“Then you can clean yourself up.” She made herself as comfortable as possible on the bench. “Jason knows a way we might change Alth’s mind about tumbling you, but that’ll work best if you’re pretty.”
Meghan looked more suspicious than ever, but she dragged herself off the pallet, shucked her filthy dress and washed. Lera had brought a comb as well, and after the girl had wrapped herself in a towel, she worked on untangling her hair.
“How will you keep Richard away from me?” she said, peering up through dark curtains flanking either side of her face.
“Jason will tell you when he gets here.” Lera had liked his plan when she’d heard it, although Garser had pointed out that once she was on Princeps, she’d be alone. But she could deal with that—the most important thing was to reach the ship, and Jason had figured out how to do so. He did have the most inventive mind when it came to deceiving people, though she appreciated it much more when she wasn’t the target.
Meghan said nothing further and combed her hair until it fell sleekly over her shoulders. Lera thought she could have benefited from a few good meals, but the thinness made her blue eyes look bigger, like pools in her face, and with some clothes on, she’d look delicate and vulnerable rather than skinny. Though when she asked for the dress Lera had brought, the answer was not yet.
“It’ll be easier if you’re not wearing anything,” Lera said. Meghan retreated into a corner of the cell, arms wrapped around herself, but thankfully Jason arrived and Drale let him in. He sat on the pallet and opened the lantern he carried so he could take the candle out.
“What are you doing?” Meghan’s voice was thin and taut, like a wire drawn out finely.
Jason took a stub of ginger root from a pocket, then produced something that glinted in the light—a needle, Lera saw. He held the tip in the flame.
“I’m sorry,” he said gently, “because this will hurt. But I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.”
Chapter Nine
Battle Flags
As Richard had expected, it didn’t take long.
Eight or nine was all it took—he wasn’t keeping count, but he hadn’t so much as worked up a sweat by the time their captured spy gave in and said he would answer. Voyjole offered Richard the single chair, but he waved the man back down. Voyjole was the one person Richard trusted, especially after Trevor had left him to run to the Council, which was why Voyjole had been given command of Princeps, and he hadn’t failed there.
Now Richard listened while their spy confessed. Apparently he was a Denalait who’d been recruited by the Council to swim beneath Princeps and cut the fuse leading to the explosives. The Council had provided him with the equipment to do so and offered him a title if he succeeded.
“Did you find the fuse?” Richard let the cane swing slowly from his wrist.
The Denalait shook his head. Blood trickled from a corner of his mouth.
Well, that at least was the truth. Richard beckoned to Voyjole and moved to a corner of the infirmary where they could have some privacy.
“You believe it?” Richard asked him.
The lines in Voyjole’s face might have been incised with a knife, and they grew deeper when he frowned. “A Denalait? I’ve never heard that accent before, so maybe… But why would the Council send all the way to Denalay for a diver?”
“They wouldn’t need to.” Richard kept well abreast of any gossip or rumors about what was happening on the mainland, to stay forewarned. “There was a race between us and a pack of Denalait ships, ending at Snakestone a week or so ago. The Council wouldn’t have to look very far, and why not risk one of them instead?”
“Mm.” Voyjole looked slightly less dubious. “How deep do you think they could dive?”
“Not so deep.” Richard knew what he was getting at. He’d seen the spy’s bizarre equipment lying beside the bunk, and although he’d only been able to guess the function of some of it, he was certain no one could swim to the ocean bed, much less search around in the dark. “We’re fine.”
He also found it convincing that the spy had needed a little persuasion to talk, rather than unloading the goods from the start, though Dr. Habeck seemed most displeased when he was finally permitted back into the infirmary. He went over to the single occupied bunk at once, then came back requesting permission to undo the ropes before he began treatment, since his patient could no longer move, let alone escape.
Richard shrugged his assent, though he didn’t know why the doctor bothered. Medical attention paid to a spy sniffing around the ship—not to mention stupid enough to be caught—would be a waste of time and resources, because such a spy deserved to be killed.
But he didn’t plan on doing so until he had Meghan back, and soon enough, a deckhand came down to tell him Nemesis had raised another flag. “White, sir. I mean—white, m’lord.”
“Thought so.” Not that Richard intended to relax his guard. “Let me know when they send her over.”
He didn’t have a room of his own on Princeps, but he was always welcome to use Voyjole’s quarters. That cabin even had a few valuables spirited from his house before the Council’s army had seized it. Antique greatswords crossed over one wall and a portrait of Lady Lorna Alth hung from another. Richard ate a belated lunch in the sunlight from a window facing Nemesis, then made himself comfortable with a glass of brandy and his feet propped up as he watched the warship in the distance.
The moment Meghan was on board, he decided as he sipped his brandy, they would weigh anchor and get the hell out of the way of the wave. No, better to wait until dark so no one on Nemesis would be alerted. By tomorrow morning, they would both be quite safe.
Without intending to, he dozed off, probably due to the meal, the brandy and the comfortable spot in the sunshine. When he woke, the sun was setting and he had a crick in his neck to match his mood. What the hell? Obviously Meghan hadn’t been handed over yet, but what did the captain of Nemesis think he was playing at?
