Bid My Soul Farewell Read online

  “My mother was the practical one,” I said. I didn’t look at Grey, but I could tell that he was surprised by the sudden shift in conversation, even more so because I so rarely spoke about home to him. “She tried to ground Nessie and me.” I laughed. “Nessie walked with her head in the clouds, always, and Mama would be the one reminding us that we had to work to make all those dreams come true.”

  I heaved a sigh. We were almost to Hart now—I could see the busy dock, even though it was too far to hear.

  “Papa, he was the one who believed,” I continued. “He believed in us. Believed we could do anything.”

  I turned to Grey now. He studied my face, trying to understand me.

  I could go on. I could tell Grey my hope to restore Nessie’s soul, my belief that I could do it, if I just had the right knowledge and resources.

  But I didn’t want to see the doubt in his eyes.

  TWENTY

  Grey

  HART WAS AT once both bigger and smaller than I expected. The docks themselves were narrow, and the Emperor’s cruiser had difficulty finding a large port.

  But as soon as Nedra and I were past the wooden docks, I realized that this was no provincial town. The streets were made of earth-packed cobblestones, smooth and even. Although the southern part of the city was a mishmash of crisscrossed streets, farther north they settled into a familiar grid pattern. I was reminded that Hart was older than Northface Harbor. It had been the original capital, and Northface Harbor benefitted from the mistakes of the old city. Rather than sprawling chaotically as it grew, Northface Harbor was plotted out with a grid of numbered streets and a dock area large enough to expand as the traffic rose.

  “So where are we going?” Nedra asked. She had her cloak pulled up over her white hair, held in place by pins. I had worried she’d look too conspicuous, but several women and a few men wore their hoods pulled low.

  “The Emperor’s steward arranged for us to have rooms at a local inn.” I consulted the little book where I’d written down the information. The inn was called the Eagle & Child, and was located on Lethe Street, but I had no idea how to navigate.

  “Us?” Nedra asked, cocking an eyebrow at me.

  It took me a moment to understand her. “Well,” I said, smiling, “a room for me. But I’m sure we can get another for you.” I hoped so, anyway. If worst came to worst, I could sleep on the ship as the soldiers aboard were doing. But it would be noisy, cramped, and uncomfortable.

  The ship was going to stock up for the journey across the sea. It should take us eight days total to reach Miraband, the Empire’s capital, a few less or more depending on weather. Most of the crew were soldiers who were returning home after their commissioned time abroad was up. The return journey would bring their replacements back to the Emperor as well as, I hoped, a new commission for exports from Lunar Island.

  Nedra and I walked along the dock as I explained this all in more detail to her. Rather than be excited by the prospect, though, Nedra frowned.

  “Doesn’t this all seem a little . . . rushed?” she asked.

  I conceded the point. “But the Emperor wants to be able to give people good news at the rally he’s holding soon,” I said. “He wants to show everyone that he’s a different ruler from the tyrant Adelaide painted him to be.”

  We walked a few more paces along the wooden dock. The boards were weather-worn and splintering, not at all like the smooth planks of Blackdocks.

  “Then why you?” Nedra finally asked.

  I shook my head, unwilling to answer her question.

  “If it’s that important to change the north’s economy like that,” she continued, snapping her fingers, “why send you and not a finance expert? Or someone who works with inter-colonial trade?”

  I bit my lip. How was I supposed to tell her that I was being sent because I was the only one who’d brought up the north’s destitution? That no one on the council bothered to speak up in support of the idea?

  That I wouldn’t have cared either, had it not been for Nedra?

  We reached the end of the dock, where the streets began, and I looked around. I could see a covered marketplace extending from the docks, though, and a part of me wanted to go straight there, to get started on my task and prove to Ned that I was up for the job.

  Nedra slipped her hand around my arm, her fingers gently pulling me back to the here and now. “Let’s get to the inn first,” she said softly.

