Kingdom at Sea

by Jill Williamson

  A knock on the door and one of her guardsmen called out, “Are you well, lady?”

  “I am fine,” she said, setting the bronze canister on the sideboard. She prised up the lid and sighed again. As she suspected, it was over half full of white powder.

  Evenroot.

  Where had Oli gotten this root powder? How much had he taken to put himself into such a haze? And had he purged the poison to a shadir or was he dying?

  Since she could do nothing about that, she replaced the lid on the canister and sent one of her guardsmen for a servant. Then she kept busy by gathering all his clothing into a pile beside the door, which she opened to get some air circulation.

  The servant arrived. Inolah bade the man take the duke’s clothing to be washed, then return with a tub and water for a bath. By the time he had gone, Oli’s eyes had cleared some.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  That he could see her eased her fear for his life. “You ignored my summons to breakfast.”

  He stretched his good arm. “I was not in a mental state to attend a public meal.”

  “I realized as much when I found you.”

  He sat forward and hit his head on the bottom of his hanging cot. Wincing, he rubbed his forehead, then crawled out. “What did you do to my cabin?”

  “Tidied up a little.” She walked to the sideboard and picked up the canister.

  He pushed to standing. “Put that down.”

  Inolah’s guards stepped into the doorway. She shook her head at them. “First you must confess where you got it and why you ingest what’s inside.”

  He glared at her. “Why are you here? You don’t even know me.”

  “My brother does. And he cares about you. Asked me to check on you.”

  “If he cared, he’d check on me himself.”

  “You think no one cares about you? Is that why you tried to kill yourself?”

  “Kill myself?” His stump moved toward his face. He scowled at it, then rubbed his face with his left hand. “Fine,” he said. “If you must know, I have an addiction that wine will not satisfy.”

  “To evenroot.”

  He nodded. “When I heard about the mantic and that she had fled, it occurred to me that she might have left behind her supply. I went instantly to Lady Zeroah’s cabin. Rosârah Brelenah had just moved the girl so that servants could clean and air the room. I volunteered to supervise the refurbishment, and once the rosârah and her staff had gone, I searched until I found what I was looking for.”

  “You are a duke and a royal cousin. You should know better than to search someone’s room without permission or take what is not yours.”

  Oli hung his head, ashamed, it seemed, by her words.

  Interesting. Praise and disapproval had an immediate effect. “You are a fine young man,” she added, wanting to balance her words. “Well respected and greatly admired by my brother the Heir. He tells me you saved his life. He has not forgotten your sacrifice.”

  A shrug. “Anyone would have done the same.”

  “You were training to be a general in the King’s Guard. I suspect you know more of men than to believe that a true statement. There are too many cowards in the world. Too many idlers. Too many egoists who think themselves better than everyone else. You are none of those things. You are a fighter, Oli Agoros, and there is no reason you should stop fighting now.”

  The servant returned with a washtub and two more servants, each carrying a bucket of water.

  “Your bath has arrived. You will clean yourself up, shave—unless you’ve decided to grow a beard—get dressed, then come to my cabin. This,” she patted the bronze canister, “comes with me. We will discuss it over lunch. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Oh, Inolah did like the sound of that. Obedience from a young man such as Oli Agoros exuded potential. He was a soldier who obeyed commands, unlike her own son who’d been trained to have everyone fall at his feet. Inolah felt certain that, in time, she could help Oli Agoros overcome his enslavement to evenroot to become an asset to himself and Armania.

  Gozan

  Gozan floated in the corner of the High Queen’s cabin aboard the Baretam, listening to his human slave plot uselessly with two of her acolytes. Gozan had told Jazlyn the only way to get what she wanted, but she resisted. And so they remained captives of the cocky young emperor. Gozan’s energy had dwindled from the loss of evenroot and his swarm not having returned from their search for land. If he lost Jazlyn completely, he felt he would survive. He had lasted centuries before without a human bond. He would wait until another human made itself available. The wait might be long, but it would surely happen at some point. Unless evenroot became extinct.

