Chapter 127


    Lucky Thirteen


    Femira had seen plenty of smuggler''s dens in her time. She’d even helped create a few of them herself, back when she was part of Lichtin’s crew. Her aradium runestone had been perfect for carving out hidden caches in cliffsides, little pockets to hide ill-gotten goods or just a safe place to lay low. But Kez’s place? It made all those hideouts look like the work of amateurs.


    The ship drifted lazily, the current pulling them alongside a jagged cliff face. The rock jutted out at odd angles, sharp and unforgiving, like angry gods themselves had decided to start clawing at it. For a moment, there was nothing but sheer, weather-beaten rock. And then, just as they came closer, a deep, narrow gash appeared in the cliff wall.


    It was like the cliff itself had swallowed them whole. The entrance to the hideaway was impossible to see until you were almost right in front of it—an illusion of stone and shadow. And it wasn’t natural. No way in hell. The opening was too clean, too precise. Like someone had taken a blade and sliced a perfect corridor through the cliffside.


    Smooth white stone. Not a crack, not a seam out of place.


    It was wide enough for a ship twice Connie’s size to fit through, no question. As they entered, the boat shifted under Femira’s feet, and she felt the pull of the current guiding them into the passage. The walls rose up on either side, towering overhead like some ancient gateway, dark and oppressive. The water below was black, so dark that it looked like they were sailing through the night sky itself. She suspected that regardless of the tides, this corridor could be entered.


    She squinted into the gloom ahead, where the darkness swallowed all but the faintest flicker of orange light.


    "Eerie, isn''t it?" Sleek muttered beside her, voice low. "Place always gives me the jips."


    "Did this Kez build all of this?" Femira asked, her gaze scanning the towering cliffs, trying to comprehend the skill of a stonebreaker that could have shaped this.


    "It''s ancient," Connie answered, walking up to them with a lantern swinging lazily from her hand. "Kez didn’t build it—he just found it. Place is older than Krastac himself, older than any kingdom you or I could name. My parents worked with Kez back in the day. They used to hunt down places like this. Ruins that predate everything."


    “So who did build it then?” Femira asked, unable to hide her awe. The sheer magnitude of the stonework was staggering. It was as though it had been carved by the hands of gods, its veins split clean with impossible precision. And to have withstood centuries, maybe millennia, without the cave collapsing… the feat was beyond anything she''d ever seen.


    “Your guess is as good as any,” Connie shrugged.


    Their boat was pulled further into the cave, the orange light in distance growing larger and larger as they approached. To her surprise, it wasn’t some crude smugglers'' set-up—this was a fully functional rise-and-fall pier. She’d only seen such constructions in the wealthiest port towns. They were built to shift with the colossal tides, a marvel of engineering and incredibly expensive to maintain. And yet here it was in the belly of an ancient cavern.


    Ahead, she could make out a lift embedded into the cave wall, ascending towards a torchlit archway that led deeper underground. The place was massive, like a forgotten fortress hidden beneath the earth.


    The dock wasn’t brimming with guards, just a couple of thugs lounging near the edge. When they spotted the ship, one of them shouted out. Sleek stepped forward, calling back their names, and the thugs waved them through without much fuss. Femira’s eyes darted to the ships docked alongside them. Pirate vessels. No doubt about it. Femira could tell by the look of them, she’d lived in Altaria—a hub for pirate activity—for years. She knew all the signs; the scars on their hulls, the ragged sails, the way they slouched at anchor like predators at rest.


    Stepping onto the dock, Femira felt a solid thud underfoot. She bent down, touching the stone surface, her fingers brushing over the cool smooth texture. She sent out a pulse of edir, and it came back cold, dense, solid. Stone. A rise-and-fall pier made of stone? Even Epilas didn’t have that. Hells, even the Altarians hadn’t thought of something this grand.


    What the hell is this place?


    She tugged at the pier with her edir, letting a thread of the stone flow into her, sensing its structure from the inside out. Part of her bloodshedder training had involved studying different types of rock and metal—knowing the best material for a purpose was essential in combat runwielding. Over time, she’d developed an almost instinctual ability to break down the composition of materials, understanding their strengths and weaknesses with just a touch. This is something strange, though.


    This was a blend that she’d never come across before—a mix of hard granite which made sense as it was hard wearing and often used in coastal structures, but it was fused with… seaglass? Some ancient stonebreaker must have shaped this entire pier, fusing the two materials intrinsically throughout.


    Bizarre.


