Being the Suun Read online

  “You’ll be lucky if you get any pay at all.”

  All of us—even magnanimous Erik—ignored him as we followed the dirt road.

  Luthair followed, complaining.

  As we rounded a small bend, Barepost unfolded before us in all of its miserable glory. We were still below the veil, so neither the sun nor the moons shone through significantly. The plateau itself was below the veil, as well, which was odd for this area. Almost all of the plateaus were above the layer of clouds that seemed to always be there.

  Barepost was a colorless town of dust with dirt roads and flat, brown storefronts that gave way to flat, brown houses with crumbling yards that turned to pools of mud when it rained. Which was often. The streets were always half-empty at this hour. Most people were too exhausted to do anything but go home and go to bed at the end of a long day in the mines.

  Our destination was the pub, an old, ramshackle three-story building that was easily the nicest one in town. A wooden sign above the door swung on squeaky hinges. The Gold Mine Inn & Pub. The name seemed entirely too optimistic to me. No one had ever extracted gold from these mines.

  Gerves, the owner, said it was ironic, but I wasn't fooled. He also said that opening the Gold Mine had been his lifelong dream. Another lie. No one came to Barepost with a dream to settle here. It was a place where people got stuck on their way to somewhere better. A place where living meant surviving. Not thriving, and certainly not dreaming.

  We banged through the door into the dark room, drawing all eyes to us as usual. Most everyone in Barepost was human. With our half-elven heritage, we couldn't go anywhere without being noticed, which was how most people in Barepost came to know us, though not many liked us. But I didn't care. With the exception of a select few, I didn't like them either.

  Every time we walked in here, I was reminded of the first time, when Estrid and I had come in battered and bruised and begged Gerves for a room. It hadn’t been our finest moment, but to be fair, Erik had been on his deathbed. After crashing on Bruhier, we’d dragged his unconscious body up the mountain, fighting off monsters and torrential downpours, until finally taking refuge in Barepost. Luthair—with his connections and his money—had saved him when neither of us could. But when it came to Luthair, nothing was free, and we were still here three years later, working off that life-debt.

  He followed us in as we wove through the tables and squeezed into a booth in the back. He slid in beside me.

  I glared at Estrid.

  She smirked and shrugged as if to say, “Better you than me.”

  The booth suddenly felt ten times too small. If I could, I would have crawled out from beneath the table and ran for it, but there was no way I would fit.

  “You need to get your women under control.” Luthair’s leg pressed against mine as he leaned forward and glared at Erik. “I’m the only one who can afford your exorbitant rates and the only one who can forgive you of your debt. You should all show me a little more respect.”

  “If you don’t like it, perhaps it’s time for us to move on.” I rubbed a hand down my tired face and scanned the room for Grissall, the serving girl and Gerves’s daughter.

  He turned to me, his breath on my cheek.

  I cringed and leaned away.

  “Respect.”

  “Respect is earned,” Estrid said coolly.

  “You think I haven’t earned respect? Who saved your brother’s life? Who keeps Barepost running? Who keeps it from turning into a lawless free-for-all?” He slapped his hands on the table so loudly that other patrons near to us turned.

  When they saw Luthair, though, they spun away.

  “Me. That’s who.”

  Estrid opened her mouth again.

  But we were saved by Grissall, Gerves’s daughter and serving girl. She set down four mugs of lukewarm ale and stepped back. She smoothed her dull brown smock and glanced nervously at the governor. “You want some stew? I think there’s enough left.”

  “Yes, please,” Erik said, answering for all of us.

  Grissall disappeared into the crowd.

  “Back to the matter at hand.” Luthair straightened, his chin forward.

  “Our payment?” Estrid interrupted.

  “Our freedom?” I added.

  “Your incompetence.” Luthair looked dryly at Erik.

  Erik put a hand on Estrid’s arm just as she was drawing a breath. Then he lifted his ale, took two large swallows, and banged it back on the table. His thick, golden beard had traces of foam in it. “We did the job you gave us with the tools you provided. We had an agreement, and I have honored my part. I don't know what is up for discussion.”

