She nodded. “Have you felt yourself being watched? Anything out of the ordinary?”

What’s ordinary these days? “Nothing,” he said. “I see dragons, most days, but they are fewer than they were. When I move the Eye, I’ll make sure I’m not watched. Though Thalan may not be the best place to keep it. Somewhere stronger, or more secret, would be better.”

She mulled on that. “Find Sevrin first,” she said. “He will know best, Elyon Daecar.”

“I will do that, my lady.” He left her at that, giving her a bow as she returned to her task, stepping back out into the ward.

“Getting colder,” Roark said outside, squinting up at the skies. “And the days are darkening too. Where you heading now, then?”

“Northeast,” Elyon told him. In search of kings and giants.

18

“Another ship has been spotted coming from the south, Great One,” said the slimy seneschal in his slimy voice, he of the lank black hair and earthy hempen garb, a skinny creep of a man, snivelling and servile. “This one is bearing soldiers, hard-eyed and lean, wearing cloaks of dull grey and blue on their backs. I fear they may seek to land here, on the island. If they do…”

The Lord of Seals raised a flipper to cut him off. He looked down the table to Amara. “Who are these hard-eyed men? These colours…they’re of your kingdom, no? Vandar, was it?”

She wanted to kill him. Soon. By the gods I promise it. “They sound like Taynars,” she said, playing nice for now. “Most likely they are fleeing north, to the Ironmoors.”

“The Ironmoors?” The Great One repeated, in that horrid choked voice of his, as though his throat was constricted by the thick rolls of blubber that enwrapped his enormous neck. It seemed to amuse him tremendously to play dumb with these famous names. “Ah, yes, these hard cold lands to the north of the lake. Beyond the city of…um…what was it?”

“Elinar,” the seneschal told him, always eager to please. Amara did not hate him quite so much as his lord and ruler, but that did not mean much. There were many rungs on the ladder of hate, and while the Blubber King might be at the very summit, that did not mean his thrall of a seneschal didn’t warrant a place beneath him. “It is the city founded by Elin, my lord, who was the firstborn son of Varin.”

“Varin…yes, Varin, I know the name.” The Great One fingered his hairless chins, flesh wobbling. The rest of him was hairless too - his head, his brows, he didn’t even seem to have much in the way of lashes over his eyes. “The man who built this city of yours, my lady. Is that right? This city that you say was burning.”

She nodded, silent, trying not to think about it. The flames, licking at the suffocated dawn skies, the plumes of smoke, twisting up in great black columns, pouring from the burning keeps raised atop the hills. She remembered the screaming, of a hundred thousand souls, ringing out at the edge of hearing. The shapes of the dragons, moving through the mists, and that shadow, that vast winged shadow…dwarfing all others…the shadow of the Dread…

A shudder rippled through her, cold fingers climbing her spine. She reached out with a shaking hand to take up her cup of wine and drank deep. Still, even after all these days, the memories were fresh in her mind, haunting her; the shock had gone bone-deep. She gulped, feeling the warmth of the wine reach down into her chest, calming.

The Seal King was watching her through those tiny little eyes of his. “Better?” he asked her. “Wine helps. It always helps, no?”

A knife in your neck would help me more. “It does,” she agreed. “The best medicine, I always say.”

The whale gave a chuckle. “Others say that is laughter, but I agree with you, my lady. Wine is better, I have always thought. And food, yes. Food.” He licked his lips, beady eyes surveying the great feast laid out before him: plates of fish, herring and trout and salmon, pickled and salted and fried; great tubs of soup and stew and broth, made of shark and eel and seal; bowls of nuts and dried fruits; cakes, savoury and sweet, and a deal more besides. He reached out with one of his flippers and closed it around a fishcake, stuffing it into his maw. The whale was not a quiet eater. Amara stared, inwardly hateful, as he munched and chewed and slurped, crumbs tumbling to his gargantuan gut, neck bulging like a snake as he swallowed and swallowed and swallowed again.