    Out of curiosity, she drew more from the pier, shaping the rock between her fingers. A smooth sphere began to form in her palm. She lifted it into the light of the braziers, studying it. The sphere was pale white, with veins of seafoam-green running through it, catching the flicker of flame like water under moonlight.


    “You’d best put that back, stonebreaker,” a voice cut through the bustle of the smuggler’s dock.


    Femira glanced up, spotting an elderly man approaching with a deliberate, light-footed gait. He was a bear of a man, with a distinctive scar running down the side of his face. He also sported a stylised grey moustache that curled upward like something straight out of a nobleman’s ball. His clothing, too, was far too elegant for this place—a dark velvet coat with embroidered cuffs, a waistcoat of shimmering blue. He looked utterly out of place amidst the rough-hewn stone and pirate vessels.


    “And who are you supposed to be?” Femira asked, raising an eyebrow, but she still let the sphere roll from her fingers, willing it back into the pier with a thought.


    The old man gave a slow, exaggerated bow, his moustache twitching as he spoke. “Kez, at your service. Or perhaps it’s the other way around now that you’re borrowing my dock, yes?”


    Kez held his arms wide in a gesture that might have been welcoming, though it had the smugness of a man who knew he held the cards. "If you think this is impressive, wait until you see upstairs." He smirked at Femira, winking, then turned with a flourish as Connie stepped off the ship and onto the dock.


    "Ahh, my favourite niece," Kez declared, as if he was making a grand toast. “What was it you said last time you were here?" He held up a hand sharply before she could speak. “Rhetorical. Let me save you the breath— ‘I’ll never pay your shit-brained ransom again.’ That was it, eh? Why, such an affront to my humble establishment. And yet here you come, eh? Scuttling back to me like a crab on its belly. Why must you insult your dear uncle so?"


    “You’re not my uncle, Kez,” Connie snapped, arms crossed, clearly already losing her patience.


    "Your father was more a brother to me than mine own. Betrayers, liars, cheaters, con-men, the lot of them." Kez rambled on as if hearing himself was more important than any response.


    "So just like you then," Sleek muttered under his breath.


    Kez carried on, ignoring Sleek’s remark entirely. "But your father, oh, he was more a brother to me than any of them. And you wound me, dear niece, with such hurtful words.”


    “Well, maybe don’t try to rip me off,” Connie spat back, her temper clearly rising.


    “Ah," Kez pinched his moustache with a mockery of thoughtfulness, “hard times, my sweet. War. So much traffic through my little secret port, yes? I’ve got higher costs.” He gestured toward the thugs nearby. Femira noticed several more with crossbows stationed above, peering down from the lift shaft. Clever, she thought. The place was more fortified than it seemed at first glance.


    “Two gold tariff, plus fifteen percent on all goods,” Kez said flatly, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.


    “Fifteen?” Connie snarled, stepping forward. “You’ve lost your mind, Kez. That’s nearly as much as the fucking Duke''s.”


    “Ah... but the Reldoni control Nordock now, yes? Their occupation was swift. Such uncertain times for us all." His smile was greasy as he leaned in a little closer. “Nordock isn’t the safe harbour it once was. I believe you know this, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, looking for handouts from your dear old uncle, yes?” He held out his hand expectantly.


    “Ten percent,” Connie countered sharply, her tone laced with barely controlled anger, “and even that’s extortion.”


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    “For you, dear niece, because you are my favourite," Kez said with a faux-sincere tone. "Thirteen. Lucky number.”


    “Only one gold for the tariff... and thirteen’s not lucky.”


    “It’s the number of hells one must travel through, the thirteenth being the last. Seems lucky to me. But fine... deal." Kez waved his hand like he was granting her a great favour.


    Connie grumbled as she fished out her coin pouch, plucking out the gold coin with a quick, jerky movement. She threw a pointed look at Femira, one that said in no uncertain terms, You’re covering this.


    "So... what is my little smuggler bringing in today?" Kez''s voice was as slick as the seawater sloshing against the dock. His eyes glinted with greed as they flicked from Connie to the ship. "You still refuse to carry weapons, yes? So what is it? Skaga is beneath you, no, no... art, perhaps? Silks? Gems? Something delicate you don’t want to risk the Reldoni taking a shine to, yes?"


    Connie smirked, all sharp edges and amusement. “Perhaps thirteen isn’t as lucky as you think, uncle,” she said, nodding towards Femira. “She’s the only thing I’m bringing through today.”


