“How the hell did you allow this?” Uri’s voice snapped across the dark, filthy hall of the prison's office.
Macha and Sandree exchanged a brief glance. They had never seen Uri break from her composure so cleanly.
“They said that’s why you brought the count last time,” the prison clerk muttered, leaning back in his chair with a mix of irritation and exhaustion. He rested his boots on a table as filthy as his leather soles. “Listen. We hung a hundred lizards last month. One slips away, what does it matter? They are done. Finished. Wherever he had gone into hiding, sooner or later someone will see his stupid tattoo, or he'll go back to his way of life. They always do. Then we will hang him.”
A flicker betrayed Uri's frozen gaze. Her arms crossed over her chest, her boot tapped the floor repeatedly.
Macha knew she'd not let go easily, so he searched for any good reason to leave.
Sandree acted first. She leaned close, voice calm and warm. “Let’s go, please. I can’t stand the smell any longer.”
Uri blinked before she stormed away. The echo of her steps seemed to push the tension out of the dark space, though it did little to ease the knot in Macha’s chest. A murderous glare from Uri didn't help.
“What?” Macha said, shrugging. “It’s not our fault.”
She had caught him smirking, so her displeasure was understandable. Inside, he wrestled with conflicting currents. Part of him burned with the same anger, the frustration at Brock’s audacity.
He had escaped. Somehow, somewhere, he had convinced someone, or bribed, fooled, or coerced them. While they fought in the south, the papers had been made. Fake ones, but crafted well enough to satisfy men with limited minds. Macha despised him for what he'd done; for who he was. Yet a quieter part of him couldn’t help but admire the cunning. And underneath all, and against all reason, he wondered whether the man deserved a second chance. Would he change now, with the Geckos ended? Or would he, as the prison's clerk said, return to a life of death and debauchery?
The air outside felt invigorating. Macha drew it deep, letting it fill his lungs with the blend of the market's spices.
Sandree paused nearby, straightening, brushing dust from her clothing.
Uri moved ahead, pacing in short, frustrated steps. She paused, turning, her eyes scanning the horizon. Watching her, Macha realized whatever Brock did, he'd never find peace. Uri would never forgive him, not fully.
“He’s gone north,” Uri said.
Sandree's voice muffled through the cloth she held to her face. “How do you know?”
“I just know him,” Uri replied, eyes narrowing slightly. She paused, puffing her lungs to steady herself. “I… I request permission to… Damn… I'm sorry,
Dana
, but I request permission for a leave from my duties. For a short time, I promise.”
“Denied,” Sandree said without hesitation. “That’s against your code. If you leave that way, you'll never forgive yourself. But I have orders. This man, Brock, once put Count Izan's life in danger. Therefore, he's an enemy of the state. I order you to find him.”
A grin spread across Uri’s face as she bowed to the knee with a rush that betrayed her control. When she straightened back up, she fidgeted slightly, eyes scanning for options. “I'll need to find a ship north. I suppose I could… no…”
“Ask Riko,” Macha said. “They haven’t departed yet. I’m sure he’d welcome someone of your skill to join him for a while.”
Her lips twitched. She tried to mask it, to look as if the idea had never been in her mind.
Macha refrained from any mockery as they continued walking.
The streets were waking slowly, the life of the merchant quarter returning with caution. The calls of vendors rose and fell, joining the clatter of carts and the murmurs of honest men.
As it was when Macha called the slums home, the underground sirens wailed through the streets, scanning for easy targets. Kids from the holes sauntered around, pretending to be naive and harmless. Beggars listened, punchers patrolled. Walking through it, Macha returned to his past. A hideous one he strangely remembered fondly. When they reached the docks, he felt he was not only leaving behind the city's belly but also his childhood, and with the sight of a calm sea ahead, he saw a future as bright as the sun's rays illuminating the waves.
They stopped before one of Sandree’s dockmasters. The man straightened, saluted, and began his report, voice steady as he detailed the comings and goings of her new trade.
Leaving the South plantations' new warden to her duties, Uri put Macha aside and murmured. “Do you think Riko will stop in the Red?”
“Need a prosthetic?” Macha replied with amuse.
Uri snapped her teeth as usual, yet she unfolded more tamed than usual, somehow vulnerable: as if Macha was talking to Uri the girl, instead of Uri the warrior.
