“I do not care,” Gozan said. Once the fleet landed, King Barthel’s evenroot would be unloaded and Gozan could find a way to steal some for Jazlyn. “Tell me everything in detail. Go slowly, Masi, and leave nothing out.”
Kalenek
Kal sat alone on the stern deck, watching Shanek toddle across the smooth wood. Every few steps the boy would pause to look behind him, then shriek and run as if being chased, giggling madly. Occasionally he’d turn around and become the chaser. Kal marveled at how well Jhorn had taught Grayson to ignore the shadir.
Had Grayson made it to the Malbraid? Was he still growing from the root the Magonians had given him? Would Kal recognize him if he saw him again?
Shanek lost his balance and fell to his backside, which was padded in thick cotton wraps. Though it had happened dozens of times this morning alone, each instance made the boy’s eyes pop in surprise. His bottom lip poked out and trembled, and he twisted his head around to find where Kal sat on a bench beside the stern rail.
“You’re fine,” Kal told him. “Get up and try again.”
Such encouragement produced a toothy smile. The child pushed himself to standing, caught sight of something Kal could not see, and his legs took off again.
Kal already loved the boy, though he tried to distance his affection with logic. The women were raising Shanek DanSâr to usurp the Armanian throne. Kal must keep that from happening. As a trained assassin he should have killed the boy and ended the impending disaster Shanek-the-man was certain to become. Yet each time he looked into those wide gray eyes, he found he could not harm one hair on the child’s head.
Shanek had been alive but two weeks and looked to be two years old. Mreegan had commanded he be fed evenroot with every meal, and it was working. Shanek’s body was growing faster than his mind could be trained. If he kept up this rate, Kal worried he’d be a man before he could even speak clearly.
Kal wanted to ask Chieftess Mreegan to lessen the boy’s evenroot, but he doubted she’d believe his concerns had merit.
He had lost his freedom when he’d helped Grayson escape. At the Chieftess’s command and Kal’s shame, Charlon and the other maidens had tattooed a slav rune onto the back of his neck to punish him, though they had thankfully left his hair and clothes alone. While only Charlon was permitted to command him and she had not yet taken undue advantage of that power, Kal knew he must tread carefully. He could not risk being parted from Shanek.
The boy fell, and this time he began to cry. Kal reached out to him, “You’re all right, Shan. Get up. Come to Kal.”
The boy crawled the rest of the way. Chubby hands clutched Kal’s feet and moved up his legs until Shanek was standing and holding on to Kal’s knees. He buried his face in Kal’s lap, looked up and flashed that toothy grin, then hid his face again.
“I see you,” Kal said. “You can never hide from me, Shanek DanSâr. I’ll always find you.”
Shanek continued his game, oblivious that his life was not his own to live. Poor lamb. Kal’s heart twisted, and he pulled the child onto his lap and hugged him. Shanek giggled and hid his face in Kal’s tunic.
Footsteps padded up the stairs from the quarterdeck. Charlon’s head appeared above the coaming, and each step revealed more of her as she ascended. She looked haggard and thin, nothing like the shrewd woman who had managed to steal Shemme’s child.
“Did you do this, Shan?” Kal asked. “Did you keep Mother up all night?”
Kal’s use of Mother caught the boy’s attention, and he whipped his head around. “Mahn!” He grabbed Kal’s beard and ear and pulled himself to standing on Kal’s thighs.
“Ow!” Kal turned the boy so he stood facing out.
Shanek, completely confident in Kal’s grip, leaned dangerously far, reaching for the only mother he knew.
Charlon ignored the child’s eagerness and sank to the bench beside Kal. Shanek climbed into her lap, and she habitually tucked him into the crook of her arm without a glance or word of greeting. Shanek found each of her hands and turned them over, demanding, “Mohk,” each time.
“Are you ill?” Kal asked.
“I fear I might be.”
Shanek climbed to standing on Charlon’s lap and took her face in between his chubby hands, looking intently into her eyes. “Mohk, Mahn. Mohk.”