  I shook my head, clearing it. “Of course.” I looked around me. In Northface Harbor, metal-and-enamel street signs were embedded into the sides of buildings at intersections. That was true here, too . . . occasionally.

  “Where is it?” Nedra asked, a smile playing on her lips. I rattled off the address to her, and in a few moments, she strode confidently down one street and then another.

  “How can you tell where we’re going?” I said. “This city makes no sense.”

  Nedra shrugged. “I’ve been here enough times, I suppose. Here, go this way, it’s quicker.” Nedra veered off the main street toward a set of stairs that connected to a higher street. My legs pumped as I hurried to keep up with her pace.

  I remembered the way I had taken Nedra to the Imperial Gardens in Northface Harbor. She had gotten so turned around that I had to guide her back to Yūgen afterward. She had seemed like such a country girl. But Nedra was in her element now. I realized that back then, she hadn’t been overwhelmed by city life; she just hadn’t had a chance to get to know my city.

  “Here,” Nedra announced, drawing up short in front of a drab-looking building. The walls were covered in cedar planks, rough-hewn and stained dark, interrupted only by two large windows made of tiny panes filled with blown glass, each little square marred by bubbles and waves. Hanging above the door was a painted wooden sign without words, just a picture of an enormous roc eagle with a naked baby clutched in its talons. The child seemed oddly calm despite its airborne kidnapping.

  Nedra noticed me staring. “It’s from one of the old myths,” she said dismissively, ignoring the sign as she pushed open the door.

  I immediately stumbled as I followed her inside; the floor was so old that the entrance dipped in, the wooden planks worn smooth and thin from use. Nedra caught me with her left shoulder, steadying me.

  She waited for me to take over; the reservation was in my name. But I saw no serviceman ready to wait on us, and there was no desk. Sighing but still smiling, Nedra nudged me toward the bar.

  “Whatchoowan?” the barman said in one breath. I was still trying to discern what he had asked when Nedra spoke for me.

  “We have reservations for the night,” she said. Before she finished the sentence, more of her country accent had slipped into her speech. The barman grinned at her.

  “Oi, yeah, both ya?” he said, nodding to me.

  “It’s for one room, but could we have two?” Nedra asked. She nudged me again.

  “Oh, yes, um,” I started, reaching for the slip the travel secretary had given me, a lender paper from the Emperor’s funds.

  The barman turned to Nedra, ignoring me. “Yeah, w’gotcha. Up and last two left, sav?”

  Nedra smiled. “Wonderful, thank you,” she said.

  She turned and headed toward the set of stairs.

  “What about our rooms?” I hissed.

  Nedra shot me a look. “We have the last two on the left on the second floor,” she said. “Didn’t you hear him?”

  There were only six guest rooms total, but I suspected we were the only occupants today—the hall was empty and silent. Nedra and I each claimed our room, agreeing to head to supper in a few minutes. When we met in the hall soon after, Nedra leaned against the wall, her cloak slipping off her shock of white hair.

  “Here,” I said, reaching up and tugging the material down. Her hair was soft and smelled faintly of flowers. She rolled her eyes at me as I t
ucked a lock back under the dark cloak, checking the pins.

  “We’re in Hart now; I don’t have to be so careful,” she said, pushing me away.

  The lower floor of the inn served as a tavern. A group of men sat at the bar, steadily drinking mead and rarely talking, but a larger group of people gathered near the big open fireplace, sitting on stuffed leather chairs, plucking meat rolls from the large basket set on the center table.

  Nedra led me to a table hidden in the shadows, not that far away from the group by the fire. A lanky boy with a shaved head came by to tell us that supper consisted of two choices: meat rolls or stew with bread. Our drink choices were limited to mead, apple wine, or water. “Though we got some goat milk if you want it?” the boy asked in a cracking voice.

  We both chose stew and water. I would see enough of meat rolls on the journey.

  Once the steaming bowls were placed in front of us, Nedra took a spoonful and sighed happily. “It’s not your fancy food, but it’s good, isn’t it?” she asked.

