‘Ris,’ Salvacion says, drawing it out serpent-like, savouring the sound. The Seaguardians move across the bar and slide into the seats next to us, movements so languid it’s torture. Ryla and Kopiro study their cards furiously, and the silence is choking.
‘Nice dress, Ris.’
‘Good to see you too, Salvacion,’ I say, not meeting her eyes.
‘It looks like you’ve been spending your time well,’ she says. She takes a slow sip of her drink and sets it down, smacking her lips together. ‘You know why we’re here.’
‘I told the steward last time. I can’t pay yet,’ I mumble, staring down at my cards.
Salvacion knocks them from my hand, and they scatter across the table. She barks a laugh. ‘Look at me when we talk – it’s only polite,’ she says. ‘You have to settle your debt, Ris.’
I swallow hard, my tongue thick in my mouth.
Her lackeys touch the hilts of their swords. The manner is offhand, as you would adjust a sleeve.
‘The sheep are sick,’ I explain. ‘I’ve tried finding out what’s wrong with them. They can’t produce more—’
Salvacion slams her drink across the side of my head. The room swings and it feels as though bells are clanging inside my brain.
Vullis lurches forward to steady me. ‘Are you all right, Ris?’
Something wet trickles out of my ear, and I wonder how it can be warm and cold at the same time. Ryla proffers a handkerchief, and it comes away covered in a sickly cocktail of blood and cider.
‘Take a walk, lads,’ Salvacion tells her Seaguardians, and they get up, moving as if they are patrolling the tavern.
She leans forward, face set in grim determination, and whispers, ‘You’re out of options, Ris. They know about Biba.’
‘What?’ I hold the kerchief to my bloodied face, unable to think straight.
Salvacion brings her mug back to her lips, alcohol and blood sloshing together down the sides. ‘For the love we both bore my brother,’ she says.
Salvacion reaches towards her hilt, and I feel my friends tense beside me – but her fingers brush past to reach into a pocket. She removes a waxed, yellowed piece of paper, the edges frayed where it’s been folded over the years. She unfolds it like undressing a lover. Salvacion swipes the contents of the table onto the floor – drinks, cards, and tokens go flying, unheeded. She lays the paper on the table, glancing momentarily at her lackeys who are now at the bar, liberally helping themselves to Vullis’s supplies.
‘Do you trust these fools?’ Salvacion asks, and I nod. She indicates for us all to come closer.
I ignore the stabbing behind my eyes and the dripping of my blood and focus on scrawls of spidery ink. They are meaningless to me, so I desperately try to understand the images. I spot the mainland, the Bastion atop the hill, the other isles like fingers disjointed from a palm. I remember the tale of Paranish’s founding, the great otter-cat who jumped across the waters and left an imprint of his paw. Our islands, our home. There we are: the Spring Isle.
‘This is a map of Paranish,’ Vullis says.
‘Glad you’d recognise your own arse, barkeep,’ Salvacion says. She hovers a finger near the corner of the map, where a dark void fills the emptiness of the ocean. ‘Look here.’
‘Looks like a tea stain to me,’ Kopiro blurts. Salvacion wags a mischievous finger.
‘The Lahon Maelstrom,’ I say grimly, staring at the map.
Salvacion nods.
I touch the map gently. ‘How did you get this?’ I ask.
‘The same way I got Larkin’s,’ she says, crossing her arms.
My stomach drops. We’ve all heard the stories: tales of unspeakable treasure and, inevitably, the dangers that guard it. If you survive the Lahon Maelstrom, you might just be able to steal it. That’s what Larkin tried to do. It had been our dream, until I became pregnant, and my parents fell ill. Those everyday anchors that hold you back. Or at least, they had held me back. Larkin had gone anyway, like a thief in the night. And Salvacion had helped him.
‘This is a death sentence!’ Vullis protests. ‘No one has ever come back from there.’
‘Then where do the stories come from?’ Salvacion asks, sourly. ‘Look, this is your last chance. Unless you want to give up Biba to the Temple. They’ll come for her, Ris, and you’ll never see her again.’
I stare at Salvacion and see Larkin’s stubbornness in her eyes. She wouldn’t have risen through the Seaguardian ranks without it.
