by L. Penelope
“Melbain’s charter song,” Tai whispered. “It’s the anthem of the commonwealth, honoring Saint Melba.”
Others around the pub chimed in, adding their voices to the chorus, opposing the Dominionists’ secularity.
“The path that was blessed by dear Melba’s wise hand
Is the one that we trod, the one that we trod.
And when we arrive we shall see her sweet face
And we will be awed, we will be awed.”
The singing continued, with the many voices creating a resonating harmony. It was inspiring, a moment of shared faith among strangers, fighting back against the faithless.
The Dominionists believed only in themselves and their judgment, labor, and effort. But there was magic in the world, even if they didn’t care for it. Tai had seen it and felt it many times, and like most phenomena, it was neither good nor bad. It simply was. Fighting against it was useless.
His dark mood eased as the song continued. Though he didn’t share the beliefs of those who praised Saint Melba, he understood faith and knew it to be a kind of magic in itself. And while his had been broken over the years—mainly by his unscrupulous father and implacable mother—it always rebounded. He found it again in the bond he shared with his sister. The trust Ani put in him that he hoped to never betray. Mik’s friendship and loyalty was also stalwart.
And love. The more he thought of the word, the more he was reminded of Lizvette’s gut-wrenching sobs. He could not bring back her lost fiancé, but he could help find her father and bring him to justice. He could help her shake off the guilt and shame she wore like a cloak. And when the mission was done, he would walk away from her knowing he had done all he could. And that would be enough.
He told himself that over and over, hoping that eventually, he would believe it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Deep inside the wood, the path Ayal trod forked. She stood at the junction, pondering the way forward. A bobcat emerged to observe her dilemma.
“What should I do?” the seeker asked.
“If you knew the destination at the end of each path was the same, would the decision matter?” the bobcat replied.
—THE AYALYA
Lizvette’s tears had long dried. She lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. The suite was quiet. Hours had passed since Vanesse came in saying they were all going out for a drink, pity lacing her voice.
She turned her face into her pillow and slammed her fist down. She didn’t want to be pitied, nor did she want her feelings raw and exposed like this, impossible to control. What was wrong with her?
She froze as a question whispered across her mind: what would Jasminda do? The new queen was the strongest woman Lizvette could think of. Jasminda did not seem to be the type to wallow. She took action and had been through much grief, but it had not destroyed her. It was little wonder Jack had preferred her.
Lizvette sat up, determined to pull herself together, when she heard the main door to the suite open. She patted her hair, which must look a fright, and rose to straighten her dress. The sitting room was quiet, so perhaps Darvyn had returned. The others all made so much noise.
She opened her door and froze, the gasp dying in her throat. Her father stood in the entryway to the suite. He’d grown his goatee into a full beard, and new, thicker spectacles graced his face. He removed his hat and stood tall, peering at her through narrowed eyes.
She’d thought it would be days or even weeks before she located him, not that he would appear on her doorstep her very first night in Yaly. She forced herself into action, schooling her features to mask her shock.
“Father!” she said, her hands fluttering uncontrollably. “How in Sovereign’s name did you find me?” She scanned the empty room, wishing the others had not left. A ripple of fear cooled her skin. She wasn’t sure she knew this man at all.
Her father did not move from his place at the door. He did not smile in greeting, only held up a finger to shush her. From his pocket, he produced a tiny metal contraption that resembled the innards of a watch, all gears and dials. He made an adjustment to the device, turning a clicking cog, then moved forward and placed the amalgam on the sofa table.
“Keeps us safe from prying ears,” he said, pinching his earlobe.
As he came closer, she noticed how disheveled he’d grown. As a former professor, he’d always had a tousled, windblown mien—his hair was prone to flying away, and his beard always needed brushing—yet it had grown worse over the past weeks.
He hovered close by but did not reach for her. She had not expected him to. Neither of her parents had ever been affectionate. After all, “proper Elsirans did not run around hugging their children needlessly like the boorish lower classes,” or so they’d told her.
She clasped her hands together to prevent their shaking and perched at the edge of the couch. Father stood in front of her, scrutinizing the room with a disapproving gaze. Through his eyes, the comfortable armchairs would be shabby, the wallpaper cheap and loud, the rugs frayed at the edges.
She swallowed, waiting for him to speak.
“So they went through with the exile, did they?” he asked finally.
Lizvette nodded, her mouth dry.
He walked to the bureau and inspected the vase of gillyflowers there. “And Verdeel has been arrested. What do you know of that?”
She swallowed, attempting to bring moisture to her desiccated throat. “That was his own fault. He spoke of things he shouldn’t have within earshot of Foreign Service agents. Apparently, he hadn’t yet paid off the new men to hold their tongues.”
Father sniffed and approached the dining table in the corner, across which the airship plans were spread out. Lizvette held her breath.
“And your current accommodations?” he asked, peering over the rim of his spectacles at the schematics.
She let out what she hoped was a droll chuckle. She worked quickly to come up with a suitable story and wished she’d had the presence of mind earlier to spin a believable yarn.
