“Will you do one thing for me?” Maggie said. “Will you tell Captain Solarcis that, bearing this tradition in mind, I’ll expect to see him at suppertime today? Six bells, in my cabin.”
Joama looked mildly surprised—if the fractional twitch of her brows was any indication. Or perhaps it was the glance she leveled at Maggie, piercing but not unpleasant, as if noticing her as a person for the first time.
“Yes, I will,” she said, and walked away.
Vinsen Solarcis added up a list of numbers for a second time, made a note in the account book about the discrepancy and blotted the page with sand. He worked alone in his cabin, as he usually did, but his daily routine was about to change. He was only too aware of another kind of sand—that which kept falling through the hourglass on the sideboard as the time ticked away to six bells.
He set the book aside and weighed the loose papers down with a little osprey carved out of driftwood. Candles burned in puddles of wax as he got to his feet.
No choice about going to supper, of course. He’d been so taken aback by the invitation—it was the first time anyone on the ship had asked to eat with him—that before he could say anything, Joama was gone. It would be rude to ignore the request, though Joama had phrased it more like an order. Maggie Juell’s cabin, six bells.
Maggie Juell. He’d met her once, but that had been almost ten years ago. He tried to remember what she looked like, but all that came to mind was an impression of a girl still somewhere between the schoolroom and the dance floor.
On the other hand, she was hardly to blame for anything that had happened, so the best thing to do was to go to supper with as much enthusiasm as he could muster and get it over with.
He didn’t bother looking in the mirror before he left. He washed and shaved each morning, and he hated seeing the colors he now had to wear. The bell rang for the sixth hour as he left his cabin.
A door opened and shut elsewhere. Overhead, the shift would have changed—some of the crew climbing down from the rigging while others took their place, the boatswain shouting orders, the helmsman at the wheel, the first mate watching over everything. He pushed that out of his mind and knocked at Maggie’s door.
It opened. “Captain,” she said, and smiled, stepping back to make way for him. “It’s good to see you. Come in.”
Vinsen was almost too startled to enter. He hadn’t expected such a welcoming smile, one which lit up her eyes—and those were unusual too. Though perhaps he wasn’t used to smiles lately, welcoming or otherwise.
“Thank you,” he managed to say, and shut the door.
“Sit down,” Maggie said. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Even the cabin wasn’t what he’d been prepared for. Oh, it was small and drab and dingy, but in the middle was a low square table draped in ivory cloth. Battered tin plates had been polished until they shone in the light of several candles, and they rested on what looked like lace-trimmed place settings.
The sight was incongruous, the last thing that belonged on a ship like Fallstar—and yet as Maggie seated herself across the table from him, she behaved so impeccably he had no choice except to do the same. And she had clearly spent time arranging it all. He couldn’t disappoint her.
“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” he said.
“It was no trouble.”
“It was no trouble to get an extra chair?” He lifted a corner of the ivory drape—a large silk scarf—and saw a flat wooden surface beneath. “To find a crate?” The place settings were lace-edged handkerchiefs, and covered dishes steaming in the cold were placed on another crate nearby.
“How did you get the food?” He felt as though he’d walked off the ship into an inn room somewhere. “You can’t have cooked.”
“Cutwater gave it to me.”
Vinsen wouldn’t have pegged the cook for the type who’d give a nonpaying landbound woman his nickname, let alone a meal for a special occasion. Then again, she wasn’t easy to refuse, let alone ignore. Now that he was closer to her, and with the candles on the table, he could see her clearly.
A dark coat wrapped her and her trousers were black too, except each leg was split from the knee down to the ankle in front, so a wine-red underlining appeared and disappeared as she walked. Though even the black alone was a good color on her, he thought, bringing out a warm tone in the deep burnished hair, and her eyes looked golden in the light.
Not wanting to be caught staring, he studied the room instead, to see any other changes she might have made. A black fur cloak hung from a nail and an oddly shaped case was stowed on a shelf. Of course, a violin. Her brother Alyster was musically gifted; obviously that ran in the family.
“Wine?” Maggie handed him a bottle. “You can open it. I was never good at that kind of thing.”
Vinsen reached for his knife—old habits died hard, and he would have felt naked without a weapon—but she was prepared for that too, and passed him a wine key. Relieved to have something to do that would take his attention off her, he extracted the cork and examined the label. Over twenty years old, from the Nectar River vineyards.
When he poured it, the scent was almost as good as hers, though he couldn’t quite make out what her fragrance was. He swirled the wine in his glass and tried a mouthful.
“Excellent vintage.” Then his natural skepticism caught up with him, because she couldn’t have been that prepared to have supper with him. “What made you bring it on board?”
She raised her glass and sipped. “I have good taste in wine.”
“Answer the question, Maggie.” Even as he said it, his tone mild but firm, he realized it was the first time he had said her name. Maybe he should have addressed her as Miss Juell instead. But her name had slipped out before he could think twice, and it seemed like the most normal thing in the world to call her that, especially after they’d talked and shared a glass of wine.
Besides, he would much rather she took her cue from him and used his name, rather than continuing to address him as Captain.
She set the glass down. “It was a gift.”
