A Ballet of Blades

Chapter Two (Ena)

I swallowed a mouthful of burnt fish soup and spat. "Tastes like shit," I grumbled. I tried t'wash out the taste o' it with a swallow o' seawater. Nothing.

I sighed. 'Twasn't the end o' the world. Jon was gone already, as usual. Everyone knows that them fish bite best in the morn. The sound o' birds screeching and the smell o' the Shimmering Sea greeted me as I stepped out from behind the old sail hanging from the doorframe that and we used for a door. The smell o' salt was everywhere, sinking into my skin and bones. Saltsand Harbor and Saltwater Bend are damn good names for this side o' Valencia, if you ask me.

"Aye, Ena! Jon left something 'round the back, he says. Wanted me t'tell you," red-haired Calbhach called as he passed by. He lived a couple feet down the row from me and Jon. Calbhach's from Eilísh, an island separated from here by all o' Elurea. To hear him tell it, Calbhach sailed every part o' the Southern Sea before he finally used his head and sailed up the Sarein Strait, where he landed right here on Valencia.

I waved at Calbhach. "Thank you, Cal!" I said in response. I grinned when I saw what awaited me: a handcart filled with mussels and clams, and Jon himself standing guard.

"Why ain't you out on the water?" I asked, grabbing the handles of the handcart. I checked t'make sure that my pouch for coins was with me and wiped my hands on my roughspun tunic in a useless attempt t'get the seawater off them.

Jon laughed. "And here I thought you was happy t'see me," he replied. Jon was tall and dark-skinned, with messy black hair that always grows too long and a cocky smile. I loved him, and he loved me. We ain't married, not if you asked the League, but down here in Saltwater Bend what the League says don't matter none. One day we decided that we was married, and that was that.

I gave him a light shove. "Out o' my way. I got mussels and clams to sell," I said. He held up his hands in mock surrender and let me through.

I pushed the handcart down a path o' part sand and part mud, glad that the sun wasn't up high in the sky yet. The sky was blue and 'twasn't a cloud in sight. A light breeze blew my black hair into my face, and I tossed my head slightly t'get it out o' my eyes.

Saltsand Harbor ain't a nice place after the sun goes down, but 'tis always busy in the morn. Narrow, twisting streets of mud and sand soon gave out to hastily built docks and piers. Rowboats and fishing skiffs and dinghies landed and pushed off at all hours o' the day, while fishwives like me yelled at each other and sold our stock.

"Mussels and clams for sale!" My voice joined the cacophony. "Mussels and clams! Mussels and clams!" I caught sight of many familiar faces as I pushed my handcart through the crowd; there was old, sweet Mellara with her greens and loyal Komil with his fish, and there was Laya the smuggler and loud, fiery Rinne. There was pale, clever Zeyner and shy, raven-haired Brenna and big, hotheaded Slug.

I made my way to where Rinne and Laya and Zeyner was standing. All three was in the smuggling business; Laya captained a ship, Rinne got the goods sold, and Zeyner kept track of their money. They did well-not well enough t'live in the Crimson Circle, rubbing elbows with the Council and the League, mind you, but well enough that they'd moved out o' Saltsand Harbor and into Whisperwind Wharf.

All three o' Valencia's major harbors can be found along the west coast. There's Queensport up north, Whisperwind Wharf in the middle, and Saltsand Harbor down south. I don't think I've been t'Queensport once in my life. 'Tis where rich traders and assassins and the like go to drink wine and fuck in the fancy brothels. 'Tis where the Castilyan navy that protects Valencia's shores has their base, too. The only ships allowed in and out o' Queensport are Castilyan warships and any ships going on official business for the Council or the League.