Distant Shingle Beaches

There were bloodstains under her fingernails.

One last job.

Cordelia pressed her forehead against the shaft of her spear, and the cool silver send a chill down her neck. Her legs tingled with that awful near-numbness from kneeing on the temple's tiled floor for too long. The last bits of sunlight had vanished from the ornate shutters, and now neither Sacae's merciless summer nor the raging fires in the west fended off the cold of the stone. The same cold as in Pheraen novice barracks.

But Cordelia endured the ache of her knees like she always did. This would be her last job. How often had she told herself that now? Talys, her home, had seemed a mere armlength away. Five short steps to take Roy's offered hand, and it would all be hers. She felt the wet shingle under her bare feet, the sand running between her fingers – but it was just the tingle of her muscles from staying seated for too long.

She stroked the polished spearhead until she arrived at the white feather hanging from the shaft. Dried blood still stuck under her fingernails.

"I'm sorry," Cordelia said to the shrine's centerpiece. "I will do better this time."

Where other shrines placed a mural or a statue of the goddess Naga, this one displayed a small wooden carving of her Voice. Some twenty years ago, she had preached or maybe performed a miracle here, and a carpenter swayed by her words had built this shrine in her honor. It probably offended ten rules of Nagaism; a single-story building, square instead of circular, and with shutters in Ostian style. He had forgotten a candlestand too. But the carpenter had captured Tiki's childlike face to perfection. Even more lively than the small figure at the marketplace. She beamed at the room, even though Cordelia alone sat here, and despite the blood on Cordelia's hands, there simmered no accusation in the painted green eyes.

Cordelia had found the shrine by chance. After what had happened at the marketplace, she had laid low, had decided to wait out the worst of the storm. Only the storm hadn't ebbed. The firewall still roared, and Ostia devoured itself in fear.

She had debated running away. Her favorite tactic, a sly voice inside her said. But her client's signature still tempted her, the shore of Talys still lured her, even if she might shatter at the wave-lashed rocks.

Too many hours had gone by already. Cordelia rose to her feet. Her hand around the spear trembled. If her plan worked out, she wouldn't need the weapon tonight. Maybe she should leave it here, hide it under the carpet roll a frightened farmer had tucked away when he had fled the town, as though Tiki's statue protected his treasure from thieves.

"This will be the last time," Cordelia said. "I promise."

She choked, and with her spear in hand, she stepped out of the shrine.

Ostia's streets greeted her with the frightened shouts of its people. Geese bleated, horses whinnied, and above the plaster of the eastern buildings, the sky burned orange. An ashen taste hung on Cordelia's lips when she tried to wet them. The firewall had reached the Ostella river, and the first townspeople fled their homes, slowed by children, carts with household junk, and the uncertainty of where to run. They had no lord left to tell them. Uther, that pathetic coward, had gotten himself killed before the situation turned really bad. And in the wake of his death, he left panic and another set of complications for Cordelia's job.

She slipped into the crowd, weaved in and out of the commotion, her feet bound for a mansion by the riverside. The smell of muddy water did little to overpower the rough stench of burned crops. The townsfolk hurled cries for help at the sky. Kings and lords didn't act. So they carried out the fight with their own hands.

Sudden brightness forced Cordelia to squint when she ducked out of an alleyway. The plaza, barely wide enough to fit a dried well and fenced by overhanging houses, was awash in the orange of a second, smaller firewall. The flames crackled as they flickered out of blue window frames. Her target… no, the blue plaster that was rapidly turning black didn't match the intel.

Three people dragged a robed man towards the house, even as he was kicking and screaming and begging. He received a fist for his efforts, and a tooth dropped into the dust. More fists followed. When the man slumped, kicks replaced punches.

Cordelia approached the scene, ready to dart sideways should one of the attackers see a more desirable target in her. The man closest to her had the bronze tan of a farmer, and an ill-fitted headscarf with Lorca patterns kept his hair back for when he tilled his fields. Fields that were likely burning by now.

"A thief?" Cordelia asked.

The man with the headscarf dealt his victim a kick to the ribs and spat out. "Wizard scum. But he'll get what he deserves."

One of the other attackers grabbed the robed man, now more lump of flesh than mage, by the collar. "Why won't you work your magic now, wizard? Take a good look. Yeah, you recognize that place, don't you? That's your house burning over there. Why won't you put out the fire? Why won't you put out the fire you cursed our fields with?"