He considered asking the spy if he’d seen Meghan or overheard anything about her, but when he got to the infirmary, Dr. Habeck stopped him at the door and said he’d had to administer painkillers. As a result, his patient wasn’t sufficiently lucid to answer any more questions. Richard would have liked to use the cane on him as well, but a good physician was too valuable to antagonize, so he had to leave.
Voyjole clambered down the ladder at the other end of the passageway and saw him. “My lord, a boat from Nemesis.”
Richard hurried up to the deck, though he was careful to stay behind Voyjole—not because he wanted to, but because Voyjole took his duty as a personal bodyguard very seriously. He had been in service to the Alth family since before Richard could crawl, and seemed quite content to do so for the rest of his life.
The boat inched towards them, though a look through a telescope showed a single person inside, rowing at a glacial pace. Evening had fallen, so he couldn’t make out any details, and the boat didn’t carry a single lantern. He stayed well back from the gunwale. The Council had explosives too, and if they were prepared to send a Denalait diver, he wouldn’t put it past them to order someone on a suicide mission.
“That’s close enough!” Voyjole shouted. The splash of oars in water stopped.
“Richard?” The voice was drained, but still sweet and feminine and oh so familiar. Richard’s heart leapt.
“Is she alone?” he said. From a distance it had looked that way, but he had to be sure.
Voyjole leaned over the rail, then nodded. Richard couldn’t help smiling. The captain of Nemesis didn’t want to risk any more of his men being taken prisoner, but that made it even easier. It was a pity Meghan had had to row all the way on her own, but she was finally with him.
He ordered a rope ladder dropped and sent two men down to secure the boat before it was winched up. As she reached the gunwale, he was there to clasp her hands, welcoming her ab
oard, and a spontaneous cheer went up from the crew.
Meghan all but flinched from the sound, and he reminded himself that she was still suffering the effects of her long ill-treatment. She certainly hadn’t been fed too well for the past month. But she was almost as beautiful as he remembered, and being close to her made his blood grow warm.
She glanced around as if taking in what she could see of the ship, then looked back over her shoulder. “What are they doing?”
“The men? Pulling the boat up.”
“No, it’s to take Kovir back to Nemesis.” She slipped her hands free of his. “Isn’t he here?”
Richard supposed she meant the spy. “Unfortunately he’s not yet well enough to leave. There must have been a malfunction of the equipment they sent with him, because he was in a deplorable condition when we found him. Once he’s recovered, we’ll send him over, don’t worry.”
Meghan said nothing, and her gaze was guarded. That wasn’t a good sign—didn’t she believe him? Though whether she did or not, it hardly mattered. She was his now, which was the most important thing.
“Come.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “You must be hungry and it’s nearly time for supper. You can wash belowdecks.”
She went with him obediently enough but asked for some privacy while she was washing. Richard waited outside impatiently, distracted only when Voyjole climbed down the ladder.
“No response from Nemesis, is there?” he said.
Voyjole shook his head. “My lord, may I speak freely?”
“By all means.”
“I think you should release the Denalait.”
Richard had been taught from an early age that rolling his eyes was rude, which was the only reason he didn’t do so. “A spy who might have sabotaged this ship?”
“He’s hardly likely to conduct any more sabotage for a little while,” Voyjole said dryly. “And the terms of the agreement were—”
“I know what the terms were.” It wasn’t as though he’d suffered memory loss. “But I don’t see why I should honor any conditions the Council’s lackeys imposed on me.”
Voyjole didn’t look convinced, so Richard cast about for something the man couldn’t argue with. “I mean, did you see the state of her?” He pointed at the closed door for emphasis. “The woman I was to marry, and she looks half-starved. Do you really want me to give in to people who would treat her that way?”
“No, definitely not.” Voyjole hesitated. “But if we don’t release him, Nemesis might attack.”
“They’ll attack no matter what we do. Besides, if they expect him to be returned, they’ll probably wait until daylight.” And he’d make certain their spy’s head was in the first cannon Princeps fired back, but there was no need to tell Voyjole so.
Voyjole nodded slowly. “I see. I apologize, my lord.”
“No harm done,” Richard said. “Go let the cook know Lady Meghan and I will be ready for our supper in perhaps half an hour, would you? Oh, and have a guard posted at the infirmary.” He didn’t think the spy would be able to walk out anytime soon—he’d been thorough in that regard—but there was no harm in being careful.
“Yes, my lord.” Voyjole left, and Richard knocked to let Meghan know he was coming in. He had a great many plans for the night.
“Don’t you like the beef?” It bothered Richard that she wasn’t eating, especially since she’d lost weight in the three years since he’d last seen her. “If the cook hasn’t simmered it to your taste, I can let him know. I can let him know at once.”
“It’s delicious,” Meghan said.
Staring down at her plate as if concentrating on it, she took a few small bites. Across the white-draped table, Richard watched her, trying not to make it obvious he was doing so. It occurred to him that this was the first time the two of them had shared a meal alone together, rather than always being in the presence of her family. Of course, there were three mess boys, but they were there to wait on him and Meghan.
