by Zoe Marriott
At home the Whisperers – well, whispered. They called on their abilities with straight backs and faces lifted to the heavens, invoking their Blessings and the guidance of the Gods with soft, heartfelt prayers. To do such work in silence seemed unearthly.
And I couldn’t help wondering why all three of the ‘magic’ users I had seen so far had been men.
“In a few moments our Ice Breaker will be ready to open the Numinast. Then you will see our home as it is meant to be seen! Look, he is there now, gathering his strength.”
The Captain pointed again, this time at a man with his back to us, standing by the iron-hull’s figurehead – a figurehead shaped like a long-necked sea serpent. He was clinging to it just as the doomed Nickaj had clung to the figurehead of The Ice Blade –
I clenched my teeth in my lip until the pain drove away the memory of Nickaj’s body flopping helplessly on the deck, of Sereh calling for my help and going unanswered.
I am calm.
I am calm.
I am calm.
At this distance the mage was little more than a blur to me, but still there was something in the still, resolute shape of him that indicated strain. Discomfort. Suffering. Just as with the other one. Just as with Nickaj.
The Ice Breaker lifted one of his arms. Nothing seemed to happen at first. Then there was a sharp crack, loud enough to make me jump. Another. A volley of pops and bangs echoed across the water, and the ice moved.
All around the iron-hull, dark fissures arrowed through the dull surfaces of the icebergs. Water foamed, bubbled white through the widening cracks, and then fell away as the wall of ice unfolded, slowly drifting apart to reveal a new channel through the water.
“There she is,” the Captain breathed.
“Land ahoy!” the cabin boy cried from the top of the mast. The men whooped and stamped in their places at the oars, and swiftly began to row.
Despite my earlier apathy, I found myself hungry to see the sight that excited them all so much. I clamped both hands on the rail, going up on my toes as I scanned the sky for a first glimpse of the place that would be my home.
The sails strained and creaked above me and the awning flapped as the wind changed, helping to draw us forward through the gap in the icebergs. A fine mist of snow veiled the deck of the ship, blowing mostly sideways. In the dull greyish sea ahead I could see – nothing. No new horizon separated clouds from water.
“I can’t make it out. Where is it?”
“Aye – this isn’t the best evening to see it for the first time.” The Captain clucked his tongue. Snow glinted in his brows and on his furs. “Look there, Princess. Can you make out that dark line? Where it seems the sky turns from grey to blue?”
I squinted until my eye sockets ached, straining my eyes. “That? That is the main island?”
Where was all the – the light? The firelit glow of houses, and parks strung with lanterns, and the golden warmth of a palace? I could only make out a lump of barren nothingness, barely distinguishable from the cursed sea and ice in which it floated. I clamped my lips closed, swallowing my disappointment.
The Wind Caster approached us and bowed deeply, huddled into his cloak. “If the Captain will permit it, I can improve the prospect? Just for a moment, for the Princess?” The man’s accent was thick but melodious, with a burr that softened the sharp consonants of the Silingan language.
I turned an expectant eye on the Captain, who ran a hand over his beard, hesitating.
“Don’t over-tax yourself, Ralkin. We’ve already lost one royal mage this week. The Queen will not be happy with me if you are next.”
“Nickaj was young, foolish and arrogant,” Ralkin said. Despite the harsh words, his tone was sad. “None of them qualities I am lucky enough to possess anymore.” He bowed to me again, unsmiling, eyes intent, and I felt a stab of pity for the harsh, tired lines of his face. This man had never known the contentment and security a Whisperer should be able to take for granted.
Then he turned to face the sky.
The snow blowing across the deck thickened and began to drift straight down as the wind which had moved it died. With a salvo of wooden groans, the ship eased to a halt. The crew, apparently guessing what was to come, dropped their oars and rushed to the bulwark, crowding at the rail to watch.
