by Karen Brooks
Months of careful planning had gone into the kidnapping. The hiring of the Kyprian ship, which really amounted to stealing and ensured that if their plot was discovered – or worse, foiled – then blame for snatching the princeling would rest solely on the shoulders of Kyprus rather than Farrowfare. The bribing and, later, slaughter of those within the Doge's palazzo who had provided access to the child also ensured their tracks were covered. While he didn't approve of murder, he could at least understand that potential witnesses could not be left alive. Not when a country and a queen's reputation were at stake.
Staring out over the green-blue sea, Lord Waterford wondered, not for the first time, why Queen Zaralina wanted this particular boy. Sure, one day the child would inherit the throne of Serenissima and that made him significant; but there were other, easier ways to grasp power. Serenissima was not averse to forming treaties and trade agreements – not when they worked in the Doge and nobiles' financial favour. Surely there were more subtle ways of establishing supremacy than kidnapping the heir to a throne? That merely invited open hostility.
Farrowfare might lie beyond the Limen, but even that stretch of no-man's land no longer guaranteed protection from invasion – or worse, he thought, glancing at the cloaked figure beside him.
And what did the queen want with a child anyway? Would she demand a ransom? Whatever her intentions, she'd been very clear that the boy was not to be harmed. And while his companion might mock his concern for the prince's wellbeing, at least, he reassured himself, he was adhering to orders.
The ship pitched and Lord Waterford tightened his grip on the rail. Spray rose up over the deck sending a shower of salt water over him. It was cold but he welcomed it as a respite from his fevered thoughts. His eyes flickered towards the creature. Apart from a brief spell below with the boy, he'd maintained the same position – to the left of the wheel, his eyes fixed straight ahead – since they fled Serenissima that morning. Waterford noticed the strange grey skin that stretched over the elongated fingers and the spine-like protrusions of the hand splayed on the railing. Though the ship was rolling on the storm-tossed seas and most of the sailors were tied to the sides, or at the very least holding on to something for stability, the creature merely rested his hand. It was if he were a part of the deck, thought Waterford, or a part of the very air.
He was but one of many – the queen's newest allies. They were more shade than human. Dry beings, they seemed to be a part of the earth and yet distinct from it as well.
Appearing unexpectedly at court almost fifteen years ago, the willowy, cloaked creatures, who spoke in breathy whispers and moved with unearthly grace, had been warmly welcomed by the queen. It was almost as if she expected them. Certainly, they behaved as if they'd been summoned.
After their arrival, everything changed: his queen, his country and indeed, his own position at court. Lord Beolin Waterford suddenly found himself, after a number of unfortunate accidents befell his superiors, elevated from minor nobility to the Queen's Council. Not one to miss an opportunity, he made himself indispensable. Learning from the mistakes of his predecessors, he neither questioned the creatures' presence nor his queen's increasing reliance on them. And he was rewarded for his discretion.
Now, Waterford, her most loyal servant, was reduced to nothing more than a kidnapper. He cringed whenever he thought of the boy's mother and father. Already he could imagine their grief, their anger, and most of all their regret because all they would remember over the coming years would be the final punishment they inflicted upon their boy before he was cruelly snatched away. Forever they would wonder about him; their every act from here on would be coloured by the boy's absence: by what Waterford, at the behest of their queen, had done.
And how old was the child? Six? Seven? He frowned, recalling the child's neatly combed brown hair, his blue eyes and ready smile. Why, the boy had welcomed them as they entered the nursery, heavily cloaked and with their weapons drawn. Even the creature, this godforsaken Mortian who had insisted on accompanying them, did not seem to alarm the child. In the end, it had proved a good thing the Mortian had come, for it had quickly dispatched the nursemaid and tutor who had run to the boy's aid, shouting and screaming for help. But help was either out of earshot or dead.
All the boy had done was observe them with his large round eyes. He'd watched as the Mortian killed first his tutor and then his robust nurse. The only time he flinched was when the creature's abnormally long hands had gripped his little chest. Then a small cry had escaped and, his face drained of colour, he'd collapsed. Odd behaviour for one so young.
Would Waterford's own son have been so composed? Unlikely. His Karlin knew far too much, had seen too much in his seven short years. And yet, how would he feel if it was Karlin so white and barely breathing below deck? Whisked away from his family by a group of murderous strangers to a place he'd probably never even heard of, where they spoke an unfamiliar language and followed peculiar customs ... No, he would not rest until he found the culprits. He had no doubt that Claudio's parents would do the same. But it would all be in vain.
Waterford's mind traversed treacherous paths. How could his queen do this to a child? This was out of keeping with her usual methods. And though he'd lied for her, killed for her, and he'd most likely die for her, Waterford didn't like this at all; but he knew from past experience not to show his displeasure – especially not in the company of the Mortian.
