Balefire

by Jordan L. Hawk

  A wistful tone must have crept into my words despite my attempt to suppress it, because Iskander gave me a thoughtful look. “You wanted to be a father, didn’t you?”

  I glanced automatically in the direction of the bow. Whyborne seemed to have given up on shepherding Christine farther back onto the deck, and now seemed to be trying to convince her to sit down on a nearby coil of rope.

  He’d be lucky if she didn’t throw him overboard before the end of our journey.

  Ival and I were not made precisely the same; I preferred men, but women did not leave me unmoved. In some other life, I might have married a woman I loved and raised a family at her side.

  But the maelstrom had collected me. Weighted the dice of fate, because it understood, in some way I didn’t comprehend, that I belonged in Widdershins. With Ival.

  “I would have welcomed the opportunity, had it presented itself,” I said at last. “But I have no regrets as to the direction my life has taken.”

  Heliabel joined Christine and Whyborne. I couldn’t hear what they spoke of, but Ival quickly left them alone.

  “This ship is far too small,” he declared when he rejoined us. “It would be much too easy to fall overboard.”

  I wasn’t certain whether he spoke from his anxiety around water travel, or from misplaced concern for Christine. “The deck is far more cramped than the ocean liner, that’s true. But there’s room enough to take a stroll, so long as we watch our step.”

  I rose to my feet and set off. After a moment, he hurried to catch me. “What are Heliabel and Christine speaking of?” I asked him.

  “Oh, you know.” His cheeks reddened. “Womanly things.”

  “Ah.” I glanced back at them. Christine had hiked up her skirt and seemed to be complaining about her ankles, while Heliabel nodded sympathetically. “Is that why you wished to speak to your mother last night?”

  “Yes. Though we talked about other things.” Whyborne hesitated. “I know she came as envoy, but she wants revenge against the Endicotts.”

  “Surely she won’t do anything too extreme,” I said.

  Whyborne stared at me as though I’d lost my senses. “Dear lord, man, she literally stabbed herself in the chest to keep Fiona from using her as a hostage against Persephone and me.”

  “You make an excellent point.” I absently ran my thumb over the head of the sword cane, tracing the Whyborne family crest hidden within the decorative engraving. “Do you think she’ll refuse to act as go-between?”

  “No. But she won’t be as impartial as the Endicotts might wish.” Whyborne sighed. “We’ll need their help, Griffin, against the masters. Ordinarily I’d say let the Endicotts reap what they’ve sowed, but with the fate of the world in balance…”

  He trailed off unhappily. I brushed my hand discreetly against his. “Don’t fret so, my dear. Heliabel is no fool. She knows what’s at stake just as we do.”

  “I suppose.”

  We fell silent as we reached the stern of the ship. A youth of perhaps sixteen years sat there in another deck chair, dressed in a fashionable suit and apparently at his leisure. Black hair blew in the wind, his olive skin glowing in the summer sun. His head bent over a book, and on the deck beside him a basket sat, containing what appeared to be knitted shawls, balls of yarn, and knitting needles.

  All of which glowed with magic in my shadowsight.

  He looked up as we approached—and a bright smile bloomed over his face. Leaping to his feet, he thrust his hand out to Whyborne. “You must be Dr. Whyborne! What a pleasure to meet you, sir!”

  “Er,” Whyborne said, obviously taken aback.

  “And you are?” I asked.

  The youth flushed. “Forgive me. My name is Basil Endicott.”

  He’d spoken Whyborne’s name, but… “You do know who we are, don’t you, Mr. Endicott?”

  “Please, call me Basil.” He finally let go of Whyborne and shook my hand in turn. “Otherwise, I won’t know if you’re referring to me or to Rupert. And yes, Mr. Flaherty, I’ve heard stories of you both.”

  Whyborne still looked nonplussed. “Forgive my surprise, but ordinarily Endicotts try to kill me. Or at least insult me.”

  “Ah, yes.” Basil winced. “Some of them are still angry about Theo and Fiona. But the twins did try to kill you first—what were you supposed to do, refuse to defend yourself?”

