Ferran let out a long, frustrated sigh and gently worked his way out from under her, careful not to brush against her wound. “I’m a damn idiot for bringing this up,” he said sourly, and sat down on the floor, dragging his thick coat around him. “Lori, none of this matters. What’s done is done. But I’m glad you know the truth of it now.”
“Go to sleep, Ferran,” she snapped. Her head began to pound. The alcohol made her feel sick and woozy. She pressed her forehead against her arm on the cot; her skin felt hot to the touch. She wished she had never had this conversation, that everything had remained simple and clear-cut. She didn’t need to dredge up the past. She really could have liked Ferran without all of these complications. Now…now, she didn’t know what to think.
Her mind seemed to spin endlessly, but eventually the whiskey dragged her down into a heavy, troubled sleep.
* * *
Ferran sat for some time watching Lori sleep. Tumultuous thoughts raged within him. Eighteen years since he last knew her. Eighteen years. She was so different, so much less buoyant than he remembered. Now he knew why.
The thought of Cedric Daniellian awakened an old, iron-strong hatred. The First Tier carried too much power. Ferran originally stole his Cat’s Eye from the Daniellian house, and it was Cedric’s father—Maverick Daniellian—who ultimately turned the Prince against him. Maverick saw it as a chance to weaken the Ebonaire family, and caused Ferran’s exile.
Ferran knew men like that were common in the world; he had been one, once. He assumed Cedric was still the same spoiled, selfish brat of his youth. Perhaps even more now, as an adult. Living a life of privilege did not offer much chance for personal growth.
He supposed he was lucky, in a way. Life on the road had taught him much. Through all the fiery, conflicting passions of his heart, he had found a way to navigate. An inner compass, one could call it; the ability to let go of distractions, to recognize and thwart temptation. Yet he remained a creature of habit in too many ways. The whiskey told him that much, and all the memories that resurfaced as he traveled with Silas’ crew.
He once spent eight years traveling with Silas on the Glass Coast, wandering the great sand dunes on the border of Ester, an abandoned country far to the Southeast, where war-spells from the time of the Races still ravaged the land. Many lost artifacts were discovered there, and many of them had been sold since. Where did the time go? Where did the coin go? He glanced at the whiskey bottle suspiciously. Did you steal it from me?
On the Glass Coast, he spent many drunken nights staring at the desert stars, pondering the mistakes of his past, wondering if Lori’s daughter was his, if she still lived happily with Lord Fallcrest as a noblewoman of the Second Tier, raising her daughter in comfortable wealth. He had wished that for her, making silent toasts to the stars, comforted by the thought that even if he hadn't done the right thing, he did the best he could.
After his falling-out with Silas, he had contacted Lori by letter, too much of a coward to show up on her doorstep. Not his grandest idea, but as he was sitting next to her now, he didn’t regret it. That’s when he learned her address in the lowlands. It had made him wonder. Teased him with the chance that he might have a family to discover, a home waiting for him.
A home. A family. In that moment, he had never wanted anything so badly.
But the carefree, youthful spirit of his imaginings differed greatly from the Lori before him. Perhaps she had never been that girl. Perhaps over all the years of memories, he had distorted her face into some perfect image, a grand portrait fit for palace halls. Now she was a complicated brew of past bitterness and honest mistakes. In his cabin, he saw a strong-willed woman, elegantly aged, still youthful, still exuberant. She combined the strength of the Goddess with a Healer’s touch. He wasn’t worthy of that. In his opinion, no man really was.
After returning from the Glass Coast, he found himself on a plateau with nowhere left to climb. He feared the dark, swirling undercurrents of his habits, his intoxicating love of uncertainty. But he had traveled that road too many times, and was ready for something different, something stable that he could build. Meeting her in the dirty tavern of Pismo had turned him in a much-needed new direction.
Looking at all Lori had endured, and the life she had built from the ashes, he was too ashamed to explain his reasons. Too ashamed to share the tawdry, selfish details of his life. She saw him for who he was, and he didn’t like that. He wanted her to see something better. I can show her something better, he thought.
