Page 32 of Fate of Echoes and Embers
I leaned forward, as if understanding the words in the journal I was looking at, which I did not.
“Doesn’t forget what? What does it want?” I asked.
It was Bram who answered. “Balance. Not unlike Elydor itself.”
“They say nothing taken from the sea is truly free,” Marek said. “It must be earned or returned. If not, the Depths will claim their due.”
Mev frowned. “A soul for a soul.”
“Or worse,” Bram muttered, “a fate for a fate.”
I looked up. “You know much about the Depths for a human living so far away from them?”
The shopkeeper was hiding something. I had the sense that, beneath his affable demeanor was an astute mind, one that weighed every word and every deal.
Master Bram coughed, apparently not willing to respond. It was as if… as if he deferred to Marek. My eyes narrowed. There was much more to this journal than appeared on the surface.
“I will take it,” Marek said. “And consider my debt paid.”
Though Master Bram appeared anything but pleased, he did not argue.
* * *
It wasn’t until later, when we were seated at The Drowned Oath, an inn and tavern where we would spend the evening, that I called out Marek on the deal he’d made.
“What did you not tell us back there?”
Kael had escorted Mev to the privy chamber, despite her insistence on being able to do so alone. I understood his concern. When we’d asked Marek where we would stay the night, he’d said, “A place where the ale is strong, the card games cut-throat and rumors whispered in dark corners often prove more valuable than gold.”
“I don’t know what you?—”
“Please, stop.”
Marek’s hand froze halfway to his mouth. Placing his ale back down, he watched me.
“I was angry when you left. And even angrier when I saw you in that tavern because I realized in that moment how much I’d truly allowed you to affect me all these years. I had finally begun to let it all go, until you showed up at Hawthorne. When you suggested we begin again, I told myself… this is for the best. Holding onto those feelings has done me no favors. But understand, Marek…” I said his name forcefully, channeling my mother, who had never doubted her authority. “For that to happen, you need to be more honest with me than before.”
He blinked. “Honest,” he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him.
“Honest. I cannot be myself with someone who I do not trust.” I could tell that hurt him, but there was no hope for it. “You know more about me, the true me, than most. Please do not abuse that knowledge by lying to me.”
I had opened myself up to him in a way I had not any other. A difficult lesson, but one I would not repeat. I picked up my own ale, confirmed Kael and Mev were still nowhere in sight, and turned back to Marek.
When he wasn’t smiling, Marek actually appeared quite fierce. His jawline defined and set, clothing denoting him very much a sailor, he fit in quite well with The Drowned Oath’s clientele.
He glanced up, over my shoulder, Marek’s back to the wall, and focused once again on me.
“Bram secured that journal for me. I have been coming to Valmyr Port for many years as it is a known smuggler’s haven. The antiques dealer is one of a very few who know the truth about the reason behind my less than above-board activities.”
He stopped as Kael and Mev sat down, Mev immediately launched into a story about a conversation she had overheard between the innkeeper and a patron who apparently refused to pay the coin owed for his meal because it was “unseasoned.”
It seemed I would have to wait for the rest of his story. One I didn’t expect to hear, even after asking him to be honest with me.
The reason behind my less than above-board activities.
What could that possibly mean?
“Tell them what else we heard,” Kael said, taking a bite of one of the meat pies that had been brought to the table. He, apparently, would have done so himself but Gyorians were a hungry clan. It was well known, they ate more than most Elydorians, more akin to humans.