  “That is the response the rest of the Endicotts seem to have expected, yes,” Whyborne said.

  “Well, that’s quite silly,” Basil replied.

  I watched him carefully, but he seemed to be exactly as he presented himself. His eyes told me he was a sorcerer—but I’d already guessed as much from the basket of knitting beside him. “And Whyborne’s ketoi blood?”

  “Why should that outweigh his Endicott blood? Supra alia familia, that’s our motto, you know.”

  I glanced at Whyborne for a translation. “Before all other things comes family,” he said.

  “Precisely.” Basil beamed at him. “You’re one of ours. If Fiona and Theo had only realized that, so much unpleasantness might have been avoided. Imagine what we might have accomplished as allies.”

  A wistful expression crossed over Whyborne’s face. Though I didn’t think the Endicott twins had been a good influence on him—quite the opposite—he’d genuinely liked them both, up until they’d reacted with homicidal intent. “I can’t disagree,” he said at last. “Most of your family doesn’t seem to share your assessment, however.”

  “The older generations are stuck in their ways.” Basil waved a hand as if sweeping aside the past. “I hope in the future we will be more thoughtful and less quick to condemn.”

  “A good sentiment,” I said neutrally. Even though I couldn’t detect any falsity in his manner, I wasn’t inclined to trust Basil. Not yet, at any rate. “Might I inquire as to the contents of your basket?”

  I expected him to demur, or lie outright, given how closely the Endicotts guarded their secrets. Instead, he declared, “I’m the ship’s windweaver.”

  I glanced at Whyborne, but he seemed equally baffled. “The what?”

  Now it was Basil’s turn to seem puzzled. “Windweaver. You don’t think we’d simply rely on nature to fill the sails, do you?”

  Whyborne and I both turned to the sails. They seemed ordinary enough to me. “I can summon wind,” Whyborne said. “But I’d be more likely to blow down the canvas than do anything useful. And it wouldn’t last but for a few minutes.”

  “Ah, yes, Rupert said you lacked subtlety,” Basil said guilelessly. “I suppose brute force suffices for you in most cases, but there are benefits to the more civilized magics.”

  Whyborne drew himself up, nostrils flaring in affront. “Brute force?” he sputtered. “Civilized? I’ll have you know—”

  “Do show us, Basil,” I said over him. “I fear I’m but a layman in such matters, but I would love to know more.”

  “It’s quite simple.” Taking his seat, Basil pulled out what I had assumed to be a shawl of some sort. As he spread the square of cloth wide, the whole thing gleamed with arcane light in my shadowsight. “I learned this at my grandmother’s knee. In the old days, this was considered women’s magic, but I’ve always felt we of modern times should embrace all the arts, don’t you?”

  I wished Christine had joined us for this conversation. “How does it work?”

  Basil took out a pair of glass knitting needles and a half-finished square. “Before our journey—or during, if the natural winds get too high—I bind the wind into the knitting. When the natural wind falls, I unravel the knitting a bit at a time, releasing the bound wind to propel us along. So long as I keep a close eye on the naturally occurring breezes, and adjust to them accordingly, we can travel quite swiftly.”

  “Fascinating,” I said sincerely. “I should like to watch you work, if I may.”

  A flush touched Basil’s olive cheeks. “Of course, Mr. Flaherty.”

  Whyborne’s brows drew together in thought. “You�
��ve described magic before as a type of sewing, when I asked you to describe how casting a spell looked to your shadowsight.”

  I nodded. “Reality has a sort of, of warp and weft to it, normally unseen,” I explained to Basil. “When a spell is cast, in a way it’s like the sorcerer’s will becomes a needle and thread, punched through the very fabric of the world.”

  “Then this could be a useful craft for you,” Basil said, looking back and forth between us. “Or, if knitting doesn’t suit, magic may be woven into other items as well. Rope work, particularly using knots to bind spells, is an ancient art.”

  My mind instantly leapt to the sorts of things we might do with rope magic. I glanced at Whyborne, who, oblivious, said, “Knots?”

  “They’re most often used to keep something from happening,” Basil said. “To hold back an event, or a reaction. But other types of spells can be used with knots as well.”