“Not for me, surely?”
“Um, not really. But it is now.”
Vinsen felt like a heel. He hadn’t even asked her to eat with him, and here he was drinking someone else’s gift. Worse, he had no intention of stopping, because the wine went down smoother than silk.
“Whom is it for, then?” he said.
“Lwisa Cadder. My new employer in Lyrance.”
“Damn.” Oh, it just got better and better. “If I could put the cork back in, I would.”
“I’d take it out again if you did.” Maggie underlined that by holding her glass out across the table. “Enjoy your wine.”
Vinsen poured more for both of them, then clinked his glass against hers. “To your new work in Lyrance. Tell me about it.”
She had been sipping delicately, but she finished the rest of her wine with one flick of her wrist. She had supple hands, though he supposed that was normal for musicians.
“There isn’t much to tell.” She went over to the makeshift sideboard. “I’m going to work in an academy of performing arts as a music teacher—violin and flute.”
“That’s wonderful.” Vinsen got up to take the heavy tureen from her. He had a feeling she’d busied herself to avoid talking about her new occupation, which was odd.
“Yes, isn’t it?” Maggie brought the bread over and broke it for them.
“Your parents must be very proud.”
She lifted the lid of the tureen and ladled out crabmeat simmered in a creamy soup, fragrant with spices. All her concentration seemed to be focused on serving them both exact portions.
“They’re not?” Vinsen said.
She closed the tureen and shredded her portion of bread. “Well, my father had other plans.”
“He didn’t want you to leave home?�
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“He wanted me to marry his best friend’s son.”
Vinsen started eating, mostly because food cooled fast in that kind of weather, and after a moment Maggie did the same. The soup was delicious. Either he hadn’t been given a chance to enjoy Cutwater’s talents before now, or something about the company made a difference.
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with marriage in and of itself,” he said finally, not knowing what else to say. She hadn’t sounded too enthusiastic, but he didn’t want to pry. He wondered why she hadn’t worked closer to home, if she preferred being unwed. Perhaps there weren’t any schools of performing arts where she lived.
Or maybe it was easier to make a clean break from her family. He understood that only too well.
“Of course not.” Maggie cleared the bowls away and rose to serve the next course, shaking her head when he got up to help her. “A lot of people are happy being married—I’m sure you are. But our betrothal didn’t last.”
Vinsen hardly heard the last part. She thinks I’m married? He’d been divorced for five years, and he barely remembered what it had been like to have a wife.
Then he remembered when he had met Maggie before, for the first time. He and Sabryna had been only a few weeks away from their wedding when they’d been invited to a celebration held for Captain Balt’s victory in the north of the Archipelago, a triumph that had cost Balt a leg and gained him a promotion. Alyster had introduced them to his younger sister, but she’d changed quite a lot since then.
He started to tell her that he was divorced, then caught himself. Maggie had her back turned while she served more food and she hadn’t noticed.
She thought he was married. So everything she’d done for the night had been out of sheer—friendliness, a warm, kind gesture she would have made for anyone. No other reason.
There could hardly be any other reason, since she had made the elaborate preparations without knowing anything more of him than what she’d learned when they’d first been introduced. He had no rational grounds for feeling at all disappointed. Except the fact that she’d treated him well seemed to have brought down a wall he kept between himself and other people, so subtly he hadn’t quite noticed that happening.
It didn’t help that she was so attractive. Even bundled in a coat, with her hair pulled back from her face, she made the dingy surroundings of the worst ship he’d ever been on seem warmer and less shabby. Her eyes stood out like candle flames.
He wished he could spend more time in her company. The three weeks of the voyage would pass so much more agreeably with her nearby. But it wasn’t as though she’d invited him for anything more than a meal, and most of all, she was a refined woman from a respectable family, with two older brothers who were celebrated captains in the navy.
Not that he was afraid of them; if he wanted a woman, he would have gone through the entire Denalait fleet for her. Instead, when he thought of her brothers, it was as though, rather than an expensive wine, he had drunk acid.
Maggie turned, and he forced himself not to show what was going through his head. He took his plate, jabbed a fork into a slice of beef and reminded himself to continue the conversation. Her father had wanted her to marry a friend’s son, that was it, but the betrothal hadn’t lasted.
“What does his friend’s son do?” he asked.
“He’s going to become a Voice of the Unity, if you can believe that.”
That would have set her up for life, Vinsen knew. She’d never have any unpleasant surprises after marriage, either. People were investigated very closely before the Council of Eyes and Voices permitted them to try for a place in its ranks, and no sordid behavior or scandal was permitted in Skybeyond.
“Very prestigious,” he said, as diplomatically as he could. Of course she’d be fit for marriage to a Voice of the Unity, though being confined to the tower of Skybeyond wasn’t the kind of life he wanted. There was nothing like the freedom of a ship.
Though that wasn’t a pleasant thought, given he would never sail on one again. He wiped rosecurrant sauce from his plate with the last scrap of beef and refilled their wine glasses. Maggie licked a stray drop from the corner of her mouth.
“I’m sorry, but there’s no sweet other than oranges,” she said.
