by Bo Burnette
“How can I know? I suppose I do. But what else can I say?”
“Everything you just told me—” his chest heaved. “—is true. All of it.”
A sigh of relief burst from Arliss’s lungs. She set her tea down to avoid dropping it. “That doesn’t actually surprise me too much. What I really want to know is about now. What happened to the other two clans? Where are they? And where are you taking us?”
He pushed himself up from the table. “Better you learn that little by little. For now, to bed.”
She stood, gritting her teeth in irritation. She was fed up with secrets for the week—for a lifetime, in fact.
With long strides, Eamon crossed the rich skin rug that carpeted the stateroom floor. He reached a pair of double doors and thrust them open, entering a dim chamber within. Arliss hesitated before following.
Light drowned the darkness as Eamon lit a lamp—one of those lamps, Arliss realized. He stepped back into the doorway, motioning for her to enter. “A princess deserves decent quarters. I would be much obliged if you would have mine for the remainder of the voyage.”
Arliss opened her mouth a sliver, observing the wide, canopied bed hung with snowy linens. A pitcher of water sat on the bedside table. Paintings of trees and mountains and rivers lined the walls, which were edged in scalloped mahogany. A shiny, almost pearly, substance shimmered at the fringes of the frames and dazzled her eyes.
She turned to the captain. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
Eamon bowed. “Not at all. It is not every day I get to host a princess. As a matter of fact, I quite like resting under the stars.”
“And my friends?”
“They will be well cared for.”
She nodded her gratitude, and he slipped out, clicking the doors shut behind him.
A million questions filled her head. What would Philip think of everything when she told him in the morning? Hopefully he wouldn’t scorn her for telling Eamon what she had. After all, what did they have to lose? Orlando had revealed the most crucial information already.
She kicked off her boots, exhaling deeply. Philip would understand. Stubborn as he was, he always understood. She smiled. If only she could feel about him the way she had once. If only things could be as easy and wonderful as they had been a year ago.
She collapsed on the bed and felt herself already drifting asleep.
Ilayda’s eyelids fluttered open, and her foggy brain began to wipe away the grime and set events in order. Her back hurt even more than usual. She shifted, and a terse ache shot up her back. She had fallen asleep in her clothes on a wooden floor beside Brallaghan’s bunk.
The floor creaked and shifted slightly beneath her. She pressed herself into a sitting position, taking a look around the lower deck as yesterday’s events came rushing back into her head.
They were captives. Arliss was alive. Brallaghan was injured.
Brallaghan. She turned back to his bunk. He turned over towards her and groaned.
She tested his forehead for fever. “Are you all right?”
“It still hurts. I can hardly sleep. And when I do, my dreams are never pleasant.”
Ilayda tilted her neck, letting the tension crackle out of her spine. “My dreams aren’t pleasant either.”
“What did you dream?”
She stared at the floor. “I dreamed we were all being led to a dark hole that stretched out forever. I could hear your father screaming at the bottom of the hole.” She shuddered. “It was horribly dark. Someone pushed you in. And I went after you. Then, falling, falling…”
Brallaghan touched her arm. “It was only a dream.”
Arliss found Philip at the prow, soaking in the sunrise. A thin layer of mist filtered the dawn with a sleepy, rosy light.
She slipped across the deck, drawing one of Eamon’s spare cloaks around her shoulders to block out the heedless cold. Reaching the stern, she propped her elbows on the sides and glanced back at the ship’s nose plowing through the waters.
Philip blew out a breath, watching it turn to smoke in the chilled air. “Well, I was right, wasn’t I?”
Arliss eyed him. “What do you mean?”
“About Orlando.”
“Yes.” She choked angrily on the words. “Yes, you were right. He betrayed me, just like you warned. Thus, I should have done as you said. I should have shown him no trust—spurned him like an animal beyond repentance.”
He turned on her and gripped her shoulders, his jaw set. His fingers dug into her, but she could only stare. “Stop it, now. You can’t speak like this. That is never what I meant for you to do. I only wanted to save you from being harmed. From this.”
“It didn’t do any good, though, did it?” She stiffened in his firm grip.
Philip shook his head, shoving his hands from her shoulders.
She stepped back, stunned by the fire in his eyes.
He huffed. “One day you’ll see. You’ll know you should have believed me. And you will regret it.”
He turned and stalked towards the stern.
“Philip, wait,” she called to him, stopping him before he had gone five paces. “I—I told Eamon everything.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Everything? What everything?”
“All that I know about the clans and our history.”
He turned his head until he met her eye. “And did he say where he is taking us?”
“No,” Arliss whispered. “But I can guess well enough. He is taking us back to the place we fled from so long ago. My father spoke fearfully of that place. In fact, he was afraid of my going to the isle simply because it would lead back in the direction of this horrid country—horrid fairytale.”
He gasped. “Not there. We can’t be going there.”
“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. If my suspicions are correct, though, we are going to Anmór.”
The wooden steps creaked near Ilayda, and she jerked her head up from Brallaghan’s bedside. Thick footsteps, strong but careful, descended the steps almost hesitantly.
“Arliss?” Ilayda ventured.
