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  Selia pursed her lips. She had little more sympathy for Mack than Jeph, but her father’s advice sounded in her head.

  Town Speaker speaks for everyone, not just the folk they like.

  “I’ll have the militia out tomorrow night to start clearing your property,” Selia promised.

  Next to arrive was Brine Broadshoulders with his adopted son Manie Cutter. Selia remembered the boy, shivering at her table the night corelings breached the wards of the Cluster by the Woods in 319 ar. Manie was a man grown now, tall and heavily muscled, with a warded axe mattock strapped to his back. He and his father led a score of giant Cutters onto Jeph’s property.

  It was afternoon before the Fishers made their way up the road. Raddock Lawry, their Speaker, was older than Selia, his thick beard stark white, face deep with crags.

  Raddock’s eyes widened when he saw Selia. She’d shed decades since he saw her last, now looking much as she had when Raddock tried to court her, fifty years ago. “Guess it shouldn’t surprise me you’ve exploited the unnatural, too, Selia.”

  Selia felt a flash of anger. “I’ve done nothing but stand up for this town, when you and yours were too stubborn.”

  So much for speaking for everyone. Anger came easily where Raddock was concerned.

  “Punishing Fishers is how you stand up for the town, Speaker?” Garric Fisher was not so old, taller than Selia and half again her weight. He leaned in, trying to intimidate, but Selia hadn’t scared easily when she was old and her bones ached. She sure as the Core didn’t now.

  “Ent punishing anyone.” Selia’s eyes flicked over his stance, deciding how best to put him on the ground without breaking anything. “Been sending militia to keep Fishing Hole safe, like we agreed.”

  “Ay, for the Duke’s tithe worth of fish!” Raddock growled. “While your militia bullies and robs us.”

  Selia blinked. “Come again?”

  “Drunk on demon magic and looking down on regular folk,” Raddock said. “Garric’s got Boggins pissing on his fence and leaving demonshit on his doorstep. Other night, someone staked a coreling in my yard. Turned into a rippin’ bonfire when the sun came up.”

  None of this was surprising. The Fishers had turned Tibbet’s Brook on its head last year, and a lot of folk resented them for it. Raddock wasn’t wrong about what magic did to folk, whetting emotions already sharp.

  She blew a breath through her nostrils. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Raddock. I’ll put a stop to that nonsense straightaway.”

  “Stopping it ent enough, Selia,” Raddock said. “Want to see some punishment. Stam Tailor had Maddy Fisher belowdecks in her father’s boat!”

  Selia clenched a fist, imagining she was squeezing Stam’s throat. “Girl wasn’t willing?”

  “Don’t matter!” Raddock snapped. “She’s thirty summers his junior! It’s an abomination.”

  Selia’s eyes flicked to Lesa, and this time the girl met the look proudly. She stood with the rest of the Square militia, all of them ready to pounce if the Fishers got out of hand. Raddock caught the glance, taking in the militia with a scowl. The Fishers brought a dozen men with them, but both sides knew they were no match for warriors who killed demons each night.

  “Maddy’s got nineteen summers, Raddock,” Selia said. “Ent for you to say who she should be kissing.”

  “What about her da?” Raddock demanded. “Tried to break it up and Stam blacked his eye.”

  Selia pursed her lips. “I’ll have a talk with Stam and get to the bottom of it. If it’s like you say, he’ll make it right.”

  “Needs more than talk, Selia,” Raddock said. “Law calls for a whippin’ in the square.”

  Selia shook her head. “Last time we tied someone up in the square, whole town turned upside down. We’re better than that.”

  “Always an excuse why Fishers don’t get justice,” Raddock sneered. “Ent even botherin’ to pretend the town council means spit anymore.”

  “No one’s saying that,” Selia said. “But we don’t take every dispute to the council, Raddock. Might be this can settle if Stam apologizes, does right by Maddy, and makes some fresh sails for Fishing Hole.”

  “Don’t want rippin’ sails,” Raddock growled.

  “Of course not,” Selia said. “All you ever want is blood, Raddock. Ent changed in fifty years.”

  Raddock’s face tightened, wrinkles becoming fissures on the craggy landscape. “Don’t want blood, Selia. All I ever want is respect, but that’s always been too much to ask.”