“I need a new rifle." She said, pretending to toughen up. "I’ve heard they craft excellent weapons there. Is that true?”
"The best weapons, the best ships, the best everything," he said. “I'm pretty sure Riko will resupply there. Are you leaving already?”
She tapped her sword lightly. “I have all I need. Once Master Sandree is back at the palace, I’ll go.”
"We will do the most embarrassing farewell imaginable," Before she could complaint, he added: “Don’t go back without me; I just need a moment.”
Left the women behind, he strolled along the pier, savoring the quiet for a moment. Ahead, a small ship, no larger than a brig, was preparing to depart. Froma closer look, Macha found a second hull. A catamaran. Smaller and more austere than the
Ballerina
, but of good, sturdy build.
Ivy stepped down the ship's ramp slowly, face glowing. “What do you think?”
“It’ll do,” Macha replied. "Where did this come from?"
"Marie's gift. It arrived yesterday with a small fleet. They are rebuilding the platform and need materials."
“Where are you sailing?”
“Ced doesn’t want to return until he can walk again. We will visit Donna. Then return to the Blue.”
He checked on Ced, seated comfortably on a metal chair with his legs covered by blankets. His seat was not wheeled like Lim’s chair, neither did he resemble her in the slightest, yet Macha could not avoid a comparison.
Around him, Pablo’s little girl ran, cheerfully weaving between stacks of provisions. Upon seeing her, full of the innocence that all children possess, he pressed his lips tight.
To avoid looking at Ivy with teary eyes, he stubbornly scouted the deck as if he had to take inventory. Nearby, the remains of Rob were piled tight and secured with ropes.
He pointed as a little chuckle escaped him. “Just make sure Donna gets the old Rob back. The new version was too wild.”
Ivy tugged at his sleeve. “Are you sure you don’t want to come? There’s always a place for an expert sailor.”
Macha’s gaze fell on Sandree, still chatting at the other side of the pier. “I can’t. There’s much to do here in the southern islands. Plantations need readjustment now that the slaves are gone.”
“I’m sure you’ll do well, Count,” she signed.
“How about that? I’m actually a real one now!”
Ivy gave a salute and turned, but Macha called for a last word. “Let me know when you’re back! I’ll come visit.”
She smiled, nodded, and stepped aboard.
He returned to Sandree.
After she finished, they walked away, back to the busy merchant's quarter. She stepped beside him, the silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. Uri had left them space, strides assertive and vigilant.
“So… did you… change your mind?” Sandree said, the worry barely masked beneath her calm.
“No,” Macha said.
“Good, good.”
Her head slightly lowered. He could see the discomfort in her posture. In the way her hands flexed at the sides, or the way her brows fought against a frown.
He reached into his pocket to take out three identical cards from old, worn decks he had hunted for days. The edges were frayed; the corners softened. He raised them close, faces hidden from her.
Her eyes widened at the sight.
“Choose,” he said.
She struggled to suppress a laugh, shaking her head. “I’m not cutting any fingers.”
“You’re not required,” he said. “I claim no price to pay.”
She picked one. After turning it, her face lit up with the warm glow of surprise, amusement, and delight all at once.
“Is that the one you wanted?” he asked, slipping the other two cards back into his pocket.
“Maybe,” she said, shrugging lightly. "Have you cheated?"
"Maybe."
With a shy move, she reached to squeeze his arm and rested her head on his shoulder.
Before they reprised their walk, Macha's attention returned toward Ivy’s ship. She was still moving along the deck, busy adjusting ropes and rearranging packs. For a moment, he allowed himself a private thought. A dream of sailing free and wild as he once did with her, Em and Lim. A dream only: one desired but never to be pursued. Of that he was sure.
Sandree pulled his arm slightly. He looked at her, catching her expression. There was a spark in her eyes; a flicker of quiet joy reassuring him that this was the place he had to be.
He exhaled slowly, letting the harbor sounds fill his mind and push away any other thought but his future. He let her guide him along. Away from the piers and the sea's call.
In the immensity of a world made of ocean, he had once drifted alone, lost and with no hope but a desperate prayer to his goddess. Now, his new title as Count of Tampra was the boat, and Sandree the current. He was again drifting without knowledge of what fate awaited him, but he was not alone anymore. Neither scared nor hopeless.
Amid uncertainty, he reached for the goddess as he had done before, but not to ask for help. This time, he did it to give thanks.