“It’s not time for your feeding,” she said, resituating the child back on her lap.
Shanek arched his back and screeched.
“Ugh. I have no patience for fits today.” Charlon pushed Shanek off her knees until he stood on the deck, hands clutching the foxtails of her skirt. “Deal with him, Sir Kalenek.”
Though she likely hadn’t meant to command him, Kal felt the compulsion tug at his gut. He scooped up the bawling child, drew a biscuit from his shirt pocket, and offered it with one word. “Bite?”
Shanek instantly quieted and grabbed the little snack with both hands, shoving it whole into his mouth as if he’d been starved for a week.
“You’re so good with him,” Charlon said.
“I think he’s ready for adult food,” Kal said. “He’s growing so fast; he needs the energy.”
“I’ll tell the cook to feed him. Whatever we eat tonight.”
“Sit him in the circle with the rest of us,” Kal said. “He will need to learn manners if you expect him to someday make an impression on the Armanian court.”
Charlon sighed. “Whatever you think best is—oh!” She clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Miss Charlon, are you well?”
She ran to the railing, bent over it, and heaved.
A prickle of remembrance swept over Kal. He set Shanek on the deck, gave the boy another biscuit, and went to Charlon at the rail. “You are with child.”
She swiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “Don’t be ridiculous.” But this she said in a weeping whisper as tears filled her eyes.
She had been gone from the Seffynaw too long for it to be Janek’s. They’d only been here two weeks, but considering the amount of evenroot she took, Kal made a guess. “Torol is the father?”
“Do not speak of it! You mustn’t.”
“I would imagine the news would please him.”
“I haven’t told Torol yet. Haven’t decided. What to do.”
“What is there to decide?”
She flung out her hand toward Shanek. “Look there and know my answer.”
Understanding settled in Kal’s mind. “You will die. Because you take evenroot.”
“And I would leave Mreegan with two children. To study and use to her liking. My child would not be Deliverer. It would be expendable. Like your friend Grayson. Nothing but a tool. A tool for Mreegan to use how she sees fit.”
“Could you avoid evenroot from now on?” Kal asked. “A normal child wouldn’t be so easily used.”
Charlon’s brows sank as she considered this. “Mreegan would know.”
“Would she? You move in separate circles. She has asked little of you but to raise Shanek. As long as we’re at sea, I can’t imagine she would need much else from you in the way of mantics.”
“I could not hide the child for long. Not dressed like—” She focused suddenly on something Kal could not see. A shadir, likely. He’d grown used to the way the mantics interacted with the invisible creatures.
“We will come right away,” she said. Her attention shifted back to Kal. “The Chieftess likely knows the truth already. Pick up Shanek and come. She has summoned us.”
“Make the boy kneel,” Charlon said as she sank to her knees on the straw mat.
Though the compulsion forced Kal to obey, last week he’d found a way around this particular command. He had no intention of making the boy kneel before the Chieftess and had instead been teaching him to bow respectfully. Shanek thought the words kneel and bow meant the same thing, so when Kal set the boy on his feet and whispered, “Kneel to the Chieftess,” Shanek bent over until his hands and head touched the floor.
The boy turned his head
, grinning at Charlon as if enjoying a splendid game. The servants in the cabin chuckled, endeared as they believed this the best little Shanek could do. Kal stood at attention beside Charlon and Shanek.
“Magon tells me many interesting things,” Chieftess Mreegan said. “Her swarm has discovered land to the west. I have informed the captain, who has altered our course.”
Land. Kal’s chest swelled with hope. Perhaps this would be where Kal and Shanek could escape and make their way to a place where he and Onika might be reunited.
“She also tells me that Sâr Janek is dead,” Mreegan said, staring at him. “Why did you not share this information when you first came to us, Sir Kalenek?”
Kal’s daydream shattered. “It was not your concern.”
“Should not the Mother know that the Father is dead?” Mreegan asked, gesturing to Charlon.
Kal had nothing to apologize for, not in this court. “Had any of you asked, I would have told you. I am not ashamed of my actions.”
“Your actions?” Charlon asked.
