems as good as any idea.” Taavin pointed at one of the winding tunnels. “You mean this one?”
“I was thinking so.”
“Might as well keep crossing them off one by one.” Deneya took a long drink. “Eventually, we’ll go through them all.” The woman met Vi’s eyes. “What if the crown isn’t—”
The door to the tavern opened and a rowdy bunch came singing in, interrupting Deneya. A noisy crowd wasn’t particularly uncommon. What made Vi turn her head was the language they were singing in.
The throaty tones of Mhashanese filled the tavern as they finished the last refrain and devolved into laughter. They continued to carry on, heading straight for the bar. The leader among them, a man with dark, spiked hair, ordered from the young woman behind the counter.
“A round of your finest for my crew.”
“Comin’ right up.” Maleese wasn’t bothered. Even though she couldn’t be much older than seventeen, the young woman was accustomed to bawdy sailors running amok in her bar. She’d clearly grown up among salt-crusted, curse-spitting men and women. “Not often we see Westerners in here,” she said on behalf of every patron in the bar who was carefully regarding the newcomers.
“We’re not Westerners,” the man said. Vi knew that voice. How did she know that voice? She fought to place it, shifting in her seat.
“I hear it too,” Deneya whispered over the top of her ale.
“Hear what?” Taavin leaned closer to say.
“The voice is familiar, but I can’t place it… I want to see the man’s face.”
“What are you, then?” Maleese set four flagons heavily on the bar and went back to filling four more from the tapped keg. “Look Western to me.”
“We’re Mhashanese,” the man said proudly. A notable distinction to make.
“Oy, Violet,” Maleese called over to Vi. It was the name she was going by now. “YouMhashanesetoo? Have I had it wrong this whole time?”
The man at the bar turned his head. Vi locked eyes with him.
He was older now, resembling more and more of his father by the day. The father Vi had killed with two words.
Hello, Luke, Vi thought darkly.
“You can call me whatever you like, as long as you keep the ale coming,” Vi said with a wink. A few of the other patrons gave her an approving nod or cheer in agreement.
Luke took his drink off the bar and walked over. He had a relaxed smile—more of an arrogant grin.
“Fiarum evantes,” he said to the table.
“Kotun in nox,” Vi replied deftly.
He paused, staring at her for a long minute. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t know how you would.” Vi shrugged.
“You look like a woman I once knew. But by now she would be…” He trailed off, and then shook his head, as if dismissing the notion. Luke had become a middle-aged man, and Vi still looked eighteen. Even if he recognized her perfectly, he clearly doubted his eyes. The man continued speaking in Mhashanese; knowing him, it was likely some kind of test. “Not common to see Westerners in the land of gold hair and snow fields.”
“Could say the same to you,” Vi replied in the old Western tongue. Even though she knew her pronunciation and grammar were flawless, thanks to Yargen’s magic, it still felt odd to pronounce the words once more. “What brings you here, brother?”
“We’re starting a sailing route between here and Norin. Regular runs on fast ships.” He swept his eyes across the table; Deneya and Taavin both gave nods. They had begun inking Taavin’s hair to make it black. With the deep tan of his skin, he looked the part as much as Deneya. “I don’t think we’ll have much room for passengers. But for the right price, I could liberate you from this icy prison.”
Vi chuckled. “Perhaps we should take him up on it?”
