Seaborn 03 - Sea Throne

by Chris Howard

  "Ampharete had a daughter from a lord of Rexenor."

  "Kassandra."

  He nodded. "Kassandra—a child caught in the king's trap, but he knew her not. He sent her far inland, away from the sea, some Alkimides brat that would grow up and return to the sea as one of his slaves. Kassandra—and the Wreath—had different plans. She broke her bonds. The Wreath did not reveal itself without preparing the girl, and the king discovered his mistake too late. The king sent the unstoppable weapon, his army of the dead, the Olethren. Released them, sent them to war, and they did not return. Not one of them. You have heard that story. The Wreath-wearers are mighty and many, but not one could face an army the size of the Olethren. Only a goddess, milady."

  She bowed to him. "Thank—"

  The door shattered, hit by something hard, splinters of it twirling in the water, cutting notes of binding songs eeled into the room, fishing for something that did not belong there.

  Isothemis' hand shot out, grabbed Emandes by the hair, pulled him into her arms, whispered furiously into his ear, "Go!" She shoved him away.

  He grabbed her sleeve, jerking her arm up, unfolding the fingers of her fist.

  "What are you doing? Leave at once. I command you."

  He looked at her sadly, whispered, "There is no time, milady."

  He tilted his head toward shouted commands from the opening he had made through the window. More from the door, and he showed his teeth, recognizing the first three into the room, three of the King's trusted Eight.

  Emandes pulled a thin spiked weapon, needle sharp, thick around as a finger, poison tipped. He spun it in his fingers, pushed the handle into the queen's hand, and shouted, "Death to Alkimides!" Then he snapped her sleeve into motion, her arm and fist and poisoned spike followed, driving the tip into his own throat. He sucked in water, struggled for a moment, and then collapsed in the queen's arms, bleeding all over her dress.

  Blue scale armored soldiers flooded the queen's sitting room, taking up position at the windows, while two of the King's Eight tried unsuccessfully to revive Emandes of the one eye, bring him back so that he could be tortured, and returned slowly to death.

  "He is gone, milord," said the first of the Eight to King Tharsaleos.

  The king paused, grinding his teeth, then waved them out. "All of you. Get out. Take that garbage with you. Post his face in every quarter of the city, find out who he belongs to. Then find his family. Go!"

  Tharsaleos moved around the room in sharp angry kicks, circling the queen. He darted at her, fist back for a strike. "Were you ever going to tell me that your bleed is slipping?" She blocked his punch, but the force knocked her off her feet, set her spinning across the room. "And not to one of our sons, but to that monster, Kassandra?"

  He thrust the latest King's Dispatch at her, a curled sheet with headlines, quick blocks of text from the ruler of the seaborn, broadcast to every corner of the Nine-cities, mostly the same assertions they heard every other day: Kassandra is a killer...not to be trusted with the crown of all the seaborn. This dispatch included a poorly drawn monster with tentacles and teeth, sweeping hungrily past the Nine-cities, as big around as the city walls were tall, snapping screaming seaborn soldiers out of the water, consuming them. The caption read, the monster has a master, Kassandra. She has unleashed this evil on us. My war-bard is hunting her, and will return with Kassandra's head and bracelet.

  Contradictory fragments, because no one really believed the king—or even the Kirkêlatides—could stop Kassandra. The king's dispatches served more to support the rumors about the angry Wreath-wearer, the failed battle against Rexenor. She sent that demon, the basilichalkainos, to terrorize them. It could not enter our city, through the King's Protection, but it caught many outside the walls, defenseless, crushing float rafts, devouring the entire Gennaides family, father, sons, children on their barge, a chariot from House Dosianax, an eight-orca team from the farms of two of the minor houses.

  The King's Dispatch wrapped up with a detailed drawing of Kassandra describing her as the unstable Wreath-wearer, barely able to call herself seaborn, a woman from the surface driven by her anger, destructively unstable, doesn't accept being seaborn. She cannot be stopped. She doesn't want to live in the sea.

  Queen Isothemis looked angry, but not really shocked by the news. "But this cannot be true. And no one is going to believe this."

  "Answer me! Were you ever going to tell me that your bleed is going to feed the enemy?"