“No, not Arliss.” Eamon stepped belowdeck, still making his way slowly. A bowl of liquid sloshed in his hands. “I’m bringing something for your friend. Perhaps it will ease the pain and help the healing.”
“What do you know of medicine?” She could not restrain the suspicion in her tone.
He chuckled as he set the bowl on the floor and squatted down beside her. “You think a ship’s captain cannot also be a healer?”
“I don’t know.” Her shoulders trembled, and her voice broke. “I just want Brallaghan well. I don’t want him to die.”
“He will not die.” Eamon dipped his hands into the mixture in the bowl.
She flared her nose at the scent of the potion. It was a repulsive solution, purplish and sticky.
“What is it?”
“Something that helps to heal these sorts of injuries. His wound is deep, but it is isolated. This will help keep it from getting infected.”
Brallaghan muttered something indistinct. His right side was already towards them, so Eamon rolled his shirt up to his chest. Ilayda turned her head away from the ugly, oozing wound. She bit her lip, swallowed, and forced herself to look back.
Eamon glanced at her. “You are close to him?”
She nodded.
“Hold his hand for me while I apply the medicine. It may hurt him.”
“Must you?” Her voice was a whisper.
“Yes. Healing only comes through pain.”
She clenched Brallaghan’s hand, and his eyes flickered open.
Eamon bent over the bed, careful not to bash his head on the base of the bunk above it. “I am going to help you, young knight, but it may be painful. Be strong.”
Brallaghan nodded, squeezing Ilayda’s hand.
Eamon bathed his fingers in the potion. He rubbed some of the gluey liquid around the wound, his lips moving but no sound coming out. His fingers worked their way a
round the injury, finally reaching in to dab the inner redness.
Brallaghan’s breath shot in and out through his gritted teeth.
Ilayda stared at Eamon, hanging all her hopes on his potion and what seemed to be his prayers. Tension wrung her chest like a rag.
Reaching into his bowl, Eamon dipped up more of the medicine and coated the wound with it. He continued muttering almost rhythmically, “Beannaigh an Tiarna, beidh sé leigheas ar ár galair go léir.”
Ilayda closed her eyes, her brain drunk with the shifting sound of Eamon’s voice.
“Sé leigheas…sé leigheas…beannaigh an Tiarna.”
She felt Eamon was a good man.
Two days passed in silence. Arliss spoke hardly a word to Philip, and she decided this was for the better. Eamon, too, barely spoke to her. In fact, he seemed to be almost avoiding her. He had mended Brallaghan’s wounds; already Brallaghan could walk up on deck and even eat with the rest of the company. Ilayda’s spirits had brightened. Really, everyone’s spirits had brightened, despite the uncertainty of their destination. At least they were all alive and going somewhere. Except for Orlando. He remained unswervingly dour.
The third morning on the ship Arliss found herself once again leaning over the prow. Clouds drowned the sky, and she tried to decide what they were shaped like. An especially dark cloud with curious curves lay low on the horizon. She had just decided it looked like an enormous ship when Eamon slipped alongside her.
“We are almost to our port. You will stay belowdecks until I call for you. At first, I will take only you and Erik ashore.”
“Why only us two?”
“Because to take all six of you would arouse more suspicion than you alone already will. I’m not in the mood to answer everyone’s nosy questions. In truth, I am not even in the mood for shopping.”
“Shopping?” She laughed. “For what?”
“Clothes, of course.”
Arliss motioned down her body. “Is this brand-new outfit not good enough for you?”
“No.” Eamon ran his hand along the plank railing. “You need clothing much finer than that.”
“For what?” She bit the words as they came out.
“You shall see. For now, trust me.” He walked away.
She hurried after him. “I cannot trust you if you cannot trust me.”
He kept walking across the deck, his long stride hard to match. “I have taken you in, protected you from Thane, healed your friend, and now I am trying to help you blend in. Isn’t that enough?” He reached the mast and barked out a slew of orders to the crew.
His sons, Fiach and Finín, instantly rallied the crewmen to attention, and Arliss watched as they began rearranging sails and preparing the anchor.
Arliss turned around. “You said we are close. Where is our port?”
Eamon pointed directly towards the dark cloud at the horizon’s base. “There.”
It was no cloud. The mist and fog cleared, the morning sun piercing through. Spires and domes and columns and roofs spread all around one side of an immense bay, so massive Arliss could hardly see the other side. The bay spanned such a width that she had not noticed, even though they were almost within it. Gold and pearl and orange shimmered across the unmistakable spread of a city’s skyline.
For better or worse, they had arrived.
Chapter Twenty-two: Into the City
THE ROPE LADDER SWAYED BENEATH ARLISS’S FEET AS she put hand under hand, inching down to the longboat below. Eamon and Erik had already seated themselves in the boat. Eamon had folded his arms across his chest impatiently. She descended several fraying rungs, then jumped the last few feet into the boat. It lurched to the side as she righted herself.
“Are you mad?” Eamon reached out to steady the sides of the rocking boat.
“At least.” Arliss plunked herself beside Erik and took up an oar. “Now let’s be off, shall we?”
“I am the captain,” Eamon grumbled.