“A simple kindness extended by a woman of the Sisterhood who’s taken pity on me. I was exiled with no funds, you see. Nothing but what I could pack in my traveling case. The Sister has deigned to offer shelter to a number of strange individuals in addition to myself. I was hoping Uncle Rodriq would be able to point me toward a more appropriate situation.”
She paused as he leaned toward the table. Was he even listening to her?
“However did you find me, Father?”
He shook his head. “A woman running around in men’s clothing? A Raunian? A grol? Quite a misfit band you’ve attached yourself to, my dear.” The sneer twisted his face into an expression Lizvette was far too familiar with.
“Necessity makes strange bedfellows, indeed,” she murmured, tension still constricting her breathing.
Finally, he straightened and looked at her. “I make it my business to keep track of vessels arriving from Elsira. I should have thought my daughter would have been treated with a good deal more respect.”
She barely kept herself from rolling her eyes, and instead stood, gripping her hands together so tightly they were beginning to grow numb. “Are you here to take me with you?” If she was leaving with him, somehow she’d need to get a message to Darvyn or Tai, or at least create a trail they could follow.
Father bent over the table again and brushed the airship plans with a single finger. She drew closer, sensing his fascination. Her father’s flaw was one that many men shared—pride.
“Uncle Rodriq had these on him,” she said. “I stole them before the police could find them. It seems as if he was responsible for Alariq’s death.”
“Rodriq had nothing to do with that.” Father frowned, making a tsking sound. “And you’re a fool if you believe that blubbering idiot could take down a Prince Regent.” He shook his head and finally faced Lizvette. “Alariq’s death was a shame, but he brought it on himself.”
Lizvette gulped, willing her voice not to shake. “W-what do you mean?�
�
“Oh, I know you two were close, and it was a pity it had to happen. If Alariq had any sense, you would be princess right now and things would be as they should be. I would be the grandfather of the next Prince Regent, the crown back in the hands of our family where it belongs.”
She squinted, trying to follow her father’s words. “The crown was never in our family. Only the Alliaseen bloodline has ever ruled.”
“Ha! Five generations ago, Prince Jerrard had an affair with the wife of one of his Council members—my great-great-grandmother.” His eyes blazed. Lizvette fought the urge to step back from him. “My great-grandfather was the firstborn of the Prince Regent, though no one but his mother ever knew. He himself only found out after the prince’s death. The Niralls are the true holders of the crown, and it is my duty to make it right.”
A lump formed in her throat. “So that is why you wanted me to be princess?” She looked down as understanding dawned. “But if all this is true, how does Alariq’s death further your agenda?”
He waved her away as if she were foolish. “Oh, it wasn’t my idea. He made enemies of the wrong people, is all. It soon became beyond my ability to stop. I did have high hopes for Jack though…” He shook his head as if exasperated. “But never mind all that. If you expect me to help you extract yourself from the quagmire you’ve managed to enter, you will have to earn your keep and find a way to be useful. Though I’ll admit I have little confidence that you can do so.”
She blinked, remaining silent, not trusting her voice.
“There is yet some good that can come of the fact that you have allowed yourself to be gathered into this den of indigents.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth. “This Clove Liddelot character … she is ranked highly in the airship races, is she not?”
Lizvette nodded.
“Well, she must not win, or there will be serious consequences of the fundraising variety.”
“You’re … gambling on the outcome?”
He sighed impatiently. “You will continue to ingratiate yourself to her. I will gather my resources and have a message sent to you in the coming days with information as to how you can prove yourself a valuable asset to my current enterprise.”
Father drew something out of his pocket as Lizvette struggled not to react. “You want me to somehow sabotage Clove?”
He snapped open the object in his hand—a jewelry box. For the briefest of moments, she wondered if he was giving her a gift. Of course, the necklace he produced was nothing she would ever have considered wearing. A garish emerald-and-garnet cluster hung on a simple gold chain. Before she could do more than gape at the ugly pendant, Father had fastened it around her neck.
“A special amalgamation—one that prevents you from mentioning our little chat to anyone.” He stood back, a satisfied gleam in his eye. “You won’t be able to take it off until its power runs out in about a week or so.”
“You don’t trust me, Father?”
He opened his mouth to answer when the contraption on the sofa table let out a soft chime. He turned and plucked it up, frowning at its whirring gears.
“Your party is returning.” Placing the device in his pocket, he moved toward the door.
Lizvette jumped up. She couldn’t let him leave yet. “Wait, Father—”
“My messenger will find you and give you further instruction. Prove yourself to me. And do take care not to get caught this time, dear girl.” He gave the room one last disapproving grimace. Then after the briefest of bows, he disappeared out the door.
Lizvette was left clutching the necklace, grasping at its clasp, unsurprised when she could not remove it. She let out a cry of frustration and fled to her room just before the door to the suite opened again.
* * *
Tai stared at the door to the women’s bedroom, which had just slammed closed. The others were still downstairs in the lobby of the hotel, watching an impromptu show by a group of roving circus performers, but Tai’s head had been done in. He wanted nothing more than to hit his bed and not awaken until morning, perhaps even afternoon.
