“Wait a moment, I want to—”
“Passenger Amberhill!”
Amberhill glanced over his shoulder, the mate glowering over the heads of the crowd at him. Then he returned his gaze to Stevic G’ladheon, who looked right back at him.
“You Amberhill?” the merchant asked.
Amberhill, startled, nodded.
“Then you’d better get yourself on that ship. Captain Irvine maintains a rigorous schedule, especially with the tide turning, and he won’t wait for lingerers.”
“Um—” Amberhill began. A glance back at the ship revealed the crew readying to haul in the gangway.
“Sir?” Yap said urgently, tugging at his sleeve.
Amberhill wanted to say something, anything, to Stevic G’ladheon, but he’d vanished—just like his daughter was wont to do. Then he spotted the merchant aboard the vessel he’d been helping to unload, talking to a customs official.
Of all the damnable things! Amberhill thought. To be denied the opportunity to initiate a conversation with one of Sacoridia’s most respected merchants and the father of an enigma. Amberhill wondered how much he knew of his daughter’s powers or about mystical black stallions, but the bell clanged more insistently.
Ah, well, he thought. Opportunity missed.
He pivoted and hastened across the wharf to the Ullem Queen. The gangway had been retracted and the ship was separating from the wharf. He and Yap leaped the gap to the ship. Amberhill managed easily, but poor Yap less so. He dangled from the railing, feet scrabbling against the hull. Crew grabbed his arms and hauled him on deck. The captain scowled at them both from his position up by the wheel.
Amberhill put Stevic G’ladheon and everything else about his former life to the back of his mind as he took in the harbor and ocean beyond. He was answering a calling, a calling to sail the ocean, to seek mysteries beyond the horizon, and there was no way of knowing if he’d ever return.
By the second day of the voyage, Amberhill just wanted to return to dry land. No, he reflected, he just wanted to die. He hung limply over the rail, arms swinging with the motion of the ship. He did best with his eyes closed. Yap had urged him to watch the horizon, but it did not help. Nor did the candied ginger, hard biscuits, or tea Yap brought him. All of that and more ended up in the sea, leaving behind a vile taste in his mouth. There should not be anything left in his stomach, but the wooziness threatened a fresh surge over the rail.
Amberhill was born and raised an inlander, but he’d boarded Ullem Queen confidently and enjoyed the breeze and scenery of Corsa Harbor. He’d sighted a pod of harbor porpoise, and gulls wheeling at the sterns of fishing boats, looking for offal and castoffs. He admired the lines of a naval vessel slicing through harbor waters like a rapier and guessed at what was stored in the kettle-bottomed hulls of merchant ships. The Ullem Queen specialized in tobacco from the Under Kingdoms. Normally he found the fragrance of the leaf pleasant, but in his current state, just the mere thought of certain scents sent him reeling to the rail.
Yes, he’d been fine till they passed beneath the shadowy remains of a keep perched on an island headland overlooking the entrance to the harbor. Once out of the protected harbor and on the open bay, the swells grew and almost in an instant Amberhill went from composed aristocratic gentleman to a retching, sickly commoner. He’d supposed himself immune to seasickness. After all, he was Lord Amberhill and had been the Raven Mask, scaler of high walls and master thief. The gods were showing him what they thought of that, by literally bringing him to his knees.
The only thing that appeared to help was following Yap’s advice to stay on deck in the fresh air, away from the fragrant cargo and the stench of other ill passengers.
Amberhill moaned. He’d asked Yap if the sickness would soon pass. All Yap could tell him was that for some it did. For others? Some never acclimated. Amberhill feared he was among the latter.
As for Yap himself, he was right at home among the crew and had, Amberhill noticed, taken to padding about the decks in his bare feet. His remedies had not worked, but he kept checking on his employer.
Amberhill cracked open crusty, salt-rimmed eyes and the turmoil of waves almost sent him into a vortex of nausea again, but he noticed how the ruby of his dragon ring shone in the sunlight, brighter than he’d ever seen it before. Each facet had its own hue of red—the richness of velvet, the gleam of deep wine, the brightness of fresh blood.
