Shadow War: Book 3 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy (WIP Rough Draft)

22. Just Be Careful

5th of Braxos

Nearly two months passed, the rest of Carros and all of Ghyros parading by in a long blur. The days grew longer, drier, the last squalls of the rainy season breaking and trailing away, allowing the southern hemisphere to begin planting their dry-season crops. There were more fresh fruits and vegetables available at the commissary, and the Fruit Festival was just around the corner.

Meanwhile, the price of passage on any ship out of the Coalition continued to rise, thanks to the waves of people trying to flee the growing tensions in the north. The Dailies blamed it on the danger of sea skirmishes with the Illyrians. I didn't believe that was the whole picture at all, but true or not, every time I passed the travel bureau office, the cost of a ticket was a little higher, and the chances of our getting to the continent had dwindled just a little more.

Life settled into a tedium of working extra shifts, scrimping and scraping every spare arrum we could get into a box Arramy kept hidden under one of the stones in the sitting room hearth, but no matter how hard we worked, it seemed we could never quite catch up.

Until my birthday.

I was born on the 5th of Braxos. In Edon, winter was always thick on the ground on my birthday, and many of my childhood memories were of sledding down Danbyrre Hill with Betha and a few other girls from school, followed by a bonfire, hot cider, and a starlit sleigh ride. One year, Father even hired a tumbling troupe to perform in our living room.

This year, I forgot I even had a birthday. It started off just like the day before, and the day before that. There was no snow, Mr. Fosspotter didn't wake me by marching down the hallway playing Pherzon's Fanfare to Life on his military service trumpet, and instead of the tantalizing aroma of Cook's famous cream cake with peppermint glaze, there was only the reek of sea mud and clams.

As I had on every other morning for the previous six weeks, I left Arramy in the delivery dock, signed in with Big Gam, took up my station next to Nalle and started shucking.

Tarris was our sorter that morning, and she gave me a tired grin when she brought over the next basket of cleaned, sorted clams. "You know what I want, Nalle?" she yelled, putting a hand on her spine as she turned around to go back to the sorting table.

"What's that, love?" Nalle yelled back.

"I wish I had a man who would look at me the way Kaen looks at Lara," Tarris shouted over her shoulder. "Someone who waits to walk me home at night... Someone who doesn't spend every free minute in the Taproom guzzling away every last bit of our money..."

Nalle cast a meaningful glance in my direction and mouthed, "Jarro."

I nodded, then put my head down, concentrating on wedging my short-bladed knife between the halves of a silverlid clam.

It was true Arramy didn't go anywhere near the Taproom, but that was because he was always working, trying to close the gap between our little stash of money and those ticket prices. In the last week he had taken so many extra shifts he hadn't even had the energy to finish his dinner the night before and had fallen asleep sitting at the table.

I frowned at the clam in my hands. That Arramy worked hard wasn't surprising at all, but what if he didn't have to? What if he wasn't stuck here, living a lie, traipsing around after me? Would he be the sort to run off to the Taproom?

Maybe he was. Maybe he enjoyed a drink and a girl on his knee, and bawdy music and a sidelight show.

It wasn't any of my business if he did. I had no claim on him. He wasn't mine. The idea of him holding a giggling showgirl on his knee should not have made me feel physically sick.