In the distance I saw a strange swelling in the clouds, a kind of gathering up: heavy curtains of dark fabric, bunching in strong hands. Then – light. Flooding the sky with opalescence. Flares of yellow radiating through the fine mists of snow, transforming them to coruscating, steamy vapours. The dark, blurry mass of the land immediately seemed closer – a craggy, midnight blue crest, limned in burning gold. Dabs of gold reflected from the waves around it. I could make out a line of far off peaks, wreathed in ragged shreds of cloud, and the soft tumbling darkness of dense forests, and sharp, pale shapes – houses, tiny houses, low down near the water, sheltering beneath the dark, rippled side of a tall cliff.
In a blaze that brought tears to my eyes, the sun broke through the clouds.
On top of the cliff, something caught flame.
A mass of graceful, twisting towers, whiplash ramparts and high walls, it glittered in the sunlight – faceted like a priceless, impossible jewel. Shadows painted the base a dense, stunning sapphire blue, but the tops of its towers were – translucent. Like diamonds, gilded by the sun.
A palace of ice.
A crown of ice. The thought drifted nonsensically through my head, and I could not dislodge it. It is Silinga’s crown.
“The Silingana,” Farang said proudly. “Morogana’s gift.”
“H-how... How does it last?” Could my eyes be playing tricks on me?
“Ice Breakers,” Ralkin answered, his voice a dry, almost soundless whisper. “Hundreds upon hundreds of them, in service to the crown. The Silingana is built from their tears. Their blood. Built upon their backs.”
I tore my eyes from the glittering beauty of the palace, unable to conceal my shock. Beside me, Farang beamed proudly, oblivious. The Wind Caster had lowered his head as if in mourning. My eyes darted back to the Silingana – the place where I would live, where I would rule beside Uldarana – and away again. My gaze rested blankly on a nearby iceberg. There was a dark streak on its surface. Dirt, perhaps, but it looked almost like –
Without my volition, my hand clamped down on Captain Farang’s wrist. “Sir. What is that? There on the side of that iceberg?”
The Captain frowned, drawing his eyes reluctantly from their pleased contemplation of the Silingana. “What iceberg?”
“That one.” I released him only to catch him by the shoulder, pushing at him bodily and forcing him to turn in the right direction. “Captain, my eyes are not good – tell me what you see there. Is that not a person? On the ice?”
“Morogana,” The Wind Caster breathed. “She’s right.”
Farang captured his men’s attention with a great bellow: “A survivor! We have another survivor!”
8
The men rushed into action again, lighting torches and coiling ropes as Ralkin let slip his hold on the clouds and allowed the sun to disappear once more. I waited, hands clenched into a painful knot, teeth caught in my lip, desperately trying not to hope. The dark hair, spreading across the ice like spilled ink, had been what caught my attention. A lady’s hair. Sereh. Elo, or Ane. They had been the only other women aboard – and – and I had seen someone, seen that pale form drifting in the water. Maybe I hadn’t imagined it after all.
Please – three times I beg you, O Gods – let one of them have survived.
“She’s alive!” cried the men as they hauled the limp bundle down from the iceberg. “It’s a woman – and she’s breathing!”
Thank you...
I pulled off the heavy fur-lined cloak and spread it near the gangplank. “Bring her here! Someone fetch blankets and warm tea for her – is she hurt? Is there blood? Bring me one of the torches, I need to see!”
The men obeyed my command
s, laying the woman down gently on the fur and holding torches steady to give me light. I knelt and rolled her gently onto her back, combing layers of dark, soaked hair away from...
From an entirely unfamiliar face. I didn’t know her. I had never seen her before in my life.
She was wrapped, not in a gown, but in a ragged corner of what seemed to be sail-cloth. Arms and legs poked awkwardly from the holes in the canvas. Her body was unmarked as far as I could see, unbruised and unbloodied, with skin of the same flawless, almost-blue whiteness as fresh milk. The hair, though wet and tangled, shone with deep red glints in the flickering torchlight. She was slender, with long limbs, tiny hands and feet, and wrists and ankles so delicate that they seemed liable to snap in an unwary grip. The hollows of her collar and shoulders were so fine they looked as if they had been carved from ivory.
She was beautiful.