  My cock swelled as my imagination ran wild. “The sun is a bit strong,” I said to Ival. “Perhaps we could go below?”

  “Beneath the canopy is pleasant,” he replied. “And we endured far worse in Egypt.”

  “Perhaps later.”

  Clearly I’d puzzled him, but he nodded and we took our farewell of Basil. As we descended to the lower deck, I said, “Have you ever investigated such magic?”

  “Knitting? No.” He followed me to our cabin. “Mother knows how to knit, of course. The ketoi don’t have cloth, but they use complicated knot work to make their nets and bags, so she might be able to utilize the same principles even beneath the sea. I wonder…”

  As I hadn’t intended to send him into deep contemplation, I shut the door behind us, then caught his wrists lightly. “I meant ropes.”

  For a moment he looked at me blankly. Then his cheeks reddened. “Oh.” He pulled free of my grip and instead held my wrists captive. “We have used ordinary rope before. But it isn’t just that, is it?” He leaned in and breathed in my ear. “Magic excites you.”

  I pressed my swelling cock against his thigh. “I do find enjoyment watching you use your power. But it isn’t the power or the magic. It’s you. The way it affects you.”

  Desire darkened his eyes. He shoved me back on the bed, and I went without resistance. He swung a leg over to straddle my hips, catching my wrists again in his hands and pinning them over my head.

  My breath caught. Most of the time, our love-making was a slow give-and-take. But a part of me thrilled on the occasions when he would take charge of me, ordering me to do his bidding, or holding me down as he did now. “Basil said the knots could be used to hold things back. You could use them to deny me release.” I licked dry lips. “Torment me for hours.”

  His eyes widened at the thought. Then he kissed me hard. I sucked on his tongue and writhed beneath him. Passion thrummed through my veins like the fire that burned beneath his skin. When he was done, he sat back. “We will investigate that idea at our first opportunity. For now, undress me.”

  I did as he asked, my fingers trembling with desire. He was fire and heat, everything good in the world, and I tried to show him that every time I took him in my arms. I peeled away the layers of his clothing, unveiling pale skin marked by scars. The ugly knot of tissue where Nitocris had bitten him was quiescent to my shadowsight, but the lacework of scars marking his right arm seethed with hidden fire. I ran my fingers over them reverently, and he shivered at my touch.

  “Take off your clothes,” he whispered.

  He watched as I did so, gaze searing my skin. When I was done, he dragged me down on the bed again, pinning me under him. I moaned into his mouth, then tilted back my head so he could bite me on the throat.

  “Keep your hands above your head,” he ordered. I did so, letting him do whatever he wished to me. He knew my body with a thoroughness no one else ever had, and I delighted in the certainty his familiarity brought. I expressed it in a laugh, and he raised his head, grinning back at me like a naughty schoolboy.

  “Turn over.”

  I did. He kissed his way along my spine, bit the backs of my thighs. The sea air blew fresh and wild through the porthole above us, and the scent of clean sheets filled my nose as he pressed me into the bed. When he finally entered me, I had to concentrate on the motion of the boat to keep from spilling immediately.

  We fucked with joyful abandon, lost in one another, while the rest of the world fell away. The ship rode the swells, lifting high then plunging down. I struggled to hold back, until I could take no more and muffled my cries in the sheets. A moment later, he bit the nape of my neck, body stiffening as he spent.

  After a short while, he withdrew, collapsing beside me. We lay together, limbs intertwined and our breathing slowing as sweat dried on our skin. “I love you, Ival,” I murmured when I could speak again.

  He pressed a kiss into my shoulder. “I love you, too.”

  For once, we had nothing to do and nowhere to be. We lazed away the afternoon, talking, laughing, and wrestling playfully. Tomorrow was uncertain, but today was ours, and we took full advantage of it.

  Chapter 13

  Whyborne

  We put into the harbor at Old Grimsby a few days later.

  Mother had left the ship miles out, slipping away over the side and vanishing beneath the waves. I didn’t know how she meant to find the local ketoi, and didn’t wish to inquire in front of the Endicotts, lest they somehow use the knowledge against them later.