He thought of what else the two of them might share that night, though she was clearly ill-at-ease. He didn’t indulge other people’s weaknesses, but somehow Meghan was different, had always been different. There had to be something he could do to calm her, coax her to smile, make her want him as much as he wanted her.
“I’m sorry.” He laid his fork down on his empty plate. “You clearly haven’t recovered from what those animals did to you.”
“No.”
“But you’ll mend faster if you eat.”
She glanced up at him. The sapphire-blue eyes looked lovely behind long dark lashes, but there was something wary in the look. “Isn’t anyone joining us?”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. The captain of the ship?”
Richard wouldn’t have shared her with the Benevolent Ones, let alone Princeps’s former captain. “He was replaced.”
Meghan laid her fork down too. “By you?”
“No, by Voyjole.”
“Oh?” Her brows went up.
“You seem surprised.” Richard had no interest in discussing the captain, but that was the first sign of animation she’d shown since their supper had begun. He wished he could tell what was going on in her head, find the lock there and figure out what key to use in it.
She shrugged. Despite the thinnness of her shoulders, the gesture was graceful, rolling beneath the linen of her dress. “I was…under the impression you would shoulder the responsibilities of command yourself. Voyjole doesn’t have any specific experience on a ship, does he?”
“No, but his loyalty to me is unquestioned.” Besides, Richard was needed elsewhere, not that he planned to tell her so. After Trevor had run to the Council to sell his secrets, he was careful. “As is yours, I hope.”
“After you secured my freedom?” Meghan touched her napkin to the corners of her mouth. “But, Richard, may I speak frankly?”
“Please do.” He refilled their glasses. “I don’t need a shrinking violet for a wife. When we’re alone, I want you to feel you can say whatever you like to me.”
She relaxed a little. “In that case, I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Fighting the Council is one thing—they deserve whatever they get. But the common people don’t.”
Richard smiled and sipped his wine. That was more like what he’d hoped to see from her, though in the back of his mind a small voice whispered that the reason she cared about the common people was because legally, she was one. He ignored that. Even with the stigma of illegitimacy on her, she was descended from a line of kings.
“No, they don’t,” he said. “You’re quite right. They didn’t ask to be drowned or to have their homes destroyed.” If anyone tried to confront him with the horror of the catastrophe he’d be forced to cause, he’d have thought of it all first, and spent some time coming to terms with the effects of his actions.
“Then why?” Meghan said.
“You know I asked for a position on the Council?”
She nodded. “They refused you.”
Richard hadn’t expected it would be easy to win over the Council, but he’d hoped for a little more agreement. He’d spent months thinking it through, had rehearsed his speech for days, and it had all been useless.
“I told them a truth they didn’t want to face,” he said. “We’re in an age of industry that gives us an edge, and we need to draw ahead of our rivals. Perhaps ensure we have no rivals. Instead, we’re supplying other lands with technology.”
The Council had debated it while he’d listened in frustration. Eventually they had decided Dagre’s scientific prowess would always be that much superior to any other land’s, so there was no need to do anything different. Frederick Locen had even told him the Iternans and Bleakhaveners had no interest in challenging Dagre on a technological level, as if he didn’t know it already.
Meghan listened as h
e recounted that. “But the reason they don’t feel any need to compete with us is because they have magic,” she said.
“Exactly. Do we want to risk their magic becoming superior? Why not make certain they can never threaten us, and do so at a time of our choosing? As for the other lands, well, the recent civil war in Lunacy was triggered because some idiot sold them cannons.”
“Isn’t there some policy against doing so?”
“You would think so, wouldn’t you? Sacrificing our future to such short-term gains isn’t merely stupid, it’s criminal. But when I said so, the Council threw their metaphorical hands in the air and said it was done.”
As far as Richard was concerned, selling devices or schematics to potential rivals was, at the very least, setting a bad precedent. At worst, it was a disaster waiting to happen. He wasn’t happy that Denalay had steamships thanks to the Council’s stupidity, either, but the seafarers weren’t as much of a threat.
“Did the Council justify themselves in any way other than the money?” Meghan asked.
“Something about building diplomatic relations and trading partnerships.” Which was ridiculous, because the Denalaits and Lunatics didn’t have anything a tenth that value to offer in trade. “But at that point I knew the Council and I had very different futures in mind. They saw one where there would always be five lands which never made war on each other, thanks to a piece of paper.”
Her brows arched. “And what do you see?”
Times of transition, seasons of change, and the gods themselves cannot stand against the wind that moves the world. Richard had read that so long ago he couldn’t remember where, but it had always remained in his memory. If it was a prophecy, he liked to imagine what—or who—the wind might be.
“A handful of very different lands can never be as strong as an undivided whole,” he said. History had taught them that with the Infestation, when the five lands had come together for the first and last time against their common enemy. It shouldn’t be necessary to wait for a second such event.
“The Dagran Empire.” Meghan caught on fast, though he’d always known she had an aptitude for politics. “You certainly don’t think small.”
The Highest Tide Page 17