  "Enemy? Kassandra is my blood. She is Alkimides." The Queen pushed off the floor, wincing at the pain shooting up her left arm. She held her right in a fist. "Were you ever going to tell me that you murdered my sister, my dear Pythias?"

  Chapter 23 – Sailing

  Kassandra caught Jill in the kitchen early in the morning, going over the day's plans with Gregor. As soon as she saw Kassandra at the top of the stairs, Jill bolted for the door. Gregor jumped out of the way, knocking over the kitchen trash can, grabbing the counter to stay on his feet. Kassandra landed at the foot of the stairs in a crouch, bounding sideways in one fluid movement to chase her sister.

  They reached the door in the mudroom at the same time, Kassandra pleading, "Stop, please. I was totally stupid. Jordan hurt you and I made it worse by declaring war on the guy."

  Jill turned, defeated, her eyes already red and full of tears. "I don't know who you are anymore." She leaned closer to get a better look. "Are you Kass? No. You're the Sea, some goddamn soulless divinity." Jill glared at her, tears tumbling off her chin, waiting for an answer, denial, something. She pulled the door open and ran out, past the van and truck in the driveway, dashing across Ocean Boulevard to the bench that overlooked the Atlantic. She wiped her eyes dry.

  Kassandra came up behind her, walking. "I—me—Kassandra, I am so sorry. I am so stupid. I'm learning...I didn't—"

  Jill jabbed a finger at her, squeezing back fresh tears, her voice low. "Stay the fuck away from me." She turned back toward the Atlantic. "I don't want to look at you. I don't want to hear you. Just leave me alone."

  Kassandra winced and forced her lips tight so that she wouldn't be tempted to respond. Jill folded her arms, turning away, and Kassandra walked down the rocky grade, over the wrack-covered boulders into the surf, never looking back, just letting the cool Atlantic reach up her body, accept her, slip over her head. A small burst of bubbles, the air in her lungs broke the surface, and she was gone.

  Alex waved to Nicole across the Rye Harbor parking lot, looked around, scanned the waves. "Where's Kassandra?"

  Nicole's expression closed down protectively. "Not sure." She took in Kaffia's eager expression, and shrugged. "She said she'll be here." Nicole followed Alex and Kaffia's gazes into the lot. "She's...not getting along with Jill...at the moment."

  Alex looked a little disappointed, pushed something into his sweatshirt pocket.

  Kaffia put her arm around him, jutting her chin at the sailboats, trawlers, power boats, in slips, moored out on the calms behind two long finger-pinching breakwaters. "Which one's Stormwind?"

  Nicole flattened her hand over her brow, blocking the sun. "She's berthed. Forty-two feet. The one with the dark blue hull." Pointing, "Right there."

  The three of them walked along the gravel to the boardwalk, down the anchored pier to the berths. Jill and Gregor were prepping the boat to sail, stowing coolers below deck in the cabin, checking the lines and cloth. Gregor looked up and waved, a rare almost calm smile on his lean face.

  Kaffia glanced over, exchanged a look with Alex, noticing Nicole's shoulders relax, her reaction to her father's smile, the clear joy in seeing the outing come together. Jill straightened at the wheel, gave her sister, Alex and Kaffia a brief smile, widening when her gaze lifted to Michael Henderson and Zypheria coming down the ramp with another cooler, duffle bags over their shoulders.

  "Ladies?" Nicole turned, waving Alex and Kaffia over the rail and onto Stormwind. "Where is Lady Kassandra?"

  Nicole jerked her thumb over
her shoulder, lowering her voice so Jill couldn't hear her. "She said she'd catch up later. I think we can get underway as soon as you're aboard." She tugged the duffle off Zypheria's shoulder and jumped the rail.

  Stormwind cast off, plodded through the shallows on power, but once Jill had them beyond the breakwater, she called for sail, and the cloth went up snapping at the wind, bellying in the gusts. Jill turned her Sox cap around, her long blond hair loose in the wind.

  The bow dipped into a swell, evened out and on the rise with the rail level with the dark green wave, Kassandra walked out of the water, right onto the deck, seawater running everywhere. She wrung out her braids and threw them over her shoulders, bending her knees a little for balance, and, avoiding Jill's death-glare, dropped to the deck with her legs folded.

