by Chris Howard
She gripped his hand tighter and went headfirst off the wall, straight down into the dark. They were through the front gate, saluting guards, and into open water in seconds.
Kassandra squeezed with her fingers. “Do you trust me?"
"I am here, milady."
She frowned at the formality. “Want to go to the surface? Not to my house. There's some witch watching the place. Let's go someplace else."
Nereus smiled. “Lead on."
"Okay. I'm still learning this. I've never taken anyone along with me—so hold on."
He bowed his head to her. “Always."
She took in the solemn expression on his face. “Really. I mean, whatever you do, don't let go of me. The Ocean will rip you into pieces if we are not in contact. We'll be going fast. Even with practice I'm not always certain where I'll end up."
Kassandra embraced the young man and sang the song that dimmed the glow of the Wreath. Holding Nereus with both hands, she called on the Ocean.
Nereus gasped, then shut his mouth. They were rocketing through the sea. He closed his eyes against the strain, his fingers digging into her skin.
It was over in what felt like minutes.
They surfaced along a sandy beach with tall buildings and bright city lights to their right, Kassandra stepping out of the water, bending once to get the sea out of her lungs. Nereus, not nearly as accomplished an interfacer, took a few minutes, coughing out water and sucking in gurgling lungfuls of air before he was ready to discover where she had taken him.
Kassandra grabbed Nereus’ hand and led him up a set of stairs to an esplanade that ran along the ocean. She walked up to a man in a suit who was just putting away his cell phone. She smiled and said, “Buen dia señor. Seria tan amable en recomendarnos el mejor hotel de la ciudad, el mas lujoso, con una gran vista al mar?"
The man looked at her for a moment, startled by her appearance. She was strangely dressed and soaking wet. But then he nodded knowingly, pointed in the direction of the city lights, and spoke in the same language.
Kassandra thanked him and pulled Nereus after her. “Come on. This way."
"What did you ask him?” Nereus looked around, jogging along with her. “Where are we?"
"Just south of Buenos Aires.” She ran ahead, stopped and spun on her heels, closed her eyes when she kissed him. Digging one hand into the pocket of her shorts, she took out a small plastic packet. “I have my dad's credit cards. Let's get the biggest, most expensive room we can find."
* * * *
Lord Gregor and his three daughters from the surface stayed for twenty-one days before Kallixene wanted a break, wanted her quiet fortress back to herself, and politely told them to go home—at least for a few days. The formalities tired her, the constant swimming around, and every family with a boy—and even a few with girls—begging an audience.
The young men of Rexenor kicked after the young ladies with their old-fashioned manners and formalities, singing them songs, asking permission to hold their hands, trying to catch their eyes when they passed by, fighting each other to be the first to bring them giant blooms of bristly serpulid worms that looked like bright red and yellow Christmas trees.
Jill was still the most approachable, perhaps because she fit in the least. Lady Kassandra—although obviously Seaborn, fluent in their native tongue and manners—scared them. Her ever-present crown—the Wreath—glowing green around her head, the gift of a god. Only Nereus asked for her hand in any of the dancing at the festivals. Nicole kept trying on her armor, in love with its smooth pliable fit on her body, appearing at one of the celebrations with her sword which, for some reason, put the boys off. She blushed when one of them, at Kassandra's instigation, called her basileia—princess—and then word got around that she, too, understood Hellene.
On the final evening, Gregor and his daughters met in the open fortress at the top of the Lasthenes Massif with Lady Kallixene, Phaidra and a small party of nobles and important friends of the family. The Lady of Rexenor gave each of her granddaughters a long dress of gold brocade, similar to the one she wore at her entrance in New Hampshire—which quickly jerked Jill from her steep envy-dive over Nicole's new armor.
Previously unaware of Jill's feelings—and angry at herself for not seeing them—Kassandra left in the middle of the party, returning less than an hour later with a small gold ring with an oval-cut emerald, presenting it to Jill without telling her that she had dug it out of the sand under the wreck of a Spanish ship.
Nicole nudged Kassandra. “Aunt Phaidra's looking for you. She was frantic when she heard you'd left. You didn't tell anyone where you were going."
