The questions did not stop. “Who were you traveling with?”
“My uncle hired a woman named Gunnel to escort me home.” What would they do to Gunnel if she tried to fight them? When she tried? With Gunnel, there was no if.
Incredulous, he said, “He sent two women on a ship without a guard?”
“Gunnel was my guard. She’s a Coronad.” The women of Coronado were as big and strong as their men. Both frequently offered their services as armed escorts to anyone willing to pay their price.
“Ah.” He rubbed his temple, dropping his hand when he caught her looking. The kudzu was taking its toll. His next words were brusque. “Tell me what happened, and don’t leave anything out.”
She started with Gunnel waking her in her cabin. He listened intently, interrupting once, when she came to the part about the singing from the deck. “Were you and this Gunnel the only females aboard?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re thinking what? That some sort of pied piper for sailors captured your ship?”
Reyna’s ears turned hot. It really did sound preposterous. “You asked me to tell you what I knew.”
“So I did.”
They passed a stone church. One painted the same blue as the warehouses beside it. She was careful not to look in its direction.
“Why did you go into the church?” he said, then caught her elbow when she stumbled.
She yanked her arm free, annoyed with herself and with him. He had meant to surprise her with his question and had succeeded. “Why does anyone?”
“Confession?” he answered, and there was something sardonic in his tone.
Which required a curt response. “Prayer.”
“A short one. You weren’t in there long.”
“I was in a hurry. An efficient prayer is still a prayer.”
Another skeptical look, but he eased off his role as grand inquisitor. He brought her to the far end of the harbor, where a fleet of carracks and galleys were anchored below the sweeping scope of the lighthouse. Unlike the rest of the waterfront, this area was heavily guarded. Soldiers roamed the docks. Others stood upon decks and forecastles. An ash mark on every forehead.
They were met by a guard who wore a blue tunic with a silver crescent moon and star emblazoned across his chest. “Captain Levi. Has something happened? We weren’t expecting you.”
A captain. That would explain much. She could almost hear the soldiers’ spines snapping to attention around them.
“Some pirates in our shipping lanes again, Matthew,” her companion said. “I thought we’d have a look. Is Caleb up there?”
There being a handsome carrack, the name Truthsayer painted in white along the hull. Two eyes had also been drawn on each side of the prow. Great, bulging orbs big as a cart wheel, glaring down at Reyna.
“No, sir.” The soldier cast a quick, curious glance in her direction. “He slept in town last night. Should I fetch him?”
“Yes. Tell him to hurry.”
The soldier rushed off. At the same time, Reyna’s knowledge of Lunesian royalty came rushing back to her. The widowed King Lamech had three children. The eldest a daughter named Vashti. Now queen. And two sons. The younger a boy Reyna’s age, Asher. The older was Levi, a captain in the royal navy.
Horrified, she looked up, found his eyes on hers already. “The king was your father?”
“Yes.”
She pictured him huddled in the dark, seeking privacy so that he could grieve for his father. Not just his king. Her tears alarmed them both.
Panic flared in his blue eyes. He glanced around at the soldiers watching with great interest. Under his breath, he ordered, “Don’t.”
“I’m not.” She scrubbed away at her tears using a shirtsleeve. Her lower lip trembled.
“Reyna,” the captain said, softly, “please don’t. If you start weeping, then I’ll start weeping, and I’ll never be able to captain this ship again.”
To her he felt like two different people. The boy on the pier. And this captain, a royal prince, trying to keep a brave face in front of his men. She nodded to show she understood. “Captain,” she began.
“My name is Levi.”
“Levi. I’m sorry I pointed a dagger at you.”
His smile was unexpected. Before either of them could say another word, they were interrupted.
“Captain!”
A boy came bounding down the Truthsayer’s gangplank. Ten years old, she guessed, all arms and legs, with a cowlick that waved about his head like a rooster’s crown. The ash mark on his forehead had been freshly applied. Levi caught him by the shoulders before he could crash into them.
