Chương 52: 51 Winter, Not Stone

Morning light washed across Highwater Cay, illuminating what the night had concealed. The dig site was gone, a new artificial cove filling its place. Motion stirred around me, Paradise Marines restraining prisoners and taking inventory of salvaged gear. They were a blur to my eyes. I sat on the edge of the dock, forearms resting on my knees. Elara had approached me once, asking something that fell on deaf ears. I simply stared at the tide, now climbing back up the beach. No one disturbed me now.

My eyes flickered over to the notification in my HUD, where blood-red letters hung in the place of the usual white print. <<New message: External Access>> <<Vittorio Vitriol: Now, son, why'd you have to go and do that? >> The external message burned in my vision like a brand. The notification pinged thirty minutes after the waves stopped crashing around the dig site. As much as I hoped dropping the ocean on my father would end him, the message confirmed it—he escaped.

Waves crashed up the sloping sand, and a shadow swallowed me. My head craned up. One of the four Floating Rock airships drifted overhead, side sails trimmed to the wind, propellers spinning, balloons inflated. A trio of Fowl-kin marines zipped overhead, flying in close formation as they did another sweep of the Cay. Reinforcements had reached the Cay in full force, only far too late. Beyond the airships, two holes gaped in the sky, spider-webbed cracks stretching away from them.

<<Time to Seal Collapse: 03: 01: 05: 15: 47: 44>> Crisis delayed, not averted. Naomi's voice cut through the fog, and finally, my ability to focus returned. My team leader stood by Puppetmaster's shack, chatting with Aunt Tansy Thistledown. She'd arrived first, with the airships and reinforcements from the elemental air island. A little way off, Kerelev huddled with a few land-borne Paradisian marine lieutenants, while their men unloaded boxes and crates.

Someone stepped into my vision, and my eyes were slow to focus as Lance Coralfin stood before me.

"Hey," he said simply. Purple patterns marbled his red skin, and water dripped from his fins and shirt I glanced up. He said nothing. Whatever he read in my face turned him against it. That was the right call. We just sort of looked at each other for a long moment.

"Why us?" I asked at length. My throat ached. He stepped beside me and, with a grunt, settled down on the dock. He dusted his hands.

"Seems to me you were the right ones for the job. You should be proud of yourself." Those were the wrong words. Something tightened in my chest.

"You should have been closer," I whispered.

"An Uncle could have stopped him. Two of you definitely would have. We're the newest Cousins in the Corps." My hands curled, massive blisters hot on my palms.

"Dismantle the Slavers Guild—that was our mission. Did you know this road ended at Puppetmaster?" He went silent for a long moment.

"It was a probability." I nodded slowly.

"And still you sent us."

"I'm sorry."

"He could have killed us all," I said.

"He didn't." Lance turned red eyes to me.

"No other party in the Corps would have survived. You did." I bit down on my tongue.

"You should have been closer." A halberd sergeant barked orders, and his men set down crates of supplies. Sailors unpacked rations and unboxed blankets before handing them out to lizard kin who huddled in small groups. Bebi stood beside Felipe and Elara. The Coredwarf wore a grey wool blanket over his bare shoulders, a curtain to hide his scars. My hand cramped when I looked at him—the hand that held the lash, the hand that held the sword. I hurt my friends.

"The orb?" I asked.

"Dathurul's Lantern," Lance said, nodding.

"Gone. I swam down there myself."

"There were Black Trench Deep Folk here," I said.

"Do you think they got it, or—""Could have been them, could have been Vittorio," Lance said.

"How's Granduncle?" I asked. Lance tensed. I glanced up at the scars in the atmosphere.

"They're linked. He's got two new wounds in his body now, doesn't he?" My neck craned up toward the holes in the sky.

"They probably look something like that." Lance cleared his throat.

"Tony, without Prisoner's retaliation, he's going to die."

"And the sky breaks," I said. I inhaled, taking in the smell of sea, smoke, and blood.

"I'm going to kill Puppetmaster." The Aqua-Primord watched me carefully.

"No, I won't let you face him alone. Not again." My jaw worked soundlessly.

"You're strong, Tony. You're the most driven Cousin I know. But he's too powerful." The wrong thing to say again. His words were bellows on smoldering coals, and the heat within came alive. My eyes shut tight, and a tear rolled down my cheek. His hand squeezed the mostly healed arrow wound on my shoulder blade. It ached comfortably.

