The Shattered Vine Read Online Free PDF

would be safe . . . but at what cost, and for how long? He did not trust the Collegium, he would nottake orders from a man of power. But was he strong enough to stand on his own?
    So many others, more experienced, more powerful, had failed and died. What arrogance—what foolishness—to think that he could make a difference.
    And yet, they had. The four of them had stopped Ximen’s attack in Irfan, denied him access to the unblooded grapes he so clearly desired. They had kept one pace ahead of the Washers, had stayed alive despite sea-serpent attacks, and had made it back here . . . to do what?
    “I could have stayed in my father’s house,” Mahl said, and her tone was quiet, as if she were speaking to herself, and the others overhearing by chance. “I could have stayed, and told myself I had no choice. But each thing we do is a choice.”
    Something in Jerzy rebelled at that. He had been a slave, taken as a child for the flicker of magic within him, sold to Malech for that flicker. He had no choice, had never had a choice in his entire life . . . and yet, Mahault was right. Everything had always been a choice.
    He chose to live rather than die. He chose to learn rather than fail. He chose to run rather than be punished unfairly by the Washers. He chose to kill, that others might live. He chose to travel with these companions, rather than standing alone. And, now, he had to choose again.
    A Vineart had no control over when the fruit was ripe. But his choice of when to harvest made all the difference.
    Jerzy lifted his head, and his voice, when he spoke, was firm. “The first thing we need to do is get home.”
    A WARE THAT THE Washer’s party was waiting for Jerzy’s answer, the four did not hesitate once a decision was made. Most of their belongings had already been offloaded before that interruption, waiting only for the cart and hire-horses to be delivered. The
Heart
had been prepared for anindefinite stay at dock, and Kaïnam had paid her fees for the winter out of the last of his coins. If—when—they needed her again, she would be ready. All that remained was for them to leave the ship itself.
    To do that, now, they needed magic.
    “I wish there was some other way,” Jerzy said, as they were preparing to disembark. “It’s too . . .”
    “Obvious? Noticeable?” Ao asked. “As opposed to the masthead you can’t help but see and yet nobody notices?”
    Jerzy looked back involuntarily. Their masthead was a living thing, dark-skinned hands stroking a wreath of vine leaves, the unexpected result of Jerzy’s spell of protection when they had to leave the ship anchored and unguarded in Irfan. He did not know if the figurehead actually invoked any particular protection . . . but anyone looking at it would certainly assume that it did. They were counting on that to keep the ship safe again, since they did not have the additional funds to hire guards.
    Jerzy touched the marker still hung around his neck. Once, merely showing it within the borders of The Berengia would buy him whatever aid he needed, on his master’s reputation. Now, his master was gone, and he himself could not stand surety, not when he did not know if he would have anything to repay it with.
    “Jer?”
    “Yes, all right,” Jerzy replied, finding the wine sack he needed and weighing it in his hand, estimating how much liquid remained within. The masthead had been unexpected, to say the least, and it still disturbed him to think about too closely. In contrast, what they were about to do wasn’t even outside the realm of the usual . . . if anything these days could be considered usual or common. He unstoppered the wine sack, and then offered it to Ao.
    “Me?” The trader looked half-horrified, half-fascinated. Behind them, Mahl let out a muffled laugh.
    “You. You’re the one the magic will be working on.”
    Ao swallowed hard, his throat working noisily, and then nodded.Like the Kingdom of Caul, although for different reasons, his clan