As he gazed at the ruby, everything came into sharp focus in his mind. There was no longer the roiling drop and heave of the ocean, but a solid deck beneath him and a steady horizon. His stomach ceased its torment. His mind began to work with the motion of the waves, or at least that was the way he thought of it.
Some strength began to flow into flaccid limbs. He rose unsteadily at first but then gained confidence, as if he’d always instinctively known how to maintain his footing on board a ship.
“Sir? Are ya all right?” Yap asked, practically leaping across the deck to him.
Amberhill grinned. “Much better. In fact, I’m actually hungry.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll see what cook has on.”
Yap padded off, and Amberhill clasped his hands behind his back, and took in the clear sky and blue-green water anew. The world was looking like a much better place now. Something about his ring had righted him, given him his sea legs—and his sea stomach.
He felt freshly born and like he could conquer the world. He liked the idea, and smiled.
EQUINOX
Laren struggled to keep up with Zachary, as did his secretary, Cummings, and his other aides. He stormed from one meeting to the next. During the meetings themselves he was curt, decisive, and restless, cutting them short when he’d had enough. Then they were off again, leaving behind flabbergasted officials, ambassadors, and courtiers.
Laren found the truncated sessions refreshing, but she wasn’t sure it was doing much for diplomacy.
As Zachary swept down corridors on his way to his next appointment, Laren practically had to run to keep up with his long strides. Even Colin was looking a little pink in the cheeks and his expression was one of consternation at his liege’s mood. Sperren would not have had a chance. The old man was in the mending wing with a broken hip, having fallen upon rising from bed this morning. Ben, she knew, was tending the elderly castellan with his special ability. In the meantime, Colin had taken on Sperren’s duties.
“Don’t you think you should talk to him?” Colin asked, striding beside her. “Do you suppose he’s upset about Sperren?”
“I expect it’s more than that,” Laren replied. In fact, she had a good idea of what had gotten into him. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Colin looked relieved.
Laren worked her way forward through the various aides and courtiers hastening after Zachary to reach his side. She touched his sleeve and said, “Can I have a word with you?”
He came to such an abrupt halt that all who followed had to skid to a stop. Laren found herself several paces beyond him.
His expression was set, dangerous, ready for anger. “Well?”
“Privately, Your Highness,” she said.
“Very well.” He flung open the nearest door, much to the shock of the copyists at work within, and he ordered them out. They scrambled to obey him. Laren followed him into the chamber and he closed the door with a not-so-subtle slam. The chamber was thick with the scent of paper, ink still wet on the unfinished documents the copyists abandoned on their desks.
“Well?” he demanded.
Laren crossed her arms and directed a level gaze at him, which was not easy since he was tall and maintained a regal bearing. She saw very little of the young boy she had once known in him. The physical weight of the silver fillet he wore on his brow wasn’t heavy, but the responsibility it represented was great. It was borne by a man of strength. The power of his body was a given—she’d seen him at work with Arms Master Drent, she’d watched him subdue the most unruly of stallions. One just had to watch
him moving down a corridor to know his strength.
The power of his intellect, coupled with his compassion, was what made him a good king. He wasn’t just a warrior king ready to ride into battle, he was a thoughtful king who put his people first.
It was this last that etched the lines into his forehead. She’d seen it with Queen Isen, how all the cares and responsibility of leading the realm wore on one.
“I know what day it is,” Laren said.
“And?”
“If you wish to talk about it, I am here. Otherwise, if you’ll forgive my being so blunt, your behavior is running your aides ragged and making everyone wonder what is causing their king’s unpredictable mood. It is worrisome to them that there might be something happening they’re unaware of.”
“Are you saying that I’m behaving erratically?”
“That would describe it, yes.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. She would never have been able to speak so plainly to any other king, but their close relationship allowed it.
