Shadow Road: Book 1 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy

35. Steppingstones

36th of Uirra

NaVarre only came over to the Stryka briefly in the three days following Arramy's speech, popping into the council room to harass the Captain about this or that, then leaving just as quickly, constantly in motion the whole time.

That was where I was this morning - on my hands and knees in the council room, my father's documents spread out around me - when NaVarre came striding in, bringing a quick draft of chilly air with him as he swung the door wide.

I let out a cry of dismay as several of my father's papers went eddying across the floor, scattering two hours' worth of work. Then, with a groan, I let my head fall forward before lifting it so I could glare up at him. "Can you not read?"

NaVarre's eyebrows rose at my tone. Then he followed my pointed stare to the door he had just flung open. The note was still tacked to the front, large letters printed clearly across it: "Open Slowly."

"Ah," he said, stepping all the way in, careful of the documents at his feet.

I pinched my lips shut, and began shuffling about on my knees, collecting the flown papers.

"Where is Arramy?"

"Mountain climbing," I muttered.

NaVarre didn't move. "What are you doing?"

"I was trying to put together a timeline," I snapped, following a small drift of receipts across the floor, picking them up one by one as I went.

NaVarre crouched and grabbed several manifests that had fluttered over to the wall, bringing them back and adding them to the middle of the mess for want of anywhere else to put them. Then he went after a few inspection reports that had gone running for the chairs. "Did you find anything interesting?"

I finished pulling an assortment of papers from beneath the council room table and added them to the heap NaVarre had made. "I don't know," I said crossly. "Maybe," I admitted. Then I heaved a sigh, grudgingly letting my spine relax. Pitching a fit wouldn't accomplish anything. Besides. NaVarre wasn't dashing off to find Arramy for once, and he seemed to be in a talkative mood. Perhaps I could get some answers. "That manifest from the Persephyrre is the earliest I could find. Was that when you began working with my father?"

NaVarre shook his head, coming to sit on the floor across from me. "That was Obyrron. Your father stepped in after Len disappeared." His expression went uncharacteristically serious. "I told your father it was dangerous, but he wouldn't leave. He wanted to save as many as we could before the Coventry closed in. It was risky. Extremely so. But he managed to save four hundred girls, two hundred or so men, and fifty-eight boys." He stopped, staring down at the inspection reports in his hands. "That has to mean something, right?"

I swallowed around a hot lump in my throat and closed my eyes for a moment. Six hundred and fifty people. It didn't sooth the pain, but it did help me understand why Father stayed. I took a deep breath and looked at the pile of documents. "There were men?" I asked, frowning as I began sorting through everything again.

NaVarre nodded. "The Coventry are going after three kinds of people. Pretty girls of childbearing age; big, athletic men; and sturdy working-class types between twenty and forty. Although lately they seem to have developed a penchant for teenage boys."

His jaw went tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

Perhaps I was simply becoming accustomed to his company; perhaps it was the fact that he wasn't wearing his hunting jacket and gauntlets. For whatever reason, in that moment the wild, unpredictable pirate was gone, almost as if that was only a mask he wore. There wasn't even much of the lord about him. Sitting there cross-legged on the floor, sleeves rolled up, dark hair shaggy and free of pomade, jaw shadowed by a few days' stubble, he was simply a human being caught up in the same chaos as the rest of us.