The breeze of their passing really did make her feel better, she reminded herself. Breathe deeply. Again. They would gain the shore eventually.
Rani forced herself to watch the ocean-water split open by the boat’s prow. The craft created an ever-changing wake, a constantly emerging pattern that Rani could never hope to capture in the stained glass that had been her work, that remained her dream. The sea leaped and swirled like billows of white lace, like the fine garments of the delicate wardrobe that Rani had eschewed in King Halaravilli’s court.
Squinting into the froth, Rani could make out dark shapes that skipped across the ship’s wake. At first, she could not decipher what she was seeing – there were only dark shadows against the white, white water. Then, Rani cried out in surprise.
The shadows were fish!
Almost against her will, Rani found herself smiling. The giant fish leaped over the boat’s wake, skipping on top of the water and then diving deep beneath the craft. The morning sun glistened on their sleek bodies, reflecting off their black and white flanks. When Rani leaned out over the prow, she could see that each fish had a long nose; each appeared to grin at his fellows as the creatures slipped through the boat’s feathery wake.
“Look!” Rani exclaimed to Mair, but before the Touched girl could step up to the prow, Prince Bashanorandi strode forward, pushing his way to the point of the ship’s deck. Rani had long since stopped being startled when the prince materialized from nowhere on the ship. Besides, she was so taken with the playful beasts that she was willing to set aside her anger momentarily.
“Bashanorandi.” She nodded in greeting. Since the violence on the hillside, she had been careful to give Bashi his full name.
Mair was not so forgiving, though. The Touched girl shifted her arm in its sling, wincing at the pain as the ship chopped its way through a particularly high wave. “Your Highness,” she gritted through set teeth. “Rai, I beg your pardon,” she said, pointedly turning her back on the prince. “I’m going below deck for a rest. The air is not as fresh up here as I had hoped.”
Rani stared after her friend, her jaw loose as she watched Bashi register the insult. What was Mair thinking? How could she dare be so rude to Bashi when he commanded the troops that held them captive? Even as Rani admired Mair’s courage, she shook her head in despair. It would do no good to anger Bashi now. Not when he held the only key to their bonds. Not when he was the one who would decide if they would go forward into unknown lands or back to the comfort of the City.
Prince Bashanorandi stared after the Touched girl with a look of true hatred in his eyes. “You’d do well to stay away from that one, Ranita Glasswright.”
“What do you mean?” Rani exclaimed, momentarily forgetting that Bashi called her by her guild name out of mockery. “She’s my friend!”
“She’s no friend to anyone but herself. She’s Touched. You know they can’t be trusted.”
“She’s the only family I have, Bashanorandi.” Rani’s anger was stirred by the prince’s superior tone. “Surely you haven’t forgotten how difficult it is to live without family.”
The jibe was a deep one. Rani had lost her family two years ago, but the fault had not been her own. Her brother had dragged her mother and father and all her siblings into the king’s dungeons, and not one had emerged alive. But that was different from Bashanorandi’s loss. Rani’s family had only been accused of being traitors. In truth, her family had been innocent victims.
“I forget nothing, Ranita Glasswright.” Bashi managed to keep his tone steady, even casual, but Rani saw the pulse that beat strong in his throat.
This time, Rani registered the cruel teasing of her guild name; she heard the prince’s certainty that she would never succeed in rebuilding the destroyed glasswrights. She made her voice cold, almost as cold as Mair’s had been. “She’s my friend, Your Highness. She stood by me when no others would. Surely even you understand the value of that?”
Bashi looked as if he’d been slapped. His pale blue eyes blinked as he measured the passion in Rani’s voice. “What do you mean? I understand the value of friendship. I understand the value of faithful friends. Do you realize that I have lost them all, Ranita? Do you realize that I used to be a prince among men, and now I’m nothing but an outcast traitor, despite the fact that I’ve done nothing to earn men’s distrust?” The prince spoke without any of his usual haughtiness, as if he were truly inquiring about Rani’s thoughts, about her beliefs.
