Do you still serve me loyally, Charlon?
Charlon threw herself to the deck. “Yes, goddess. My allegiance is yours. I have done as you asked. I have served as a midwife. Will you take me back to the Vespara?”
Soon. But first I have two tasks for you.
“Anything, goddess.”
The first is simple. I have learned that Sâr Trevn Hadar will soon be on his way to this ship. When he arrives, call on me. We must do whatever it takes to keep him preoccupied aboard the Rafayah.
Charlon bowed low. “It will be as you say, Great Goddess. And the second task?”
The woman Mielle Allard is on this ship. Have you seen her?
Charlon stiffened. “Yes.” She had come with Prince Wilek’s guardsman. The scarred one. Thankfully neither of them had ever seen Charlon’s real face. “She does not know who I am.”
She has a friend who is pregnant.
“Her name is Kellah. She will give birth any day now.”
You must be there when the child is born. That child is the Deliverer.
The words stabbed deeply. “What?” Charlon couldn’t believe it. Felt like she was falling. Hope destroyed. “I am not the Mother after all?”
Fear not. You will be Mother once you claim the child as your own.
“But I thought . . . You told me I would carry the child myself.”
You failed, Charlon, but I have rewarded your faithfulness. You will soon see that as the Mother of the Deliverer, you will be blessed more than the child’s birth mother.
Charlon did not understand. But she would not question. Not today. “Whatever you ask, Great Goddess, I will do.”
Once the Deliverer is in your arms, use your magic to set sail for the Vespara, which will be nearby. Take the child before Mreegan, claim it as your own flesh, and stand before all of Magonia as Mother.
Hinck
When next Hinck’s brand burned to signal a meeting of the Lahavôtesh, his heart leapt with hope. Sâr Wilek had been anxious for news of the rebels. As Hinck made his way down into the hold of the Seffynaw, he hoped whatever was said today would be enough for Wilek to finally arrest everyone. When he reached the compartment, the guard there sent him back up to the Honored Lady Zenobia’s cabin. When Hinck asked why, the man would only say, “Ask the mistress.”
So Hinck climbed back up the four flights of stairs and made his way to the cabin of the king’s oldest concubine, a room that turned out to be smaller than the compartment in the hold. Inside, he found everyone sitting along the walls or on the bed. All the usual faces were present except for Kamran and Janek.
Hinck took a seat beside his uncle Canbek. “Why are we meeting here?” he whispered.
“Because the mistress commanded it,” Canbek said without looking Hinck’s way. His uncle was wearing one of his old cat pelts, but it no longer gave him a rich and lustrous air. The fur had become as grimy as Canbek’s hair, which had been slicked back over his scalp. Fashion and style, it seemed, had died with the Five Realms.
“Now that we are all present,” Zenobia said, “I have—”
“No Kamran?” Lady Mattenelle asked.
“Not today,” Zenobia said. “We have yet to make any progress on sinking the ship, but a new development has arisen. Madame Hara, the cook, came to me with an offer. She has a bottle of evenroot juice and wants me to use it to kill the rosâr, who she believes had her daughter murdered.”
Excited chatter broke out among the group.
Shemme was dead? Hinck had heard about the girl’s pregnancy and that she’d named Janek as the father, but that she’d been killed for it . . . He felt sick.
“With root you can kill the Heir too,” Fonu said. “Then Moon Fang can take the ship as his own, and we won’t have to sink it.”
“Sâr Wilek is looking for this root,” Zenobia said. “The cook told him she had used it all. Their search turned up nothing. In truth, she had it hidden well.”
“When do we get it?” Fonu asked.
“I overstepped in my eagerness and mentioned killing Sâr Wilek,” Zenobia said. “This angered the cook. She insists Sâr Wilek not be harmed.”
“So let her think you won’t harm him, then kill her too,” Fonu said. “So long as you get the root.”
Zenobia sighed heavily. “Do stop interrupting me, Fonu.”
He sat back on the bed and set one foot over his other knee. “Go on.”
“I have consulted with Moon Fang,” Zenobia said. “I will promise the cook that I will kill only the king. In the turmoil of his death, I will use the evenroot to take control of the Seffynaw and kill the sârs. Then Moon Fang will send a shadir to lead our ship to his.”