“Oranges are fine.” Since the day before his thirteenth birthday, he’d been working on ships, where those were the only fruits a man could see for months. She sank a fingernail into an orange, stripped the peel off and separated it carefully into sections before handing them to him.
He held back a smile. If someone like Joama had done that for him, he’d have taken it as a condescending gesture, being treated like a child. But it was clear that for Maggie, taking complete care of her guest was her role as hostess. If he asked for entertainment, she’d pick up her violin.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She popped a segment of her own fruit into her mouth.
“About what?” Vinsen said.
She chewed and swallowed. “The situation on this ship.” In the pause that followed, she added quietly, “I’m not blind, you know.”
Vinsen concentrated on the fruit he could no longer taste and forced it down. “I’m sorry that’s been brought to your attention.”
The cool, arm’s-length courtesy in his tone was echoed by the edge to hers. “Well, to be fair,” she said, “it was brought to my attention when I didn’t get a supper invitation yesterday.”
Oh, wonderful. He hadn’t asked her to share a meal with him because tradition required the officers of a ship be invited too, and having her alone in his cabin would have been far too intimate. Besides, his cabin was the only place on the ship where he had some privacy. But even if he had lost his mind enough to confide his problems to a woman he barely knew, his difficulties with his crew were between them and him.
“I apologize for that too,” he said evenly.
Maggie put down her glass. “Vinsen, I didn’t ask you here for apologies. I—is there anything I can do to help?”
“No. I don’t mean to be rude. But there’s nothing to be done, because this is my last voyage.”
“Your last voyage aboard Fallstar?”
“No, last ever.” He drank the rest of his wine, and was somewhat surprised to notice how little remained in the bottle. Might as well finish it off then.
“Oh.” She blinked. “You’re retiring?”
“That would be a good word for it.” Retiring, at the ripe old age of thirty-two, though that would be better than commanding Fallstar. As if any commands from him were needed or wanted.
Maggie cleared the plates away. “You’ll have a lot of time to spend with your family, then,” she said when she had finished. “Any plans?”
“No.” When she said “family”, she was clearly thinking of a wife and maybe children, whereas to him, the word meant his mother and stepfather and half-brothers. They hadn’t had anything to do with him since he’d left home one night and not stopped walking until he’d reached a harbor.
She interlaced her fingers on her knee and stared at them before she looked up at him. “You could write your memoirs. Call it A Life at Sea. No, something a lot more exciting. Miri—you know, my brother Alyster’s wife—she wrote the story of that race they ran, and it was printed before I left. She’s making plans for selling it in other cities now.”
Vinsen supposed she was only talking because he had done a good impression of a clam, but the last thing he wanted to hear about was her family. Or, specifically, her family’s successes. Even someone who’d only married into the Juell ranks seemed to be doing splendidly.
“That’s wonderful for her.” His pocket watch had become waterlogged and stopped working after his ship Mistral had capsized, so he had no idea what time it was, but he got to his feet anyway. “It’s getting late, so leave the dishes. I’ll have one of the cabin boys collect them in the morning. And tha
nk you for the supper.”
She was clearly taken aback at the abrupt end to their conversation, but she collected herself fast. “You’re most welcome. Have a good night.”
Well done, Vinsen thought grimly as he shut her door behind him. The one person on board who’d gone out of her way to make him feel welcomed, and he’d probably left her wondering what the hell had happened. Even the good meal and the better wine wasn’t likely to help him sleep soundly.
His cabin seemed quiet and empty after being in hers. It had been a long time since a woman had shared his bed, but that wasn’t as much of a vulnerability as his liking for her. No matter how much he drank or how alone he felt, he could never risk bringing down his barriers to the point where he’d be tempted to confide in her. That would reveal his failures—which would be all the worse compared to her brothers’ successes. It was bad enough the crew distrusted and avoided him, without seeing the warmth in her eyes turn to disdain—or pity.
But before he left her safely in Half Moon, he’d give her the best of his carvings to repay her hospitality. Maybe even to remember him by, if she wanted to keep it.
With that in mind, he let the sounds of the ship and the water lull him into sleep.
This is a fool’s errand.
The thought came unbidden. Despite Ruay Balquinax’s weariness, her reaction was as swift, almost instinctive by then. “Please forgive me,” she said aloud. “I didn’t mean that. I am loyal.”
She was alone in a tiny boat on the ocean, but that didn’t make a difference. He might hear somehow, and she didn’t want him to punish the others for anything she did. Or failed to do, which reminded her to keep rowing.
Her food supplies, none too abundant to begin with, had run out the night before, and she had perhaps enough water for another day. The exhaustion was far worse, though, because she’d slept only a few hours in the four days since she’d set off. At first she had been close enough to Palemount that the Faith had sustained her, infusing her with strength as she rowed, making her confident she would find a ship before long.
Now her arms had passed beyond pain in the conventional sense, and felt more like sticks attached to her shoulders. Hot needles drove into her back with every stroke of the oars, so finally she stopped rowing and let the current take the boat. According to Artek, they had to be entering Denalait shipping lanes soon, and she could only hope a ship would sight her before she died.
The Coldest Sea Page 2