He kept the introductions brief. “Benjamin, this is Reyna. She’s your responsibility. Find her some clothes. Food. Mind her feet. We sail shortly.”
“Yes, sir!” Benjamin turned to Reyna. His face was sunburned and covered in freckles. “Come with me, miss.”
Reyna followed Benjamin up the ramp. She did not look back, not once, though she could feel the weight of the captain’s gaze on her. On her neck, her shoulders. On her map carrier. A Lunesian prince had offered desperately needed help.
What, she wondered, would it cost her?
Four
THE CABIN WAS like any other. A narrow berth set against one wall, a small round window, a chair but no table. Travelers were expected to provide their own in the form of sea chests. Hers had been abandoned on the Simona.
She crawled into the berth and rested the back of her head against the wall, mumbling in agreement when Benjamin said something about finding her fresh clothes. She had only meant to close her eyes for a minute, but when she woke, he had already returned. And he had been busy. A tub filled with steaming water took up most of the cabin. He’d dragged in a chest and set it beside the chair. On its closed lid was a stack of neatly folded clothing and a silver dish that held a comb, a square of soap, and two corked bottles. A plate of food rested beside this bounty, clearly taken from the captain’s stores and not the crew’s. There was fish, freshly caught, alongside sliced melon and biscuits soaked in butter and honey.
Benjamin occupied the chair, fingers thrumming along the armrest as he waited for her to wake. He jumped to his feet when she said, “Oh! How long have I been asleep?”
“Not long,” he assured her. “We’re just leaving the harbor.” He spoke in a rush of Lunesian, and her tired mind struggled to keep up. “The captain wants you to join him as soon as you’re able. These clothes are clean. The captain says it’s fine if you wear boys’ clothes, since we didn’t have time to send for a dress. This bottle’s for your feet. Do you need help with your . . . ?” He glanced at the tub; his face flushed a bright mottled red. “I can close my eyes,” he offered gamely. “I have sisters.”
Reyna smiled. “I’ll manage, I think. Benjamin,” she said, stopping him at the door, “what happened to your king? Did someone hurt him? I don’t mean to pry,” she added quietly, when his face fell. “Only I don’t want to say something wrong in front of the others, out of ignorance.”
Benjamin’s shoulders curved inward. Even his cowlick drooped. “They found him two days ago. At his desk. He was writing a letter to Prince Asher and just . . . No one hurt him. He was old.”
“I see.” Had the king finished the letter to his son? Poor Prince Asher. “I’m sorry.”
The boy nodded. “I’ll be right outside, miss. No one will come in here,” he said, and closed the door behind him.
She would have to take him at his word. The door had no bolt. She listened. Her young guard paced back and forth in the passageway, while above, the familiar sounds of a ship in motion reached her ears: sailcloth unfurling in the wind, the drag of rope across the deck, a shouted order, a piercing whistle.
She left her carrier on the berth and hopped off. It was a relief to shed her clothing and submerge herself in the tub. Her feet stung from cuts and scrapes, but upon further inspection, she discovered no splinters. Excellent. Uncorking a bottle, she snif
fed. It was filled with scent. Jasmine, the last thing she would have expected to find on a Lunesian warship. She poured a liberal amount into the bathwater and used it to scrub the rank seaweed smell from her skin and hair.
When that was done, she applied the ointment to the soles of her feet. It helped tremendously. She dressed in a hurry: an undershirt, a cream-colored linen shirt with lace at the cuffs, brown trousers that were tighter than she preferred tucked into high boots, which, to her surprise, fit well. She attacked the knots in her hair with the comb, eventually managing a damp braid that fell to her waist. The map carrier took up its usual place on her back. As for breakfast, it would be coming with her.
When she flung open the door, she had a biscuit in her mouth and the plate in her hand. Benjamin stopped mid-pace and exclaimed, “That was fast! For a girl!”
