Shadow Touched

38. NAIMA

Fatherland Heights. Fatherland Heights?

Harbour's note plays on a loop in my mind as I walk up one of Varran's backstreets. To say I'm confused would be an understatement. I expected Harbour to hound me for information. To browbeat me into revealing more about Grey, about his sickness...about Solditch even. Instead, I find out she's made a fool's promise to some mysterious buyer, been unceremoniously kicked out of her home—which I politely broke into—and left with an empty rum bottle and a baffling clue. I think that's what this is meant to be.

Fatherland Heights.

Maybe it's a location—maybe it's where the journals are being stored? I've never heard of such a place. Most places in Athecca are named after dead gods. Winter's Forest. The Sagehound Pass. Ember's Valley. I don't know of a god associated with a fatherland.

This clue is a real head-scratcher. That's for sure.

Shoving the piece of parchment into the dagger holster strapped to my thigh, I pick up my pace. I need to return to the castle before morning, and I doubt there will be another lorry for me to jump to make the journey faster.

I wind my way through the twisting city backstreets. Fallhallow's resides in the seediest part of Varran, so obviously, I know the area well. The route I take has me pass several not-so-secret gambling halls, pleasure houses and the Red Petal—an opium den run by a small man called Suxdes, whom Harbour claims is a satyr. Still, I think he is just a sad, pathetic man who peddles poppy juice to the disenfranchised.

The buildings along this stretch are old, with high peaks and big, char-black doors, rounded at the top. They're all made from the bloodred clay known as Carnage Rock. It's said the clay turned red when the river filled with the blood of dying gods during the Exodus. The clay is imported from across Athecca, pulled from the Mistchill River, which feeds into Lake Prism—the Great Lake of Illusion. It marks the border between Atheccan territory and uninhabitable lands overrun by forest. The land is considered a death sentence. No one who goes in has ever come out.

Another turn has me walking up a rather tight alley, which will dump me out at the bottom of the Mynah.

The alley is dark. Few lights remain on outside, and those that do burn low. It's fine. I'm unbothered as I make my way through. Or instead, I'm unbothered until I'm not. My steps are soft and light; I tread quietly, which makes it easy to notice when the echo of my steps is made louder by another pair of feet. Feet that match me step for step. I keep my pace as is, casual. I don't look over my shoulder or even around. I do, however, loosen my urimu, shaking my wrist just slightly to loosen the blade within the cuff.

The steps following me pick up their pace. Whoever is behind me has decided to make a mad dash. I'm not about to let myself get jumped by some weirdo in an alley. I turn on my heel and flick my sword free. It unravels with a quick snick, snaking its way across the broken stone that lines the street. A big black boot stomps down on the tines. It stops the whip point from making contact with the person's shin. I pull my arm back hard, ripping the bit of sword from under the boot. I hear the sound of rubber peeling as I do.

"For fuck's sake!" Black Boot exclaims, jumping back. As he does, recognition hits. I'd know that brogue anywhere. I squint into the darkness to Keaton, dressed in black, his red hair hidden under a flat cap. He hops on one foot as he inspects the bottom of his boot.

"Keaton?" I ask, mystified to see him here in Varran City. "What are you doing here?"

He inspects his boot, running a finger along the razor-thin rip.

"You've sliced my boot in two." He looks at me, accusation in his eyes.

"You were stalking me. Poorly. Like a big, tall, ginger doofus. You're lucky I didn't slice your head in two!" I respond, my voice matter of fact. I sound casual, but inside, my heart is pounding. I have no idea how Keaton knew I was in Varran City. I don't understand why he's here. Worry that he'll discover my secret, coupled with concern for him and Vipes wars within me.

"You've not answered my question. What are you doing here?"

He finally drops his foot, shuffling his feet back as he avoids making eye contact with me. Finally, he gives me a guilty look.

"I followed you."

"You followed me? I—why?"

He shrugs as his feet continue to scuff the ground.

"I don't know. You...you seemed off when we took the necklace of Lord Whatshisface. Shook. You looked shook. It was as if some giant wind had come in and, I don't know, knocked your straw house over. I've never seen you look like that, Merce. I was worried. When I got home after hanging with Vipes, I saw a man—a big beast of a man—rushing out. I thought maybe you know you were just—"

"Getting off?" I supply.

He nods. Offering me another rather sheepish look.

"Then I heard you. You were, you know."

What he means is he heard me crying. He's too polite, or maybe too scared, to say it.

"I checked on you in the morning, but you were already gone. I waited around for you, and when you came back, you looked determined. Like you were on a mission. I watched you take off on Chaos, and I figured you must be going home, so I grabbed Kenna and made my way to Varran to ensure you were okay."

As he speaks, he pulls off his hat, letting his bright red hair tumble out like a flame in the night. He runs his hands through the loose curls, tucking the pieces that fall over his eyes behind his ears.

It's clear from all he's said I wasn't as good as I thought about keeping my secrets. Bit of a shock there. I'd been meticulous about erasing every part of Naima from Mercy.

"I never told you I was from Varran," I say quietly as I recall my sword, letting it snake its way back into my cuff.

He lets out a short breath.

"Aye, you didn't. You always just said you were from 'around.' Your accent, however, and the way you talk told me you were from Varran. Probably from some hoity-toity family, too, with how clipped you speak."

I frown at him.

"I'm not hoity toity." I say petulantly.

"Sure thing...Lady Naima."

My eyes widen as he calls me by name and title.

"You know, you're not the only one who can get information from a source. It's okay, though. I won't tell anyone, Merce. Your secrets are safe with me. I promise. I—you're my best mate. I didn't mean to pry or anything. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Really." His eyes are steady as he looks at me. I release the breath I didn't even realize I was holding.

I stepped forward and pull him into a tight hug.

"You're a real sweetheart; you know that, Keaton?"

He laughs as he squeezes me. Finally, he breaks the hug, stepping back.

"I have a lot of questions, Mercy...Naima...My Lady? What exactly am I supposed to call you?" He laughs at his own question. "I want to know everything. But first, and most importantly, are you okay?"

The question is so simple, but the answer is anything but. His concern causes a lump to pop in my throat. My eyes sting with unwanted emotion. I blink it away.

"In Varran call me Naima. None of that My Lady crap, though. And don't you worry your pretty little head, I'm right as rain, Sunshine." I throw him a quick wink and make my way back through the alley. He makes to follow but I stop him.

"Listen, I appreciate your concern. I really do. I know I owe you a proper explanation. Right now, I have to get back to the castle before they discover my rooms are empty. Tell me where you're staying. I'll come and find you as soon as I can get free. If you're willing to wait. No pressure."

"I've got time." He says as he shoves his hands in his pockets. "I'm staying at the Rose & Crown. I've got a room until the day after the Jubilee. Figured with all the people moving about, now's a good time for some Tom and Prig, if you know what I mean." He gives me his boyish grin, and I can't help myself; I give him a big grin in return.

"Opportunity makes a thief." We say it together, laughing once more.

"Come and find me, Mercy—Naima. I'll be waiting."

~*~