The seneschal made a little move, just a shift of his slippered feet, to get the Great One’s attention. “My lord, the boat…I fear they may attempt to make harbour here, as I say. There are several dozen armed men aboard, I am told. If they should find their way upriver…”

“Then they will steal our food and rape our women and make this little haven of ours their own,” the whale said, through a mouthful of food. He chewed some more, swallowed, washing it all down with a full goblet of wine. “Oh yes, I have heard of these men of the Ironmoors. A rough folk, given to barbarism, who will take what they wish and kill to get it.” The Great One took another great gulp of wine, and shook his huge round head. “No. No, no, and no again. I say no to that. The world may well be falling to war out there, but here, no, here we are at peace. That cannot be allowed to change.”

The seneschal took his meaning, putting his hands together as he inclined his head. “I will make sure that the ship is…diverted, my lord. With good fortune we will be able to lure it away, beyond our shores, but I am told that it has suffered some damage. It may have no choice but to land, and…”

“And you’ll deal with it, yes?”

“Yes, my lord. I…I will deal with it.”

“Good. Then go, and see it done.” The Great One waved those fat fingers of his, dismissing the seneschal from his hall. Thrall that he was, the slimy creature bowed that spiny back and slipped away, out through the door of hanging vines that marked the way into the pirate lord’s palace, a hall woven and grown of wood and leaves over centuries. “I apologise for that unseemly interruption, my lady,” the Lord of Seals said, once the man was gone. “To bring this talk to table while we’re having our dinner.” He shook his blubbery cheeks. “It’s all such an ugly business, don’t you think?”

“Very ugly,” Amara agreed, glaring at him from behind the rim of her cup. She had watched him eating for days, stuffing his face on food enough to feed a hundred men. She had glimpsed his larders too, and seen the fisherfolk coming and going from the beach with nets wriggling and writhing, full to bursting. There is food here, she thought. Plenty of food, but you’ll not share it.

“You think me cruel,” the Lord of Lard observed, not missing that glare. “Oh, don’t deny it. I can see it there in your pretty grey eyes.”

“I think you’re trying to protect your people,” she said. And yourself, most of all.

“Yes, exactly. My people. There are only so many mouths I can feed, Lady Amara. I told you that, when you first came to me, do you remember? The tolls we charge, and the coin we take. It is only to feed my children.”

She remembered that well enough. She’d made a jape about his own mouth costing a fortune, a jape he hadn’t taken so well. She was in no mood for japing now.

The whale plucked a herring from the table and threw it down his neck like a pelican, swallowing in a single gulp. A great draught of wine followed, then more fish, a huge fistful of mixed nuts, some more herring after that as well, then another full cup of wine. All the while, the dainty little serving girl he kept at his side moved in and out, filling his bucket-sized goblet, making sure the plates were full of his favourite foods. No wonder she is so slim, with all that rushing back and forth. And the way she ogles that food…

“I wonder if you have given further thought to provisioning us with a boat,” Amara said, to break the whale from his gluttonous feasting. “It’s been long days now, and…”

“No.” He shook his big bald head. “No, and no, and no again, my lady. I say no to that. I gave you a longship before, to take you to Varinar, and you only came right back. I cannot allow you to leave, not at this time. It is too dangerous out there. I hope you understand.”

“You mean you didn’t get your money,” she said.

He put down his goblet and peered at her from across the table at which they sat, a huge oaken table that rested in the hall before his throne. All about them torches burned in wooden sconces on the walls and above lanterns swayed in the shadowed rafters, creaking softly. Just outside the hanging vines, a pair of burly Bladeborn guards kept watch at the door. Could I snatch up a blade and gut the whale before they get to me? The table was long - purposefully so, perhaps - but if she ran she might just make it.

“I promised you chests of gold and jewels to pay for passage,” Amara went on. “If you give us a boat and a host of strong oarsmen, we can row to Varinar and…”

“No,” he said, cutting her off. “Are you going to make me say it? No and no, and no again. I say no to that, my lady. You said yourself that this city of yours is in ruin, and I heard that from the captain as well. He told me about the fire, the smoke…the dragons. I will not have our boats go near that shore and risk drawing those beasts out here.”

“They’ll come eventually anyway. You can’t hide from them forever.”