A punch sent the mage back to the ground before he could even begin incantations. It would be a wonder if he remembered any.

Cordelia struggled to tear her eyes from him. He writhed like the novice Pegasus knights had writhed after they had lost a training duel. Like them, he had retreated deep into himself where the broken bones stung less, knowing that pleas would meet deaf ears. One time, she had cowered in his place, the shingle had dug into her face, and she had tugged her hands under her chest because she needed them for harp practice afterwards, and her teacher hated blood under her fingernails. After that, she had never lost again.

The mage raised his head from the ground, and through swollen eyelids, he looked at Cordelia. A look of betrayal within all that pain. He knew she could help him, somehow he knew. Her spear would make quick work of his attackers, but she only watched.

The same betrayal had swirled in Asbel's eyes. Betrayal and disbelief.

The assassin Asbel had run into would have caught up to them. Around them the market visitors had screamed, and the noise had come closer, like the boots of the assassin came closer. The horses were too far away. Talys only a fading dream. But Cordelia wasn't done living. She bought herself the seconds she needed to escape. That was the simple truth.

She shoved Asbel. He stumbled, the people dashed around him, but he knew who had pushed him. A look of betrayal and disbelief. Then she continued running.

Someone, Cordelia hadn't paused to look, they were only a shadow in her memory, had untied the reins of her horse and wanted to flee on its back. They had died too. All that remained of them were bloodstains under her fingernails.

And now the mage on the street before her begged her with that look in his eyes to use her spear to save him.

But this was her last job, and she had promised Tiki to spill no more blood. How often had she made that promise? She had lost count.

The three farmers towed the mage towards the flames bursting out of his doorframe. He no longer put up a fight.

And Cordelia hurried back into the shadows until the sloshing of the river drowned out the crackle of fire and blue plaster melting from the walls. She shouldn't think. Thoughts had brought her nothing but trouble, and that little rebellion of the mind hadn't saved Talys. Thoughts might lead her back to that throne room door she had closed, when she had traded a crown for an island. The throne room tiles had been slippery with blood. But tonight she had promised Tiki to do better.

Her target peeled out of the dimness; the fire glow struck the mansion's white colonnades and high garden walls. Although the townsfolk faced starvation, this estate, a misplaced palace really, had all the lavish pomp expected for the small second son of an even smaller Pheraen lord. White blooms of night hibiscus dangled over the walls, and if a peasant tiptoed, they might just catch one of the flowers. Generous alms.

A little farther along the waterfront stood the iron-wrought gates and another of Cordelia's complications: two sets of guards. As expected, the small lord had ordered double shifts after unidentified attackers had blown up the marquess' villa. That in and of itself had been one of Cordelia's complications. Part of her job had included poking Uther until he spilled answers about his dead brother and the potential gemstones he had left behind. But Uther had avoided her questions with death, and a quick search through his half-destroyed villa had brought forth nothing of value.

Fine then. Cordelia wouldn't have liked to play nice around yet another lord anyway.

Two of the guards left the gates and, with nervous glances towards the firewall's glow, patrolled along the garden walls.

Cordelia crouched deep into the shadows of her alleyway and crawled over her spear to hide its metallic shimmer. The white of her eyes might have betrayed her position, so she kept her face buried in the crook of her arm, assessed the guards' position by the sound of their boots. They were uneasy. The rhythm of their steps was hasty, awkward, like harp play from broken hands.

One time they paused, and Cordelia tightened the grip on her spear. But they only commented on the mage's burning house one block farther. Something ought to be done, they agreed. Then they continued their rounds.

As soon as the sound of their steps faded behind a corner, Cordelia rushed across the street. She hurled her spear over the wall, and in the same breath jumped. One of her boots scratched the plaster, slipped, but compared to the slate cliffs of Talys, the wall offered more than enough dents to find footing. Two heaves later, she had reached the top and dropped down on the other side.

She came down next to her spear, raised the tip, and counted to ten. No alarmed shouts. No hurried steps either. In fact, the panicked noise of Ostia's people failed to breach the garden wall, and except for the wind brushing through hibiscus bushes, it was silent.