He did not explode, but rather relaxed. “I am not sure there is anything more to be said that has not been spoken of before. Today is the equinox, the day our people are to venture into Blackveil by my command.”
“The day Karigan is to enter Blackveil,” Laren said.
“Yes.” His gaze grew distant. “If I’d had the chance, if my position permitted, I would have pleaded with her not to accept the mission because of the danger, and because I couldn’t bear the thought of . . .”
“Of losing her?”
He nodded.
“I believe Karigan will come out of Blackveil just fine. I think it’s the forest itself that may not survive the encounter.”
Zachary actually smiled. “Yes, I doubt the forest will be the same after her visit.” Behind the smile, however, were the lines of worry she’d grown all too familiar with. “So you’d like me to gentle my pace, eh? Behave less ... erratically?”
“It would be helpful all around.”
“I’m sorry, Laren, but I have this burning need to move, to keep busy.”
“Then perhaps you should consider a diversion.”
“A diversion,” he murmured. “What did you have in mind? I do not wish to pull Drent from his teaching schedule.”
“I, uh, have something else in mind.” She took a deep breath, summoning the courage to make her suggestion. The idea had seemed to make sense when she first thought of it, but now she wasn’t so sure. Zachary was not frivolous in his affections, but it was not as if he hadn’t engaged in casual liaisons before.
“Well?” Zachary asked.
She cleared her throat. “It would be a way to engage your mind and body.” She hesitated. Wouldn’t Colin be the better one to address this? Another man? But she had started, and Zachary expected her to finish. There was no escape. She took a deep breath and the rest rushed out. “I’ve managed to procure a list of acceptable courtesans who—”
“Courtesans?” The storm once again clouded his features, and then evaporated. “Oh, Laren, I thought you understood.”
“What I understand is that you are a full-blooded man with needs. I thought perhaps such a diversion would help you forget—”
“Karigan?” He paused in front of a desk to study the document atop it. “We have discussed your concerns and I’m well aware of my duty to the realm. But to suggest that a courtesan would help me forget? All the courtesans in the world and their wiles could not alter what is in my heart, and partaking of their offerings would only dishonor my regard for her. For Karigan.”
“I’m sorry,” Laren replied. “I do not think I’ve underestimated your feelings, but you still have needs.”
“Everyone has needs, Laren, even you. Do you have a list of courtesans for yourself? Or, should I procure one for you? I understand there are some acceptable practitioners of the male gender.”
“What?”
“Exactly.” He flashed her a smile of triumph. “I do appreciate your concern for my well-being in the matter, and I think your suggestion of a diversion is a good one, just not the type you proposed.” He moved rapidly across the chamber, documents fluttering off desks in his wake. He flung open the door and called, “Cummings! Cancel the rest of my appointments this afternoon.”
It was only a couple hours later that Laren, on her way to Rider stables, observed Zachary riding out on a large, dappled stallion, one of his favorites. The horse was heavily muscled and a handful, but Zachary rode effortlessly, a born horse-man. She was pleased to see Lady Estora riding beside him on a fine-limbed bay hunter, and there was Lord-Governor Coutre, as well, and a few other courtiers. Weapons followed on their sleek black horses, along with members of the guard, the royal falconers, and servants. A king rarely ventured anywhere without a crowd, but she imagined that once they reached open ground out in the countryside, he would put that stallion through its paces and he would be free in his own thoughts, free to think of whom and what he wanted without interruption or any expectations placed upon him.
“Captain?”
Laren turned to discover Ben Simeon approaching. He had changed out of his mender’s smock into his Rider garb.
“Hello, Ben, do you have a riding lesson this afternoon?” Not that he ever managed to actually get on a horse. Horsemaster Riggs was mystified as to how to overcome his fear.
“Yes,” he said glumly. He looked tired, a little pallid in the cheeks.
Guessing the cause, she asked, “How is the castellan?”