  I could tell she really cared, so I waited until I’d properly tasted my own supper before grinning at her. “It is,” I confirmed.

  Nearby, the group by the fire had finished eating and had moved on to mead. The longer they sat together, the louder they got.

  And the angrier.

  “He’s not going!” one woman announced. “We all saw that ship that docked today. He’s sent some of his soldiers here.”

  My eyes widened as I looked at Nedra. They were talking about the Emperor. They were talking about my ship.

  “Nah,” another man said, touching the woman’s arm. “They’re just here for a night or two before they head back to Miraband. I heard the captain talking to the dockslip.”

  “Yeah, but the Emperor’s not going, is he?” the woman snarled back. “That ship’ll come back with even more soldiers, mark it.”

  “What’s he need soldiers for?” another woman asked. “He can go back to the mainland and leave us be.”

  I wanted to tell them that they were wrong. The Emperor cared about them all, my mission was to help them. Nedra shook her head at me subtly, but I didn’t need her warning. I knew better than to speak.

  “He needs soldiers to kill the witch,” an older man sitting near the fire said. His voice was low, but the entire tavern silenced when he spoke.

  Witch? I sucked in a breath, my eyes shooting to Nedra. She ducked her head lower, turning her cloak to they couldn’t see her face, let alone her hair. Information of Nedra’s necromancy might not have shown up in any of the official news sheets, but I shouldn’t be surprised that the story had traveled fast. People talk, and who wouldn’t want to talk about this? I found myself wondering how different things would be if the news sheets had just printed the whole truth.

  “She may be good. Wellebourne was from here. Wellebourne wanted to lead us to freedom.” I couldn’t see who spoke, but the words were met with disdain.

  “Good? That heretical witch? She should burn for what she did.” The old man thumped his leg against the floor, and it thudded heavily; he had a wooden leg to replace one that was likely lost in the plague.

  “You read the news sheets,” the first one said, swinging her mug of mead toward the old man. “The plague came from Governor Adelaide.”

  “Can’t trust any of ’em,” the man snarled back. “Nothing good will come from a witch like that back on our island. Nothing,” he spat. Most of the others around him nodded in agreement. “We should go to the little rock she’s camping out on and kill her ourselves. Throw her head at the Emperor, and maybe then he’d leave us be.”

  His accent was thick, but it just made the vitriol in his voice that much more evident.

  Nedra put her spoon down beside her bowl but otherwise didn’t move.

  “We don’t need any of ’em!” the man said, his voice louder, thunking his wooden foot on the floor for emphasis. “If we want to be true free men of Lunar Island, we can’t have a tyrant from the mainland, and we can’t have a witch of our own who’ll do nothing but turn us into dead flesh puppets.”

  Nedra flinched.

  “Yeah?” A voice from across the fireplace—a woman with short-cropped hair—spoke up, challenging the older man. “And what do you want, Rom?”

  “Not them,” he spat out. “Someone from here. Ain’t got a single northerner on the council, do we?”

  “That ain’t true, Rom,” the woman said. I wondered which members of council had been born in the north—certainly none of them spoke with a thick accent like these people. “It’s them meetings what’s been riling you up. Let the politicians do what they want, at least the plague is over. We can recover on our own.”

  “If we’re to be left on our own, why not let us rule on our own?” Rom looked around for support. I didn’t hear anyone clamoring to his side, but he must have been satisfied, because his voice rose in triumph. “We need no ruler to guide us from across the sea; we can rule ourselves!”

  “Fine.” The woman crossed her arms. “You go start a rebellion against the most powerful man in the world. I’ll be busy with the farm, then, and counting my blessings we’ve no more sick.”

  A few others muttered their agreement, but the man thumped his foot against the floor again, then slammed his mug on the table.

  “Are you that thick, Linna?” Rom gaped at her, as if he couldn’t quite believe her words. “That plague, it was from a necromancer. And now you’re fine letting another one live in our bay? She could do the same at any moment. Haven’t we lost enough?”

