Page 31 of Heir

But the wind swept out, tugging at her to follow.

Sirsha threw on fresh clothes and her boots. After a moment’s consideration, she grabbed her newly stuffed pack, braided her wet hair, and made her way outside. The earth tugged at her, pulling her south through Navium’s crowded streets, until the ocean appeared ahead, its waves a thundering roar.

When she reached the wide stretch of sand beach, she looked around. There were no bones here. She knelt and put her hand to the sugar-soft sand.

Follow the bones.

It wasn’t the wind screaming this time, but the earth. The two so rarely echoed each other that Sirsha didn’t know what to make of it. Her client had told her that sixteen young people were murdered across the Empire. But Sirsha felt the bones, even if she couldn’t see them. In Navium alone, dozens of lives had been cut short. So many that if she found every body and buried it, she’d be here for weeks.

The bones were hidden deep in the earth, in the sewers that carved another world beneath the city.

Sirsha rose, perplexed. The wind had shoved her here; the earth had spoken. There must be a reason for it. Behind her, a row of seaside businesses bustled.

Shopkeepers lit blue-fire lanterns, illuminating the night with a cerulean glow. To Sirsha’s left, a long dock stretched into the sea, dozensof vessels tethered to it, their masts undulating and creaking with the winter tide.

They were pleasure boats, mostly, those used by Navium’s elite. Each was emblazoned with the crest of an Illustrian Gens. Sirsha frowned as she surveyed them. Perhaps the elements were telling her that the killer was a wealthy Martial. She wouldn’t put it past a bored Illustrian to start murdering children.

To her right, another dock disappeared behind an outcropping of rock. Two Masks loitered near it. Perhaps the killer was a Mask. Skies knew Blackcliff bred them violent, even if their skill was legendary.

But no—there was no trace of the trail around the Masks. She edged toward the seaside eateries—though she’d just had dinner—lured by the scents of almond cake, stewed apricots, and hot tea. But as she was about to open the door to a bakery, the air shifted to reveal a glowing white filament: the killer’s trail. Her relief at seeing it so clearly was overshadowed by the fact that it led not to the docks or the city, but directly out to sea.

“Ten hells,” Sirsha muttered, drawing a look from one of the velvet-clad Illustrians behind her. She couldn’t tell if the trail led east, west, or south. It didn’t matter. A sea journey meant a longer job. Sea winds were harder to read, and water was her weakest element. The trail she was following was so strange, she didn’t know if she could track it over the ocean.

But she’d caught it now, and even if she hadn’t made that damned vow to the Martial, her curiosity had taken hold. Sirshawantedto find this woman. She wanted to understand how in the hells she was hiding her trail without magic. So, even though a warm room awaited her, Sirsha pulled her fur-lined cloak closer, ignoring the frost in her wet hair, and made for the merchant harbor to the east to hire a ship.

The wind nipped at her as if irritated, and even the earth twitchedbeneath her feet. “Yes, yes,” she said to the elements. “You want me to leave Navium. But I can’t fly, so we must go to the docks.”

The streets were aglow with Tribal lanterns and food stalls. It seemed as if everyone was out in the streets for Rathana. Even the docks, usually quieter at night, were packed with families and friends celebrating the Empire’s midwinter festival.

The tracker made her way through the crowds, passing massive Mariner schooners and Ankanese dhows, their sails emblazoned with an enormous eye. She spotted a Thafwan ship, but Thafwans were sticklers for rules. What she needed was something small, fast, and discreet.

The wind nudged her and she walked quickly. It was a clear night, though cold enough to make her teeth hurt. Unease gnawed at her. An agitation came upon her the longer she spent at the docks.

A strange aura tainted the air. A presence that did not belong. Sirsha glanced up at the black night sky. It was patchy, as if from the weather, but there were no clouds. Instead, it looked as if the stars were blocked out.

The wind howled in Sirsha’s ears, sudden and unmistakable.

Run, swiftly, the wind hissed.Run, little one.

She bolted without thought, without consideration. In seconds, she’d left the docks and turned up one of the few alleyways that wasn’t packed with people. She looked back over her shoulder.

Musicians played and families danced, and jugglers threw up torches lit with flame as children shrieked in delight. All appeared well. Except for a sound—the strangest sound. Like a bee buzzing, but more penetrating and growing louder by the second—until it felt like a shriek burrowing in her brain.

She clasped her hands over her ears. The music stopped. Others covered their heads too. And then, in a dreadful chorus, everyone around her began to scream.

10

Aiz

Kithka dragged Aiz down deep into the prison’s depths, where there was hardly even a rumor of light. The cells were icy and hellish—holes in the ground with a latched door on top and a latrine ditch in the corner.

Aiz thought her jailers would leave her inside for a day or two. She’d survive. She had her anger to soothe her, fuel her, strengthen her for whatever came.

But almost immediately, she was gripped by nausea and confusion. In the Hollows, the only light came from the twisting purple ore veining the gray stone. The ore seemed to pulse like the fading heart of a fresh-felled deer. When Aiz touched it, she felt infinitely worse.

Aiz heard no sounds at all. No whispers from other prisoners, no passing footsteps. Not even the scurry of rats. There was only silence so profound that she would scream on occasion to remind herself she was alive.

A day passed. Three. Perhaps more, but after a time, Aiz couldn’t keep track. The walls pressed in on her, and she struggled to breathe.

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