  Luthair glowered at Erik and Estrid in turn, then lowered his gaze on me.

  As uncomfortable as I was, I refused to squirm.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather purse cinched with twine, and dropped it heavily on the table. The coins inside clinked together.

  It took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to reach over and snatch it away.

  Erik drained his mug and then slid the purse toward him as casually as if we didn't need the money, as if our very existence didn't depend on it. “I assume you've kept your portion?”

  “Yes. One-quarter, as agreed.”

  I didn’t know how much we’d paid or how much was still due. I didn’t know what value they’d put on my brother’s life, but I didn’t ask. Neither of them would ever tell me, anyway. I would stay here as long as Erik needed me to.

  Grissall returned, four bowls balanced on her scrawny arms. “Here we are, then.” She deftly set a bowl before each of us.

  I thought Luthair might gag looking down into the lumpy broth. “What is this?”

  “Pa’s stew. He makes it every week from whatever is left over. Everyone loves it.”

  Well, that was a gross exaggeration, but to emphasize her point, I scooped a giant spoonful into my mouth. “Delicious,” I said around a mouthful of meat from an undetermined source.

  Grissall grinned, the smile changing her face. It made her look her actual age instead of like an old woman. “I’ll give Pa your compliments.”

  “Better to give him this,” Erik said, flipping two coins from the pouch to pay for this week’s and next week’s room and board. Gerves was one of the only men in town who didn't hate us, so Erik hated being late on any payment to him. I thought there was a part of him who felt indebted to the innkeeper more than we already were. He had, after all, taken pity on Estrid and me when we'd come crawling to him for refuge.

  “Better to return my plate to the kitchen.” Luthair pushed the bowl away.

  I dragged the governor's bowl in front of me. “No need to waste it. Make sure you pay the girl before you go.”

  Luthair’s face turned a lovely shade of tomato red. If he'd been a dragon, I thought it likely smoke would be pouring from his ears, not that I'd ever seen a dragon.

  He dropped two coins on the table and gathered his robes around him. “Stay close.” He ignored Estrid and I like we didn't exist. “You never know when I may call on you again.”

  We finished the rest of our meal in a comfortable silence.

  I watched without saying anything as Erik tossed back mug after mug of the sour ale long after Estrid and I had switched to water. It brought the color back to his cheeks and loosened his tense muscles, and neither of us could begrudge him that release.

  When I’d finished off two bowls of the bland stew, more out of duty than desire, Erik and Estrid took seats at the card table with a group of locals. They’d gotten used to us through the years and had no problem taking a bit of our coin.

  With a full belly, my eyes were drooping. So I decided to head upstairs to the room I shared with Estrid. No one else saw me go, but I waved goodnight to Gerves, who stood behind his polished bar, drying a mug and keeping an eye on the card game. He raised his chin in acknowledgment.

  Up the creaking wooden stairs, our room was last on the left, just past Erik’s room and join
ed to his by an inner door. The room was dark but familiar enough that I didn't have to waste wax by burning a candle. Only Luthair, in his fancy house on the ridge, had gas lamps. We had one trunk that held all our meager belongings. I sat on it to remove my boots and my filthy clothes. Then I crossed to the wash basin on the dresser and did my best to clean myself without being able to take an actual bath. The water was chilly and raised goosebumps on my bare arms.

  When I was done, I donned my spare pants and tunic and stood at the window, pulling back the heavy curtain to get a good view of the sky.

  Both moons were visible from here—Aupra, pale and low on the horizon, and Gleet, the watcher who never slept, his blue expanse a constant presence in the sky no matter where we were.

  It was strange to me that these were the same moons I’d watched with my father from our home in Bor’sur. The harbor town where I’d grown up was the largest in the Western March, situated on a massive outcropping of rock a thousand feet above the water.