“Oh yes, Mother. Our dear ambassador killed the sâr himself,” Mreegan said. “Why was it, Sir Kalenek? To avenge your child?”
“Something like that.”
“What you have done is a boon to Magonia,” Mreegan said. “Sâr Janek’s death puts Shanek next in line for the throne of Armania.”
“Shanek is illegitimate,” Kal said. “Strays cannot rule Armania.”
Mreegan waved her hand. “A technicality that can be easily explained away when the time comes.” She stood and sauntered toward him. The newt on her shoulder shifted to get a better foothold, curling its tail around her throat. “I reward those who serve Magonia, Sir Kalenek.” She stopped before him and looked down on Charlon. “Take the child and leave us. All of you go. Now.”
Charlon rose slowly, scooped Shanek into her arms. She glanced at Kal as she departed, gaze curious, on edge.
Nothing had been said of her unborn child. She should be thankful for that.
When all had gone and Kal was alone with the Chieftess, she pointed to the floor between them. “Kneel before me, Sir Kalenek. I would bestow upon you a great honor.”
“I have already been knightened by Rosâr Echad for my service in the Great War,” he said.
“You have not been knightened by me.”
Kal supposed he could play along—having a rank here could only help his position—though he did not recall that Magonia knightened their soldiers. He lowered himself to his knees, apprehensive.
“Qadosh Magon âthâh. Bâqa ze mishchâth. Châdâsh hay ânaph ba Kalenek. Te lo châlaph.”
A chill clamped down upon Kal’s face. His skin grew cold and tight. He lifted his hand to his cheek and wiped away blood.
“What are you doing?” His breath hissed out in a vaporous cloud. His lips grew dry and stiff; the curly hairs of his beard turned white with frost. His eyelashes clung together with each blink. He shivered, watching the frost creep across the floor from his knees, painting the mats, fur rugs, and the checkered floor in swaths of ice crystals.
The Chieftess’s dark hair turned white. Beads of sweat on her brow froze into pearls of ice. The newt became a statue. Kal closed his eyes for the last time and felt himself falling.
He stood on top of the ocean, the waves barely lapping the sides of his boots. An illusion of some kind. Why?
Mreegan appeared before him, ocean breeze blowing her gown against her body, her hair waving about her face like eggs dropped in boiling water.
“Give yourself to me, Kalenek Veroth, and you will find the peace you seek. I can heal all your wounds, inside and out.” She reached toward him, and the moment her dark fingertips touched his face, he woke, back on his knees in the Chieftess’s cabin.
The hair on his arms danced as he tried to understand what her spell had done. He looked up into her eyes and found her staring at him with a hunger that made him instantly uncomfortable.
“You are a handsome man, Sir Kalenek,” she said, extending her hand to him. “But I left the scars on your body. I rather like them.”
Kal reached up, touched his face. The smoothness he felt churned his stomach. He jumped to his feet and pushed past the Chieftess to a mirrorglass bolted to the wall. He stared, both astounded and repelled by what he saw.
Dark brown skin, smooth and perfect. Unmarred eyebrows, dark and thick. The line of his beard full and trim.
She had healed his face. Removed his scars.
He wheeled around and roared, “What have you done?”
She frowned as if surprised by his reaction. “This does not please you?”
“I deserve those scars. Earned them with my own blood. They are all I have of my men. Of Liviana and our son.”
Mreegan bristled and crossed her arms. “I make you beautiful and you rail at me about the past?” She strode back to her throne. “I meant to make you my favorite, but now I’ve changed my mind.”
“I have no desire to be anyone’s favorite,” Kal said. “I am here only to protect Shanek.”
“You are here because you have nowhere else to go,” Mreegan said. “Return to the Seffynaw and you will be executed for murdering Sâr Janek. You are mine now, Sir Kalenek, and I do what I like with my people. They serve me alone. Your rudeness has put me off from you today, but you will not evade me forever. Get out and send Torol in your stead. I will tell Charlon it was your idea that I take him as my new favorite.”