Grimacing, he looked at the bottle of whiskey in his hand. Small steps, he thought.
He took the last swig, then flung the bottle out of the cabin and over the railing of the ship into the river. The sound was a solid, reassuring plunk.
As though summoned by the bottle, a vague light suddenly illuminated the aft of the Dawn Seeker. His small houseboat was moored to the side of the ship by several yards of rope. After closing Lori’s wound, he had rushed across The Bath to Silas’ ship for better supplies. He found a proper disinfectant for her wound, and Lori had slept through the stormy afternoon.
Squinting, Ferran recognized Caprion’s figure at the railing. Within seconds, Caprion launched from the Dawn Seeker and flew to his small boat.
Ferran stood, keeping one hand on the wooden frame of his loft, swaying slightly. Bad timing for a visitor!
“Hail, Harpy,” he called, half-raising one hand.
Caprion hovered slightly above his boat. “We have need of a meeting,” he said, then glanced over Ferran with a raised eyebrow. “If you can stand up straight.”
Ferran shrugged. “I’ll manage,” he said. “But Lori is wounded. Don’t know if I should leave her.”
Caprion frowned. “Is she all right?”
Ferran shrugged again. “She’s sleeping. The wound has been tended….”
“It will only be a few minutes.”
Ferran nodded reluctantly. The world tilted beneath him. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with, then,” he said.
Caprion made a brief signal with his hands; white light surrounded Ferran’s body. Caprion lifted him into the air and they flew the short distance back to the Dawn Seeker.
CHAPTER 15
Twelve square feet of floor space defined the captain’s cabin aboard the Dawn Seeker. Captain Silas sat in bed, the blue coat thrown over his shoulders covering a black silken nightshirt and matching pants. He even sleeps fashionably, Sora thought. She hadn’t seen silk nightclothes since leaving her manor two years ago.
She had been summoned by Caprion only a few minutes ago. Crash and Ferran were already waiting when she arrived, though Lori was not there. The small space seemed doubly cramped by so many towering men.
Sora wondered why her mother didn’t join them. Her eyes found Ferran. He was leaning against Silas’ desk, twirling a cinnamon stick agitatedly between his fingers. He didn’t look like his usual self, shifting from one foot to another constantly, his eyes framed by dark circles. He pushed a big hand through his brown, unruly hair. Sora caught a strong whiff of his breath—whiskey?
The treasure hunter glanced around the room, noting the assembly, then looked down at the floor.
“Well?” Silas prompted. “What’s this about?”
“We captured an assassin,” Caprion said. At the Dracian’s surprised look, Caprion quickly explained their encounter with the Shade and their new prisoner. Sora added a few details. She noticed Silas’ slack-jawed expression when he heard about Burn falling through the shadow portal. Ferran remained pensively quiet.
“How do we recover him? There must be a way!” Silas demanded after a beat of stunned silence. He whirled on Ferran. “Can’t you trace the portal, like you did on the Aurora? Discover where they’ve gone?”
The treasure hunter shook his head. “Not so easily done. Too much time has passed by now; the magic’s grown cold. We’ll have to find Burn another way.” He glanced from Caprion to Crash. “Did you inter
rogate the prisoner?”
Caprion answered, “Yes…and it appears the leader of the Shade resides in The Regency.”
Ferran’s voice dropped a notch. “The Regency?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure what that is…” the Harpy replied hesitantly.
“It’s where the nobility live,” Sora interrupted, “and all those closest to the King. Not just anyone can enter The Regency. But why would they go there?” she asked, confused. “With the plague spreading so fast, it doesn’t make any sense….”
“No, it doesn’t,” Ferran agreed. “Unless they have ties with the upper tiers. But why?”
“Forget the Shade.” Crash’s soft voice cut through the room. For a moment, all eyes turned to him. “We need to find their leader. Then all of this stops.” His voice was all cold determination.
Sora frowned; his expression worried her. “We need a plan,” she said cautiously. “We don’t know who the leader of the Shade is yet, or if they even have one.”