Bashi’s tone gave Rani the courage to answer from her heart. “You can’t understand faithfulness, Bashanorandi. Otherwise, you’d never tell me not to trust a girl who has proven herself my friend. You’d never advise me not to trust a girl who has been injured in her service to me. She’s beside me! She rose up from her own sickbed even now to make sure that I was all right.”
“I’m saying you can’t trust a brat who was bred in the streets and will do anything to put food in her own mouth.”
“And you think that your own twisted birth makes you so much more trustworthy?” Rani retorted before she had a chance to think about her words.
Bashi’s eyes blazed beneath his ginger hair, and he reached out to grab at Rani’s face. He caught her chin between his fingers, pinching hard through the flesh to her bone. “I had no control over my birth! I chose neither my father nor my mother, and I did not ask to play out that farce in King Shanoranvilli’s court.”
The prince’s fingers dug into Rani’s flesh as if Bashi intended to sculpt new bones for her. Rani looked into the youth’s eyes with terror, wondering what he would do, how he would focus his anger. She longed to point out the complete illogic of his argument, to show him that he was merely proving what she herself had said. Bashi had had no say in his life, and he’d been scarred. Mair, too, had not chosen to be Touched.
But Rani dared not speak. She dared not make any attempt to force words past Bashi’s iron grip. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, unbidden. The sign of weakness only tightened Bashi’s fingers more, and his wrist trembled. Then, like a drunken man pushing away more wine, the prince thrust Rani away, shoving her toward the railing that protected the boat’s prow.
Rani clutched the wooden support and forced herself to take deep breaths. She forbade herself to raise a hand to her face, to finger the bruises that she knew would be swimming to the surface of her flesh. Instead, she concentrated on quieting her rebellious belly, on breathing past the pain in her jaw. She let the breeze of the ship’s passing carry away her tears.
“Ranita –” Bashi began, and she felt him step nearer. There was a note of panic in his voice, a true fear that appeared to spring from deep inside his mind. She did not want to hear a prince’s fear, though. She did not want to hear an awkward apology. She did not want Bashi to change from evil to good, and possibly back again.
Rani forced herself to gaze out over the prow. Incredibly, the sleek black and white fish still frolicked in the wake, oblivious to the angry drama played out above them. When Bashi did not leave, Rani finally managed to speak, determined to shatter the heavy, awkward silence as if it were a piece of flawed glass. “Look at the fish.”
“They’re dolphins,” the prince answered dully. Nevertheless, even he could not ignore the leaping creatures, and Rani caught a loosening in the tension across his lips. “They’re all through these waters. They’re not fish, though.”
“Not fish!” Rani snorted, losing her resolve in a rush of disdain. “Of course they’re fish. They’ve got fins and a tail!”
“Stick to things you know, Ranita Glasswright. Dolphins bear their young live, like a bitch or a sow.”
“What difference does that make?”
“According to Epidemian the Philosopher, no fish bears its young alive. The dolphins are smarter than fish, too. They’ve been known to guide lost fishermen home to their ports.”
“‘According to Epidemian,’” Rani sneered. “You’re quite the scholar, aren’t you?”
“King Halaravill
i saw to it that I was educated. The king does not want to be shamed by a bastard brother’s ignorance.”
Rani looked away from Bashi’s bitterness, letting her eyes roam toward the coastline. She regretted her rash words, if only because they had sparked Bashi’s anger once again. Rani attempted to build a bridge to her captor. “King Halaravilli is not ashamed of you.”
Bashi barked a harsh laugh, and for an instant, Rani could see the vulpine lines of his cheekbones, the heritage of his traitor father. “Lies do not become you, Ranita Glasswright.”
“Why do you call me that? My guild does not exist any more.”
“What else should I call you? You’re no longer a merchant. Even if you consort with the Touched, you’re not one of them. Would you rather be a soldier, like that traitor Farantili? Or should I bow before you and call you a noble woman?”