"It wasn't you, Tony. Why do you think they call him Puppetmaster? He forces people to act against their will. He manipulates them." My thumb pressed into the puncture on my wrist, and my eyes drifted to my father's message hovering in the air in red.

"Sure," I said, voice noncommittal.

"It wasn't my fault." The words were for his sake. A lie to end the conversation. It would never happen again. I'd see to it. A health potion winked into Lance's hand, and he extended it.

"You need rest, Tony. This is far from over." I accepted the vial but made no motion to consume it. He was right; this was far from over. I kept my mouth shut; my words would betray me. He slid off the dock, boots crunching into wet sand.

"Prepare to return to Paradise. Your mother had been worrying about you." My fingers tightened around the potion, but I never took it. After his footsteps receded, I pulled myself back to my feet and stared at the breaches in our world. Before, I could barely bring myself to look at them; the sight of the unknown shook me in every instance. Now, I stared hard. Because Granduncle wasn't the only one linked to those wounds in the sky. I was, too. My failures were carved across the heavens for the world to see.

That was good. Let the world remember the defeat of Antonio Moretti. I'd watch my reminder every chance I got. Because this would be the last time I failed. Walls of stone stretched up around me, granite pillars carved and polished. I drew my cloak tight, chasing the cold of the Coppersmeldt Crypt away. Two dwarven guards flanking the arch shifted towards me as I approached. Torchlight glinted off their ceremonial peaked helms and breastplates.

They stood at attention, dwarven carbines cradled in open hands at their sides and braced against their shoulders. The one on the left recognized me and offered a crisp salute. I hesitated at the opening, glancing his way, nodded once, then stepped in. Hundreds of Coppersmeldts crowded the crypt, sitting in chairs arranged before the dais. The ceremony had started an hour ago. Uncle Bruk Titangavel's Voice rang out as he addressed the audience.

"A cousin is one who answers the call," he announced, gripping the stone podium.

"That's exactly who she was. Someone to act when it mattered—" I slipped to the side, leaned against the wall, and pulled my hood low. Mama and Livia sat near Ingred's family in the front row, Mama's hand tight in Mrs. Valentini's Ingred's mother shook, holding a handkerchief tight to her mouth. Ingred lay on a stone bier in the pinstripe suit of the High Family, the suit pressed and cleaned. The blood and dirt had been washed from her face, and her expression was at rest.

My brows drew tight, but I was out of tears. A seat remained vacant beside Livia. My spot. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Naomi and Bianca sat on the other side of my vacant chair, dressed in High Family suits. My team leader's head pivoted as she searched the crowd, probably looking for her absent fighter. She wouldn't find me. Uncle Bruk finished his speech and returned to his place on the dais. Mr. and Mrs.

Valentini rose, Ingred's mother leaning heavily on her husband as they approached the bier. Mr. Valentini handed his wife a thick copper crypt coin, and the sobbing dwarven woman placed the disk on her brow.

"From our halls, from our home," Ingred's father said, beard shifting as his lips pressed tight.

"All is stone," the murmured ripple flowed over the crowd.

"From Paradise to the great serpent that rings our world."

"All is stone." My lips parted, but I couldn't bring myself to join the others in the response.

"From the flame in the furnace to the hearts in our chests,""All is stone." His lips quivered, and his fist came to his mouth. I pulled the bandage on my wrist tight; the wound it concealed throbbed. Lance's healing potion remained in my inventory, unused. Mrs. Valentini put a hand on her husband's shoulder as she took over.

"My girl, Ingred Valentini,""She is stone!" I pressed my thumb into the bandage, earning a flash of swollen heat. They were wrong. Ingred wasn't stone. She was winter. Not the storm, but the hush that followed. The sunlight reflected off the ice. The transmuter approached, arcane focus rings glinting on his fingers. He pulled his long sleeve back and murmured an incantation as he pressed a finger on the crypt coin. Color drained from her skin, the grey of stone spreading across her eyes like a mask.

I exhaled slowly, then swept out of the crypt. I wouldn't stay for this part. I couldn't watch them petrify her body. The strap of my travel bag pulled down on my shoulder as I climbed the stairs from the crypt to the grand hall. The chill of gold tinged my palm as I pulled the medallion from my pocket. A man grappled with a dragon in the center. Jorg, the world serpent, ringed the entire thing.