  “This is the closest to Gleet you’ll ever get, my star,” my father would say, holding me up above his head so I could try to reach for him. “Remember that when you are traveling the world. That you’ll always have to come back to visit him.”

  It occurred to me only later, after I’d already left, that my father was my moon.

  And I was his star.

  I lifted a hand to my face and traced the mark beside my eye, the brown, five-pointed stain that appeared only after my mother had left. She’d been my father’s second wife, marrying him after Erik and Estrid’s mother had died giving birth to Estrid. She’d arrived in Bor’sur alone, a stranger in a dangerous place, and my father had taken her in. To hear my father speak of it, she was there one day and gone the next, as quietly as if she had never been there at all. He hadn’t remarried again but had raised the three of us on his own.

  Estrid and Erik, both still very young when she left, had little memory of her, though still more than I did. Erik said she was soft-spoken but firm, a warrior with words, not swords. Estrid didn’t speak of her. Erik said it was because she’d lost two mothers and blamed herself, just as she blamed herself for sending us on the errand that brought us to Bruhier.

  I lifted the wooden window frame a crack. A sliver of cool air slipped inside and brushed my damp skin. I crawled beneath the scratchy blanket—a far cry from the luxurious furs I remembered from home in Bor’sur—and let sleep take me.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, I didn’t rise until noon. Estrid was still snoring indelicately on her side of the bed, the blanket thrown over her face to block out the sun coming through the open window. I gathered our travel-worn clothes we'd discarded the night before and went downstairs, where I gave them to Grissall to launder.

  At the bar, Gerves slid a bowl of porridge in front of me without a word. I dug in. The two of us were the only ones in the pub, and we sat in amiable silence while I ate.

  When I finished, he leaned his elbows on the bar and studied me. “The Green Gem came in last night.”

  My heart stuttered but I kept my face impassive. The Gem was one of Luthair’s trading ships. It left loaded with stones, gems, and minerals, and returned months later with bags of fresh food, fine fabrics, and exotic spices.

  Harbin, my only actual friend in Barepost, worked on-board, and he always brought me news of the world beyond Bruhier—wars and assassinations and royal weddings. And he always kept an ear to the ground for anything about the D’ahvol or the Western March. Luthair had never fostered a relationship with my people, but other traders had, and I was desperate for any news from home, even if it was just to know that the place still existed. That was easy to forget at times, isolated as we were on this blasted island.

  But I also worried for Harbin. The trade passage was dangerous, and we had grown close in spite of my determination to keep my distance. “What news?” I didn’t want to admit I was nervous to hear his answer. If I lost Harbin, I’d lose my only connection to the outside world and my only friend.

  “They say it was an easy passage.”

  Some tight knot inside of me loosened a little. I stood maybe too eagerly. The barstool screeched loudly against the stone floor. “I think I’ll just go.” I pointed to the door. “If Erik or Estrid ask for me—”

  “I’ll tell them you’re at the wharf,” Gerves said with a smile.

  Outside was a bustle of eager activity as the shop owners prepared to receive the Gem’s delivery, and the residents prepared to spend what little money they had on luxuries they didn’t need.

  Aysche, Luthair’s niece, hustled by with a gaggle of her friends. She wore a heavy velvet dress inlaid with gold and, like her uncle, seemed somehow immune to the dust that settled over everyone else.

  “Oh, look,” she said in her whiny voice, her eyes finding me in the street. “I didn’t think we allowed monsters inside the gates. I must remember to urge my uncle to strengthen the guards.”

  I ignored her, breezing past. Her words used to bother me, but that was before I saw her for what she was. She was always as shiny as a new coin, but beneath the shine, she was uglier than anyone here.

  “Is she mute?” asked one of her friends.

  “No, just daft, like all of the D’ahvol. Stupid, brutish mutts.”

  Aysche’s cruel words froze me in my tracks. All thoughts of ignoring her were pushed out by the rage that boiled up inside of me. I whirled on her, stopping the group of girls in their tracks. I was at least a foot taller than her, if not more.