Crash remained silent. He gazed down at his folded arms.
Sora turned back to the group. “We know they’re in The Regency, so we should begin our search there,” she offered.
Ferran spoke up. “It’s a gated community. The royal guards won’t let us enter, especially dressed like…well….” He nodded to Sora’s shirt, and she glanced down, noting the large stains with a grimace. Women of The Regency would keep a higher standard of dress.
“I can solve that,” Silas said unexpectedly. He raised his hand in a flourish. “I have quite an impressive wardrobe stashed aboard this ship. With a day’s worth of tailoring, we can prepare all of you for your noble charade.”
“Lovely,” Ferran drawled. “Wandering The Regency penniless in stolen clothes, and dressed by a pirate, no less.”
Silas flashed him a gold-toothed smile. “You think I don’t know how to dress the part? I would have made a better lord than a pirate,” he said.
“And I, a better pirate than a lord,” Ferran muttered.
Sora bit her lip as she listened to their banter. Were they truly going to infiltrate The Regency? The thought left her clammy with doubt. She could already imagine the cobbled streets, the marble statues and manicured lawns. She knew what the manors would look like, how the storefronts would be decorated, and the kind of people she would encounter. She had lived the first seventeen years of her life as nobility. Those years still defined her, despite how hard she ran away. But she didn’t want to go back to that life, even temporarily.
“Do we just…wander about, then?” Sora asked, trying to hide her anxiety. “We have to find Burn quickly. And where will we stay? The soldiers might catch on if we keep coming and going through the gates.”
“Yes, the royal guards won’t like that,” Ferran echoed.
Then Silas chimed in again. “Of course, we do have one option, if our dear Lord Ferran will take the risk.”
Sora looked at the two men in confusion. “Lord Ferran?” she asked.
“Aye,” Silas winked.
Her eyes traveled to the treasure hunter as she waited for an explanation. Had he put on such a guise before? Did he have connections in The Regency?
Ferran leaned farther back against Silas' desk, his brow furrowed. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh. “I suppose I could speak to my brother,” he said reluctantly.
“Pardon?” Sora asked, still confused.
“My brother, Lord Martin Ebonaire,” Ferran repeated.
The name didn’t fully sink in at first. Sora’s mind refused to make sense of it. She stared at him, momentarily lost for words. “Your brother is an Ebonaire?” she asked.
Ferran nodded.
Her mouth went dry. “Then…you’re an Ebonaire, too?”
He nodded again.
That name—Ebonaire—and all its implications finally sunk in. Sora felt decidedly lightheaded. The Ebonaire name was as well known as the royal family’s, and often mentioned in the same breath.
She almost remembered word of a scandal long ago that still circled around the countryside, where news traveled more slowly. Something about an exiled heir….
“So you’re the one,” she said, her voice dropping. “You’re the Ebonaire son who left the family…?”
He nodded.
She still couldn’t believe it, though he seemed to be telling the truth. He had no reason to lie.
Silas abruptly guffawed. “There it is, old boy! Good on you! Admitting your roots, this time sober—” he eyed the treasure hunter “—or not so much.” Then Silas clapped his hands eagerly. “It’s decided, then. A week in the Ebonaire House! They say there are blocks of gold hidden in the walls! Count this pirate’s lucky stars….”
Ferran glared at him. “You won’t be joining us,” he snapped. Then his eyes returned to Sora. “It’s been a long time since I spoke to my family. My homecoming might not be taken very well.”
She frowned. “Are you sure we should take the chance?” They could land themselves in a lot of trouble, impersonating the First Tier….
Ferran shrugged. “We need to find the Shade and rescue Burn…not to mention retrieve The Book of the Named. What choice do we have? The Ebonaires are the wealthiest family in the realm. If members of the Shade are hiding in The Regency, they’ll pass through the Ebonaire house eventually. Everyone does.” As an afterthought, he added, “I suppose I owe my family a visit, disowned or not. We’ll have access to all parts of The Regency and a legitimate reason to be there, should anyone ask.”
