In a moment of tranquility, Ren sat with his nephew on a porch chair in front of the tavern. The passersby mostly ignored him, save an amiable wave here and there. Rado was five months old now, and when he was awake he looked at Ren with big green eyes—their family’s emerald ones. When he was asleep, like he was now, his wide furrowed brow slackened and his mouth started to drool. Ren, teary eyed, looked back at the street side. Would Rado ever know the full extent of tragedy that brought him into this world?
The thought reminded Ren of his time with Tass after the first fall of the Family. Their teary nights in taverns in Sheld, waiting hopefully for any sign or opening to safety. And the shocking day that Ren found Lerran, alive but not well, in a prison wagon.
Renado gave the babe to Prata as he went back inside. She was a pretty woman, though a few years older than Ren. Omma had hired her in Saanazar to nurse the infant and accompany their journey as a trustworthy and discretionary employee.
Captain Urro and his men, having returned from a passenger mission given by the mages at the Isle of Dusk, had been dismayed to hear of Tassina’s fatal delivery, and Lerran’s sudden passage. Omma and two others had been caring for Rado, desperate for permission from Gravagan’s Conclave to come and seek Ren. When Gravagan had told them to remain and hold the bargain, they had decided to sneak out under the cover of night. They set sail, despite the obvious risks, and made it to Saanazar without raising alarms.
From Saanazar to High Raena they had sailed, and then up the North Fork to Ith; the voyage had taken months.
Though Kazra and a few others sat at a large table together, Ren sat at the bar of the Targon Tavern instead. Asar slouched beside him, half-asleep still. He stirred when Ren set a mead down on the bar top. After a moment, he regarded Ren with alertness and asked, “What are we going to do?”
“About what?” Ren asked. King Turim had still not appeared. The lurch in Ith grew more fitful each day. The public had assumed all the Mage Kings had been killed, so the disjointed territories of factions were beginning to shift and grow. Tensions were high, but an air of freedom and elation rose from the streets. Whoever won the conflict would surely be better than what had come before.
“About Gravagan,” Asar said, scowling. “He lied to us, to get us to do his dirty work.”
Ren nodded. If Ren had known that Tass had died and that Lerran had snapped, he would have returned to the Isle of Dusk at once. But Gravagan needed the Mage Kings dead according his schedule, and had schemed to make it so. “He will make it right,” Ren said, quietly. He didn’t want Kazra or Sarno to hear. “Or we will.”
“How could he make it right?” Asar asked.
“He can find Lerran for us.” Ren sipped his mead thoughtfully. Then he stood up, bobbed his head to Asar, and led the way to the long table.
Woodro, leaning against the wall, sat up straight, and Kazra quieted her conversation with Sarno to listen. Ren sat down and said, “Scouting the city and keeping up on rumours isn’t enough. We need to be involved in Ith, which means we need to be involved with these new factions.” He got a nod from Sarno and went on. “I want two pairs—Asar and Woodro, Sarno and Omma—to go and find Domeran’s people and the leaders of the Delivered, respectively. Set up two meets, one with each, on each of their territories.”
“What about the guards?” asked Bran. The weathered sailor, from the days of Vanci’s Dispatch, had listened attentively to their stories of violence in Ith.
“We’re smugglers, criminals,” Ren said. “I don’t much want the guards to win the war for Ith.”
Woodro grinned, and Asar nodded. Kazra just shrugged. Virn likely wouldn’t have said anything, but he was still resting most of the days, up in a new room on the second floor.