  Her eyes went from my broad chest to my hand on the head of my ax before she steeled herself and met my gaze.

  “What did you say?” I asked in a cold, quiet voice. It felt like we were in a bubble.

  The crowd parted around us and grew quiet.

  Aysche smirked, but her eyes darted sideways as if looking for help. “You heard me.”

  That I did. “I was giving you a chance to take it back.”

  “I won’t.” She drew herself up to her full height even while the girls around her shrank back. “It’s the truth.”

  It would be so easy to prove her right, to pull the ax and cut her down, to be a brute and a monster. What was stopping me? The thought of punishment by Luthair? I could end him just as easily, tear a path through Barepost.

  But what about Erik and Estrid? I tried to picture the disappointment on Erik’s face, tried to make myself care even though I longed to soak Aysche’s pretty dress in her own blood.

  “Frida!” a male voice broke through my anger, and the bubble that had been building inside of me deflated.

  Harbin cut through the crowd. He was my age, and close to my size even though he swore he didn’t have any D’ahvol blood in him. But where I was light, he was dark, with skin that didn’t burn in the sun and thick black hair that he kept cropped close to his head. In his months at sea, his beard had grown in, covering half of his handsome face. He wore lightweight linen pants and a matching tunic belted with a leather vest, his short-bladed sword swinging lazily at his side.

  “Look who the tide dragged in.” I turned away from Aysche.

  “Just the D’ahvol I was looking for.” Harbin pulled me into a hug. He smelled like the sea, salty and fresh and maybe a little fishy.

  So I did, refusing to give Luthair’s niece any more of my attention. But it wasn’t completely unselfish. I knew ignoring her, more than anything, would anger her.

  Harbin kept one arm around my shoulder, steering me away.

  Aysche said nothing more.

  Once we’d cleared the crowd by the shops and turned onto the small road leading to the wharf, Harbin turned to me. “Can’t keep out of trouble, can you?” He waved at an older sailor passing the other way with a keg thrown over his shoulders. The man nodded first at Harbin, then at me.

  “What fun would that be?” I relaxed the farther we got from Aysche.

  As we walked, he told me where they’d gone on this trip. They’d followed the great river Gathre
delle from the shining cities of Abrecem Secer to the tree groves of the Southern Plains. He’d seen elves and dragons, trolls and merfolk, things I’d only ever heard of before.

  I listened intently, trying to imagine it all. It was the life I had imagined for myself with Estrid and Erik, traveling to distant lands, finding adventure and fame and riches. It was hard to believe, sometimes, that all that beauty was out there while I was stuck here with monsters straight out of a child’s nightmares.

  “Why do you keep coming back to Barepost?” I asked. The sun peeked briefly through the veil, and I raised my face to it.

  “It’s home,” he said with a shrug. “It calls me back.”

  I knew what he meant.

  We finally reached the dock. The ocean stretched out as far as I could see, curving along the horizon, glowing yellow and green and blue in the light of the afternoon sun. The Green Gem was docked at the wharf, the largest ship in the port. Its two masts reached high, its vibrant green sails furled around the booms.

  Men and women traipsed back and forth with bags and boxes and kegs, dropping them on the wooden pier where others waited to load them onto the lifts. Not far from us, the lift operators heaved the ropes against the pulleys, bringing the goods up to the cliff face, where still more people waited to receive them and deliver them into Barepost proper.

  “Want to go down?” Harbin asked after a load had been raised.

  I loved visiting the wharf, loved how busy it was and how free it felt.

  We stepped onto the platform, the only two passengers going back down. Holding on to one of the ropes, I leaned far out over the edge to watch our descent and the activity below us.

  “Steady, now, gentlemen,” Harbin said.

  The lift operators obliged, letting us down to the beach slow and steady. Harbin’s hand found mine and held on tight. He wasn’t such a fan of heights. Thankfully, we made it down without incident.

  On the wooden dock, Harbin stopped walking and put a hand on my shoulder. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”