Her words churned in Kal’s mind as her command compelled him toward the exit. When the door closed behind him, he stopped and leaned against the bulkhead to feel his face again. She had assaulted him in the worst way. Had taken the curse he deserved.
Perhaps Onika would like him better now?
Truth instantly replaced that vain thought. Onika had seen his scars and accepted him, felt each track and pockmark, traced the trails in his beard and eyebrow where hair refused to grow.
Onika would not recognize him now.
Wilek
Wilek stood on the main deck with his wife watching the shipping ceremony. Today they were sending only six dead to Shamayim. One was a sailor who had died in a brawl, and the other five were commoners, dead of the fever. One was Darlow, Mielle and Amala’s nurse, and two were children under ten. Wilek’s gaze continually roved to the small bodies wrapped in strips of shredded clothing. He felt responsible.
It didn’t help that so many glared at him.
It was not only deaths that angered his people but his refusal to allow any more traditional shippings. There were no more death boats to spare for the dead, no more old sails to be used as shrouds. Mourners were left with no choice but to ship their loved ones without a boat.
Despite all this, Wilek felt hopeful.
Not one new case of fever had been reported in the past fourteen days. The quarantine seemed to have accomplished its purpose. And while two hundred and twenty-seven had died thus far, fewer died each day. Wilek believed they were on the other side of the crisis. Not only that, but his wife was expecting a child, and encountering the pales had given them all hope that land would be discovered soon.
When the shipping was over, Wilek left his wife with her guards and set off to meet with the Wisean Council. He had invited Admiral Livina, Captain Bussie, and Rayim to report.
The admiral went first. “The pirates have taken out both warships on our western flank and three merchant ships.”
“So many?” Wilek asked.
“They are working as a team now. Two or three ships circle one. Pirates come aboard. Some survivors say that there is fighting. Others say people throw themselves into the sea willingly, though they cannot recall why.”
“Stinks like magic,” Oli said.
“Perhaps he has allied with Magonia.”
“Rand wouldn’t work with Magonians,” Wilek said, though maybe Teaka hadn’t been the only mantic among Rand’s people.
“How do they move so fast?” Inolah asked. “I thought the Seffynaw led the fleet.
”
“That she does,” Admiral Livina said, “but with so many ships staying together as a group, we move mighty slowly. Plus it’s been too long since any of us beached to clean our hulls. I’ve a feeling we’re all carrying a lot of barnacles beneath us.”
“What have we done to reinforce our western flank?” Wilek asked.
“I brought around one of our eastern warships to fill in for the time being,” Admiral Livina said. “I’m currently in the process of commandeering two new vessels, but it’s taking time to relocate the passengers. There is little room on any ship to take on so many newcomers.”
“Thank you, Admiral. Captain Bussie? Tell me you have spotted land on the horizon and end all our misery.”
“I wish I could, Your Highness,” Captain Bussie said. “We are maintaining a heading of north-northwest. My lookouts have seen no change in the water, no debris, no birds, and very few clouds. No change in the wave pattern either.”
“What about the pales?” Admiral Livina asked.
Wilek sighed. “We’ve yet to find a way to communicate with them. Sâr Trevn has given himself fully to the task, and I’ve no doubt he will succeed, in time.”
“We have little time left, Your Highness,” the admiral said.
Wilek nodded. “I’m well aware of how much time we have, Admiral.” He glanced at Rayim. “Captain Veralla? How are the people?”
“Going mad, I’m afraid. Though disease has tapered off, the people are still afraid. They’ve lost friends and family. Food is low, and we’re not catching enough fish to keep up. A rumor has begun that the only healthy people on board are mantics.”
“That’s nonsense,” Oli said.
“Fear brings out the worst in people, I’m afraid,” Wilek said.
“Crime is also at a high,” Rayim said. “When we first set sail, violent crimes were a weekly event. They happen several times a day now. There is no room for another soul in the hold, so I have been flogging offenders on the pole. But as the closest thing this ship has to a physician, I can tell you that a flogging is a death sentence with such malnourished people and the ease of infections.”
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