  Not for the first time, Selia’s hand itched to punch him in the mouth. After all he’d done when they were young. How dare he?

  “Fisher’s got a point, Selia.”

  Selia turned to see Jeorje Watch had arrived with fifty armed Watchmen. They wore their traditional garb—bleached white shirts under suspendered black pants, tall black boots, black jackets, and wide-brimmed hats. The jackets were bulkier than a year ago, sewn with plates of warded glass to absorb coreling blows. Their hats were likewise armored, secured by heavy straps.

  Coran Marsh was at Jeorje’s side, pushed in his wheeled chair by his eldest son, Keven. Big as Lucik Boggin, Keven had been killing demons since the night the Messenger gave his father a spear, but though his body had failed, Coran’s mind remained sharp, and it was to him the Marshes answered.

  It was more than a moon since Southwatch annexed Soggy Marsh, but it was still disturbing to see Marshes and Watches standing together. Combined, those boroughs counted nearly four hundred of the thousand or so folk who called the Brook home. A dozen Marsh militia marched with the Watches, carrying thin, warded fishing spears.

  But it was Jeorje who led them. The oldest person in the Brook by two decades, Jeorje looked not a day over thirty. His thin wisps of white hair had been replaced with a thick mat of nut-brown, his leathern skin smooth once more. His coat was off, the sleeves of his bleached white shirt rolled over meaty forearms. Thick muscled biceps and chest looked ready to split the seams.

  He wore no armor, not even a hat, and carried no shield. The cane he used to stomp to make a point was like a scepter now, covered in intricate warding, with a sheathed spear tip at the narrow end. Selia had watched Jeorje beat corelings to death with that cane.

  Selia fixed him with the look, though it never affected Jeorje the way it did others. “Ent one to talk, Jeorje. Hear tell you just married Mena Watch last month. Girl ent seen twenty summers.”

  “Married, Selia,” Jeorje said. “I don’t dishonor women’s families by luring them into fornication.”

  “Just into your harem,” Selia quipped. “Mena is your . . . sixth?”

  “Seventh.” There was pride in Jeorje’s voice. “A holy number. And my wife Trena arranged the match with Mena’s family personally. I didn’t lure her in secret and steal her virtue.”

  “Only bought it from her da,” Selia muttered.

  Jeorje ignored the words. “Stam Tailor has ever been a burden on this town, given to drink and poor choices.”

  Jeorje might be a hypocrite, but he was not without a point. Plenty of folk liked getting drunk on festival days or at night after the wards were checked, but Stam was seldom sober, and someone was always cleaning his mess, one way or the other. He’d taken the rush of magic over drink, but addiction was addiction.

  A burden on this town. It wasn’t the first time Selia heard Jeorje use those words, and it always led to the same place.

  “Fine,” she said. “Council’s all here now. Send someone to fetch Maddy and I’ll send for Stam. We’ll hear their case and vote tonight.”

  It was an empty promise. Hog and Coline were still paying for their votes against Renna Tanner, and Mack had been replaced by Jeph. With those votes turned, the council would never support the Fishers’ calls for blood again.

  Selia saw a fleeting smile twitch Jeorje’s lips, and she realized he had never wanted the vote. He wanted to be seen supporting the Fishers when she was against.

  “You n
eed not depend on Town Square for protection from corespawn,” Jeorje told Raddock. “Southwatch can offer better.”

  Selia flexed her knuckles. Adding Fishing Hole would only give Jeorje three council votes out of ten, but half the Brook’s population would answer to him. If that happened, the council really would become obsolete, and Selia would be lucky to avoid being staked in the square herself.

  “Talk about it on your own time,” Jeph cut in loudly. “I called this meeting, and the sun’s settin’.”

  It was crowded atop the watchtower with all ten Speakers and Keven Marsh—who had carried his father up the ladder. Private squabbles died away as they took in Jeph’s greatward, clearly visible from above. The symbol brightened as shadows lengthened. By sunset the ward was glowing softly, illuminating all Jeph’s property.

  Jeph pointed. “Led a couple Wanderers that way last night.”