  I hadn’t had the chance to question Mother any further on precisely what revenge she meant to exact from the Endicotts. She had spent time with Christine, who continued to insist on risking her life by venturing close to the side, where any errant wave might sweep her overboard. The sight of them laughing together warmed my heart. Christine was my sister in everything but blood, and I was gratified when she and Mother found common ground. They spent many an evening discussing scholarship beneath the canopy on deck, Christine’s feet elevated on a second chair to alleviate their newfound tendency to swell.

  Our journey aboard the Melusine had been surprisingly quiet. Only the ship hands and Basil had any particular work to do; even Rupert had abandoned his alchemical experiments, no doubt due to the motion of the ship making precise measurements difficult. Griffin and I watched Basil do his windweaving once or twice. To my eyes it seemed nothing more exotic than a young man knitting, or unraveling, his work. Griffin, however, was enthralled; clearly his shadowsight made the experience far more interesting.

  The usual malaise I suffered while traveling set in as we left Widdershins farther and farther behind. I’d never cared to leave my home, but nowadays I felt drained and a bit achy unless I was close to an arcane line. The more power I used, the more my physical self seemed to depend on its presence for health. The thought disturbed me somewhat, but I consoled myself with the reminder that someday all this running about would surely come to an end, and I would never have to leave home again.

  The summer days were long, and it was after nightfall when we put into the small harbor. We stood along the rail, watching the shoreline draw closer and closer. The harbor was far shallower than that of Widdershins, with two quays extending out from a wide, gently sloping beach. The town beyond clung to the curve of the cove, and looked to be composed of a handful of cottages and little else.

  “Quaint,” Christine judged. “Still, it will be good to stretch our legs. I’m used to traveling on much larger ships.”

  “Though with smaller quarters,” Iskander added.

  “Quite so.” She glanced at Rupert, who had joined us at the rail. “Are we staying aboard, or at an inn? And will an adequate dinner be provided either way?”

  Considering Christine had spent most of the voyage with a plate in front of her, I feared such a remote settlement might not be able to provide a dinner she judged “adequate.” I didn’t say as much, though, not wishing to have to swim the last distance to the shore.

  “The Seeker awaits us at The Morvoron Inn.” Rupert paused. “The name means merma
id in the old Cornish tongue, which may be a good omen or an ill one, depending on how our negotiations with the ketoi go. The place is too small for us to take rooms, but there will almost certainly be dinner.”

  “‘Almost certainly?’” Christine repeated in alarm.

  “I’ll find something for you, never fear,” Iskander said soothingly.

  Griffin kept his gaze trained on Rupert. “And will the Seeker answer the questions you haven’t?”

  “I couldn’t say.” Rupert turned away from the rail. “Excuse me.”

  Basil took his place almost as soon as Rupert left. “Most of the other ships here belong to our family,” he said, eyes shining as the quay drew closer. “Or, well, have been hired by them.”

  I looked around; there seemed far too many for my liking. “How many are there of you?”

  “Of us,” Basil said. He continued to insist that I was a member of the family. Personally, I was of the opinion it was a trick on his part, and he would betray us at some critical juncture. I resolved to keep an eye on him at all times. “Not so many as you might think. The Seeker has called in every member of even the most subsidiary branch.”

  “Like Turner in Alaska?” Christine asked. “He seemed rather angry at the rest of you.”

  “I heard about that. Nasty business.” Basil sighed. “But such things are what comes from ignoring the true meaning behind our family motto. Turner—and those who sent him after Dr. Whyborne—put their own prejudices above blood.”

  Christine rolled her eyes, but Basil was looking out over the harbor and didn’t see.

  There was a flurry of activity as the Melusine put in. Soon we were lashed to the dock and the gangplank firmly in place.

  “Oh, do be careful!” I exclaimed as Christine marched boldly down the gangplank.

  She paused just long enough to shoot me a glare, before continuing on her way.

  A lonely path led out of the town—such as it was—and up a slight hill. Lights shone out from what must be the inn Rupert had mentioned. Basil led the way, but Rupert strolled at a more sedate pace, his expression dour.