  She nodded to Kaffia, half a smile, and waved to Zypheria just coming out of the cabin with an open bottle of beer at her lips. Zypheria's eyes went a little wide, her face flushing as she held up the slim brown bottle—more of a surfacer with every day that passed. Her eyebrows went up and down, a little nod of her head to the shore, the message in her expression clear, I keep this up, and I'll be driving a minivan, taking kids to soccer, and complaining about the winter chill like the rest of them.

  Kassandra caught her gaze, held it gently, lovingly. I wish you would, Zyph.

  She blinked up at Alex, moving along the port side toward her, at his eyes half closed against the wind, his feet sure on the deck. "Got some sea legs on you, Mr. Shoaler."

  Kaffia came up behind him grabbing the rails tight knuckled with both hands, sliding them, never letting go. Alex took her hand, and wove his fingers with hers, guiding her around the mast to a clear area at the bow.

  Kaffia sat down hard on Stormwind's rise up the side of a swell. Alex crumpled into a sitting position after digging something from his pocket. "Made a necklace for you, Kassandra, a gift, a thank you for inviting us to your dinner, showing us some...magic."

  "He went into Cambridge last night." Kaffia folded her arms, frowning. "He was on campus all last night, in the metals lab, rotary tools and precision threading machines—dangerous stuff to be using without a full night's sleep." Kaffia gave Kassandra a quick glare as if some of it was her fault, and then threw her arm over Alex's shoulders, not really mad. "Didn't get home until four this morning."

  Nicole joined them, coming up the other side of the boat, sitting next to Kassandra, crossing her legs, frowning a little when the water that had come aboard with Kassandra soaked into her shorts. She sighed, but didn't bother with it.

  Alex extended one fist, a fine steel chain hanging from his tight fingers. "I wanted to make something for you. Thought of it last night—seemed like a great idea. Maybe I was tired. Now..." He gave her a mildly embarrassed smile. "It's a, well, pretty stupid thing to give you."

  Kaffia nodding. "But he did spend all night on it. It's brilliant work."

  "So, here you are." He opened his hand, let a small heavy cylinder go.

  Kassandra caught the chain and held up a slender shaft of metal, thick around as her pinky, and about as long with a grooved cap on each end, and up the center a knurled scaly shield shape pattern. "This..." She held it close, studying it. She went still, scowling, holding it even closer, rubbing the hard metal surface between her finger and thumb. Then she stuck her tongue out, tasted it, pulling back as if shocked. The Atlantic roared in the background, and Kassandra drew in a quick surprised breath. "This is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever made for me."

  He shrugged. "I put the ocean inside."

  Nicole looked closer, laughed in a quick burst, but stowed it at Kassandra's serious glare. "Isn't that a little like giving flour to a baker."

  Kassandra ignored her sister, letting the dull metal cylinder roll in her cupped hands, a cherished gift, caught Alex's eyes and he went rigid. Your ancestors made the trident for Lord Poseidon, Alex—my trident. Do not underestimate your abilities.

  "It's just the ocean," he whispered. "I captured the ocean in a container."

  She blinked and released him, feeling Kaffia's alarm. "You did just that." She ran a finger along the scaly etched metal, slipping the necklace over her head, liking the weight of the gift around her neck. "Just that." She bowed. "Thank you."

  Nicole waited until Kaffia and Alex were distracted by a cargo ship coming up the New England coast, and then leaned in close to Kassandra to whisper, "I gave hardcopies of the investigator's Jordan shots to Jill."

  "And?"

  "She hasn't said anything. I know she's looked through them. Heard her crying."

  Kassandra bent her head, rubbing her eyes, grabbed Nicole's arm for support. "You were right when this started. Just let it go. She hates me. I've done enough damage."

  Nicole nodded, her expression ratcheted down seriously, and then she looked up and looked along the length of Stormwind, asked, "Hey, where's Bachoris? I expected you to invite him along."

  "Not on this little outing. Perhaps the next."

  Nicole caught some thread of discord in her sister, pressed for an answer. "What's he doing?"

  Kassandra looked up, her eyes red, weary. She rubbed them, digging in with her thumb and forefinger. "Oh, he's plotting my ruin."

  Nicole gave Kassandra a moment to explain, and then punched her in the arm when she didn't. They both looked up at the same time, feeling someone's burning gaze, raw hatred, a tight beam of anger like a laser focused on them.