Even limp and unconscious, wet as a drowned rat and tangled in flotsam, she was the most lovely girl I had ever seen. The curves and shadows of her heart-shaped face, the winging line of her dark brows, the small, rose-like mouth, drew my gaze like no face I had ever beheld.
One of the sailors let out a soft, awed noise. I blinked. I had forgotten they were even there. Hastily I pulled the fur, which was large enough to nearly lose her in, up around her to conceal the exposed skin.
“She – she’s not bleeding and I can’t see any broken bones.” I cleared my throat, feeling oddly dazed. My heart ached with the knowledge that I had truly lost all of my ladies to the sea. Whoever this girl was, she must have been a passenger on some other, unfortunate ship. “We should get her belowdecks, and into some dry things, and try to warm her up.”
“She’s not one of your maids is she?”
That – that was Uldar’s voice.
I twisted on my knees to see him standing among the crowd of sailors, by the Captain’s side. The commotion must have drawn him up from his rest. He was still, I thought, a little pale – but he stood up straight, without support, and his eyes, though heavy-looking, were clear. No dangerous fever after all.
“No.” My voice was oddly hoarse. I cleared my throat again. “No, she isn’t mine.”
Uldar nodded. But he wasn’t looking at me. Like all the others, from Ralkin to the Captain – even the wretched cabin boy – he was staring at her. At her delicate face, vulnerable and pale in slumber, wreathed in shining red-black hair, and her slender, graceful limbs, imperfectly hidden by a jumbled assortment of blankets and fur.
The Prince was staring at the castaway girl. And he was smiling.
*
The ship rolled unsteadily as it drew into the harbour. The girl slept on, peaceful and unaware, in Captain Farang’s bed. The swaying light of the oil-lamp overhead glimmered on the delicate bones of her face and cast the hollows of her eyes, cheeks and throat in deep, mysterious shadow. I huddled at the foot of the bed, my thick cloak draped once more around me, breathing slowly and determinedly through my nose only.
I am well.
I am well.
I am well.
The mantra wasn’t helping very much. Then again,it never had.
As the only other woman aboard I had no choice but to stay with the vulnerable, lost girl. But here belowdecks, the seasickness which had largely abated in the air outside had returned in full force. Sweat stood out on my brow and upper lip. Shivers twitched down my back and upper arms. I knew I must be the ashy grey colour of freshly dug river clay, and I was so, so tired. My weakness galled me, adding shame to the nausea quivering in my guts.
I was ready for these trials, this whole hideous journey, to be over.
Agonisingly slowly, the movements of the ship began to calm, and its chorus of protesting creaks, thuds and watery crashes to fade, if only a little. Perhaps we had reached dry land at last. I staggered to my feet to peer out of the little round window; beyond it, I could make out only formless blackness.
Without any warning knock, the cabin door opened. I spun around, a sharp rebuke on my lips for the intruder, only to sway and lose my balance in a wave of light-headedness.
I bumped into a slender but solid chest, breathing in the scent of dried salt-water, fresh linens and a slight tang of sweat. Without meaning to, without wanting to, I found myself relaxing for one precious instant. “Uldar.”
He pushed me away – not violently, but firmly – holding on only as long as it took me to find my balance, and not an instant longer. “Did you tell the Captain that you rescued me from the water?”
“I – I beg your pardon?” Dazed and still queasy, I blinked up at him. His face was taut with temper, eyes thunderous.
“Well, I should think so. They were laughing about it, up there! Making jokes! Now I look like some useless boy.” He pronounced the word with loathing. “What were you thinking?”
Why you – you arrogant princeling. My own temper sparked, not only at the affront but at the injustice, flooding my blood with heat that temporarily burned the sickness off.
Deliberately I put one hand out, placed it squarely on the centre of his chest, and forced him away from his looming position over me. He resisted for an instant – then stumbled, yielded, looking shocked at the strength of my arm.
“You will speak to me civilly, Prince Uldarana.”
I wanted to go on. Snarl and tear at him with every vicious weapon in my armoury. And there were many. He wanted an apology? From me? Where was his apology, for endangering my life – for ending the lives of The Black Tern’s crew, and my poor ladies – by his recklessness? He ought to have entered this cabin on his knees, I decided, grinding my teeth. I wanted to spit that truth in his face and watch him blanch.