Sora nodded slowly. It was a bold plan, but their options were limited. If the Shade’s leader truly was in The Regency, they would need a way to travel about undetected. The Shade wouldn’t expect them to vanish into the upper tiers—the assassins couldn’t know that much about their party.
On the other hand, they should be out searching for Burn, not holed up in a manor. Entering The Regency could become a total distraction.
“Is it really worth the risk?” she finally asked. “Burn’s life hangs in the balance. Perhaps we should ask Lori’s opinion as well…? Where is she, anyway?” Her mother hadn’t joined them yet, and Sora half-expected her arrival any minute.
“We had an incident at the seminary,” Ferran said. “She’ll need a few days to recover.”
“A few days?” Sora demanded. “What happened?”
“She was stabbed,” Ferran said bluntly. “We had a misunderstanding with some thugs on the docks.”
“Lots of thugs around the seminary these days,” Silas muttered, and Ferran shot him an irritated look.
Sora searched the treasure hunter’s face. She couldn’t tell if he was hiding something or just drunk. “A stab wound?” she echoed, shocked.
“Nonfatal,” Ferran assured her.
Still, the news was more than worrisome. Sora felt an immediate need to go to her mother's side. “If a stab wound isn’t cleaned properly, it can lead to a dire infection….” she started.
“I’ve tended her, and she will recover soon,” Ferran repeated, giving Silas another pointed look. “I expect the crew to look over her in my absence. She’ll be up and about in a few days, I expect. Then she can join us at the Ebonaire estate, should we decide to follow through with this plan.”
So Lori wouldn’t be accompanying them. Sora felt a bit bolder knowing that. For whatever reason, she didn’t want her mother watching her act the part of a noble. She imagined it would make them both uncomfortable and preferred to keep those two worlds separate.
“Must we really enter The Regency? Isn’t there some other way to track down the Shade?” she asked, glancing around their circle. Caprion looked determined, though Sora doubted he knew what they were in for. Ferran seemed solemn, if resolved. Silas’ eyes were gleaming, envisioning gold coins. And Crash….
“If the Shade’s hideout is in The Regency, it’s our only option,” he said. “And remember, we don't need to stay together the entire time. We'll have more opportunity to track down Burn separately.”
; “We’ll begin the search immediately,” Caprion added.
“You’re staying behind,” the assassin replied.
“What do you mean?”
“We have a captive on board, or have you forgotten?” Crash sneered. Then he added, “Sora and Ferran have noble upbringings. They can play the part well.”
“And you?” Silas asked dryly.
“A wealthy family will have a servant.” He met Sora’s eyes. “I can fill that role. We can’t afford any mistakes. The First Tier have very specific standards.” The assassin looked sideways at Silas. “Different from pirate standards.”
Silas flushed angrily. “I could walk into The Regency dressed in these nightclothes alone! No one would ask questions,” he sniffed. “None of you have a lick of fashion sense.”
“Still,” Ferran said evenly, “the assassin has a point. Nobility follow strict etiquette: proper greetings and titles, morning routines, late breakfasts and afternoon tea….” He nodded to Caprion and Silas. “We’ll meet with my family and send for the rest of you if we are able to stay.”
Silas frowned, though he finally sat back on the bed.
“Then perhaps it’s best if I stay on the ship,” Caprion agreed. “I will watch over our new prisoner. See if I can’t find out anything more. And I should be able to search the city at night for anything suspicious.”
“Bring us word immediately if you find anything,” Crash said dryly. The two glared at each other.
“Then it’s settled,” Ferran finished.
Yes, Sora thought, it’s settled, though she wasn’t excited at the prospect. With the right clothes, they might make it into The Regency. Perhaps the Ebonaires would even meet with them for a few minutes. But she couldn’t imagine staying with such a family while under disguise. Her group would stand out like sore thumbs. Clothes couldn’t hide sunburned skin, facial scars or unkempt hair.
And even if this all somehow worked, how would they find Burn? By somehow uncovering the Shade’s trail?
Ferran's Map Page 21