For the tenth time today, Cordelia recounted her client's description of the item he wanted her to retrieve. A gemstone about the size of a seagull's egg, similar in color to an amethyst but fake even to an untrained eye for its utter lack of facets.

Cordelia scaled the colonnade hugging the southern side of the mansion, careful to avoid lose shingles. What her client wanted with the gemstone, he hadn't said. But he had stressed the importance of keeping a low profile. The Pheraen oppressors hadn't exactly bothered with subtlety in her training, but her client, in a rare moment of idiocy, had entrusted this job onto her.

Well, her and Asbel. They should both have known better.

Intel said the small lord's bedchambers offered a second-floor view of the riverside. Since the gemstone couldn't wow the lord's guests as a real amethyst, he likely kept it in a personal drawer, if he had kept it at all. The window in question was dark, but candlelight seeped through the shutters of the drawing room two windows further. As her client had said, the small lord entertained a habit of late-night drinks. She pictured a crystal decanter of Talys wine and retched.

Nobles had everything. And what they didn't have they lured into their chambers with title and gold. Their signet alone could carry a worn soldier across the sea, back home.

Cordelia preferred not to think of her client as a noble. If she did, she might as well admit to herself that this job would never end. Not until she drove a knife into his back.

Rebellious thoughts. The instructors had never taught her to silence those.

Balancing on a ledge maybe two toes in width, Cordelia reached over her head and opened one of the bedchamber's shutters. The guards had finished their patrol and complained about cut rations, their loud voices just as effective in driving off intruders as their halberds.

Cordelia pulled herself onto the windowsill and into the dim room beyond. The constant orange glow highlighted a bedframe, an overabundance of mirrors, and in a corner, a dresser. Quiet now. Let the small lord sip his wine in peace.

Something moved in her periphery, and she startled. Her reflection looked back at her from one of the mirrors. She whirled around with gritted teeth and ducked out of the way of any other reflections thrown at her until she sunk a hand into the first set of drawers. Their content proved her intuition right; brooches and gold chains tumbled towards her, pearls on strings, pearls embedded into silk collars, and two pearls used as the eyes of a small ivory horse. This collection could supply a rebel army for a year, but the owner rather had it gather dust.

Cordelia pulled open another drawer and then another all while a string of Tellius curses with a dangerously familiar voice fired through her head. The purple gemstone wasn't here. And if the small lord displayed it in his drawing room instead?

She dug deeper into the ocean of pearls, blacked out the mirrors and the room as a whole. The stone had to be here. It had to. She couldn't handle another setback. The feeling of Talys' wet shingles slipped away from her. If she lost her client's favors…

"Isn't it a bit early for pillaging?"

Cordelia spun around, her spear poised for the door. A middle-aged man stood on the threshold with a wineglass in hand. The gleam of the spearhead didn't intimidate him. He was a man used to spears answering his orders, people worshipping his words. A man who had trained his ego, not his muscles, and his posture left every weak spot open. Titles instead of armor protected him, and he believed that was enough in every corner of the world. Even without the gold frills hanging from his tunic, Cordelia would have recognized him as the noble who owned this mansion: the small lord.

"I thought the thieving would only start once the good townsfolk had left." The small lord examined Cordelia's face with poorly contained interest. A look he might give a shiny pearl as he added it to his collection. "Although you're a little fancy for a thief."

If he screamed, his guards would flock to his chamber in no time. Cordelia steadied her spear, forced her arms down. The distance between herself and the freedom beyond the garden wall seemed awfully long. Even so, she needed that gemstone. And the small lord knew where it was.

"I've learned the best thieves don't need to sneak to get rich" Cordelia said.

The small lord evidently paid more attention to her face than her words. "Why don't we pretend you came in through the front door? I do prefer that idea. As I prefer good company along with my wine. Perhaps you could join me for a glass? We could talk and—"

Cordelia sent him a smile as sharp as the spearhead she raised to his throat. "You talk. I drink."

He swallowed, and for the first time something like fear stole into his eyes. A silk-wrapped fear wondering if the glass of wine in his hand would be his last one, but she could work with that.

She directed him to the drawing room, and he did her the favor of keeping his mouth shut until she had barred the door with a chair. Unfortunately, his self-centered preference for decoration continued here; even more mirrors hung next, opposite, and atop one another to make sure every inch of the host was properly displayed for his guests at all times.