I couldn’t. I couldn’t let my temper go, for fear it would go too far. I couldn’t afford to jeopardise everything by turning him away from me. So I leaned my full strength into my arm again, wanting, at least, to see him fall back before me. When he braced himself and held firm this time, I cast him an acidic glare.
But his eyes no longer met mine. He was staring. At my lips, I realised. There was anger in his face, still, but now there was something else too, something – a wanting – a look I had never seen any man aim at me before. My abdomen tensed with shock and strange, furtive excitement. On his chest, my fingers flexed involuntarily, feeling the shape of the muscles beneath the cloth.
The castaway girl stirred with a soft hiccup of breath.
Uldar looked disappointed – and then relieved. He turned away hastily; I tried not to let it sting. “Let me,” I said shortly, moving past him to sit on the edge of the bed nearest to the girl.
My stomach was rolling again, with the remnants of anger, renewed sea sickness, and a rising sense of self-reproach at my handling of the Prince. He was my path to the goal I sought, and my temper must not be allowed to interfere with that.
I tried my best to compose my face into a reassuring smile that gave away none of this turmoil.
“It’s all right,” I said softly, speaking slowly in case my accent made my Silingan difficult for a confused, possibly frightened person to understand. “You’re safe. You’re safe now. You’re going to be all right.”
The girl’s brow wrinkled. One slender hand curled and uncurled, restless. Fine lashes fluttered.
Her eyes opened. They seemed huge, almost alien in her delicate face, wide-set, almond shaped and slanting, black as the night outside.
No. Not black. As she stared up dazedly at the ceiling of the cabin, I leaned closer, fascinated. Not black – blue. The darkest blue I had yet seen among the pale Silingan people, almost an iridescent shade. Like the blue-purple-green of the abalone shells we prized for jewellery in Yamarr, they seemed to shift colours as they caught the light. I would not have thought it possible for a girl’s eyes to hold so many different colours...
Those eyes flicked suddenly to my face. I smiled again, encouragingly – but her expression crumpled in distress and fear. The emotions flashed across her mobile features with the sort of speed and cl
arity I had only observed in small children.
She moved in a sudden rush of shifting fabric and flying red-black hair, jamming herself back against the cabin wall, half kneeling. One hand lifted, warding me off. The other hand lifted to her hair and tugged at it, hard enough that I saw her pale skin go blotchy red at the temple.
“It’s all right. You’re safe,” I repeated, slightly less certain of myself now. She was trembling visibly, shaking her head in what seemed sheer panic. Her knees, poking out from among the mess of furs and blankets, were clearly shaking under her. Her free hand ran over her face and throat as if searching for something. I felt a stab of recognition and found my own hand clutching at the locket around my neck.
“Are – are you hurt? What’s the matter?”
She wasn’t looking at me now. Both hands had gone to her throat. She was opening and closing her mouth, letting out tiny, choked gasps. Tears welled up in her eyes and she swiped at them and stared at the droplets on her fingers in disbelief, turning her hands over and over. It was as if she had never looked at herself before.
“I don’t think she can talk,” Uldar said behind me.
The girl started violently at the sound of his voice, nearly smacking the back of her skull into the wall. She fixed her strange, shifting eyes on Uldar’s face – and, just as suddenly as she had panicked, I saw her relax. She slumped down to sit on the mattress, legs splaying out clumsily, and let out a long sigh that reminded me uncomfortably of my own just a moment before. The girl reacted to Uldar as if he were familiar. Perhaps even beloved.
Of course, I told myself sternly. Most likely she was Silingan. She might easily have seen her Prince before, and would find his presence here, in this strange room, reassuring.
A slow, dawn-bright smile crept across her face. Her hands lifted, as if by instinct, reaching out. My breath caught. The effect was stunning.
That made it even less pleasing when Uldar knocked into my shoulder, almost pushing me from the edge of the bed in his rush to take those hands in his own and clasp them, whispering gently, “I’m here. You’re safe. I’ll take care of you...”