“Kill all the sârs?” Fonu asked. “Janek too?”
“Janek is not to be touched,” Zenobia said.
“Why not search the kitchen, take the root ourselves?” Canbek asked.
“Or have your shadir follow her and tell you where it is,” Lady Mattenelle said.
“Even better,” Fonu suggested, “get Janek to use the newt. It will find the root in no time.”
“We are not going to do anything to jeopardize this opportunity,” Zenobia said. “There is no point in stealing the juice. When Hara hears my vow, she will gladly give it over.”
Not if Hinck could stop it.
They devised a plan for the mutiny. Once Lady Zenobia received the root juice from Hara, she would again summon a meeting. Everyone would get a sip, then all would set off to take the royals into captivity. They divided the list of targets between them. Lady Zenobia would poison the king. Sir Jayron would deal with Sâr Wilek. Canbek would distract his brother, Danek. Lady Mattenelle volunteered to subdue Sârah Zeroah. When Hinck volunteered to capture Trevn, Fonu jumped in and said he had a plan to lure Sâr Trevn to another ship and keep Janek out of the way too. Lady Zenobia instead assigned Hinck the task of abducting Miss Onika. With the other royals confined, the guards would have no choice but to comply.
“The call could come at any moment,” Lady Zenobia said. “You must be ready.”
They left one at a time so as not to be seen together. When Hinck’s turn came, he headed to his cabin. He wanted to go straight to Sâr Wilek, but Lady Pia’s warning still rang in his mind and Lady Mattenelle’s offhanded comment to have a shadir follow Cook Hara frightened him. It had never occurred to him that shadirs could do that. Had they been following him all this time? Did the entire Lahavôtesh know he was Sâr Wilek’s man?
Surely he would be dead by now, if that were the case.
He entered his cabin and secured the door behind him, aware that doing so would not keep out a shadir. The waning moon outside sent pale light through his small window. Barely enough to see by. He sat on the bed he’d made on the floor under his hanging cot and sighed heavily. What was he to do now? Sâr Wilek had to be informed at once. But when? How?
“Was it that bad?”
Hinck pushed to his knees at the sound of the woman’s voice and squinted in the dimness. Lady Pia, dressed all in black, sitting cross-legged on his desk.
“Lady Pia.” He sank back to the floor.
She hopped down, and Hinck saw that she was wearing men’s trousers. He had never seen a woman in trousers before.
“Come now, lord.” She sank beside him and bumped her shoulder with his. “If they’ve sent you out, there isn’t much time. What happened?”
Hinck relayed the main points of the meeting, feeling heavy. “I fear they still suspect me. I am sure to bungle this and end up dead along with everyone I am trying to protect. I found out tonight there are shadir everywhere. They could be watching me. I’m certain one of them will overhear a conversation between me and Sâr Wilek, or me and you, and they will kill us all.”
“Worry not,” she said. “Shadir cannot kill without a mantic to direct them. And the mantics do not have any evenroot. Yet.”
“They will soon,” Hinck said. “In the meantime Sir Jayron has a sword and a long reach.”
“C
hin up, poet. We are nearly there. I will tell Sâr Wilek what happened. In the morning he will advise you.”
Hinck sighed. He’d grown weary of spying and longed for the days when his biggest concern was how Trevn had managed to lose him on the rooftops of Everton.
Lady Pia threaded her fingers with his. “I sense a connection between us, lord.”
He looked into her eyes, and she surprised him with a kiss.
He went rigid. Or tried to, anyway. His lips trembled under her soft, sure ones. A beautiful, glorious woman liked him. Him! Hinckdan Faluk, who never, ever won the girl.
But this couldn’t happen.
It took all his strength and willpower to turn his head and break the connection.
Her brow creased in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
He chose his words carefully, not wanting her to misunderstand. “Forgive me, lady. You are not wrong about my feelings for you, but I . . . You are his.”
Understanding softened her expression. “I belong to Sâr Janek, you mean.”
He glanced down at their entwined fingers, suddenly embarrassed. “Yes.”
She squeezed his hand and stood. “I must take your news to Sâr Wilek.”