The unease threatened to cramp Cordelia's back. Opening the shutters only brought a little relief, and the air still tasted of ashen corn. No traces of ocean salt. Asbel had burned his rations once when he had practiced his fire magic… She straightened, forced in some of the military stiffness she despised so much. She couldn't expose her weak points. Nobles knew how to use them against her.

The small lord poured a second glass of wine and placed it on a round table for two. Then he lounged on his chair. An entire army of reflections backed him up and eased him into a more confident smile.

Cordelia glared at him. "Hands on the table."

The small lord paused but decided a sip of wine wasn't worth the risk of a blade in his abdomen and laid his hands on the table.

Cordelia placed her spear next to her wineglass to make sure the small lord wouldn't forget its existence. She sipped from her drink and had to suppress a shiver. Memories came rushing back of the one time they had awarded the victor of the training rounds with a feast; slices of swan meat, an entire bunch of grapes. And in a silver-rimmed cup, Talys wine. The taste was the same. Yet another complication she hadn't prepared for.

But she could still win this job with talk. Lucina, Roy, they had done it too, and how often had she found herself enchanted by their words?

"I'm looking for something," Cordelia said, ignoring the free chair. "A purple gemstone, about this small. It was stolen from my client twenty years ago. And he has reasons to believe you have it."

"Why, was it valuable?"

"Right now? About as valuable as your life."

"How awfully serious." The small lord shifted in his chair. His eyes darted towards the single door. Was he playing for time?

"Unless the wine stole your memory, I suggest you talk." Cordelia leaned over the table, one hand inches from her spear. "You, a tournament twenty years ago, and a purple gemstone. Is that ringing any bells?"

"I saw it by chance when I found myself bored by the endless back and forth of tournament riders. The Pheraen prince was winning all his jousts anyway."

"And boredom makes thieves."

"It was only a short glimpse but the stone captivated me, is that what you want to hear? I hired someone to steal it because knowing this marvelous piece was in another man's possession did not let me sleep. The first glance was like gazing into an eye of the gods for the first time…"

"Where is it?"

"Hm? Oh, I don't have it anymore. I hung it around a woman's neck years ago. She was quite fascinated by it, and well, I was fascinated by her. And what a character she was. Vicious with every word, but I had never seen a woman pluck the flames from candles to let them dance between her fingers like she did."

Cordelia fought the urge to slam the nearest candle into the small lord's eye socket. This last job stretched longer and farther, and Talys never came closer.

"Then how about you tell me where you're hiding your old flame?"

"Gods, no, that's all in the past. You needn't worry. Right now, you are beyond competition." The small lord gave her an insinuating smile.

Bastard.

"I have plenty of other gemstones you might fancy," the small lord said. "Pick one of them, and if you insist to leave, tell your… client I apologize for his inconvenience with that purple stone." He sipped from his wine.

Cordelia knew how much pressure she needed to break a bone. She lunged forward, grabbed the small lord's wrist and squeezed. He yelped. The wineglass dropped to the floor.

"I said: Hands on the table."

Pain clawed lines into the small lord's face, he gasped, and only then did Cordelia let go of his wrist. He shivered. But after two forceful breaths, he put down his hands and watched while the wine stain on his Djutian sisal carpet grew. The colorful horses drowned in burgundy. Cordelia couldn't say who of them was more disturbed by the image.

The small lord wetted his lips. He sat unmoving for a long moment, caught in the aftertaste of his wine, as if the sprained wrist and the threat of death that came with it had heightened his senses, and he tasted an aroma of salt and snapdragons he had never noticed before.

"When you have the information you want," he said, "will you kill me?"

"No."

And Cordelia hoped it was the truth.

The wine stain conquered another horse, and blue turned red.

"I don't know where the gemstone is," the small lord said. "But most treasures in this region end up with the dragon at King's Plight. Some believe gold offerings appease the creature. I would look there. I heard rumors…"

"What rumors?"

"The Altean queen is in Sacae. At least she was at Uther's mansion. And one of his maidservants told me Her Highness also declared interest in King's Plight. Maybe she will offer herself to appease the dragon. I think it was an oral testament that said the old bloodlines have gold in their veins."

Cordelia forced in a shallow breath. The room was spinning. Dozens upon dozens of reflections were swirling around her, and a heavy oak door fell shut, the handle still cold under her hand. Of all people, Lucina was in Sacae. And maybe with her rode… No, she would not dare that thought, his face, to invade her head.