* * *
Conversation dropped off the moment she appeared on deck. Not that the work actually stopped. The deck continued to be swabbed, the ropes inspected, the metal greased. By the rails, a dozen archers readied their bows and arrows. But Reyna saw the furtive glances and frank stares. Low whistles made their way to her ears. In her heart, she heard Uncle Ginés sigh: It is the trousers, Reyna. They will not do any longer. We will take time at the next port. Find you more dresses. There was no help for it today. The men could only be ignored, and so she walked on, plate in hand, finishing her biscuit.
Her resolve lasted a full three seconds until a pair of mariners snickered as she passed. Benjamin, seeing her spine stiffen, was quick to offer reassurance that they were not laughing at her.
“It’s not you, miss. Honest. It’s just that you’re a girl wearing Seth’s things, and they already give him grief for the lace.”
She glanced at her frothy sleeves, then at the red-faced boy by the cookstove having his ribs poked by his shipmates. He was about her age, delicate-looking—a natural target on a ship—and dressed in clothes nearly identical to hers. She offered a tentative smile to show her gratitude for the loan, but he whirled away and stomped off in the opposite direction.
Benjamin watched him go, frowning. “Nothing else fit,” he said, defensively.
“Seth’s a sailor?” she asked. He looked more like what she claimed to be: a painter. Or a poet, even.
“Our cook. They don’t tease him too much, really. He’s in charge of our food.”
Reyna looked down at her plate. Seth was a good cook. And he had fine taste in clothing. She hoped he would not suffer too much on her behalf.
She followed Benjamin up the steps to the sterncastle. On most ships, the sterncastle was the pilot’s domain. It was there he plotted each course, surrounded by his charts and compass and sandglass turned on the half hour. Before they reached the top, voices drifted their way from within. Two men. One was Levi.
“Six ships, Levi! On her word alone. You don’t really believe she made that swim.”
“No, that part I believe,” Levi said. “But if she’s a painter I’ll eat that compass. And anyway, since when do we turn our backs on our neighbors?”
“Del Marians don’t count.”
“Caleb.”
“Have it your way. But I saw your pretty feather. Don’t tell me we’d be here—with six ships!—if she looked like a horse.”
Benjamin coughed, loudly, and sent an apologetic look in her direction. By then they stood side by side in the doorway. Levi and another man had their backs to the door, studying something on a chart table. They turned at Benjamin’s cough.
Levi had changed into the same blue tunic and light chain mail worn by the archers. Tall black boots gleamed. He was still pale, reflecting the weariness of someone who had not seen his bed in many hours. But his eyes were no longer red, and the scruff that had darkened his jaw was gone. He looked like a proper ship’s captain, stern and formidable.
The other man, the one who had called her a pretty feather, folded his arms and regarded her with a distrustful expression. He was the same height as Levi, with softer features and curly hair. He reminded her of the cherub carvings one saw in churches. Only this cherub was all grown up and surly-looking. Unlike Levi, he was not dressed in royal colors, but in the white shirt and rough linen trousers of a professional shipman.
“Good work, Master Benjamin,” Levi said after taking in this cleaner version of Reyna, and, when the boy grinned, added, “You’re up in the nest this morning. Off you go.”
“Yes, Captain!” Benjamin gave her a quick smile before leaving. There was a small silence while they, obviously, wondered how much she had overheard.
Levi said, “The food’s good?”
Reyna nodded, quite unable to speak now that she understood what had been meant by six ships. The sterncastle was circular with wooden shutters. On a fair day such as today, the shutters had been left open, letting in the air and sun and offering an unfettered view of the harbor. Five ships sailed behind the Truthsayer in a V-shaped pattern. Six ships in total to hunt down two, readied in no time at all.
“Captain,” she said, the only word she could manage. You need ships? Soldiers? Then come with me.
Levi had followed her gaze. “I don’t want anyone thinking they can raid our lanes so easily. Best to nip this before they grow too comfortable here.” He turned to his companion, made the introductions. As she had already guessed, Caleb was the Truthsayer’s pilot.
“Sir.” Frost layered her greeting. She was no one’s pretty feather.
