The Dreadwater Gate: The Inkweaver Archive, Book 2 (paperback)

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Chapter 1

The street outside The Ruined Arms was lively with music and chatter, an oasis of warmth and light in the midst of Heathrock’s cold and gloomy air. Arya tied Zeke to a post outside and pushed through the front doors, weaving her way through the crowded interior straight to the bar, where she waved for the bartender’s attention.
“I’m looking for Tiya,” she said, pitching her voice above the noise.
The barkeeper gave her a strange look. “She’s not here.”
Damn. “She’s not working tonight?”
“No.”
“Is she back on tomorrow?”
“She’s gone. Left about three weeks ago. No notice, no nothing. Just vanished.” He shrugged. “Her stepfather sold the place. He’s not here either.”
“Who can I talk to who does know where I can find Tiya?” she snapped with impatience.
He gave her another shrug. “You want a drink? Otherwise, I can’t help you.”
Arya swore, turned to survey the crowded inn, and debated what to do next. She’d only come to see Tiya—it was the first chance she’d had since returning from SparrowWing with Rorin a few days earlier, and probably the only chance she’d have before leaving again, this time for the Dreadwater Gate.
It made no sense. Tiya had turned the Arms into a thriving business that was making serious money. Why would her stepfather sell it? And why had Tiya left without saying where she was going, or why? A shudder rippled through Arya at the thought that she might have been caught as a magic-wielder. Tiya had always been so careful, though. No, The Ruined Arms was a popular inn. If its owner had been discovered and branded—standard policy in Dunidaen, where magic was feared and hated in equal measure—Arya would have heard the Raiders talking of it.
Pushing off the bar, she headed back out the doors.
Outside, she was engulfed by the icy night air. Winter was only a couple of weeks away. What if Tiya was in trouble? There was a city guard office a couple of blocks over. They’d be able to confirm whether Tiya or her father had been arrested or gotten into any trouble.
Arya wavered, unsure. She was supposed to be leaving in a few days to begin training with Ranier, leader of the Shadeweavers, to run the Dreadwater Gate with Rorin, Darmanin, and Essa. The danger of training under a Shadeweaver, let alone the incredibly risky Dreadwater journey itself, was already weight enough on her mind. What could Arya do for Tiya?
Arya let out a sigh. Squared her shoulders. Tiya wasn’t only her friend and occasional lover, she’d saved General Desomer’s life a few months earlier, even if she hadn’t been able to save his ability to walk. She deserved whatever help Arya could provide.
She crossed the busy street, giving Zeke’s ears a rub as she passed, and ducked into a narrow alley between high stone buildings, her boots rapping on cobblestone. The quieter residential street at its opposite end was empty of foot traffic. Arya turned right, making for the city guard two blocks farther down.
It was dark, the lamps either blown out or not present in this area. Moonlight trickled through the gaps between buildings rearing high on either side. Worries continued to cloud her mind as she walked. She and Rorin would soon be facing the Dreadwater—to win him a cazaix blade and strengthen his claim as heir to Ravenstrike. A rite of passage no heir had survived for a generation. All while over the border to the west, the powerful ruler of Andahar threatened everything she loved.
And it was Arya the Nightstalker wanted. The true heir to the throne that he’d stolen decades earlier. Not that Arya had noticed the slightest shred of magic within herself. Or wanted anything to do with the Andahari throne. Her home and family were here in Ravenstrike. Her future as general of its army.
Something whispered over her senses, pulling her abruptly from her thoughts.
She frowned, looking around her. While she’d been lost in worrying, the night seemed to have grown darker somehow. Thicker. Shadow was coalescing at the top of the street behind her.
She stilled.
The street was empty, lights on in some of the homes but nobody outside. The guard office was out of sight ahead. An odd hush had fallen. She could no longer hear the distant murmur of voices drifting over from the main street where the Arms sat. A little spot of warmth pulsed in her chest, and she was abruptly reminded of the dream she’d had two nights earlier. The golden wyvern. Mine.
Blinking, Arya chased away the distracting memory. Her fingers were curling around the hilt of her sword when she heard it.
A snuffling sound.
Fear closed over her chest so tightly she almost choked on it. It froze her in place. The darkness intensified, coming inexorably closer. The snuffling came again, followed by the click of claws on stone.
Arya wavered—run for the guard office, or circle around the dark streets to make her way back to Zeke? She shifted, ready to run towards the guard office—
A gloved hand closed over her mouth without warning. An arm wrapped around her middle. And Arya was dragged backwards into the alley.
It happened so fast and so quietly that she’d only just begun to fight back when her captor pressed her against the alley wall, hand still covering her mouth, and hissed in her ear: “Be quiet and still!”
Sweat broke out over her skin and her heartrate skyrocketed as she recognised that voice.
Ranier. Leader of the Shadeweavers.
Arya froze. Ranier’s grip was vicelike. Beyond the alley, the darkness and shadow seeped farther along the street towards them. The closer it came, the tenser Ranier’s body became, until it felt like being pressed against a slab of granite. His heartbeat thudded; he was as afraid as she was—and if anything, that made her even more terrified.
Then he moved, slowly, and she heard the faint rasp of a blade loosening from its sheath. Panic surged. Cold metal pressed against the bare skin of her throat. But Ranier didn’t intend to harm her, he simply held the blade of his cazaix knife against her skin. He wanted her to feel it. This was a threat.
It burned, though, not the burn of cold metal on skin, but with heat and edge, like acid. But Arya didn’t struggle. Instinct held her rigidly still.
The houses across the other side of the street faded from view, and Ranier pressed them both harder against the wall, trying to hide them completely in the darkness. Something moved deep in the shadow, claws skittered on stone. And that infernal snuffling sound that put Arya so on edge she felt like screaming. Ranier’s hand on her mouth tightened and an odd sensation prickled on her skin.
The thing in the street hesitated, but after a long moment, it kept going. The dark shadow passed by and the houses across the street came into view again. Even then, Arya remained still, breathing quick, shallow breaths.
Eventually, after the rippling shadow had gone completely, and the sound of chatter and footsteps from the main street at the other end of the alley became audible again, Ranier let her go.
As soon as he withdrew the knife, Arya spun on him. “What the—”
He cut her off, speaking quiet and fast. “We leave tonight, in secret. I’ll meet you by the lake gate in your walls an hour after midnight.”
“What was that, Ranier?” she demanded, lifting a hand to touch the patch of skin on her neck that still smarted.
He lifted a finger to his lips. “Not to be spoken of, not so near it. Go back to your horse and head straight home, no diversions. I’ll see you an hour after midnight. Don’t be late.”
“Ranier, you can’t just—”
But he was already walking away, sinking into the shadows, and in a blink, he vanished from sight.