HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2018
Copyright © Daniel Cohen 2018
Map © Micaela Alcaino 2018
Cover design and illustration by Stephen Mulcahey © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Daniel Cohen asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008207212
Ebook Edition © November 2018 ISBN: 9780008207229
Version: 2018-09-24
To my mother
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Part Two
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Part Three
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Daniel A. Cohen
About the Publisher
‘Break in.’ Shilah stabbed the shop door with a sweaty finger. ‘I think after what we invented you should have no problem with a lock, Spout.’
I was still in shock and barely able to think, let alone tinker.
News of my father’s death had kicked my heart halfway through my chest. And watching Leroi being consumed by the Vicaress and her army had finished the job. I had a feeling if I turned around quickly enough I’d see a red lump gathering sand and dust on the street, thumping its final beat.
My cleverness was as slow as scorched honey. Despite staring right at one, I’d forgotten how locks even work. Shilah was breathing heavily, her braided hair pasted against her right shoulder with sweat. There used to be a blade hidden in those locks when she’d lived out in the sands, but she’d given that habit up after moving to the Tavor Manor. Something at the back of my mind whispered that a traditional blade would be too big for this job anyway, but I had no access to any other memories that might spur an alternative plan.
‘Spout,’ she said. ‘I know you can do this.’
The dark skin of her face was flushed, thick beads of sweat dripping down her neck and staining the waterskin slung over her chest. After getting used to the comfort of Leroi’s tinkershop, I think both of our bodies had forgotten how deeply the sky could bite.
Shilah, Cam, and I had somehow avoided the Vicaress, fleeing through the empty sands and making it to the centre of Paphos without getting caught. The hour was too early for the Street Jadans to be racing towards their corners, which meant only the eyes of the sky were upon us.
The enemy wasn’t far behind and was quickly gaining ground. Shouts and commands flooded the nearby streets and echoed down the alleyways.
‘I don’t want’ – heave – ‘to rush you, Spout.’ Cam’s words were mostly wheeze, pitched up and squeezed. ‘But I think I hear’ – heave – ‘them coming.’
If Shilah appeared overheated, then Cam was roasted and ready to serve. Unkempt yellow hair was brightly contrasted against the red of his face, making him look as if he’d been hanging upside down all night, his blood gathered in his delicate Noble cheeks. He’d somehow managed to maintain his gold-rimmed glasses, but despite his best efforts, they kept sliding down his nose, his skin as slick as Ice.
Shouting from the pursuers became more barbed as the taskmasters closed in. The Vicaress and her forces had been at our heels since our narrow escape from the Tavor gardens, where Cam’s father nearly had us cornered. If not for Leroi’s heroics,