  Demons came in all shapes and sizes, but folk in the Brook lumped them into two groups: Regulars and Wanderers. Regulars tended to haunt the same paths, imprinting on an area and almost never leaving. Wanderers hunted where sound and spoor led, ranging wide and without pattern.

  Corelings always rose in the same spot they used to flee the sun the night before. As the dark strengthened, black mist vented from the ground like smoke, coalescing into a pair of field demons.

  The demons caught sight of people wandering Jeph’s yard and tamped their paws to pounce. Folk screamed and fell back, warriors moving forward to put a wall of shields between the demons and the townsfolk.

  But as the demons leapt, they were thrown back as the greatward flashed like a bolt of lightning, turning night into day for the barest instant.

  Jeph put two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Jeph Young, his eldest son, appeared with a bow, expertly putting a warded shaft into one of the demons. It yelped and collapsed. Its fellow shrieked and clawed at the forbidding, leaving streaks of magic in the air where the claws scraped against the greatward.

  The other Bales children appeared with slingshots, peppering the second coreling with warded stones that sparked and bit against its armor. The demon hunched down and attempted to flee, but Jeph Young had another arrow nocked by then, taking it in the back. The downed demon kept kicking until Jeph Young put it down for good with his third shot.

  Everyone was impressed by the spectacle. Folk down in the yard gave a cheer, and there was chatter in the watchtower among the Speakers. Only Jeorje was silent, eyes glittering. No doubt he had come more for politicking than magic, but there was power in Jeph’s greatward, and Selia knew the leader of Southwatch would covet it.

  And why shouldn’t he? The greatwards could make their town’s succor a permanent thing. Folk could sleep sound in the night, and tend fields without fear of demons burning them just before harvest. Yet something in that covetous look left Selia unsettled.

  When all had ample time for a look, Jeph led them back down to the yard and up onto his porch to address the folk. All eyes were on him, something Jeph Bales had never cared for, but he met those eyes boldly tonight, filled with a sense of purpose Selia had never seen before.

  “Messenger taught me a bit of warding before he left last year.” No one needed to ask whom Jeph meant. There was only one Messenger who came bearing wards. “Been experimentin’ and you can see the results for yourself. Ent no test for these wards. Nothin’ to prove. Any as want them can have them. Messenger said they were to be spread far and wide. Said, ’gainst the corelings, we’re all on the same side.”

  There was excited chatter in the crowd at that, but also doubt. Jeph’s greatward was ambitious. Many would not feel up to constructing their own when regular wards had done well enough for them thus far.

  “That ent all.” Jeph’s words drowned in the buzz of the crowd.

  “Silence.” Jeorje didn’t shout, but the soft-spoken word was loud, penetrating the din. He thumped his cane on the porch boards for emphasis, and folk froze like cats caught on the kitchen counter.

  Jeph didn’t miss a beat, raising his own voice. “Messenger told me about corelings we ent seen yet—ones that only come out when the night is darkest. Shape changers that can look like friends and trick folk into stepping beyond the wards. Smart demons that can steal thoughts right outta your head and lead lesser corelings like hounds. Said we need to step up our forbiddings, and gave us the wards to do it. Everyone needs to learn ’em, from the schoolhouse slate to the last elder.”

  Hog, prewarned, stepped forward. “For those that don’t want to wait on lessons, or ent got a steady warding hand, we’ve got mind wards as stamps, pendants, hat brims, even plates you can glue on your favorite helmet.”

  “How much you gonna charge for a set o’ them plates, Hog?” Mack Pasture shouted.

  Hog crossed his arms. “Twenty credits.”

  The crowd gasped. Twenty credits could feed a family of five for a month. The Brook was prospering as never before, but few in town had that much to spare.

  “Always a cheat!” Mack screamed. “Even when Messenger says we’re all on the same side!”

  There were nods through the crowd, even some of Selia’s own militia. Hog’s greed was ever getting the better of him.

  Selia thumped her spear on the porch, much as Jeorje had. “Ten.”

  The word bit through the anger in the crowd, all eyes turning toward her. She kept her chin high as Hog scowled, daring him to contradict her.

  Rusco Hog was no fool. This wasn’t the first time he’d faced an angry crowd, and without Selia to put out the fire he’d have been strung up as a thief long since. He swallowed his grimace and gave a sharp, shallow nod.