All three dug through the water with their oars, pulling the boat away from the ship. The city on the shore towered even higher now that Arliss wasn’t up on the forecastle. It was, by far, the most enormous town she had ever seen or imagined. In fact, calling it a town did it a gross injustice. It was the city of all cities.
To their left, sheer cliffs rose up high above the water and tapered down into the city proper, framed by a huge, semicircular harbor. There were buildings at least as tall as the Reinholdian castle—and those structures were dwarfed by larger ones. Everything sparkled, too, as if the very walls and roofs were formed of silver and gold.
“What are we doing, Eamon?” She pulled her oar through the waves.
“I told you,” he said. “Shopping for some halfway decent clothes for you lot. And I hope to do it without getting asked any questions about you all.”
“What are we, the best-kept secret in all the realms?”
“Just about.”
Erik snorted. “Surely they aren’t that ignorant about our existence.”
Eamon laughed. “But you have all been just as ignorant about theirs.”
Erik inclined his head. “True.”
“So why can’t they know who we are?” Arliss blinked as salt water spurted into her face. She adjusted the depth of her oar and kept rowing.
“Oh, they will know eventually. But it would do no good for rumors to start floating around even before this evening.”
“What’s this evening?” she asked. What was this captain playing at, and why couldn’t they know a thing about their own destinies?
He cleared his throat. “You might as well know. This evening, there is a party at the palace of this city. As one of the city’s premier traders, I am invited. You will be attending with me.”
“What if we don’t want to attend?”
“You would do well to remember I have a trained assassin on board my ship.”
Arliss silenced. They were reaching the port. Ships of all sizes—some bigger than Eamon’s, some not much larger than their little longboat—clustered in the massive bay, crowding for entrance to the harbor. Eamon, his eyes focused on the central dock, steered their boat through the maze.
The city was twice as large up close as it was from far away, and Arliss choked back a gulp. Something heavy pulled at the bottom of her stomach. This was an adventure, wasn’t it? Then why did it feel so wrong?
Her breath shuddered out of her lungs. She didn’t care for this feeling. It was twisting knots in her stomach and making her feel like she was doing both the right and wrong thing at once.
The longboat scraped up alongside a dock which extended far out from the shore. Dozens of people elbowed their way along the dock to and from a platform which extended over the water and connected to three of the small wooden wharfs. Eamon leapt onto the landing, his nimble hands already cinching a knot around the mooring.
Erik also bounded onto the dock, longbow in his hand.
Eamon shook his head, pointing back towards the boat. “No weapons, not for you two.”
Arliss clenched her hand defensively around her own bow. “You can’t be serious!”
“I am.” Eamon drew his black cloak around his red tunic, carefully hiding the sword that hung at his side. Arliss had not noticed it before. “It’s hardly safe for me to carry weapons, much less you two. Do as I say.”
Arliss unstrapped her quiver and hid both it and her bow beneath the plank seats. Then she stood up and accepted Erik’s hand out of the longboat. A name for the sensation in her stomach finally reached her: the sickening feeling of crossing into the unknown.
Arliss shuffled behind Erik and Eamon as they reached the center of the wide platform. Already she could catch glimpses of the city beyond: towering spires and domes, stretching storefronts, webs of side streets. But there was no main road between the two halves of the city. Instead, a gentle river cut straight between the carnival of buildings on right and left.
Fancy that—using a river for a road, and boats instead of hor
ses and carriages.
Eamon stalked towards an official-looking booth. A stocky little man sat hunched on a stool that was too tall for him in a booth that was too big for him.
“State yer business, sirrah.” The squatty fellow’s voice had a curious accent similar to Orlando’s.
Eamon slapped down two bronze coins on the booth counter. “It’s Captain Eamon, thank you. My ship is anchored out in the bay, carrying a load of citrus from the Isle of Light. If you would be so kind as to send out a few sea-porters to take care of it, I would be much obliged.”
“Can’t you do it for yerself, eh?”
Eamon’s rippling arms emerged from his cloak, and he crossed them over his chest. “I have business to attend to in the city. My sons are on board—they will help you unload.”
The man waved them on, nostrils flaring suspiciously. “Fine, then. I’ll send somebody out to help ‘em. After all, the palace was expectin’ your wares before this morning.”
“I was delayed,” Eamon growled. “Thank you for your pains.” He tramped off past the booth, Erik and Arliss striding after him.
Arliss caught the sleeve of Erik’s green tunic and whispered, “Are we captives, or guests?”
He shrugged. “I don’t see any way of knowing that. Not yet, at least.”
“This party sounds suspicious. What if it’s a trap—something set up by Thane?” Arliss exhaled. “What if Eamon is selling us out?”
“It’s a clever thought, but unfounded. He has given us no reason to distrust him thus far. He’s given us food and shelter, and he healed Brallaghan.”
“I’m not convinced.” She quickened her pace to catch up with Eamon.
They had come to the edge of the dock platform. The landing acted as a sort of dam—restricting the flow of the river which cut straight through the city. Half a dozen little boats with high, curving prows stood at attention on this side of the platform. Another half dozen boats cruised up and down the river-road, taking passengers wherever they wished at the drop of a coin.