Lizvette’s departure from the sitting room right before he’d arrived had him curious, though. He was ready to ignore it and give her some privacy until he heard her sniffle. His hackles went up. Was she still crying? He stood outside her door and heard the sound again.
Her cool and collected demeanor hinted at a woman who never allowed anyone to see what was hidden inside her. He knew she wouldn’t welcome his intrusion. Still, he pushed open the door and found her lying facedown on her bed, hands pillowing her head.
He entered on soft feet, then decided he didn’t want to startle her. Earlier, he’d noticed a creaky spot on the floor. He purposely stepped on it now.
Lizvette jerked up at the sound, scrubbing at her eyes. Her gaze turned defiant when she saw him, but it barely hid the sadness within. “What are you doing in here?” she asked, throwing her shoulders back in an approximation of her usual haughty demeanor. She patted her hair self-consciously. “Do you make a habit of barging into women’s bedchambers hoping for a gracious welcome?”
Tai crossed his arms, thankful for her sharp words. Perhaps a bit of sparring would take her mind off her troubles. He rocked back on his heels and produced a smirk. “I’m not sure I’d call anything about you gracious, duchess.”
Lizvette sniffed and looked down. Her fingers skimmed over a peculiar necklace he hadn’t noticed before. The thing was hideous and didn’t seem to match her taste. She gave it a tug and looked up at him, all animosity leached from her expression. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She swallowed and tried again, and then gasped, pulling at the chain around her neck and rubbing the skin where it touched.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, rushing to kneel before her.
After a few deep breaths, her hands dropped to her lap. “Nothing. Nothing I can say.”
He frowned, scanning her up and down for signs of further distress. This close he noticed the freckles dotting her nose for the first time. They must normally be concealed with makeup. He blinked, not daring to move and upset the tenuous truce that hung between them.
To his surprise, she broke the silence. “Why did your mother sentence you to prison?” The question was quiet, barely more than a whisper.
His gaze dropped to her fingers as they began to fidget in her lap. Long and delicate, they were unvarnished with short, rounded nails. He took a deep breath. He may as well share the whole story. Perhaps it would distract her.
“My father was a smuggler, well known and well respected. I trained with him since I was young, as did my sister.” Tai caught her disapproving expression but continued. “In Raun, honor is important. Your word is your bond, and breaking a contract is a serious offense.”
Her nose crinkled in confusion. “But you just said you all were smugglers?”
“There’s no dishonor in smuggling. The laws of other countries are seen as inferior to those of Raun. Circumventing their regulations and taxes is merely good sense.” He smiled, and her lips curved slightly in return.
But the brief moment of cheer dropped away. “Father began secretly gambling,” he continued, “and it turned into a problem.” Tai clenched his jaw. He of all people should have noticed the change in Father’s demeanor, but he’d been blind. “We had a huge shipment of oil linen from the Lincee Isles right before a typhoon devastated the Isles, and ours was to be the last shipment for many months. We had negotiated a good price for it, but a Fremian merchant contacted us, promising fifty percent more. The deal had already been struck with the first buyer, and the contract sworn out.”
He paused to clear his throat as the weight of his father’s disgrace bore down on him. Lizvette nodded, gently urging him to continue.
“Father’s debts were such that he felt he could not turn down the better offer. He told me that the original buyer, a Raunian naval admiral, backed out and so we sold to the Fremian. When the admiral chased us down and ch
allenged my father to a duel, I was shocked.”
His chest had grown uncomfortably tight. He rose to his feet and paced to the dresser, unable to look at her. “I stood up for him because I believed him. My father would not have lied, especially not to me, or so I told myself. But the admiral produced witnesses to prove he had never released the original contract. To make matters worse, instead of dueling it out as honor demanded, Father fled.”
The shame churned in Tai’s belly as he forced out the rest of the story. “He ran, saying it was to protect me and Ani, but the truth was that he was a coward.”
A small hand reached out to cover his clenched fists, and Tai hissed out a breath. He hadn’t heard Lizvette rise or cross the room.
“What happened?” she asked. Her palm was soft as velvet, her scent entirely too feminine. He pulled his hand away and stepped back to restore his clarity.
“The admiral chased us and killed my father, as was his right. And his debts fell to me, both from the gambling and the squelched deal.”
“Oh Tai. I’m so sorry.”
He retreated even further from the empathy in her voice, shaking his head to rid himself of it. “At any rate, a year later, my mother agreed to a contract for my sister, promising her as an apprentice to another ship. But the captain was a scoundrel, and I helped my sister flee from him. It was yet another broken contract, so my mother sent me to prison for it. Just another untrustworthy Summerhawk.” He spread his arms and shrugged.
Lizvette’s keen eyes narrowed. “I don’t see it that way. I’m sure your sister doesn’t, either. What happened to her?”
Tai smiled. “As it turns out, once she lost her hand in an … accident, the captain she was meant to work for decided she was of no use to him. Little did he know she’d be piloting her own ship now, somewhere in the Northern Seas.” His chest puffed out with pride at Ani’s accomplishments. “I would have gone to meet her, had I not been … tasked with this mission.”