Page 23 of Waves
The mayor set her coffee cup on a small side table and then she stood, stretching her long tentacles before allowing them to propel her across the floor in an undulating motion. "You might think so. Until you go to build a house, and this happens." Shepulled aside a blue and gold embroidered curtain to reveal a ghastly sight. There, in the very wall, were three blackened mer husks. Three husks of bodies, skin frozen to their bones, were stacked with only a few inches of ice between them. One’s head was turned toward us, one eyeball gone and a divot in his skull that indicated his death hadn’t been peaceful.
Shock and a tiny rivulet of revulsion flowed through my stomach before I was able to find the sort of sarcastic nonchalance the situation seemed to warrant. "Well. Bodies in the walls. That's definitely a decorating choice. I think my castle mage might approve."
"Oh, yes, I've heard about this undead mage. They say she works wonders..." Didero dropped the curtain and covered up the horrifying sight.
Didero ambled back to her seat and daintily took her coffee back into her hand, gruesome reality and pleasant chitchat filling the room simultaneously.
That was my life now. Pretty words and laughter surrounded by cold death. At first, the thought made me stiffen in my seat, clutch my cup a bit tighter. It made my thoughts a bit morose. Until I realized, perhaps death lingered on the edges of every life. Perhaps the rebellion just made me a bit more aware of it than most. Made me more appreciative of each little moment. Each delicate breath.
Perhaps I needed to compose a thank you letter to them.
Or maybe, once I found them, I’d stack their bodies on top of this glacier.
Both possibilities brought a secret smile to my lips as I finished off the last, deliciously warm sip of my coffee.
Chapter 10
Raj
Iclasped forearms with a shark shifter whose forehead was a mesh of wrinkles. The old man wasn’t a threat on his own these days. Age had whittled his muscles. But power has a way of radiating, creating an aura around a man. As soon as I’d seen him in the marketplace, I’d known he was the head of the rebels in this place, the one person I’d needed to speak to.
There was darkness in his eyes. The dead sort of weary expression that men get after they’ve squashed the whining voice of their own morality. Once they’ve realized that in order to do big things, you had to do bad things.
Such men operated on a different level than others.
Casually, I’d made my way across the market full of stalls and tables. My eyes had roamed the crowd, ignoring men hawking their carving services to families looking to expand their mountain or glacier homes, ignoring the children gutting fresh fish, ignoring weavers and bakers. I’d avoided looking at anyone who yelled or sought attention. That’s when I’d noticed him.
Whittling at a bit of driftwood, his shark fin protruding from his back, his posture had shouted he was casual. But the sweep of his eyes whenever he looked up was anything but.
His look was mercenary.
Drifting closer to the booth he sat near, I’d pretended to be interested in some of the stone pottery his granddaughter had been selling. But I’d let him see the sand dollars I’d slipped into the pot before setting it back down. Before meeting his eyes with an expression he’d recognized and then heading around the corner toward the closest bridge.
My feet had made an odd clinking sound with each step across the glass pebbles. When his steps had joined mine, I hadn’t been able to hold in my smug grin.
I couldn’t hold it in even as he agreed to each of my terms, his expression serious as he loomed over me.
“You understand, it has to be during the event,” I repeated my point, wanting to be certain this man understood. The world was full of far too many fools.
The shark shifter gave a low chuckle, one that was insulted more than amused. “Think I started stroking my dick yesterday?” His lips curled into a sneer. “I know how to—” I cut off whatever irritating point he wanted to make about his own competence. It didn’t matter. The bodies he was providing were merely a distraction, though I hadn’t told him that. No one wanted to be a sideshow. Everyone wanted to believe their life was a main event.
With a jerk of my head to the side, I said, “Two bridges to your right. There will be a pile of debris that looks like trash. Under it is a pile of sand dollars for your trouble.”
“It’s a lot of trouble.”
“It’s a lot of sand dollars.”
After an appraising look that would have earned him a death being boiled alive in Cheryn, the old man nodded. “Hope you know what you’re doing, kid,” he muttered, before he swam off.
Tempted as I was, I didn’t watch him go. My ring spun on my finger as I thought of all the ways to wish woe upon him for his arrogance. But I didn’t. Instead, I spun my ring and, in a movebefitting a peasant more than a king, I said, “I wish there was a pile of debris with four thousand sand dollars beneath it on the Mackerel Bridge.”
Making my own wishes. Pathetic.
But I wasn’t Raj the conqueror here.
No.
Here I was a spy. Infiltrator. A serpent.
