She sniffed. “You don’t know me.”
Richard smiled. Despite the dirt, he really was a strikingly handsome man. Arrogant, predatory, but handsome.
“Those of us who are killers learn to recognize others of our kind. We know rivals because they pose danger.”
“And I don’t?” Charlotte asked quietly.
He smiled again, and this time his face was almost mournful. “Even the most peaceful and kind person will become dangerous if backed into a corner. I don’t question your power, but you don’t have the innate aggression or the predatory drive of a natural-born killer. I’ve been one all of my life, and what I’ve done and seen during these past months haunts me. I know what lies ahead. I know it will be very difficult for you. You think now that you’re dealing with grief and purging it from yourself, but it’s only the first taste of what’s to come. Are you sure you don’t want to return? I would consider it an honor to escort you to the Edge.”
“No.”
“Do you think the Edgers wouldn’t take you back?”
She sighed. “They would, but I can’t go back to East Laporte. When the slavers surrounded the house, Éléonore called me. I drove to our neighbors to ask for help. They gathered about twenty people together, all carrying guns, then they stood around.”
“Nobody wanted to fight,” Richard said. “They probably delayed until the slavers were gone. Typical.”
She turned to him. “Yes. Éléonore lived among them all of her life. She helped many of them, and they just abandoned her and left her to die. And when I asked them for help to go after those bastards, not one of them would meet my eyes. I can’t go back there. I’ve made my decision. I don’t know what your motivations are, but mine are just as valid. Please respect my need for justice.”
“My apologies,” he said. “I won’t mention it again.”
Charlotte wiped her face with her sleeve and rose. Richard got up.
She held out his cloak. “Thank you for your cloak.”
“My pleasure.”
Richard held her horse’s reins while she put her foot in the stirrup and mounted. He handed them to her, got into his saddle, and they rode out.
Half an hour later, the forest parted. Charlotte halted her horse. A wide field of waist-tall grass spread in front of her, rolling into the distance, where a nacre sea lapped at the shore under a bottomless dark sky. To the left, bathed in the salt water of the ocean, rose impossibly tall towers. Built of pale gray stone, they were triangular in shape, smoothly curved at the corners. A turquoise metal wave tipped each tower, sending rivulets of metal down the pale stone sides, like climbing plants that had sprouted a network of thin roots. The moonlight played on the metal, and its gleam matched the reflections on the placid ocean. The towers stood in a perfect semicircle, enclosing most of the city, like wave breakers.
“Kelena’s Teeth,” Richard said. “During hurricanes the towers send out a magic barrier, shielding the city from the storms and the worst of the surge.”
“It looks as if the city is halfway in the water.”
“About a third. There are canals running all through the city, so when the tide rises, the water simply passes through Kelena into the salt marshes. All that grass is deceptive. That’s not solid ground under it, it’s marsh flats with a thin layer of water over mud. An ideal home for horned turtles. They grow to five feet wide and can snap a human femur in half with their jaws. Fortunately, they are slow and rarely venture on the road. Shall we?”
Charlotte nodded and they trotted down the highway toward the city. She could see between the towers now, and from her vantage point in the saddle, the interior of the city looked like a mess of roofs, balconies, and bright, frayed banners. A human hive, just as Richard had described it: messy, chaotic, filled with strangers. A vague anxiety rose in her. From here, the city appeared too large, too full of people. While at the College, she had dreamt of traveling, but once she left it, the marriage and the house had taken precedence.
Now she was riding toward this teeming city through the night, accompanied by a man born between the worlds who cut steel with his sword and had flawless manners. It felt surreal.
“My brother says the Broken has a city in this exact same spot. According to him, its citizens have an unhealthy fascination with pirates,” Richard said.
She found his voice strangely reassuring. “The same brother who stole your ballad?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“What does he do?” she asked to keep the conversation going.
“He’s an agent of the Mirror.”
Charlotte turned to him. “He is a spy?” The Mirror was Adrianglia’s intelligence and espionage agency, the realm’s main weapon in its cold war with the neighboring Dukedom of Louisiana. It operated in the shadows, and the exploits of its agents were legendary.
Richard grimaced. “He steals anything that’s not nailed down, cons people into going along with his improbable schemes, and possesses a unique talent that lets him win when he gambles. It was the Mirror or a prison cell.”
His distaste had a false, put-upon quality about it. “You’re proud of him,” she said.
A narrow smile lit Richard’s face. “Extremely.”
“I’ve never been to the Broken,” she told him. “I tried, but my magic was too strong.”
“Neither have I,” he said. “I also tried to cross and nearly died. The Edge is my limit. I would love to see the Broken.”
“I would, too.”
The Broken’s gadgets fascinated her. Some, like microwave ovens, had their equivalent in the Weird, but others, like plastic wrap and cell phones, were completely new to her. When she had received de Ney manor, she had climbed into the attic. It was filled with strange things from the previous owners’ travels, and she loved to sort through their abandoned treasures. Each item was a little discovery, wrapped in echoes of adventure. She felt the exact same way about the swap meets she’d gone to in the Edge. She rarely bought things, but accompanying Éléonore on one of her treasure hunts was an experience in itself. Éléonore would find some strange gadget from the Broken, and her face would light up.
Grief stabbed her. Charlotte stared ahead at the city. She would make them stop. They would regret the day they ever came to East Laporte.
“Do we have a plan?” she asked.
“The slaver ship docks tomorrow night,” Richard said. “They will expect a crew of at least ten men and a group of slaves, usually twelve to fifteen, typically adolescents and young adults. If they don’t see that on the shore, the ship may not dock. It’s imperative we get on that ship.”