  “Ten.” Jeorje thumped his cane, and Selia, too, had to swallow a grimace. Anytime he could not get the first word, Jeorje was sure to get the last, making every ruling of the town council appear to be his own personal judgment.

  He met her look much as she’d met Hog’s, calmly daring her to contradict him in front of a crowd.

  There was nothing Selia could say without sounding petulant and weak, and Jeorje knew it. Folk outside Southwatch might not like the Speaker, but they were all afraid of him. Old Man Watch held folk to an impossible standard and was quick to punish when they fell short.

  “Council better rule on every price in the General Store,” Mack called. “Elsewise he’ll mark up everythin’ else to make up the loss.”

  Hog lifted a finger, and store security moved to surround him, glowering at any who stepped close. “Don’t want to shop at my store, Mack Pasture, ent forcing you.”

  “Don’t matter!” Jeph’s shout signaled the end of his patience. “Don’t want to pay Hog, Pasture? Learn to draw the rippin’ wards yourself! Just said they were free for all.”

  “Why did the Messenger give all this to you, Jeph Bales, and not the council?” Raddock Lawry asked loudly. “All this talk of demons that look like folk and read minds sounds like a Jak Scaletongue story.”

  “Might be Scaletongue ent just an ale story,” Jeph said.

  “Don’t answer the question. Why you, Bales?” Raddock wasn’t well liked outside his borough, but his white beard was respected, especially when so few of them remained in the Brook. On hearing the question, the crowd wanted an answer, too.

  Jeph straightened, meeting Raddock’s eye. “Because the Messenger was Arlen Bales. My son.”

  Even Raddock Lawry and Mack Pasture had nothing to shout in the stunned silence that followed. The Messenger was a revered figure in the Brook. Half the folk thought he was the Deliverer come again, and the rest were still thinking it over. Only a fool would be first to speak.

  Jeorje thumped his cane, eyes hard, but whether it was religious fervor or threatening a rival, Selia could not say.

  “All know my wife, Silvy, was cored.” Jeph pointed to a spot in the yard. “Right there.”

  Folk standing on the spot shifted uneasily, edging away as if it were cursed.

  “What folk don’t know is that I stood right here,” he
stomped a foot on the porch, “safe behind the wards, and watched it happen.”

  The crowd gave a collective gasp.

  “Din’t have battle wards back then. Din’t think I could do anythin’ but die, I went out into a yard full of demons.” Jeph shook his head. “But Arlen din’t see it that way. Din’t see anythin’, ’cept his mam in trouble. Ran into the yard and knocked a flame demon off Silvy with a milk bucket and dragged her behind the wards of the pigpen to wait out the night.”

  Selia saw Jeph’s muscles clench, knuckles whitening as he gripped the porch rail.

  “When his mam died two days later, Arlen couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive me. Creator my witness, can’t blame him for that. Ran off and caught Messenger Ragen on his way back to Miln, made his way in the Free Cities.”

  “Why’d he come back?” someone shouted.

  “Found the battle wards, my boy,” Jeph said. “Came back to make sure what happened to his mam never happened again. But that ent all.” He turned, meeting the eyes of Raddock Lawry and Garric Fisher. “Arlen and Renna Tanner were promised back in 319 ar, just before Arlen ran off. Both of us saw firsthand how Harl Tanner treated his daughters. Locked his girls in the outhouse at night when they were willful, and put hands on them like they were his wives. That’s why I took Ilain back with me.”

  “Din’t stop you takin’ her to your bed before Silvy’s side was cool,” Garric growled. “Reckon she witched you with those big bubbies just like Renna Tanner did my son.”

  “Remember Arlen brought Renna back to my farm, Fisher,” Jeph said. “Sat right here and told me she and Cobie wanted to be together, just like the Tender said. Harl killed Cobie, and Renna killed Harl for it before he could kill her next.”

  “And if the little skink had minded her da, they’d all be alive,” Garric snapped. “This town’s had enough scandal from Tanner whores.”

  Lucik Boggin stiffened, eyes flicking to Beni. He turned back to Garric, eyes alight, but Jeph stayed him with a hand. Never a brave man, Jeph moved purposefully down the porch steps toward Garric, and the crowd fell back, clearing a path between the two men.