Caleb’s lips twitched. “Well, come in. Look at this chart for me, would you?”
They made room for her at the table. She slipped into the space between them. They towered over her. When she set her plate down, Levi glanced at her fish, swallowed, and looked away.
“Sorry.” She’d forgotten about the bottle of kudzu. The sight and smell of her fish could not be helping. “I’ll take it outside.”
“No, it’s fine. Leave it.”
“You’re certain?”
Levi said, “I’ll live, I think.”
Caleb studied the chart before them with both palms flat on the table. He kept an orderly space. Blank parchment stacked neatly beside sticks of charcoal. A handsome compass secured within an ivory box. The chart itself was a dull one, a rendering of Selene’s harbor and the sea beyond it. No secret Lunesian trade routes here. He asked her, “Do you remember where you last saw the Simona? Was it south of the harbor? North?”
She stifled the urge to point and say It was right there, instead looking from the chart to the window, where she could see the lighthouse high atop the rocky promontory. “I could see the lighthouse when I jumped. It was directly ahead, but small.” She held up a thumb and index finger to indicate size.
Levi leaned in to give the chart a closer look. “You said the men looked like Coronads?”
“Yes. Sort of.”
Levi turned to her. “What does that mean?”
“Here,” Reyna answered. “I can show you. May I?” She indicated the parchment, the sticks of charcoal.
Obliging, Caleb reached across the table. He paused when Levi said quietly, “Don’t you have any?”
Caleb glanced back and forth between the two. Levi waiting, Reyna silent. Straightening, Caleb left the parchment where it was.
“You said you were a painter,” Levi reminded her. “Don’t painters usually carry parchment with them? Charcoal?” Deliberately, he looked at her carrier.
Without saying a word, Reyna pulled the strap over her head. She twisted the cap free and upended the contents of her carrier onto the table. Parchment scattered across the surface. Levi looked down, surprise replacing suspicion.
Caleb was the first to respond. “These are good. For a del Marian.” He riffled through the loose sheets of parchment. Portraits and landscapes, not a single map among them.
Reyna spooned up a large portion of fish and took her time chewing. Levi’s nostrils flared slightly. She licked her spoon, both sides, then repeated politely, “May I?”
A flush rose up Levi�
�s neck. He reached for the parchment and charcoal himself. But he never quite lost that puzzled look, as though there was something about her he could not quite decipher.
The Truthsayer drew closer to the mouth of the harbor. While she sketched the raider from memory, Levi watched her work. Caleb swept up her paintings and looked through them one by one. After a time, she dropped the charcoal onto the table, satisfied. It was a good likeness.
“He’s a Coronad, for certain,” Caleb announced. “Though I don’t know about that lady hair. You’re sure you drew it right?”
“I’m sure,” Reyna said.
“Huh. Look at that axe, Levi! . . . Levi?”
The captain had been staring intently at the new drawing. He lifted his head to find both Reyna and Caleb watching him. He looked dazed, she noticed, and a muscle ticked along his jawline. He really should have let her take the fish away. He said, “What? Yes. It’s a good axe.”
Reyna had sketched the raider from topknot to boots. The axe he carried was not the sort of weapon that would have been made in large quantities. The jade handle was too dear, the chrysanthemum carving the work of a master. A weapon that had cost someone a fortune, once. She had caught the briefest glimpse of it back on the Simona.
Levi said to her, “You speak Coronad?”
“Yes.”
“And you understood what was said?”
“Only a little,” she answered. “I think it might have been some sort of dialect.” She repeated what she had heard. Yes. Lame. No.
“It isn’t much,” Caleb said, unimpressed.
Reyna shoved another biscuit into her mouth so that she would not have to respond.
Levi picked up one of her drawings. A bearded man in his middle years, somber and handsome. “Is this your uncle?”
“Yes.”
“And this?” He used her uncle’s portrait to point at another.
It was a drawing of Jaime. She had captured him sitting on the beach, strumming a guitar and smiling. “A friend.”
Song of the Abyss Page 3