  Jill had fixed them her what-can-I-pay-you-to-get-off-my-boat glare.

  Nicole glanced at Kassandra, and she was getting to her feet, making her way steadily toward the stern, toward Jill.

  "Don't cause any trouble, Kass. Dad's happy for once."

  "I'm not." Kassandra said, over her shoulder, "I need to pee." She jumped down and went below decks. A few minutes later, she bounded up the steps from the cabin wearing nothing but her bathing suit bottoms and a tight bluish-silver long-sleeved rashguard.

  Alex stared at her, Kaffia frowned, and said, "She is a sea witch."

  Surfer girls in warm San Diego wore them, but it didn't make sense in the north Atlantic, except as fashion. He considered himself toughened against the chill wind, and was usually the last to come back to shore on a cold stormy surf day. He folded his arms, pulling his sweatshirt snug. With the wind, it's fifty degrees out here.

  Kassandra's braids whipped around her face. One stuck out straight from her head. She walked carefully around Jill and rested one hand on Zypheria's shoulder. The two of them stared at each other for longer than anyone would feel comfortable holding someone else's eyes. Then a sly smile pulled one side of Kassandra's mouth sharp and her dark eyes slipped away from Zypheria to snap tight to Alex's.

  He was conscious of his intent to pull back from her look, but he couldn't move, couldn't turn his head, caught in her steady gaze. She let him go, jumping to the walkway around the stern, and without a look back, dove into the wake of Stormwind.

  Mike Henderson swung around, eyes focused on the spot where Kassandra went under, a smear of white foam sliding rapidly away.

  Alex and Kaffia jumped to the stern, keeping their heads low against the boom coming around, because they were certain they were going to come about.

  Jill, stared over her shoulder, but kept the wheel straight; Henderson reminded her to watch the bow and keep their course.

  Alex kept watching for Kassandra to surface. He exchanged a look with Kaffia, and she shrugged. The boat slipped rapidly over the waves and Kassandra never did come up—and there was nothing in Jill's stance or manner that showed that she had any intention of going back for her sister.

  Zypheria also watched the waves, her hands deep in the pockets of a yellow rain jacket. Alex pretended to watch for Kassandra, but kept swinging his eyes to the woman who never showed her hands.

  Even when she pulled them out she kept them in fists. He tried not to stare but he couldn't help himself. Partially hidden by Mike Henderson, Zypheria tugged off her shorts
and unzipped her jacket, dropping her outer clothes at her feet. She wore a blue two-piece suit with neon green striping that showed off her brown muscled abs. Alex leaned forward to watch the woman whose job seemed to be to protect Kassandra. He looked over at Kaffia—who was watching Zypheria also, fascinated by her. Of all of the family, she looked the most like Kassandra, tall muscular, long brown hair in braids.

  Kaffia nudged him, "Did you ask her what she does, if she's a relative, a nanny?"

  Alex elbowed her right back. "You ask her. I'm not."

  Zypheria's long brown legs were smooth, a soft sheen along the contours of her calves and thigh muscles.

  He guessed her age to be somewhere in the late thirties or early forties. Alex whispered, "She could probably kill me. With her bare hands." Then he noticed he was staring at her, and that there was a lot of her showing.

  She pulled her braids around over her left shoulder, and hit Alex and then Kaffia with a cold, offended glare.

  Both of them looked away at the same time.

  Zypheria laughed, held up her fist. "Kaffia? Alexandros?"

  They turned back to her and she unfolded her fingers until they spread apart and the sun came through the sheer web of skin between each. Then she kissed Michael, stepped up to the deck edging at the stern and shot into the Atlantic.

  Kaffia nodded. "Cool. Love her hands."

  Alex was about to answer, but turned, seeing Nicole jump to the deck. She pulled off her clothes, right down to her swimsuit, said, "Cheerio!" and went over the side, arms out.

  Gregor laughed and waved after them, leaning out from the port side, reaching to run his fingers in the cold water.

  Alex caught Henderson's eye and pointed aft. Michael Henderson seemed to be the only other normal one on board. "Aren't we going back for them?"

  Kaffia nodded, agreeing.

  He gave them a bright carefree smile. "They'll catch up."