"But I didn't say goodbye,” said Kassandra as if this should have been enough for them to anticipate her quick return.
Jill and Nicole shouted back at her at the same time, “You never say goodbye!"
Phaidra swam up, excited, a blaze in her eyes that Kassandra remembered from their initial meeting in the shallows off the coast of Texas, back when Phaidra hated her niece on first sight.
She surprised Kassandra with a hug, flashing her Alkimides bracelet, and putting her lips to her ear, whispering, “The City! I have never been there. Why didn't you just ask me? Why go through Mother? I'll bet she gave you a terrible time."
Kassandra looked sad for a moment. Recovering, she said, “Oh, come on. She's a pushover.” She cleared her throat. “We'll be back from New Hampshire in a few days, and we'll plan the whole thing. I chose you because...” Kassandra drew away and showed her a clever smile. “Because I know you're not one to cower down here in the dark."
Phaidra jerked back, stunned, then grinned when she recognized the words. “You accused me of doing that when we first met."
"Remember that? I thought you were going to kill me—with your bare hands—and I had my sword out.” Kassandra shook her head. “I think I said, I give you permission to cower down in the dark, which is even worse."
"Gods, even then you were a ... What is the word surfacers use?"
"Bitch?” Kassandra ventured.
"Bitch! Yes!” Phaidra laughed. “Mother says you are different now. No, you're just more of one. That damned Wreath is a bitch maker."
Jill and Nicole floated off to one side, mouths open, frozen halfway to laughing.
Kassandra looked at Phaidra sagely. “Not its primary function, but I will add that to my list of things it does to me.” She gripped her aunt's shoulder tight and pulled her closer. “Now, before we return from New Hampshire, you must participate in the assembly here, learn the rules of conduct, the order of presentation, what your mother says in response, how she is addressed by those who wait on her. Everything that you can learn here. I need you to know it."
"What?” Phaidra looked sickened. “Why?"
"It's what surfacers call homework. Five days. We're going to back to New Hampshire to check on the house, find out more about one of the king's spies watching the place—the woman with long black hair we saw in town—then we're coming right back here."
Kassandra released Phaidra and kicked to Jill and Nicole.
"We have to go."
Nicole stared straight up at thousands of meters of pure black ocean, opening her arms wide, a broad smile on her face. “I wish I could stay here forever."
The silence made her look down, her eyes wandering to her sisters. Jill grinned, understanding, but Nicole regretted saying it because she didn't like the sudden intensity in Kassandra's eyes. She attempted to recover with, “I mean, I don't feel like returning to the mundane. I know it's just a few days on the surface ... we'll be back here soon."
Kassandra let half a smile reach her lips. “I know what you meant, Nic."
* * * *
The house in North Hampton, New Hampshire gave her nightmares. Kassandra whimpered and made a growling noise deep in her throat, but she didn't wake up.
Tharsaleos. Fucking murdering Tharsaleos. She pictured his snarling gaunt features, his coiled gray hair and jutting beard. She hated call
ing him king, and stopped herself whenever the word came to her lips. He was her grandfather—the only living one she had because this one had killed the other one, Nausikrates Lord Rexenor.
In her dream, the kitchen downstairs swung into view and four soldiers, all with Tharsaleos’ face, came up the stairs, spears stabbing at her. She had her sword out, ready to lop heads off shoulders. Their hands would be next—take their identifying bracelets. She let loose her battle cry and swung at the first to reach the top step.
Then their faces changed, becoming different soldiers. They were men with families. They had children. They had mothers who worried when they left the Nine-cities on a secret mission for their king.
Stratolaos, their commander, at the bottom of the stairs, reloaded his crossbow.
The three others, two with blue eyes, one with milky greenish-brown irises—these men were not the king, but in his service. They were loyal House Dosianax soldiers—some of the deadliest killers known to the Seaborn.
She shouted at them, warning them off. “Don't make me kill you!"
She had to fight them as well as her own sword skills. She had to fight Andromache inside her, who wanted to end this quickly. She had to placate the Wreath, which had other plans for these men. She steered the blade away from a thrust that would cut through the man's spine, driving it into his shoulder instead—something from which he'd heal.
