“Because it was real,” Sandrine said. “The memories you . . . we saw were real. They happened to people like you and I. The only difference is, they also lost their lives. Terrible things happen in this world, and people like you can stop them if you stop focusing on quests that are self-serving.”
The words burned, turning into fury as Maeve absorbed them, and then dust. Sandrine thought her selfish, consumed with her own self-serving interests. Her rebuttal died on her lips. It was true. Ever since she’d become a hired warrior—at times a bounty hunter—her actions had been selfish. She never considered whether her victims were innocent; instead she had focused on catching and turning them over for a pouch of gold. There was the father who had stolen a crate of goods from a merchant. She’d hunted him down and struck down the sons who tried to fight her when she’d captured the man. He’d wept, pleading his innocence, but she’d turned him over regardless. Then there was the thief in the citadel, hunted by the king’s men. The thief had a camp of men, women, and children in a nearby forest. Maeve had joined the warriors who hunted the thief and turned him over to the king’s guard to have his hands cut off for pillaging the kingdom. Those in his camp were imprisoned, perhaps executed, but Maeve had left with her bag of gold before finding out what happened to them. And the woman who had lived in a cave near the coast. She was a warrior, and had often stopped merchants who traveled along the coast, stealing their wares. Maeve had killed her, but before she died she begged for mercy. She did not want to leave her children alone, on their own. Maeve, who had never seen any children with the woman, hadn’t believed her, and hadn’t cared . . . but what if she had been wrong about each of those people? What if they had been innocent? What if they hadn’t deserved the fate she’d doomed them to?
Her reflections returned to her argument with the warlord, Caspian, she had served until the night of the full moon. A familiar panicky sensation rose in her at the thought of him. Initially, she had thought he was like every other warlord, hardened and stubborn, desensitized from fighting the wars of others, claiming land, and stockpiling wealth. Their initial meeting was in the dueling ring. Maeve was between jobs and her coin was running out, so she’d resorted to dueling. The dueling rings were ugly, full of brutes and bloodthirsty crowds. Maeve had taken a beating more than once, but none could match her strength, and dueling often opened doors to more work for her. As it did with Caspian, who took note and invited her to join his warriors on their next task. It had gone well, and she’d worked for him ever since. However, things changed.
Six months ago, Caspian decided his warriors would stop fighting and thieving for the sake of wealth, and would instead aim for something greater, something noble. Maeve blamed the change on his visits to temples. He’d studied with a priest and priestess of the Divine. While he refused to take on vows, he sought to understand the deeper meaning of life, and he’d become enlightened to the struggles of the people around him and his unique ability to offer solace and release from the difficulties and sorrows humans cast on each other.
Maeve was unhappy with the way he’d changed, and so quickly. It wasn’t that she did not want to help people, it simply seemed impossible for one warrior to make much of an impact, if at all. There were so many people in the world with power: kings, warlords, mages, priests, slavers, and the fae—just to name a few—plus the creatures, like orcs, who preyed on small villages. Caspian insisted that the way warriors and warlords treated the lives of others was not in line with the way of the Divine. Killing just to kill and killing for wealth was a sort of darkness. It wasn’t that Maeve did not believe him—after all, she prayed to the Divine, when she had a need. But Caspian claimed there was more.
Now, as Maeve stood on the shore and listened to Sandrine’s words, she understood on a deeper level what Caspian had tried to share with her. The memory hung, trapped in her thoughts, and she wondered how many lives she’d unknowingly shattered with her actions. Actions that had led her down an immoral path and into the hands of the fae.
“Where are we?” she asked to avoid the pricking of her conscious.
“The Bay of Biscane.”
Biscane. The word sounded familiar.
Sandrine continued. “Biscane is known for the warlords who keep towers full of wealth on the island, away from the mainland. We’ve landed on the northern end, which means we should be unseen. The law of truce applies here; everyone minds their own business, and trading takes place in the Village of the Lawless on the northeastern side of the bay.”
It dawned on Maeve why the name sounded familiar. Caspian had a tower, a refuge, on the southern end of Biscane, closer to the mainland and the citadel. During the year they’d spent running from battle to battle, he’d mentioned it, but she’d never been there. He often sent his comrades off to store treasure there, though, and they had a hired a ship to take the riches across the King’s Sea to his fortress. Maeve had been on the northeastern end of Biscane, to the outpost, also known as the Village of the Lawless. It was a haven for outcasts and warriors, a place to hide out, spend coin, or look for work.
She gazed at the wicked towers, glimmering like rows of knives in the white moonlight. Another full moon. She shivered, wondering if the fae were out, watching her progress.
A sudden hope beat in her breast. Would he be home? Lying low? Could she find him, seek refuge, and ask forgiveness for her bullheadedness? She fingered the golden collar around her neck, debating whether she’d tell him about her fate.
“We shall head toward one of the towers farthest from the outpost. A retired warlord, Lord Sebastian, dwells there, and you will find the first shard in his treasury,” Sandrine said.
Maeve scratched her head. The fae expected her and a worn-out scholar to perform a heist in the middle of a highly protected bay, near an outpost where the only escape would be to dive into the Sea of Sorrows or—if they could make it to the eastern side—the Sea of Eels. “We will be caught,” she frowned. “I don’t understand how the fae expect us to penetrate a fortress on an island full of warriors. This is not my first choice. Do you have any ideas?”
Sandrine raised an eyebrow. Maeve thought if she were taller, she’d look down her nose at Maeve.
“Sleep and a full belly should give you some ideas.” Sandrine jerked her chin north. “See the outcropping of rocks? There should be a cave where we can rest and hide for the remainder of the night.”
Maeve shivered and rubbed her hands over her arms. Salt sloughed away from her skin. What she would give for a hot fire and a warm bowl of soup.
“It would be foolish to start a fire,” Sandrine said, as though reading her mind. “The shores are guarded, and anyone who found us would not be kind to people who came out of the Sea of Sorrows.”
Maeve nodded, aware that Sandrine spoke the truth.
Using the moonlight, they made their way up the sandy beach and around jagged rocks to the cliffs that shot out over the bay. Caves loomed like eyeless sockets, providing shelter from the bitter rain and the relentless waves. Maeve trudged with her head down, considering her unique predicament. She would not survive if she were caught hunting for shards in the Bay of Biscane. It was protected on three sides by water, and the fortresses kept the fourth side fortified against those who wished to devour the wealth of Biscane.