RIVER

Chapter 5

River

The sun was just beginning to set when River Vaughn finished delivering freight to the shipyard for the merchant who’d hired him for the day. The thick, metal-studded bat he’d strapped inside his coat rested heavily against his chest, a reassuring weight as he faced east and began his weekly trip back to the home.

When River reached the city proper with its narrow streets and its canals snaking through the busiest sections, he stopped at the first dock he saw and paid a ferryman to row him to the market closest to east Nakdasha. It was an indulgence he rarely wasted coin on, but it was nearly dark, and he didn’t want to be on the streets any longer than he had to.

Besides, he had some thinking to do.

The new king was hiring—some said as many as forty-nine positions were available at the palace—and one of those positions was that of weapons master.

He didn’t have much in the way of credentials. He’d been working any job he could find, but he’d had no steady employer. No one would hire a boy from east Nakdasha on a permanent basis.

But with quite a few members of the palace staff refusing to work for the new king out of loyalty to the recently deceased royal family, and with plenty of workers uneasy about casting their lot in with the king when rumor had it many in the upper class didn’t support him, River figured maybe the king was desperate enough to overlook his upbringing and youth.

It was the best hope River had of finding steady income and a roof over his head.

The best hope he had of finally saving up enough to leave Nakdasha, escape his father’s reach, and never look back.

Once they’d docked, River tipped the ferryman and leaped from the boat.

Moments later, he’d picked up his weekly food order from a local merchant and was facing the entrance to east Nakdasha, his stomach sour at the thought of what lay ahead.

His mother didn’t deserve his weekly visits to fill her cupboards with food and to make sure she wasn’t lying passed out or dead, unnoticed and unmissed by anyone. He knew that.

But River wasn’t doing this because he felt obligated to the woman who’d given birth to him and his brother and then ignored their screams while her husband whipped them whenever he felt like it.

He was doing this because hatred and rage were the hallmarks of his father’s life. Making a different choice was the only way he knew to exert control over the kind of man he hoped to become.

River strode toward the gate leading into east Nakdasha, shutting down all reflections about his parents until nothing remained but one burning thought: survive.

His steps lengthened, and he flexed his shoulders as he pushed past the last of the market’s shoppers and walked through the cracked, decrepit archway that served as an entrance to the corner of the city that only the desperately poor and those who hoped to prey on them dared to enter.

He reached for his bat and pulled it free as he left the gate behind. Tension hummed through his muscles. The scars on his back tingled and burned as he focused on every movement, every sound that whispered toward him.

He walked rapidly, passing buildings of faded pastel clay with weeds growing out of cracks in the walls and the bitter stench of cheap pipe weed hanging heavy in the air.

He met the gaze of a few of the runners—children responsible for quickly informing the right people about the arrival of the city’s guard or an unsuspecting member of the upper class—and gave them a look that promised consequences if they interfered with him.

He didn’t want trouble with those who ran the streets.

And he’d made sure to earn a reputation for seriously injuring those who brought trouble his way.

River turned a corner and faced the hill leading toward his mother’s house. Keeping his face expressionless in the face of the crumbling, filthy buildings took effort.

He ignored her string of curses and put the bread, figs, lamb strips, and potatoes into the cupboard. The oranges went into a cracked bowl on the countertop. Then he turned and interrupted her tirade.

“If you didn’t buy caldoni with any coin you got your hands on, I might bring you some.”

“You know nothing.” She gave him a smug little smile and shoved her tangled gray-black hair out of her eyes.

“You need help,” he said quietly. “A new place, far from here. Some time to come down off the drug and start over fresh. Hiding from your life in the bowl of a pipe isn’t the same as making a true escape.”

Her lips quivered, and her voice lashed out bitterly. “Like you did? Like Paris? Leaving me here. Never coming back. Just like your father.”

He closed his eyes and crushed the fleeting longing that once—just once—she would speak to him like he mattered.

“I’ll be back next week. Don’t forget to eat.”

He closed the door behind him and closed out the sound of the vicious words she hurled at him as he hurried down the stairs and out of the building.

His hands were fists again, his stomach jittery as he walked toward the gate.

Why was it that even after eighteen years of learning to expect nothing better, he was still disappointed every time he saw her?

What was wrong with him that a tiny piece of his heart clung to the devastating need for her to see him as someone worth loving?

It was useless to think about.

Picking up his pace, he moved through the city and tried to convince himself that by the time he reached the stables where he’d been sleeping, the memory of this visit with his mother would no longer ache.

His focus should be on hoping that the King would accept his application.

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