The Mortian turned to him. Waterford recoiled. 'You will arrive in Albion in approximately two and a half months' time,' hissed the creature. 'The boy will not wake until he is safe within the castle. You are not to alarm yourself over this, my lord. Your job was to bring me to the child. You have done this admirably. My duty is to bring the boy to the queen. Alive. Despite your concerns, I will see it done.'
Lord Waterford was surprised. It was the most the Mortian had ever said to him.
'Very well,' he said. 'Do your –' The words froze in his mouth. The Mortian had disappeared. He spun around and checked the poop deck. Apart from the captain standing by the wheel and two sailors in the rigging above, it was empty. The only sign of the Mortian's passage was a grey swirl of mist that quickly dissipated into the evening shadows.
He let out a long, jagged breath. Seconds later, his body began to shake. It was always the same, and not just for him. Uncontrollable tremors and bone-deep chills afflicted anyone who spent too long in a Mortian's company.
For the thousandth time he asked himself: what was his queen up to? Why was she associating with the likes of these creatures? And why, after years of conquering lands to the north and east, was she venturing to the other side of the Limen? No good could come of it. The Limen was there for a reason. Everyone knew the adage:
The Limen shimmers, a force that divides
Revere its power and keep to one side
Respect this for wealth and peace to abide
Breach the gods' rule, and woe betide.
Following the gods' laws for generations, the people of Farrowfare had achieved their promised wealth and happiness. Then Queen Zaralina, despite counsel to the contrary, had decided to breach the Limen and trade with the cities of the Mariniquian Seas, Kyprus, the bountiful Konstantinople and exotic Phalagonia. At first, resistance had been strong, but, as more money came into the country and peace prospered, the adage was conveniently forgotten. But Waterford hadn't forgotten and nor had the others, in spite of their silence.
The Limen had been breached so many times. But now they were bringing someone innocent – a mere child, an unwilling pawn in a deadly political game – through with them. Would the gods allow this? Lord Waterford was not usually a superstitious man, but this was beyond even the gods' archaic laws. This was different. This was life or death. And he knew that one day a price for their disobedience would be extracted.
FINDING SLEEP ELUDED HIM, WATERFORD stayed on deck as night closed in and wrapped its dark arms around him. The long-promised storm passed over them, breaking some
where to the north. Nevertheless, they were caught in its tail end as the wind howled and the seas rose. Lanterns were lit and the ship, despite strong gusts that assailed them, pushed on through the reefs. While they believed they'd been successful in their escape, they knew they would not be safe from pursuit until they made it back into the Limen.
Passage through the vast gloomy expanse that formed a border between nations – and, some rumoured, worlds – was usually forbidden to mortals like himself. In the past, only death had awaited those foolish enough to brave its unfathomable paths.
The Mortians, however, had changed that. They were able to sunder a road through the Limen. Holding it open just long enough for the ship to pass through, the Mortian ensured it closed behind them, like a hungry dog snapping at their heels. Waterford still didn't have the nerve to watch. On this voyage from Albion, he'd tried but, afraid of inhaling the unnatural air of the Limen, he'd held his breath to the point of almost blacking out.
While he might have avoided losing consciousness, the looks on the sailors' faces as he'd slowly recovered told him he'd lost his dignity. Better to endure the journey below, where no-one could see his fear, than stand on deck and pretend a bravery that all knew he didn't possess.
Peering into the encroaching darkness, Waterford was grateful that their passage through the Limen was still weeks ahead.
The wind tore through his cloak. Once more, his hood refused to stay on his head. This time, he let it fall. The rain combining with the salt spray tumbled on to his uncovered hair. Water poured down his cheeks, gathering in his eyes and the hollows of his chin and neck. He didn't wipe it away. A splinter of moon pushed its way through the ragged clouds offering little more than a brief sense of direction for the beleaguered crew. But it was enough. Gulls seeking sanctuary lit on the rigging and crow's nest. Their cries gave voice to Waterford's thoughts. Woe betide, they said, woe betide.
Waterford could stand it no more. He went below deck to find some wine and a brief respite from his misgivings.
CHAPTER NINE
Family Bonds
THE STORM BLEW ITSELF OUT overnight. Up before dawn, Pillar and Tallow set about repairing the worst of the damage while Katina prepared breakfast. Quinn stayed hidden in her room, merely calling for cafe in a tremulous voice that stilled the moment Katina dumped a steaming mug at her bedside.
Despite the wind and rain, not much in the house or business was damaged. The workshop had suffered minor flooding, and one of the shutters had torn away from its hinges. A pile of debris had gathered outside the shop, but that was quickly swept away.
Over a late meal of dry bread, cheese and more cafe – a luxury Tallow was quite sure she could become accustomed to – Katina laid out her plans.