"Hey." I stopped. Captain Thalendris strode towards me. Half-Feykin, the point in his ears was much more subtle than Naomi's, and the scruff on his face denoted human ancestry. I met his gaze.

"Not one for being underground either, huh?" I didn't answer. He sighed.

"I've seen that look before, boy. It drives half the young lads on ships to sea. They think they can find something out there on the waves." He produced a flask, unscrewed it, and took a sip. He offered it to me next. My eyes met his, and I made no motion to accept. His head shook as he screwed the cap back into place.

"They can't. It doesn't give back what it takes. Lean on your crew, not the deep." Again, my silence answered for me. He sighed as he tucked the flask away.

"Alright then. Jorg guides you." His head inclined at the medallion in my hand, and he turned. The echo of boots against stone faded as he left me to myself. My gaze returned to the medallion. Getting it from the Armory of Allocation had cost me lies that would soon be discovered.

"Ourabora," I said, burning the mana to link to the system.

"Antonio," she answered.

"You saved me."

"You don't make mistakes," I said.

"I don't make mistakes." I turned the gold disk over in my fingers.

"The High Family has forbidden me from going after Puppetmaster. But you posted a quest to the entire world. Kill Puppetmaster, and recover Prisoner's Retaliation." My head tilted up toward the sky beyond a balcony door.

"Will I fall from Paradise if I pursue that quest on my own?" She didn't answer immediately, but my core filled with warmth in reflection of her approval.

"That is up to the High Family and Granduncle. I for one, won't abandon you. Remember what you are, Antonio—my special little investment. Proceed. Do what the High Family cannot." I slipped the medallion over my neck, the thin chain warming against my skin. <<Magic Item: Mariner's Fog—Location Telemetry Obscured>> As a Cousin, the moment I left Paradise, Aunt Thea Springweather would zero in on my location. Now I was free to act on my own.

I marched toward the vaulted hall's doors, blinking as I stepped out into the sunlight. Gulls shrieked, and I inhaled the sea air of Rafael's Cove. Salt, fish, and wet hemp drying on the lines. I'd miss this. I had one more stop to make. My thumb compressed the latch trigger on my pocket watch, and the latch sprang open. The others would be in position soon—best not miss my mark. The reception door to the Paradise Detention Complex grated against stone as I pushed it open.

Stepping inside, I blinked as my eyes adapted to the low light.

"Sir, can I help you?" A young officer asked at the front desk. A cracked window behind him cast a shaft of light across his ledgers. Two constables were filling out paperwork next to a disgruntled-looking man in shackles.

"Cousin Antonio Moretti," I said, stepping forward. The constables in the back went silent, and they glanced my way. The young officer rose, eyes going wide.

"I've heard of you, sir. Heard you were involved in stopping the weapon that—" He swallowed.

"The weapon that punched the holes in the sky." I dropped my voice.

"My involvement isn't public knowledge yet. I wouldn't go around spreading it."

"No, sir," the young officer agreed.

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir."

"Good man." The officer's head tilted to the side.

"Why are you here, sir? I didn't have a visit on my schedule." I checked my watch.

"I need to interrogate a prisoner, a Naga-kin—cobra type."

"I know the one." Reflexively, the young man hugged himself, suppressing a shiver.

"If I could direct you to the Warden, he could arrange to have the prisoner moved."

"I'm not here for a transfer," I said.

"I need an interrogation. Something quick."

"Right away. I'll grab the Warden." I glanced at the watch.

"And time sensitive," I said, adding a little more force to my voice. He hesitated.

"I'll need to gather some guards. He's a dangerous one."

"I assure you that's entirely unnecessary. Five minutes, in and out. I promise." The young officer cast a wary glance at the two constables who had returned to booking their detainee, then he nodded.

"Teric, mind the desk for a moment?" One of the constables grunted in reply. Then I was following him along an elevated walkway that overlooked the yard. Figures in grey jumpsuits milled below.

"Security's extra tight these days," the officer explained as we walked.

"Had a breakout a little ways back."

"Sounds interesting," I murmured, recalling the day a mere week earlier we leveled the prison yard wall. The memory smarted as I recalled Mordisco's evaluative looks. Not long ago at all, and he was gone along with so many others. We wound down to the lower level, and I counted my steps. A gate barred our way to a wing, and a guard nodded to the young officer as he fiddled with the key in the lock. We continued down a hall lined with cells. I glanced at my watch again, counting steps.