  “Forgive me, High Queen,” said the acolyte called Niklee, “but I still don’t understand why you can’t take the evenroot back.”

  Jazlyn stood at the small round window of the cabin, looking out at the sea. The two acolytes sat behind her on cushions on the floor. Qoatch, the eunuch, had posted himself as sentry beside the door. Gozan was invisible to all but the High Queen and her eunuch, whom she had made a seer years ago.

  “Because I do not know where the emperor has hidden it,” Jazlyn said. “It is too great a risk to use what little power I have to search the cargo hold. And even if I found the root, I would be too weak to both steal it and fight the emperor’s men.”

  “But if you found the evenroot,” Niklee said, “you could take more and make yourself strong enough to defeat them.”

  “There would not be time to purge,” Jazlyn said. “I would collapse, and they would take me prisoner and reclaim the evenroot I had just found. No, it will not do.”

  “But you did so much with one vial when you were imprisoned in Lâhaten,” Niklee said. “You destroyed the city, killed the emperor, and escaped in time to purge. You are so powerful, Great Lady. You could find the root, carry it to another ship, and purge there, where they could not follow.”

  Jazlyn shook her head. “It is too risky. If I knew where the root was hidden, then I might attempt it.”

  Gozan was annoyed not to have been able to find it yet. A shame they had no letaha aboard.

  “Let me search, Great Lady,” said the one called Zinetha, rising up onto her knees. “I would need but a taste of root to make myself invisible. And I would not leave the cargo hold until I found it for you.”

  “I do not have any root to give,” Jazlyn said, turning to face the women. “I have taken the last of it. I don’t even have enough to make myself invisible.”

  The acolytes gasped, shocked by this news.

  Lies. Gozan smirked at the High Queen. She had one vial left, but without it her true age would be revealed, and the vain priestess wanted to keep that a secret above all else.

  “What if the emperor starts taking the root?” Niklee said. “Would he be able to steal your shadir?”

  Yes, he would, Gozan said, knowing only Jazlyn and the eunuch could hear.

  “No,” she countered, glaring at Gozan. “Ulrik is afraid to even try the root. After what he saw it do to his father, he dares not risk his sanity or his throne.”

  The priestess knew the young man well. Gozan had tried convincing him to take the smallest taste, to no avail. And without his tasting the root, Gozan could not gain power over him.

  “We need our own ship, Great Lady,” Zinetha said.

  “That has been my goal from the start,” Jazlyn said, “but I am afraid it is impossible.”

  Nothing is impossible, Gozan said.

  Jazlyn and her eunuch looked his way.

  “If you have something useful to add, Gozan, say it,” Jazlyn said. “Otherwise do not speak.”

  I have given you the answer, but you refuse me, he said.

  “Because I know better.”

  Only fear and superstitions hold you back from having ultimate power, Great Lady.

  “You forget I am not some fool to fall for your lies,” she snapped. “Do not mention Do
minion to me ever again. If you want to help, find the evenroot.”

  A hush passed over the room. The acolytes, unable to see or hear Gozan, glanced about, wide-eyed and fearful, knowing that their High Queen conversed with her shadir.

  Their fear pleased Gozan.

  “Our queen is wise to resist such temptations,” the eunuch told the acolytes. His words set them both at ease.

  Gozan glared at the eunuch, who often dared disagree with him. Qoatch’s faithful service to Jazlyn was unprecedented, so Gozan tolerated the man for her sake alone, but there were days he wanted to kill him.

  Gozan longed to convince Jazlyn of Dominion. In the absence of evenroot, it was the only way to create a bond between human and shadir. But too many shadir had taken advantage, and the Tennish priestesses had been warned against the practice. Giving a shadir full access to one’s body and soul was not easily reversed, gave the shadir more power than the human, and almost always lasted until the human’s death.

  A knock captured everyone’s attention. The eunuch opened the door, and Rosârah Thallah waddled inside. The third queen of Armania was all rolls of flesh with stubby arms and legs. If she had a third eye, she would look very much like Gozan’s common shadir Masi.