Complications.

She needed to focus on something else, anything to keep the small lord talking.

"Why do you have a maidservant at Uther's mansion?" she asked. Good enough.

"To spy on him, of course. I thought he might dabble in some scandals behind closed doors, but the only scandal is the timing of his death. Ostia was a ripe fruit in an old man's garden, and I wasn't the only one who reached out to pluck it. Now? The fruit is burning. And if this is any god's design, they must love watching the people tear each other apart for the charred scraps."

"Gods, sure. Just like the purple gods-eye you stole."

"The stone at least was real. It had power men could use. Even if it was just to lure a woman into conversation. And we are talking now, aren't we?"

"Not for much longer. Where do I find that dragon?"

"When you near the summit of King's Plight, you will find an old shrine. For Nagaism, I believe. If you are looking for gemstones, it might be the ideal place to start. I, well, may have left a few gold coins there for the dragon, once or twice."

"What a waste."

The small lord shrugged. "We all want to live, don't we?"

And what was life without a home to return to?

Cordelia lifted her spear from the table. If she hurried, she might leave Ostia's outskirts within the hour. And then a long ride up King's Plight. She needed to believe the gemstone waited there. She needed to believe that she was making headway. Otherwise she would forever find herself back in the training camp with shingle digging into her face.

When she turned towards the window, the white feather dangled from her spear and caught the small lord's eye. A strange expression furrowed his face.

"A pretty token," he said. "You're a Pegasus knight, aren't you?"

Cordelia swallowed in a dry throat. "Wrong."

"They had quite the reputation in the Pheraen army. A shame King Rath lost them all."

"They never were his. Or Roy's."

"Of course." The small lord leaned over the table with a growing smile. "You know what other rumors I heard? I heard it was a former Pegasus knight who let King Roy into the Pheraen palace at the end of the civil war. A former Pegasus knight who just might match your description. Rumor has it she struck down all of Queen Lucina's guards and locked her in with Roy. History had almost turned out differently. Now Roy would lead the charge against the firewall and its pesky spellcasters. Or perhaps there would have never been a firewall? A fine thought, and yet here we are. All thanks to one Pegasus knight."

The room blurred before Cordelia's eyes. The blood roared in her ears, louder, louder, loud as the sound of swords on swords while two Pheraen armies hacked at each other in the shadow of their sandstone palace. A throne room door closed.

And a look of pure betrayal twisted the face of the one man who truly mattered to her. Betrayal and disbelief.

"Tell me," the small lord said, and his voice crept into her ears to spread its fire. "Does your client know about this little incident on your ledger? I haven't written him in a while, but perhaps I should warn him from daggers aimed at his back. Or should I say spears?"

It was just talk, nothing else. Nobles always talked. He had nothing to threaten Cordelia with. She needed to focus on the breeze from the window, blind herself to the countless mirrored smiles, pretend she didn't see the paneling that seemed to turn redder by the minute.

"It was a sad day if the stories are to be believed. The Pheraen royal house lost its only heir. But Altea had little to celebrate either, isn't that right? They lost the Voice of their precious goddess. She jumped in front of the queen to protect her from Roy, so the story goes. Wasn't she called Tiki? Little more than a young girl, and such a sweet one. They have a shrine for her someplace here in Ostia." The small lord smiled. "What a waste."

Cordelia tightened the grip on her spear. The salty taste on her lips was the memory of tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"What was that?"

"Not for you."

And a dozen reflections jumped forward at once.

The stain on the Djutian carpet grew larger. It turned a different shade of red.

Less than an hour later, Cordelia had saddled her horse and raced down the road east of Ostia. She had one last job to complete. And at the end of it all, she would pray for Tiki's forgiveness again.


Notes: I'm terribly busy right now, but at least I managed to upload this chapter as scheduled. And as is tradition, Cordelia is having a bad time. I realize I'm only drip-feeding you information about how she got from Terra's harbor where Ike dropped her to where we see her in this chapter, but that's part of the mystery. Some of you might have already drawn the connection to figure out who Cordelia's client is, but for the rest of you, all will be revealed in time. (Although I would love to read your guesses!)

In the next chapter, Ike races against time, mind games are played, and things take a turn for the much worse.