As Hinck watched her go, loneliness threatened to choke him. It didn’t matter. One more night and all this madness would end. Sâr Wilek would arrest the traitors, and Hinck would be free to return to his life as Trevn’s backman.
All he had to do was wait.
Wilek
Wilek had slept poorly yet again. Rough seas and Lady Pia’s late-night message from Hinckdan about the rebels’ latest plans had ruined any chance at rest. Wilek did not want to raise suspicion by calling a meeting in the middle of the night, especially with the growing concern that there might be shadir watching them all. At sunrise he bid Dendrick discreetly summon the few people he trusted on board the Seffynaw.
He surveyed the faces gathered in his cabin thus far. There were five besides himself: Rayim, Novan, Oli, Jhorn, and Miss Onika.
A knock at the door preceded Dendrick, who came to Wilek’s side. “I was unable to locate Sâr Trevn, Your Highness. Captain Bussie says two of his men sent Sâr Trevn and Sir Cadoc down the boat fall just a bit ago.”
Wilek sighed. Trevn must have found out that Miss Mielle had gone to the Rafayah. He cursed his own thoughtlessness at forgetting to tell his brother about Miss Mielle’s temporary assignment.
“We will have to proceed without him.” Wilek stood and waited for every face to focus on his. “I have gathered you here because I have discovered a plot against me and my father. There are some mantics on board in search of a bottle of evenroot juice. When they find it, they intend to use it to kill the king.”
Gasps of surprise and shock passed between them.
“We must find the evenroot first,” Rayim said.
Wilek nodded. “Our searches to this point have turned up empty.”
“Seize Sâr Janek’s newt, then,” Novan suggested.
“Janek claims the creature has been stolen. I thought he must be lying, but my spies confirmed he is not. We must prepare for the worst. Should these traitors find the root before we do, what can be done to stop them?”
“Nothing outright,” Jhorn said. “In the Great War a fresh mantic would destroy hundreds, until the moment she knelt to pray to her demons for healing. Then we’d cut her down.”
“Was there no way to prevent the first attack?” Wilek asked.
Jhorn’s brows pinched in thought. “Attacks depended on several criteria. The amount of evenroot taken, the skill of the mantic, the strength of the shadir. To take a life, a well-trained mantic needs a powerful shadir and a lot of root.”
“At least a full vial,” Oli said.
“These traitors must be arrested and executed at once,” Rayim said. “It’s the only way.”
“But if they have taken evenroot, can’t they do magic to avoid arrest?” Wilek asked.
“That or to escape,” Jhorn said.
“We should move the king to a different ship,” Rayim said.
“That might buy some time,” Oli offered. “But . . . there is another way.”
A hush fell as every eye focused on the duke.
“I have a bottle of evenroot juice in my cabin,” Oli said.
Fire flowed through Wilek’s veins. “You kept this from me?”
Oli held up his good hand. “I know, I know. You went on a crusade to purge root from the fleet. The truth is . . .” A breath quivered from his lips, and he lowered his gaze. “I’ve been suffering from the lack of root. When I heard about the mantic Charlon pretending to be Sârah Zeroah, I searched her cabin and found a canister of root powder.”
“The stash Janek was looking for?” Wilek asked, stunned that so much root might be within reach of the people wanting to kill him.
“I stole it, that is the truth, but Empress Inolah discovered it and made me dump it into the sea.” Oli glanced up at Wilek. “Except the empress didn’t know that I had already made myself several bottles of juice from the powder. I kept it in wine bottles and have been taking it still, trying to wean myself slowly.” He paused. “It’s easier than going without.”
No one spoke. Rayim and Jhorn were glaring at Oli as if they’d like to send him to the pole. The others watched in silence.
This was no time to deal with Oli’s crime. Wilek needed to keep the discussion on topic. “You said there was another way?” he asked.
Oli took a deep breath and stroked the grain of wood on his fake hand. “I have bonded with a shadir to heal me from the root’s poison. That means I can see into the Veil. If I am with you during the interrogations, I can—”
“One should not engage with a worshiper of demons,” Jhorn said. “Arman forbids it. You’ve probably brought a host of them in here, listening to every word we say.”
