Free Leviathan's Blood by Ben Peek Page A

clothes from his pack – a man made from wind had brought it on the second day – and cleaned his rank-smelling
clothes. On the day that Kaqua arrived, Zaifyr had taken his charms off, one by one, and set them on the table in front of his boots. He checked each for scratches and dents, aware as he did so
that not one of the pieces had the spells and prayers that his family had put into his charms, so long ago. Those pieces had been taken from him and he supposed that, even if they had survived the
rough treatment of the soldiers who had taken them, then time would have destroyed them anyway. No, it did not matter if the new charms he wore had scratches or dents: nothing would change if they
had them. But for Zaifyr, the charms – made from copper and bronze and brass and silver – were about his connection to the man he had once been, the man who had been born in a small
village in the mountains and who, at a young age, had been told he would die young.
    He had nearly died in Mireea. The thought returned to him as he checked the links of chain, as he cleaned blemishes on a charm. It had been recurring to him for weeks, in truth. In moments of
quiet. When he was alone. He would think,
I almost died
. Fo had nearly killed him. Zaifyr could not remember another time when he had come that close to joining the haunts that were
trapped around him. For a while, he had asked himself if he
had
died. Over his long, long life, he had been attacked by living and the dead, by mortals and immortals, but he had never been
detached from his body in the way he had been in Mireea. Not even when he reached out to the dead as a massive whole – as he had done to bring the ghosts into view – had he felt like
that. He was always aware of his body, of himself. So, the question remained, had he died? Had there been no cord to lead him back, would he have found his way back? Was this his death?
    He had no answer.
    He polished and cleaned his charms. They had no answers, either.
    Around him, the haunts whispered to him of their cold and their hunger. They knew as much as the guards made from wind at the gate knew.
    ‘They are not to keep you safe, but to keep the people of Yeflam safe,’ Aelyn said to him. On either side of her, swirling, squat figures waited patiently. It was the day that she
had delivered him to the house – he had not seen her since. ‘I cannot force you to leave,’ she continued. ‘But I can stop people visiting you. I can stop the newspapers, the
Traders’ Union, and whoever else will seek to find you. The Enclave will meet to discuss what is to be done with you tomorrow. We have been meeting all week, and I am afraid I cannot dissuade
them from a trial. Just as I cannot convince you to leave.’
    ‘You truly want me to leave?’ he asked. ‘It is your law I broke when I killed Fo and Bau.’
    ‘Take your war elsewhere, brother.’
    My war.
    The bitterness in her voice gave him pause, even now. He picked up a long copper chain and began to run his fingers along each link. He had wanted to tell her that there would be no war, but
even to say the words would be foolish. The child would not fall easily. She would not step out from behind the shield of her army for him to strike at her. He would have to go through it.
Lives
would be lost when he attacked her.
    ‘The girl you came with?’ Aelyn said, in her final conversation with him. ‘The one from Mireea?’
    ‘Ayae.’
    ‘Do you lay claim to her?’
    ‘Is that what you do here to ensure loyalty?’ His tone was mild, but he could not hide the reproach. ‘She is her own person.’
    ‘She is—’
    ‘—my friend.’
    Aelyn’s smile was cool, humourless. ‘You do not have friends, brother.’
    I have family, instead
, he had begun to say, but bit back the reply. Instead, he had watched her leave, watched the carriage and horses made from wind rise into the sky.
    He did not have the right to ask his family to go to war for him. He knew that. In