    Femira felt Kez’s gaze sweep over her, assessing, eyes narrowing with clear disappointment. “Hmm... thirteen percent of you, then?” His lip curled in mock contemplation. “Your face is quite pretty—perhaps I could take your head as my thirteen. It would look rather nice mounted on my wall. Or maybe just thirteen percent of your time, could put you to work on the—”


    Femira''s eyes hardened, her mouth opening to retort, but Connie was quicker.


    “You’ll take your thirteen percent of the cost for her passage,” Connie cut in, her tone now edged with steel.


    “Pennies,” Kez spat, the playful smirk vanishing, replaced with a bitter sneer. His entire demeanour shifted, bristling with irritation as it dawned on him that Connie had played him.


    “Why waste your time with these gutter gigs, eh?”


    “Well, it gives me the chance to visit my favourite uncle, doesn’t it?” Connie’s voice dripped with sweetness, the sarcasm running so thick it was practically syrup.


    “Your passage into the city still open?” Connie pressed.


    “Of course,” Kez huffed, but some of the humour crept back in. Smugness returning to his grin. “This place of mine wouldn’t be much use if I couldn’t get past the walls now, would it? The girl needs access to the city I take it?"


    “I do,” Femira answered.


    “And we’ll be staying a while,” Connie added, cutting to the heart of it. “What’s your rate for extending mooring these days?”


    “For you?” Kez raised a brow, feigning deep thought as he exaggerated a tally with his fingers. “Considering the fortune I’ve just earned off you,” he smiled wider. “Five silver a day.”


    Connie’s eyes narrowed, about to protest, but Kez was already pressing on. "As you can plainly see, my fine establishment guarantees complete security of your ship. Absolute discretion regarding your comings and goings from the city. Not to mention the privilege of dining in the halls of someone with my… reputation. You’re getting palace-level service for the price of a peasant’s meal."


    “Two silver,” Connie bit back, her voice sharp as a blade. Femira had to stop herself from snorting. Even she knew that was daylight robbery. Cavelight robbery?


    “Deal,” Kez said, that infuriating grin never leaving his face.


    “I wouldn’t mind getting some dinner,” Sleek chimed in, appearing from behind Connie. Cowbell stood beside him, nodding vigorously in agreement.


    Before long, they were guided up the lift, Kez leading the way, swaggering as they entered the tunnels. Cut straight into the stone, the passages opened into an expansive underground hall that bore the appearance of a portside tavern—in furniture and populace only. The place was packed. Pirates and thugs filled the room, the air thick with rough voices and the smell of cheap ale.


    Well, that’s one thing off the list, Femira thought wryly. Find the Nordock black market. Done.


    Despite the shady crowd, there was no denying Kez hadn’t been exaggerating about the grandeur of the place. The hall had been built for far more noble purposes—whoever crafted the intricate arches and patterns in the white stone hadn’t intended for it to become a den for criminals. Yet here it was, the mismatch between the elegant design and the lowlifes who occupied it, as jarring as anything Femira had ever seen.


    Kez led them to a quieter corner, the low murmur of the tavern fading slightly as they moved further from the crowd. Most of the crew dispersed, finding their own tables or sinking into the shadows. But it was clear Kez had no intention of letting Femira or Connie slip away so easily—he expected them to dine with him. Sleek and Cowbell trailed behind, their eyes flicking around the room, as wary as she was.


    Femira didn’t miss the way heads turned to follow them. Eyes lingered too long, conversations paused. She trusted Kez’s claims about the safety of his establishment—he had a reputation to uphold, after all. In places like this, the unspoken rules were simple. She knew the score. Most likely Kez’s was a kind of safehouse for shady business dealings, and anyone who broke the rules was quickly dealt with by Kez’s thugs.


    There were places like this in Altaria. She’d accompanied Lichtin on more than one occasion to broker deals with people who wanted them to hire the crew to steal something, or settle disputes between gangs. Back then, she’d learned to read the air—when danger was about to boil over, when everyone was pretending the tension wasn’t there but had a blade ready just in case. Kez’s place hummed with that same energy.


    A powder keg waiting for a spark.


    “Why’s everyone so tetchy?” Connie asked, her eyes scanning the room just as sharply as Femira’s.


    “I said it already,” Kez’s lip curled, waving a hand lazily as one of his serving girls approached to attend. “War.”


    “So the Reldoni have already attacked Nordock?”


    “Attack? Nothing of the sort… It’s more like when a bunch of pirates arrive at a village and decide they like the place a little too much.”


    “There was no assault?” Femira asked with surprise.


