On the day of sailing, Kadar stowed his belongings and strongboxes in the hold of the New Moon. The waterfront seethed with activity. Two more ships were moored in the harbor and another at the dock. Longshoremen were unloading cargo and stowing it in the warehouses that had once belonged to him. With deep bitterness, Kadar cast off and threaded his little smuggler through the near-shore moorings. When he’d emerged from the crowd, he raised the jib and made for the straits.
As he neared the Guardians, he could see someone standing atop one of them, high above the water, arms folded, the wind ripping at his cloak. Kadar recognized him as the stormcaster. Was he up there gloating as the New Moon sailed by? Or was he using some kind of magery to keep the passage open?
As the New Moon entered the straits, the stormlord’s hood fell back and sunlight glinted on his fair hair. Kadar blinked, looked again, squinting against the sunlight reflecting from stone.
It was Lucky Faris, very much alive, looking down at him. As their eyes met, Faris waved farewell. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, his expression could have been described as ruthless.
New Moon bucked, quivering under Kadar’s feet, forcing his attention forward. Ahead, the air rippled and swam as energy crackled between the Guardians. The sea churned as if some giant beast circled just beneath the surface. Kadar gripped the rail to keep from being pitched into the sea. New Moon was spinning, spinning as the water rose all around, pouring over the gunwales, sucking the ship down. Kadar spat out salt water and cursed the gods of sea and storm as he and his ship plunged beneath the surface.
14BASTON BAY
It had been two years since Evan lost Destin Karn, gained his first ship, and won control of the port of Tarvos. Two years during which he’d been in constant motion, building his fleet and his Stormborn crew in the ports along the Desert Coast and taking them across the Indio to the hunting grounds in the wetlands.
He couldn’t afford to dawdle. As soon as Celestine realized who the new stormlord was, she’d hounded him mercilessly at sea until the loss of three ships forced her to respect his growing power. After that, she came at him mostly through trickery, bribery, and subterfuge.
Most of his crew members came from among the empress’s bloodsworn. He’d taken Cloud Spirit back from Celestine a year ago, when he’d spotted her off Gryphon Point with a full hold and a light crew, including his former shipmates Brody Baines, Abhayi Arya, and Teza Von. Evan had hoped to find Tully aboard, but his luck didn’t extend that far.
It wasn’t difficult to persuade them to drink the brew of allegiance. The empress, it seemed, was not an easy mistress, and they’d not gone willingly into her service.
Evan was glad to be back among familiar faces, though it was difficult sometimes to navigate the change in their relationship. In the space of four years he’d gone from being a kind of shipboard mascot to being “Lord Strangward,” the central deity of a Stormborn cult. All around him, he felt the constant pressure of avid eyes. It was exhausting.
Despite frequent visits to ports in the wetlands, it had taken Evan the better part of a year to track Destin down in the capital at Ardenscourt. But when he’d reached out to him, there had been no response. When he persisted, Destin had sent a brief, curt note telling Evan to let go and move on, that any continuing correspondence would put them both in danger.
No matter what kind of shine Evan wanted to put on it, the message was clear—they had no future, as far as Destin was concerned. A romance on the beach—was that all it had been? It came down to one kiss and a lot of longing—on his part, anyway. It seemed that Destin had been seeking a business partner and nothing more.
And so Evan had done his best to move on. There were other, less complicated lovers in the ports on both sides of the Indio, boys who offered sweet kisses and warm embraces. Still, none could surprise and delight and challenge him like the soldier. Unfortunately, it seemed that Evan preferred complicated and dangerous to simple and sweet.
And then, out of the blue, a note from Destin, this urgent request for a meeting.
Evan knew that it could be a trap. The empress might have discovered the connection between them and used it against him. Back home, he’d already turned away one would-be lover who’d been sent to lure him into Celestine’s arms.
Then again, the empress might have nothing to do with it. Evan’s growing fleet had hammered shipping along the wetland coast, sometimes attacking the ports themselves. The price on his head increased with every taking under his stormcaster flag, whether he was personally involved or not. The capture of the stormlord might be the win that Destin needed to get ahead at the wetland court.
There was no way to justify taking this risk, and yet Evan couldn’t stay away. His crew couldn’t understand it, and made it clear they disapproved.
And so he found himself in the Ardenine port of Baston Bay in the shrinking days just before Solstice.
The city rose from the ocean’s edge like a fine lady whose skirts drag in the muck at the hem. Up above were the mansions of merchants and sea captains, with their towers and widow’s walks. Farther down, a mingle of modest houses and shops. And finally, down at the waterfront, the clicket-houses and taverns and gritty maritime businesses that served the shipping trade.
As the major deepwater port serving the Ardenine capital and the down-realms, the Bay seethed with commerce of all kinds, licit and illicit. Evan had been in the city a number