“I can. And so must you. If you have an issue with that, my lady, I am perfectly willing to rid myself of a few mouths to feed and throw you and your men in the lake. If you continue to push me on this then I will have no choice but to expel you. You are grieving, I know, and I know what it is to grieve, so I will forgive you your insolences for now, but my mercy will not last. I have taken you in and given you refuge. I have fed you, clothed you, permitted you the use of my haven and my home. And for this, what do I get? Complaints and protests and these constant requests to leave.” He shook his head. “Why, I ask you? If you expect to find your husband alive in that ruin, you must think again. He is dead, as is your niece, sad as it is to say. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for you.”

Never, a part of her thought. Until she knew for sure, never…

She stood from her chair. “Do I have your leave to go?”

He frowned up at her, eyes lost in folds of flesh. “No,” he said. “Sit. I am not done with you yet.”

Her body was shaking with anger, but she did as she was bidden. Wine helps, she thought, reaching out and taking a gulp. She took another, and then another after that, struggling to compose herself. Memories haunted her. Of that first heartrending moment when she’d seen the city in flames, and broken down on the deck of the longboat, weeping for her sweet young Lillia. Sir Connor and Sir Penrose had demanded that the captain take them to shore, but he’d refused, and what could they do? The knights were too honourable to kill innocent oarsmen, and if they tried to swim in their armour every one of them would have drowned. It might have been easier, though, Amara thought. I should have just thrown myself overboard, and let the lake take me.

There were tears in her eyes, she realised, as there so often were these days. She wiped them away, turning her head to the side, but the whale had already seen. “Forgive me if I have spoken some hard truths, my lady. I did not mean to upset you.”

“It’s fine.”

“No. When I say I know what it is to grieve, I mean it. I have lost a son before, and a daughter as well. I watched my father killed by a rival and my mother…I was forced to stand witness to her rape when I was only a boy. Oh, you think me cruel, that is clear to see, but cruelty is often complex, and comprehensible when you know its source. Mine comes from a dark place, a place I will not take you to. But this is what it has made me. I feast to drown my feelings, and I guard those under my protection at all costs. The money you promised me is not of interest anymore. Our borders are closed, to those coming in and going out, and no one, not you or anyone else, will change my mind on this.” He took a pause, then said, “I will remain lenient for as long as I can. But if I get a sniff that you or one of your men are planning to kill me, or steal a boat and escape, I will have no choice but to make an example of you. A shame, what a very great shame that would be. But it will be done, my lady, of that you have my word.” He paused once more, then looked to the vines. “Go, then, if that is what you wish. And think about what I’ve said. I hope, in the weeks to come, you will give up on these follies and make your home here. That would be the best thing for us all, I know. Together, we can be happy.”

Together. The word made her want to vomit. She stood, turned, and left at once, neither bowing to him as he liked nor giving him a parting word. She marched past the guardsmen, down the long corridor of trees that led away from the palace, through the pretty grove that took root at the heart of the island. There were paths here, wood-decked and worn, the planking groaning underfoot as she marched. Little lanterns swayed in the branches and guards watched her warily as she went, hands on the hilts of their blades. They wore sealskin cloaks, scaly armour, with halfhelms wrought in the likenesses of fish and sundry sea creatures; a trout here, a leaping salmon there, a snapper and an eel, a shark and turtle, swordfish and lionfish and starfish. Amara had seen krakens too, and mermen, and other older things that lurked in the lake. Those appeared to be worn by the more experienced men, the captains who went out on their boats to ward off passing ships, or else take them in so that the duties could be paid.

Pirates, Amara Daecar thought. This is a nest of pirates, nothing more.

Those sailor-soldiers were not the only armed men here, though. There were Bladeborn about the island too, with godsteel mail and bits of armour, and misting blades at their hips. Some had once served in noble houses, or wandered the world as hedge knights for hire, or sought out contracts as sellswords and assassins. Amara had spoken with many of them by now, hearing their tales of how they’d come to be here, trying to detect whether any would be willing to turn their cloaks and help her. She had to be careful with that. If the Lord of Lard got wind of her sedition, he would not be best pleased, but now more than ever she knew she had no choice.

I’m not going to rot here with that whale. By now the whole of the north might be in flames, the world falling to ruin, everyone she cared for dead or dying. But as long as she stayed here, she would never know for sure. One way or another, she was getting off this rock.