Ben brightened. “Resting comfortably. I believe I knitted the entire break back together. The rest of the healing is up to him, but he now has the hip of a twenty year old.”
“Good heavens!” Of any Rider ability, Laren thought as they walked together toward Rider stables, the most miraculous was that of true healing. Ben had been trained as a mender before hearing the Rider call, and she could only believe that his prior training aided his magical ability, just as his magical ability enhanced his prior training.
Naturally Ben was in great demand in the mending wing and Master Destarion was no doubt pleased Ben hadn’t taken to horses. Laren feared Ben was allowing himself to be overworked. Using one’s ability had its costs—she felt those costs in her joints every day. With Ben she thought it could be even more devastating. From his haggard appearance, she deduced he was giving too much of himself, of his essence, to heal others. She’d have to make a point of speaking with Destarion later, and in the meantime wish that another true healer could be found among the ranks of her new Riders.
When Galen Miller chewed the herbalist’s weed, its juices stung the sores that had erupted in his mouth. He needed more and more to subdue his shakes, but it often sent him into feverish sweats and blurred his perceptions of reality.
Some mornings he awoke to visions of the king standing over him dressed all in black, just like the wax figure of him at the Sacor City War Museum. He’d studied the figure so he’d know the real king when he saw him.
In his vision, however, the king towered over him and a noose hung still and solid beside him, its looped shadow stark against the far wall.
Raised you a traitor, eh? came the crass words that issued from the king’s mouth, but didn’t seem to belong to him.
“N-no,” Galen would sputter. “A good lad. Clay was a good lad.”
The king would float there, Galen writhing in terror on his pallet until sense came back to him. He needed to cut back on the weed, use just enough to keep his hand steady.
From the notches he made on a rafter of his attic room, he figured out it was the equinox. He was beginning to wonder if all his plans were for naught, that his boy would never be avenged. Even with the extra coins the stranger had given him all those weeks ago, he was not sure he’d have enough currency to keep his room at the inn until the king deigned to leave his castle.
Galen reached for his tankard with a trembling hand and slurped down the stale water, oblivious to the runnels dribbling down his chest. When he fi
nished, he set the tankard beside his precious sheaf of the herb and a small vial he’d also obtained from the herbalist for a handsome sum. It contained the closure to all his waiting.
Two days ago, on inspiration, he’d spared a little of the precious fluid for the barbed heads of the two arrows he kept at the ready by the window. One tiny drop each. The herbalist claimed the poison would remain efficacious for weeks. He did not want any question of his quarry’s survival. It would take only one arrow, the second was just in case. Yes, his boy would be avenged.
He rose from his pallet and crossed over to the window, sitting on the ledge and leaning against the casement. He gazed out into the street, continuing the vigil he’d carried on for so many weeks.
He awoke from a doze when he heard the hooves of several horses clopping down the street. When the riders came into view, Galen’s pulse quickened.
His wait was over.
EQUINOX
Zachary was not, in Estora’s opinion, an impulsive man. If he was, he wouldn’t have lasted long as a king. His brother, Amilton, had been the complete opposite, giving in to his every urge. It cost him the throne. King Amigast had passed over him in favor of Zachary. Amilton’s impulses then led him to plot against his brother, which resulted in his being exiled and, ultimately, killed.
Estora appreciated Zachary’s thoughtful demeanor, though he was, perhaps, a little too driven to work, so she was surprised and delighted when he canceled all his afternoon appointments and invited her for an outing. Of course, it wasn’t just her, but several courtiers, her father, and Richmont. And then of course, there were the Weapons, the falconers, and several servants. Guards cleared the street before them. Estora waved to the people who watched and cheered as the king and his companions rode by.
Estora did not know what inspired Zachary’s sudden desire to leave work behind for an afternoon of recreation for he rarely spoke intimately to her about his feelings, an inclination she hoped would change once they married. For the time being she was content to ride beside him and assume it was just the promise of spring calling him from his dark, stone walls. She’d certainly had enough of winter’s cold austerity herself.
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