  “Good evening to you, High Queen Jazlyn,” the woman said, her voice high-pitched and nauseating. “How do you and your companions fare in this cozy cabin?”

  “As well as any prisoner of war,” Jazlyn said.

  “Come now, don’t be dramatic. A crushed spirit dries the bones. Now hear my excellent news. My great-nephew, the emperor, requests your presence in his private dining room at the end of first sleep.”

  This was the location the emperor had been holding his council meetings of late, but Jazlyn had refused to attend since the emperor had seized her evenroot.

  “The Great Lady has no interest in a council that does not recognize her authority,” Qoatch said.

  Rosârah Thallah turned her rotund face toward the eunuch and frowned. “Surely this eunuch does not answer for a queen.”

  “My answer is the same,” Jazlyn said. “Unless the emperor is giving me back my evenroot, I no longer wish to attend his council meetings.”

  “I see. Well, many curry favor with a ruler, Your Highness, as I’m sure you know. And she who answers before listening, that is folly, indeed. How much more might you gain by hearing his proposal?”

  Jazlyn walked toward the woman and stared for a long moment before finally speaking.

  “I will come,” she told the queen. “But you tell him that this is the last time I will hear his proposals if all he has to offer is the pleasure of his company.”

  “A violent tone entices anger, Great Lady.” The queen wobbled to the open door and glanced back. “While peace brings wisdom.” She chuckled and walked away.

  Only when Qoatch shut the door did Jazlyn growl her frustration. “That woman entices anger. Qoatch, help me dress. And, Gozan, you will come with me and watch for any trickery. I do not trust the tadpole or his toad-like aunt.”

  Gozan said nothing. Jazlyn, he knew, trusted no one but herself.

  As the High Queen’s protector, Qoatch led the way into the emperor’s private dining room. Gozan followed with Jazlyn. The room was dark, lit only with a candelabrum holding five white tapers in the center of the long table. Emperor Ulrik stood waiting at one end, hands behind his back. He wore white silk embroidered in gold. The large crown atop his shaved head hid all of the henna tracings except those around his eyes, which made him look sinister in the low light. Five Igote guards stood along the bulkhead behind him, silent and still as statues.

  “This does not look like a council meeting,” Jazlyn snapped.

  “I never said it would be,” Ulrik said. “I apologize if my aunt misled you.”

  “I misunderstood.” Jazlyn walked around Qoatch, deeper into the room. “Is this yet another ploy to force my company or do you truly have a proposal that will restore my authority over my own people?”

  “The proposal is even better than that, Great Lady, if you will sit and join me.” He pulled out the chair to his right.

  “I will not sit and join you,” Jazlyn said. “I have wasted enough time on your games. Tell me now what you propose so that I may answer and return to my cabin.”

  The emperor chuckled. “Your obstinance becomes you, Great Lady. But since you wish it, I will come to my point. It would do our people good if you and I could find a way to work together.”

  Jazlyn narrowed her eyes. “To what end?”

  “Peace, of course. If our people see the two of us getting along, they will follow suit.”

  “You are naïve to think so. Only a ship of my own and the return of my evenroot will end my fury.”

  “First remove the compulsions you placed on my men.”

  “I cannot do that without my evenroot.”

  Ulrik sighed. “Let me prove to you that I am not my father. I propose a marriage. Between you and me.”

  She barked out a laugh. “You are insane! You know full well that Tennish women do not marry. I find such an offer greatly insulting.”

  He frowned. “Am I so repugnant?”

  “You are a fool to even ask such a question. It shows how little you know about my people and the mother realms in general. You respect only your ways, not ours.”

  “I mean no disrespect, Great Lady, but times have changed. If we were safe in the Five Realms with no threat of extinction, I would agree with you. But our land is gone, and you have no ships. The Tennish refugees are scattered.”