Then she felt light, her feet leaving the floor. The world tilted steeply. All the air left her lungs. Her back hit the kitchen island counter, and it shook every thought from her head. Her sword clattered on the kitchen tiles. She stared up at the ceiling, wondering what had happened. Minutes seemed to pass before she noticed the spiky end of the bolt sticking out from her armor on her right side.
She tugged at it curiously, then climbed to her feet, anger flooding into her mind—an anger that overwhelmed her, that could wipe continents off the earth. She begged the other wearers in her head: Please make it stop! The anger took control of her. She didn't even feel the bolt standing stiffly from her side; the endorphin drive had kicked into high.
She screamed the Alkimides war cry and hacked into the right arm of the nearest Seaborn, into the bone, cutting away armor scales. Blood ran down her sword, globs of it floating off the edge, hitting the floor in little drumbeats. Her voice came through the noise of blood cold and clear, and she caught Stratolaos’ eyes before he could look away. ” ... t?i kreagrai t?n orchiped?n helkoim?n es abysson."
* * * *
Zypheria grabbed Kassandra by her shoulders and shook her. “Milady, wake up."
Her eyes closed tight, Kassandra screamed, “Don't make me kill you!"
"Come on, Kass,” said Nicole.
"Please, milady, wake up.” Zypheria shook her harder.
Kassandra grabbed her attacker's throat with one hand, blocking her left, and swung her legs around Zypheria's middle, locking her ankles behind her back. She shoved Zypheria's head back, releasing her throat, lining it up for a clean cut. Her sword slapped into her fist in the middle of her swing.
"Kass!” Jill's shriek broke her dream.
Kassandra stopped her sword at Zypheria's neck, drawing a line of blood that dribbled along the edge to the tip, staining the sheets with a dark bloom. Kassandra jerked back in horror, throwing the blade away. It hit the plaster and fell into the space between her bed and the wall. She held her hands open and climbed off Zypheria, shaking uncontrollably.
She staggered away, getting her back against her dresser. There was a hint of recognition in her gaze as it darted to Jill and Nicole and then back to Zypheria.
"Is it her? Or is it Andromache?” Nicole's voice came from far away.
Kassandra blinked, focusing on Zypheria. “No. It is me. I would be holding Zypheria's head right now if Andromache had been here. I am not half the swordswoman she is."
The four of them stood rooted to the floor for a minute, silent, wondering what to say next. Kassandra dropped her gaze to the floor, ashamed to look at them. She sat down on the bed, her face in her hands.
Michael Henderson and Gregor reached the door at the same time from opposite ends of the hall, jolted out of sleep, Gregor tying his robe closed.
"What's the screaming about?” said Michael groggily.
Gregor stared at Kassandra, but said nothing.
Zypheria gave them each a look that clearly told them to get lost. “It's girl talk. Go back to bed.” She said something about calling on the Dark Mother and some nonsense about the Mysteries, nothing for the men to see.
Henderson and Gregor exchanged glances and wandered back to their rooms.
Zypheria kept one hand to her neck, nodding to Nicole. “Can you get me a towel? Jillian, please heat some water, enough for all of us to have hot chocolate."
With the sisters out of the room, she sat down next to Kassandra and put her arm around her. “What is wrong?"
"I killed them,” Kassandra sobbed. “I killed their wives, their children."
"You let them go, milady."
"So that the Nine-cities would finally have news of me and my grandfather could do something far worse. I used them. I should have beheaded them and taken their bracelets when I had the chance. They would have died honorably—in battle. But I am evil.” She gave Zypheria a pleading look. “What is wrong with me? Why would I do that? I knew what the king would do. I decided their fates while their spears were pushing at me. I stopped Andromache from taking their lives and let the king do it for me. If only that damned Stratolaos had missed me."
"How would it be different? Eupheron has healed you."
Eyes red and swollen, Kassandra clutched at Zypheria's knee. “Something happened when the bolt hit me ... went through me. The Wreath took control of me. Have you seen the paint on the ceiling in the kitchen?"
