The harbor of Harbinth was alive.

  Carts rattled over stone, sailors shouted in half a dozen dialects, and gulls circled overhead with harsh cries as they dove for scraps. Masts creaked as ships settled in their berths, ropes stretched and loosened, and the smell of brine mixed with tar and oil that had spilled into rainwater puddles along the piers.

  Maruzan tried to take it all in, though his eyes kept pulling toward the sea. He had expected to feel relief when they reached Harbinth, a city known for its walls, its guilds, and its place as a safe hub between kingdoms. But the restless waves at the harbor mouth made him feel anything but safe. Every ship that docked carried no sign of the faces he longed for.

  Beside him, Velthur walked with his hood pulled low. His sling was tucked at his side, but his fingers rested on it as though holding it might keep him steady. The boy had not spoken much since Elzibar. Maruzan wanted to give him space, but silence stretched between them too often, making every step heavier.

  At the edge of the dock, near a squat customs house carved from the base of what once had been a lighthouse, a table was set with ledgers and inkpots. Behind it sat the dockmaster, a heavyset man with cheeks weathered from years of wind and salt. His collar was pinned by a clasp made from some kind of pale bone, polished smooth. He looked up as Maruzan approached.

  Maruzan rested his hand on the warped wood of the table, leaning forward. His voice was steady but low. “You’re telling me nothing’s come in from Elizibar? Not one vessel? No passenger lists, no names?”

  The dockmaster frowned and rubbed the back of his neck before answering. “Not yet, lad. I’ve had three ships from Ostrein, a pair of merchant runners from the east, and a cutter out of Downmouth with nothing but grain. I’ve seen traders, pilgrims, a few wanderers, but no refugees from Elzibar. Not one.”

  Maruzan’s chest tightened. He forced his breath out slowly, trying not to let anger show. Behind him, Velthur shifted, chewing at his thumb, eyes locked on the dockmaster as though the man might suddenly produce an answer if stared at long enough.

  The dockmaster hesitated. His gaze flicked to Velthur, then back to Maruzan. His tone dropped. “There are some saying the attacks are just small raids. Isolated. Maybe even brigands who got bold. But...” He stopped himself, swallowing hard. “Best not to stir panic where it isn’t needed. Harbinth’s safe. Walls are high, patrols are steady. The city stood longer than most kingdoms. It doesn’t fall easily.”

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  Maruzan gritted his teeth. He wanted to snap, to tell the man that he had seen Elzibar burn with his own eyes, that no wall had saved them. But Velthur was watching, and he could not bring himself to say it again here, in front of him, in front of everyone.

  The dockmaster cleared his throat and gestured uphill, toward a wide street lined with pale stone buildings. “Public baths are just up the way, near the grain dome. You’ll see a marble arch. Hard to miss. You’ve been on the road; that much is clear. Wash, eat, rest. If anything comes in, any ship carrying your people, I’ll see word sent straightaway.”

  Maruzan worked his jaw before he managed a nod. “Thank you.”

  The man gave a small wave and bent over his ledger again, already half-drawn back into the tide of names and numbers.

  Maruzan turned and set a hand on Velthur’s shoulder, guiding him away from the flow of dockworkers and sailors. They stepped aside into a quieter corner where the stone met a low wall, overlooking the water. The noise of the harbor still pressed around them, but here they could breathe.

  Maruzan crouched so he could look Velthur in the eye. The boy’s gaze was distant, fixed somewhere far beyond the water.

  “I’m going to find them,” Maruzan said. His voice was softer now, but firmer than before. “Do you hear me, Vel? No matter where they’ve gone. No matter how far. I’ll find them.”

  Velthur blinked, but didn’t answer. His mouth opened a little, then closed. His face stayed flat, unreadable, though his fingers clenched and unclenched at his side.

  Maruzan felt a sharp ache in his chest. He reached forward and pulled Velthur into an embrace. At first, the boy went stiff, his arms hanging at his sides. But slowly, as if something inside gave way, he lifted his arms and gripped Maruzan back. His fingers dug tight, desperate, into the fabric of Maruzan’s tunic.

  Maruzan closed his eyes. For a moment, the sound of the harbor fell away. For a moment, he let himself believe that holding the boy could shield him, that the weight of the world could be kept out if he just held on hard enough.

  Velthur’s shoulders shook once, then steadied. He did not cry, not fully, but Maruzan felt the tremor all the same.

  When Maruzan finally pulled back, Velthur wiped his eyes quickly, pretending he hadn’t needed to. Maruzan didn’t press him. He simply rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder again and turned them both toward the road that wound up into the city.

  A bell rang from the harbor tower, one slow toll, then another. The sound carried over the water.

  Maruzan glanced back. A ship had crested the horizon, sails pale and ghostlike in the mist. It drifted closer, but bore no banners.

  Maruzan’s breath caught. He watched until the ship faded again into the bustle of the harbor.

  Not yet, he thought. But soon.