Rani’s stomach tightened as she thought of Farantili, of the grizzled soldier who had done nothing wrong, who had had no reason to pay with his life. She forced herself to ignore the scorn behind Bashi’s last question as she stated: “I think of myself as Rani Trader. That was my name the longest. That’s what I will call myself until my guild has been rebuilt.”
“What do you trade then, Rani? What do you barter?”
Rani stared down at the water, wondering how she could answer the question. She had made her family wealthy by finding patterns in their wares, by setting their goods out to best advantage. Now, she struggled to find the pattern, to find the logic in Bashanorandi kidnaping two common women and dragging them north. She spoke without being certain of what she would say before she formed the words. “Let us go, Bashanorandi.”
“What?”
“Let Mair and me go. We aren’t worth anything to you. Amanthia won’t set any stock in us. We’re not nobles. You can’t ransom off a caste-skipping merchant and a Touched girl. Set us ashore and go on your way. We’ll hardly delay you, and you can travel faster if you don’t have to keep us under control.”
Bashanorandi looked at her for long enough that she believed he was considering her plea. Before he could answer, though, one of the sailors approached. The seaman bowed as he drew near, and his frown furrowed the tattoo of a sun that sprawled beneath his left eye. The man’s skin was so sun-dark that his tattoo was almost lost, just more wrinkles in a deeply-lined face. He swallowed hard and then spoke directly to Bashi. “I beg your pardon, my prince. You asked to be informed when we approach any of the coastal towns. Riversmeeet is just beyond that point of land. It will be in sight shortly.”
“Thank you.” Bashi nodded curtly and dismissed the sailor with a wave of his hand. “Parkman!” he called, glancing past Rani toward the ship’s main mast.
Rani had not paid attention to the soldier who stood behind her, even though the fighting man was the one who had murdered Farantili. Bashi had his soldiers about him all the time on the boat, as if he feared for his safety. Or as if he believed that the guards would bolster his status as he headed into a strange land. Now, Parkman stepped forward, settling one meaty hand on his short sword. He squinted in the morning light, wrinkling the tattooed lion beneath his left eye. “Yes, my lord?”
“Take Ranita Glasswright belowdecks. Make sure that she stays there until we’ve passed Riversmeet.”
“What!” Rani squawked, already feeling her stomach clench. She whirled to face Bashi, but he had turned back to the boat’s prow and the foamy swath the vessel cut through the ocean. “My lord! Why are you doing this?” When Bashi did not reply, Rani turned on the soldier. “What have I done? Why am I being punished?”
Parkman glanced uneasily at Bashi, but when the prince remained silent, the soldier grumbled a reply. “We’ll be coming on a city, when we round that point. His lordship does not want to risk your sending a message.”
“A message? Who, exactly, would I be signaling? And with what?”
“His lordship won’t take the risk.”
Rani started to sputter, even as the soldier reached for his short sword. Before the curved weapon could clear its oiled scabbard, though, Bashi stifled a groan. “Just go, Ranita.”
“I’ll be sick down there.”
“Nonsense. The sea is quite smooth.”
“Perhaps to you,” Rani argued. “To me, it feels like I’m trying to stand on a slatted cart pulled by a team of unmatched oxen. Please, Bashanorandi!”
Bashi flicked a quick blue glance toward Parkman. “Now. Man, take Ranita Glasswright below deck and make sure that she stays there. Mair, too.”
Desperate to avoid the stinking hold, with its hot, stale air, Rani clutched at the wooden railing, scarcely flinching as her grip stretched the scab across her palm. “Please, Your Highness. The breeze is the only thing that helps! Just let me watch the fi –, the dolphins! I promise –”
As if in response to Rani’s plea, the dolphins chose that moment to leap clear of the ocean. For just an instant, the four marine acrobats were suspended in the air, curving in an impossibly graceful arch above the water.
This time, though, Rani saw that the sleek black and white creatures were not alone in the sea. As she watched the lithe bodies return to the water, a darker shape loomed out of the shadow of the boat, gliding up from the darkness.
