The Charlatan

23. Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Clara's quarters were beautiful. Each compartment of the hostel, she was told, was outfitted with a large glass window that looked out into the shallows of the West Ocean. Clara watched seaweeds tangle around each other, and occasionally spotted small molluscs, clams, and even fish as the ocean's current blew them across the sand. Her compartment was close to the surface of Mor, the marvel of an underwater city, and she knew it to be day when she could make out all sorts of living creatures against the sunbeams. It was peaceful here. As Clara sat, she began to realize that this sort of peace was what she had been longing for, for years. Memories of heart-wrenching encounters with bandits on the courier road were forgotten momentarily as Clara sat, staring out her window, undisturbed. The mind ramblings of weeks and months prior had no place in the timeless bubble of calm Clara was currently wrapped in.

Clara did not immediately notice that she was crying until she realized that it was not salty air that she was breathing, but salty tears she was tasting. The tears were not of the overwhelmed, and Clara couldn't place exactly where they were coming from. She decided she didn't care and stretched her sore body out over her made bed, staring up at the ceiling. You are all right, she told herself. She felt peace and relief.

The click of her door swung her head to the side. Clara watched Air walk through with his usual confidence. He smiled widely at her before the door closed behind him. Clara sat up and greeted her companion. He reciprocated and sat down on the bed across from hers, his bed, in the room that they were sharing.

"Clara. I need to speak with you on something." Air began in Genesese, and his smile slowly faded as he spoke. "I'm responsible. For all of this, for everything. I orchestrated the Genesis-Velt deal-"

"The King's Deal, yes," Clara interrupted. "I know this, Air, you told me as much in Genesis."

"Just, listen to me," Air continued gently.

"No, you listen to me, you were a sorry excuse for a friend." Air said nothing and Clara continued, trying to reign in the bite that had suddenly appeared in her tone. "I know this, and I have not forgotten it. Nor have I forgiven it. But I am in desperate need of allies. I know the Veltie people. They would chase me out to the sea and demand I pay their gold with the very meat on my limbs."

"Your body is too small to divide between the citizens of your country, there would not nearly be enough to go around," Air quipped half-heartedly. Clara ignored his poor attempt at facetiousness, but a small voice in her mind reminded her that she was dealing with a flawed human being. One that, however strangely he expressed it, was loyal to her and wanted her to feel comfortable. Wanted to be her friend. Her bite disappeared.

"Charlie knew it when we last met in the Citadel: the people no longer trust our King. His sudden renouncement of the call to capture me lead some to believe that he has been overthrown. Perhaps murdered. He has not clearly shown his face to the public during this whole ordeal. They will find out the truth eventually; they will learn of the Charlatan's crimes. I am not safe in my own home, and the fault for that lies with you," Clara said.

"It... does." Air did not break eye contact with Clara. His eyes were bright, and Clara saw no lies behind them, but her trust (or more accurately, lack of trust) did not waver. She was dealing with a swindler. The swindler. When Clara did not immediately continue, Air piped up again. "I came to ask you why you did not give me up as the Charlatan in Genesis. And, furthermore, I suppose, why you still haven't given me up to anyone else." Clara thought on it, as she had thought on it after talking with Honey, and during her short confinement in the jailhouse of a foreign city.

"You came for me," she started. "Despite your disdain for Seers, you came with me on our journey to cleanse the Ghosts that plagued a fallen city. I do not judge you, but I know you did not come, at least entirely, for the pull of moral responsibility. When I was caught in a jailhouse even just before then, you came for me without question. You came for me when tonnes of metal and heavy debris had crushed 'most all of our other companions in the mines of Dehi. You came for me, I am guessing, even at the beginning of all of this, when the Citadel launched a citywide search against me. All of my suffering began when, I suspect, your attempt at redemption began simultaneously. Nevertheless, you ensured that I was not alone. Had I been, I truly believe I may not have had my head today."