  He had struck a chord. The woman—Linna—scrunched her face, her eyes welling with rage-filled tears that she swiped away. “Don’t you talk to me about what I’ve lost,” she growled.

  “There, that.” The man leaned in closer to her, almost knocking one of the other people out of his way. “That anger? That’s what we need now.”

  “I’m not joining your little cause,” Linna said, steeling her spine and turning away from the man.

  “There’s more of us than you’d think.” The man looked around the room. It was clear that, of everyone, he was the political radical, and while most of the people in his crowd avoided his eye contact, there were a few quietly nodding in agreement.

  “Besides,” Rom said as Linna started to walk away. “I know what your mother would say.”

  “Don’t you dare talk about my mother,” Linna said, but the fight was draining from her.

  “She was a religious woman, and you know it,” Rom said. “She may not have cared about politics, but she wouldn’t suffer a witch to live on her island. It’s against the gods.” He looked around, locking eyes with all of his friends, his gaze thankfully skimming over Nedra and me. “It’s against the gods, I say, and they’ll only be happy with us if the necromancer burns.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Nedra

  I ALMOST WISHED that there had been no extra rooms at the inn, and that Grey and I had been forced to sleep together. I kept hearing that man’s words over and over in my mind, and I wondered what he would do if he knew who I was. Would he have reached into the flames for a torch? Or would he have listened? I didn’t want to turn this world into a stage for my undead; I only wanted to be left alone.

  In the silent night, I reached out for my revenants.

  Ollah?

  There was no response for so long that I worried I was too far away from my revenants for us to communicate. But eventually, I felt her—felt the others.

  All is quiet, she whispered in my brain. Relief washed over me. There was no threat tonight, at least. Still, anxiety twisted my stomach. I didn’t like how far I was from my revenants, how much time it had taken to get such a simple reply.

  * * *

  • • •

  I woke at dawn. Grey had his work to do, and I saw no point in delaying my own.

  My plan was a shot
in the dark, and I knew it, but I had mostly resigned myself to the idea of going along with Grey to Miraband. Still, Papa had mostly traded in Hart with one book dealer in particular, so checking her shop first seemed like a logical starting point.

  Dressing quickly, I paused before I left, then turned to the small potbelly stove in my room. It was warm enough that I had not lit it last night, but there were ash and coal still inside. I grabbed a chunk of coal and carefully rubbed it against my white hair. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but with my cloak pulled and pinned, it was better than before.

  I checked my appearance in the grimy mirror by the door. For a moment, walking the streets of Hart beside Grey, I’d felt . . . comfortable.

  But that, I knew, was exactly the kind of thinking that would get me—and therefore all my revenants—killed.

  Safe did not exist.

  Wrapping my cloak tighter and grabbing my knapsack, I slipped from my room and down the stairs, out of the inn, pausing only to ask the barkeep to tell Grey I’d gone to Bunchen’s antique shop. I didn’t want him to worry, and I wanted to do this alone.

  In the cool morning light, traces of fog lingered in the air, but it was rapidly evaporating. The docks were far enough away that I couldn’t hear them, but I knew that they would be the busiest place in the whole city now, fresh fish being carted right to the market, ships preparing to cross the bay to the city, journeys beginning or ending. But even the streets uphill from the dock were already bustling with activity.

  As I turned a corner, I almost rammed into a mule with a cart lashed against a post. An early delivery to one of the nearby houses, I supposed. The mule was soft grayish-brown, with big warm eyes that reminded me of Jojo, the mule Papa had used for his bookcart. I wished I had an apple or a lump of sugar, but I held my empty palm out anyway. She snuffled my hand.

  Her eyes rolled back in fear, and her ears flattened against her head. She let out a wild bray and kicked with her back legs, dislodging her cart. I tried to step forward to calm the animal, but the mule jerked against her stays in her frenzied attempt to get away.