Rani watched in horror as the shadow solidified into a silver-flanked body. She could make out a yawning mouth, with line after line of pointed white teeth. As Rani cried out, the giant shark snapped at one of the dolphins, sawing at the black and white flesh for one terrible instant. The foam from the boat’s prow ran crimson, and then the shark disappeared beneath the craft. The other dolphins took only an instant to recover from the danger, and then they swam out to sea, their arched backs laboring beneath the suddenly chilled sun.
Rani stared at the patch of water that had flowed red. Already the shark had disappeared, and the playful dolphin was nothing but a memory.
Bashi’s voice rang out across the prow. “Parkman, take her below, or I’ll find a man who can.”
Rani turned away from the cruel ocean and made her way to the ladder and the rolling, stinking darkness belowdecks.
King Halaravilli slammed his fist against the council table, scattering the rolls of parchment that littered the surface. “Dammit, man! I know we aren’t prepared to invade Amanthia!”
This cursed council meeting had gone even worse than Hal had anticipated. The royal councillors were little more than ill-bred children, each squabbling for a piece of honey bread that he thought should be his, and his alone.
Hal resisted the urge to run his fingers through his unruly dark hair. The gesture would only make him look ill-at-ease. Ill-at-ease and juvenile and unprepared to deal with the senior lords in his kingdom.… He stifled a sigh and forced his voice to an even tone. “I’m not suggesting that we raid the north. I’m only suggesting that we need more information. We need to send a trusted agent to parley with Sin Hazar and determine his demands.”
Determine his demands. Check his hands. Ride the lands.
The sing-song rhymes rolled about in Hal’s skull. He’d spent years protecting himself behind a facade of idiocy, building up wall after wall of inane babble. Now, he knew enough to not speak the rhythms that rolled behind his eyes, but he could not silence the voices, could not still the beasts that had gnawed through his brain for seventeen years.
“Your Highness,” Duke Puladarati spoke as if he were chiding a wayward toddler. “This may not be the time to send someone north. We don’t know that Sin Hazar was even involved with the abduction.”
Hal whirled on the duke. The silver-maned man had long fought his king in the council chamber, questioning each and every decision that Hal attempted to make. The entire court knew that Puladarati had chafed at King Halaravilli’s emancipation the year before. Of course, a duke was powerful in the realm, but a regent.… A regent had been able to command the entire kingdom.
Now, Hal let some of his frustration with his erstwhile protector bleed through his protest. “We’ve been
through this a thousand times! We can’t know that Sin Hazar was involved until we send an emissary. We can read the signs, though. We can recognize the marks of a curved dagger blade. And we know that Bashanorandi has allies in the North – your own men intercepted the letters from Sin Hazar’s court, this past spring.”
This past spring. Long talking. Who’s plotting?
“And your men were the ones who determined that those letters were nothing more than a distant uncle expressing concern for his nephew. Your Highness, I’m not trying to debate with you.” Puladarati held up his hands in protest, as if he would ward off Hal’s anger. The burly man was missing the last two fingers of his right hand, mute testimony to the battles he had fought long ago, at the side of Hal’s father. “You know as well as I that the letters to Bashanorandi did not speak of any plot to spirit him north. We can’t know that Sin Hazar was behind the ... events on the hill.”
“Events? At least call them what they were! The murders. My knights were murdered within sight of my city. My falcon-master was cut down, an afternoon’s ride from my mews!”
Puladarati shrugged, the motion moving his hands enough that Hal’s attention was dragged to the two missing digits. What had Hal ever given to the kingdom of Morenia, that these council lords should follow him? What battles had he fought to gain their faith? Who was Hal, to order around the entire King’s Council?
King’s Council. Denounce all. Cat’s pounce –.
Enough.
“My good duke Puladarati. We know that you are only trying to counsel us in our hour of need.” The dozen lords at the table all leaned closer. Hal rarely lapsed into the royal plural. “We are concerned, though, that we may not act properly in this, the first major confrontation of our rule. You know that we value your counsel, Your Grace. We value the counsel of all our lords.”
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