“I see none here now,” Oli said, looking around. “Let me help.”
“You cannot trust shadir,” Wilek said. “I learned that the hard way.”
“I know that,” Oli said. “But shadir feed off their bonds with humans. Someone like me, rationing root, trying to wean myself . . . I give off so little power. Noadab won’t share me with anyone. If he had told others, they would have come by now. And no others have.”
“I can’t deny that logic,” Jhorn said. “Shadir have always been self-absorbed.”
“I could also ask Noadab to make one of you a seer,” Oli said. “I will tell him it’s a grand joke I wish to play. He’ll like that because shadir love tricks and they love humans who can see them.”
“Who would you choose?” Wilek asked.
“That’s your choice,” Oli said. “But I must warn you. A seer is vulnerable to shadir if he makes himself known to them, so it would be best if the seer pretended he couldn’t see the shadir. Like a spy.” He gave Wilek a knowing look.
He meant Hinckdan. Wilek’s heart sank for the young earl. House Hadar had asked too much of him already.
“Too dangerous,” Jhorn said.
“But knowledge is power,” Rayim said. “It would help to know where these creatures were and who they had bonded with.”
It might be their only chance at an offensive. “Do you know the spell?” Wilek asked. “And the runes?”
“No,” Oli said, “but Noadab has offered to do tricks for me, as pranks on my friends. He’s eager to try to heal my arm, which has been difficult to resist, yet I know such a thing would require massive amounts of evenroot, increase my dependence, and give Noadab too much power over me. Not even the return of my arm is worth that.”
“Now you’re starting to grasp the meat of it,” Jhorn said. “These are black spirits, yet you suggest we partner with one to help us, and the rest of you agree as if this is the best plan in the Northsea? It’s daft, I tell you. Completely irresponsible and sacrilegious to boot.”
Wilek paled at Jhorn’s rebuke. His words mirrored those Trevn had once said to him, words Wilek had ignored. “Miss Onika?” he
asked. “Are we wrong to consider asking the shadir to—”
“This is what the Sovereign Arman says: ‘You did not destroy the evil as I commanded, but you mingled your nations and adopted the customs of your enemies.’” Her mesmerizing voice welled up from inside Wilek’s head. “‘You worshiped idols, which became a snare to you. You sacrificed your sons and daughters to black spirits, and the land was desecrated by their blood.’” She turned her glassy stare upon Wilek. “The sacrifices of pagans are offered to demons, not to Arman, and he does not wish us to be participants with black spirits. You cannot drink from the cup of Arman and the cup of Gâzar. Submit yourselves to Arman. Resist the temptations of Gâzar and his shadir, and they will flee from you.”
Goose pimples had cropped up over Wilek’s arms. “Thank you, Miss Onika. We seek to give honor to Arman and trust his guidance.”
Still, he felt defeated. Here Oli had offered up what had seemed like the perfect solution, yet as it was against Arman’s decrees, Wilek had no choice but to reject it.
“Duke Canden, I appreciate your offer to make a seer for House Hadar, and while I admit it might make everything easier, it is an order I cannot give. We will have to find another way, and you will surrender your bottles of evenroot juice to me at once.”
“I understand perfectly, Your Highness,” Oli said, looking shaken. “I cannot change the mistakes I’ve made, but the root I have ingested today will enable me to see until sometime tomorrow. If you do your interrogations now, you could at least make use of my eyes while I still have them.”
“You can’t trust a shadir, though,” Jhorn said. “Never.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Oli said. “But my shadir would not be there. Only me. With eyes able to see any other shadir that enter.”
Wilek wanted to accept, but he deferred to his expert. “Miss Onika? What say you? Am I wrong to suggest that using Duke Canden’s eyes is not so different than using the eyes of a root child?”
Miss Onika closed her eyes and released a soft breath, as if she were going to take a nap right there at the table. Her body swayed with the rocking of the ship, and people began to fidget as time passed. A second exhale and her eyes opened, staring just past Wilek’s right shoulder. “Arman gives me no immediate answer on this, Your Highness,” she said. “I will pray about it, but in the meantime, it is my opinion that as long as the duke is not colluding with any shadir, I see no harm in him telling you what he sees.”
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