    “Duke Rivers handed the city over on a silver platter.” Kez shrugged, clearly revelling in the irony. “Caught a lot of the nobility by surprise. Been a steady stream of ‘em slinking through my docks these past few weeks. Funny, really. Those highborn folk always looking down on us, and then looky who they comes a’ scuttlin’ to when things get tough, eh?”


    “What else do you know about the invasion?” Femira leaned in. “Is the King here, in Nordock?”


    “Blightwind?” Kez’s grin widened. “No, word is he’s leading the bulk of his army east, heading straight for Rubastre.”


    “Then who’s in power here?”


    Kez’s grin turned sly, eyes glinting in the firelight. “Information like that doesn’t come cheap, you know.”


    “Uncle,” Connie said, her voice dripping with honey, “we’re just having a friendly chat, aren’t we? No need to make this a business transaction.”


    Kez chuckled, wagging a finger at her. “Of course, of course. But surely you won’t mind if I ask a few questions of my own, eh?”


    Femira gave a nonchalant shrug, playing along, though her mind was already sharpening.


    “Word reached me not two days past,” Kez continued, his voice dripping with mock concern, “that there were riots in Port Novic. Naturally, I was terribly worried for my favourite niece. And here you are, safe and sound… Quite the relief.” He paused, his smile growing sharper. “Funny thing though, word on the street was that your crew was seen at the execution line. Something about a Keiran woman—” His gaze locked onto Femira, all charm gone now, replaced with razor-sharp calculation. “A warrior, they say, who nearly brought Krastac’s Hall down around her ears at just the right moment. Now, I’m not one to make assumptions…” He spread his hands theatrically. “But some folks are claiming this mystery woman is tied to those insurgents in Port Novic, some others on that execution line were known firebrands… but I wouldn’t know anything about that,” he grinned.


    The serving girl poured clear liquid into their cups, and Femira caught the sharp, alcoholic scent. Definitely not water.


    Femira held herself perfectly still, weighing her response, but it was Connie who spoke first. “We’re just keeping our heads low for a while. Answer the girl, who’s in charge in Nordock?”


    “River’s stil…, on paper. Although there’s a Reldoni General with a couple thousand of his soldiers in the city so I suppose it’s how you look at it.”


    “What’s his name, this General?” Femira asked, ice gripping her heart. Please don’t be Garld. Although she suspected that Garld would be wherever Landryn was.


    “Mattice, I believe it was.”


    Relief flooded through her. Mattice was a blunt tool. An oaf. She could handle him if it came to it.


    “You know,” Kez continued, swirling his drink, “this Keiran warrior fits the description of someone the Reldoni are searching for. Quite a large bounty on her, they’ve posted I hear. One of their elites went missing, you see—Annali Jahar, I believe it was?” he looked pointedly at Femira.


    Femira barked a rich laugh, “alright, let’s cut the shit here,” she said loud enough for nearby tables to hear, laying on the rough Altarian accent she’d picked up in years living in the city slums. “You think I’m Annali Jahar,” she shook her head, laughing again. “The Altarian Princess Annali Jahar.” She flooded all of the joy she had that she’d even managed to convince the nobles at Epilas that she was that same woman. “You think that a prim fucking Lady from the Court of the Suns—or whatever the Keiran Emperor calls it—would be here, slumming it with you lot,” she gestured grandly around her. “Don’t get me wrong,” she nodded up at the ceiling, “you’re right, the place looks like a palace, but the people…” she leaned back and took a hefty gulp of the clear liquor. She immediately regretted it as the liquid burned its way down her throat, setting her insides on fire.


    Her eyes watered. She coughed violently and was instantly spluttering the drink out.


    She heard laughing over her own coughing. Kez’s boisterous laugh, mixed in with that of a few nearby tables.


    “Well, if you were Annali Jahar, you’d likely handle your first taste of whitewhiskey a bit better!” He grinned, wiping a tear from his eye. “But no, girl, you’re no noblewoman. Still, it does make a man curious why my dear niece would take you on as a job.”


    “Because I’m paying her,” Femira croaked back, regaining her composure, though her eyes were still watering. “And now I’m paying you. I’ve business in the city. Won’t be here long.”


    “And I’m waiting on another job,” Connie added smoothly, sticking to their planned story. “War’s got everything up in the air, just like you said. I might be stuck here a few weeks.”


    “Must be one hell of a job if you’re willing to wait that long,” Kez mused, his grin widening.


    “It is,” Connie confirmed.


    “Well then, seems thirteen’s my lucky number after all.” Kez leaned back, satisfied. “I’ll expect my thirteen percent on that job too, my sweet niece.”