'Whether you like it or not,' she began, 'I'm going to be staying a while.' She glanced towards Quinn's room, a wry smile on her face. 'So we need to come up with a story as to why I'm here – one that will satisfy your neighbours.' She took a bite out of her bread. 'I've been thinking we should say that I'm a cousin or distant relative. Do you have any?'
Pillar nodded. 'In Jinoa. Though it's been years since I've seen them, you know, with the tensions between Serenissima and Jinoa being what they are. None of them has ever made the trip to Serenissima before.'
'Good,' said Katina. 'Then it will be more convincing. I don't have to pretend to have changed.'
'Why are you here, then?' asked Tallow, playing along.
Katina thought for a moment. 'We'll say I'm recently widowed and on my way to my husband's family in Kyprus. That way, when I come and go, we won't have to keep giving explanations.'
'You'll be going?'
'At some stage I'll have to, Tallow. I'm a Bond Rider, remember. I can't afford to stay out of the Limen for too long.'
Tallow stored away that piece of information for later. She was going to find out as much as she could about Bond Riders.
'Speaking of affording,' said Pillar, studying his hands closely. 'We have a small business, one that doesn't ...' He searched for the right words, his face reddening as he stumbled over them. 'I'm not sure how we can feed –'
'Stop right there.' Katina rose to her feet, looking for her satchel. Picking it up, she pulled out a small purse of coins. 'Here,' she said, tossing it to Pillar. 'I don't expect you to keep me. That wouldn't be right. I know how hard it is for you and I always pay my way. I think that ought to be enough.'
Pillar balanced the bulging pouch in the palm of his hand, his eyes widening at the weight. He kept jiggling it, reluctant to look inside; a disbelieving smile started to play upon his mouth.
'Don't toy with it! Open it,' urged Katina.
He finally upended the pouch on the table. At least two dozen silver lire and one gold ducat rolled onto the table. Tallow and Pillar's jaws dropped.
'I've never seen so much money,' said Tallow breathlessly.
'A ducat!' said Pillar. He picked it up and turned it over and over in wonder before biting down on it firmly. 'A real gold ducat!'
'Not so fast.' Katina snatched it out of Pillar's fingers. 'This one is for a specific purpose.'
'What's that?' said Pillar, not taking his eyes off the coin.
'The first thing you must do is take this, go to the Glassmakers Quartiere in the Canne Sestiere and order a pair of spectacles for Tallow. You're not to return until they're ready, either. They're to be made from premium-quality glass, so make sure you use the Vuranos, they have the best reputation and it's well deserved. For centuries, they've blown the finest, most durable glass, and they're discreet. Oh, and you're to ask for brown lenses. Pale, golden brown, like honey.'
'Spectacles!' exclaimed Tallow.
'Golden brown?' Pillar shook his head. 'What's all this about? Why waste a perfectly good ducat? Tallow doesn't need spectacles. His eyesight's fine! Anyway, if he does wear some, won't he just draw unwanted attention?'
'Not as much as she will if she doesn't have any. Spectacles are the perfect way to hide those eyes.'
'They are indeed,' said Pillar. 'I wish –' He grimaced.
'You could never have afforded such a luxury,' said Katina bluntly. 'Instead, to protect her, you've taught her to bury her head and ...'
'And to be ashamed of what she is,' finished Pillar.
Katina offered him no challenge. 'Spectacles may draw attention, yes – but not as much as a teenage boy who can't look anyone in the eye. What you and your mother have encouraged may have been necessary, but frankly it's also cruel.'
Pillar remained silent. Katina's accusations cut him deeply.
Katina watched him a moment longer and then reached over and looped her arm through Tallow's. 'Once we disguise those eyes, you won't know yourself.' She studied Tallow's face closely. 'Yes, the golden-brown hue will hide the silver best. We'll redo that mop of hair so it falls across your face differently – it's long enough to tie back. That should help too.'
Before anyone could argue, Katina released Tallow and plucked a few lire off the table and placed them in Pillar's palm. Then she gave him orders to purchase more food, bedding, clothes and other necessary items. Throwing the rest of the bread and cheese into a piece of cloth, she tied it in a bow and handed it to him. Pillar stood there dumbstruck, the cloth dangling from his large fingers.
'Well?' demanded Katina. 'What are you waiting for? Off you go.'
'What about my mother?'
Katina frowned. 'Well, I'm afraid you're just going to have to put aside your suspicions and trust me to care for her now, aren't you? Anyhow, Tallow will be here to make sure I do. Won't you, Tallow?' Pillar's eyes slid incredulously to Tallow's face. All he could focus on was the vivid imprint of Quinn's boot, the cut lip and bruised cheeks.
Sensing his ambivalence, Tallow spoke. 'I'll look after her, Pillar,' she said reassuringly. 'It's all right. Really.'
'See? That's settled. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll return,' said Katina and, before he could reply, she placed a hand in the small of his back a
nd marched him down the stairs.