"Hey, let me out of here!" an aged, bald man called. Based on his face and accent, he could have been Bruno's father. I hesitated at one cell, eyes narrowing.

"Comfortable, Jaser?" The slaver Halfling glanced up at me, and his eyes went wide.

"You know this one?" the officer asked. I nodded.

"But I'm not here for him." I tipped my head at him.

"Enjoy your stay." Three cells over, the officer unlocked the cell.

"Hey, prisoner Four-Four-Seven. Face the wall!"

"That's unnecessary," I said. The officer tensed.

"He's got a venomous bite, sir."

"I'm well aware. Thank you." I stepped into the cell.

"Hello, Othess." A grin slid across the Naga-kin's face.

"Captain."

"Could you give us a little privacy for a moment?" I asked over my shoulder.

"Sir?"

"I'll call if I need help. Thank you." The officer's face tightened. Then he nodded and stepped away.

"So, you let them lock me back up, yet here you are," Othess said, folding his arms.

"I'd hoped you could arrange a deal."

"Couldn't be helped," I said, glancing at my watch.

"Listen," I said.

"Here's the new deal. You're coming with me." He smiled.

"Bloodwake?"

"Puppetmaster."

"Ambitious prey," he said, rubbing his chin.

"Determined hunters," I countered.

"Terms?" he asked.

"You follow orders. You're not getting freedom. I am your cell. Don't question my timing. Don't betray me, and I won't kill you." I shrugged.

"What do you say?" His tongue darted.

"I say what I said before. You're an investment."

"Good."

"One problem," he said.

"I don't believe you. There's no way the High Family approved this; in fact, I don't think they know you're here." His gaze flicked toward the door, half ajar behind me. For half a moment, my nerves sparked, but I shoved them down, mirroring him by folding my arms.

"I know you, Captain. You couldn't get me out of here. Not without hurting many innocent guards. That complicates things." His tongue darted again.

"Unless you cooked up some very convincing paperwork, it's not happening."

"Othess, you're already breaking one of my rules," I said, checking the watch again. Nothing. Othess smiled wider. A faint hiss whispered through stone. There it was.

"Don't question my timing."

"You have a plan," he realized at last.

"How?"

"Are you in or out?" I asked, pulse quickening.

"I'm in," he said.

"Are we fighting our way out of here?"

"Not necessary," I said, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him away from the wall.

"You forget, I hired a goblin." His eyes widened, and we both dropped flat. A rapid series of sharp pops shattered the air, and dust poured into the cell as a neat square dropped away, silhouetting a short figure.

"Alright, Captain, time to move!" Needles barked. The officer behind me hollered. I grabbed the cell door and jerked it shut. The latch fell into place as an alarm bell rang throughout the facility. The young man fumbled for his keys and, quick as—well, a cobra—Othess' hand darted through the bars, snatching the ring away.

"Move!" I shoved him through the opening. Drogo hurled a smoke bomb. A curtain of purple obfuscation rose between us and the nearest guard tower.

"Ready?" He called. A new pair of round, darkened spectacles shaded his eyes. I scanned the empty streets, cursing. Where was our ride? The whinny of horses and thunder of hooves on stone echoed as a carriage came careening around the corner. Six Kobolds clung to its exterior, Dustnose cackling as he jerked one rein, Mudlock gripped the other, whipping it wildly with a grin. I sprang up at the barrelling vehicle, swinging up and shoving both Kobolds aside.

I jerked the reins, and steel slid across cobbles as the wheels slid to a stop.

"Get on!" I barked. Othess, Needles, and Drogo didn't need to be told twice. The wagon dipped under Clod's shifting weight as he lobbed two more smoke bombs. A rifle cracked from the tower, and splinters sprayed past my neck.

"Hyah!" I snapped, flicking the reins. The carriage lurched. Men shouted. Alarm bells clanged. Needles tossed the tower a rude gesture as we shot past. Drogo grinned at me through cracked spectacles, cinching the bandage on his arm tighter. Othess rose smoothly from the floorboards, dusting the sleeve of his jumpsuit like it were a scheduled departure. Six Kobolds clung to the side of the carriage like delighted barnacles on a warship. Not the navy I'd imagined as a child. Better.

I leaned into the reins, wind whipping at my cloak. The sky still bore scars. Good. Let it watch. Puppetmaster. Father. I'm coming for you.

"Next stop!" I called.

"Let's steal a ship!" And this time, I laughed.