  “That was your doing!” Jazlyn yelled, and Gozan knew that if she had been filled with evenroot, she would have crippled the emperor with her magic. “You scattered my people. You forced your rule upon us, and when we defended ourselves, you stole our evenroot and made us prisoners. In that, you yourself declared war upon Tenma.”

  “Think back, Great Lady,” Ulrik said. “It was you who declared war upon Rurekau and my father when you came to Lâhaten. You who told my mother I would be easily defeated. Dividing your people from you was a caution I took to protect my realm. You cannot expect that I would have placed your interests above my own. To endanger Rurekans at the expense of pleasing you?”

  She continued to glare, but her eyes softened. The young man might be arrogant and rash, but he was no fool. “I thought you divided us to provoke me.”

  Ulrik’s brow pinched. “I confess I enjoy teasing you, but it would have been cruel to provoke anyone as the world fell apart. Forgive me if my decision upset you.”

  Jazlyn said nothing.

  “I must marry and produce heirs to strengthen my rule. I have not hidden my affection from you. I find you to be the most intelligent, beautiful, and intriguing woman I have ever known. You fascinate me, Great Lady, and that is my motivation to marry you. In exchange I would make you my empress. There is power in that. Not the magic you greatly desire, but power to protect your people from starvation and abuse.”

  She studied him, as if considering his argument. Gozan knew better. Jazlyn would give up all her people if it meant obtaining that store of evenroot.

  “I want the freedom to protect my people my way, not yours,” she said.

  “I cannot return your magic,” Ulrik said. “To do so would put a noose around my neck and expose my realm to attack. You and I could be blissfully married for fifty years and still I would not trust you with a speck of root.”

  Jazlyn smiled then, but it did not reach her eyes, and Gozan knew they finally understood each other. “Emperor Ulrik, you honor me and my people with your proposal, but I must refuse. As I said, Tennish women do not marry and bear children for men. What you ask of me is to renounce all that I am, and I am not yet so desperate. I will await your solution to our problems that does not end in a marital bond between us. Good evening.” She strode from the room. Qoatch followed.

  Gozan remained with the emperor.

  The young man watched Jazlyn until the hem of her white gown va
nished beyond the doorframe. Then he fell back into his chair and took a drink from the goblet before him. “I will win you, Priestess,” he murmured to himself.

  Pathetic, the way humans fixated upon each other. Gozan crouched beside him and spoke into his ear. Evenroot will help you win her. Try it. You will see. It is the only way to make her yours.

  The emperor swatted at his ear as if a fly had buzzed near, then he growled and stood. “Fetch General Balat,” he told one of the guards. “It is time I disposed of some troublesome cargo.”

  Wilek

  Wilek entered the sitting room of his father’s royal cabin. There were six people present: two guards, three servants doing various tasks, and Schwyl, father’s onesent.

  “I need to see him,” Wilek told Schwyl. “How is he today?”

  “We accomplished some tasks this morning, Your Highness, but he lost his way after about an hour. Then he was . . . um . . . He was resting when I left him. Let me see if he is awake.”

  Tense, Wilek waited in the empty circle of chairs where his father liked to sit with his favorite friends. Lady Zeroah had encouraged Wilek to pray to Arman for his father’s healing, but that only brought on guilt. Arman must know that Wilek wasn’t sincere about such a prayer. His father’s illness complicated the business of running the kingdom, but if he were well, his morals would do the same, perhaps worse. The only things Wilek felt true praying for were finding land, catching the pirates, and stopping Rogedoth from whatever insurrection he was plotting. When Wilek thought of everything mounted against him, it seemed too much to bear. But if he focused only on one item at a time, he could manage. One step. Then another. And another.

  So many things awaited the king’s approval. Wilek needed to act, and to do so, he needed the king not only awake but coherent.

  Schwyl returned, Lady Zenobia and two other concubines in his wake. “He is expecting you, Your Highness. I have made sure you have the privacy you need. I fear he is a bit lost at present, however.”

  Dread fell over Wilek, yet he caught himself before he fell into despair. One step at a time. He would go in. Perhaps talking with the man would bring him back.