Zypheria scowled, shaking her head. “I noticed the hole in the wall over the basement stairs."
"I melted the paint. It dripped from the ceiling. It had me like a monster—I am that monster. For an instant, I could have sunk continents under the waves. I could have killed a billion people without a thought."
There was doubt in Zypheria's voice. “You are the Wreath-wearer. It is a burden. Your mother fought it all her short life."
"But my mother had no bleeds."
"And you have Gregor's?” As if broaching a delicate subject, she added, “Do you also have Lady Kallixene's?"
Kassandra hesitated, shaking her head to one of the other wearers. “I have my father's, Kallixene's, Isothemis’ and Tharsaleos’ bleeds. Four of them."
"What!” Zypheria gasped, terror on her face. She jumped to her feet, whirling with one hand in a fist. “How did this happen?” She didn't expect an answer and, by the way her brows knotted angrily, she had concluded much of it already. She suddenly understood Kassandra's unpredictability over the last year, especially when she was in the same room with Lady Kallixene. She opened her mouth to curse the bloody stupid Rexenors. Then she realized she couldn't because Lady Kassandra was one, and the tangle of deeds and desire so tight and intricate that it would only cause harm.
She wiped her expression clear when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. She stood and went to the door to get the towel from Nicole. “Can you start a fire in the fireplace, milady? We will be down in a few minutes."
Nicole nodded and went downstairs.
Zypheria cursed the universe under her breath and sat down on the end of the bed. “People say the Telkhines went bad because they could host more than one bleed. Two bleeds and they went insane. They ended up like King Eupheron, who could not have a normal life. You know what he is like. He was king in name only. Queen Daphne ruled the Seaborn. The tales I heard from Lady Ampharete made my thoughts freeze. Power beyond his control—and he could not stop."
That sounded familiar.
Kassandra started to nod, then went still. Her face went gray. She jumped up, holding her mouth as she raced for the bathroom to throw up. Zypheria followed resignedly
with a change of pajamas.
Zypheria took a cautious sip of hot chocolate, swallowed it, then cleared her throat to get the attention of the three sisters. They sat around the fireplace next to the kitchen, Kassandra in a big leather chair, Jill and Nicole sitting together on a couch. Zypheria sat on the coffee table between them.
"Michael has asked me to marry him, and I...” She bowed her head to Kassandra. “I have come for your consent."
"Congratulations,” said Kassandra, raising her mug with Jill and Nicole. “I wish you all the joy in the sea."
She bowed her head. “Milady. I appear to have all of it already. I only wish I could return some to you."
Kassandra stared at her. Choking back emotion, she said, “Zypheria, you're like a mother to me. You were a sister to Ampharete. You are my family. I would not expect Jill or Nic to call me ‘milady.’ I want you to stop calling me that."
"I am your maid and your soldier. I will do anything you ask but that."
"Please?"
"Do not ask it of me, milady. I could no more do that than call the queen by her first name. It would be scandalous."
"Since when does scandal bother you? You don't call Tharsaleos king."
"He is not Alkimides. And he is not the Wreath-wearer."
"I'm telling you it's okay."
Zypheria shook her head. “Instead, if I could ask one thing?"
"Name it."
"Please ... please don't ever ask me to make you a peanut butter sandwich again."
Completely serious, Kassandra bowed her head. “You have my word."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty-Two
McHutcheon's Fire
Within the abyss, Lethe, measureless in sweep, glides smoothly on with placid stream, and takes away our cares; and, that there may be no power to retrace the path, with windings manifold it takes its sluggish way, even as the vagrant Maeander with its inconstant waters plays along, now retreats upon itself, now presses on, in doubt whether to seek the seashore or its source.
—Seneca, Hercules Furens, 679
* * * *
Daniel McHutcheon nearly fainted when he walked into the cold storage room on deck three, his footsteps echoing off the insulated aluminum walls. It was empty on the Maria Draughn's return trip, large enough to store two hundred pallets of boxed fresh fruit, and could be sealed and gassed with ethylene and other decay inhibitors. It was also supposed to be cold, which made McHutcheon pause at the open door.