And now, her husband. Among the Oreseekers, marriage was celebrated in public with feasting and dancing, and most people had sampled multiple partners before they matched to one. For Lathans, or inlanders at least, a first bedding was a wedding—a thing meant to last a lifetime. “I love you, and I can forgive, if you can,” she promised, thinking of all the people, like more than one of the pirates outside, who cast him admiring glances like fishhooks. Jealousy spiked, as strong as affection.
Ashel jerked and uttered a clipped shout. She rose on an elbow, pressed a palm against his thudding heart. “It’s only a dream, my love.” Shrine, it felt good to say that, to mean it and know the truth of it.
Eyes blinking open, he threaded fingers through hers. “Am I still dreaming?”
She kissed his cheek and pulled him round to face her. “I’m here. Me and two score pirates and the former Relmlord.” She knuckled the black fuzz framing his jaw. “You’re not quite as pretty with this beard.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper shave.”
“I like it, and you’re still the loveliest person I’ve ever met. You ready to leave?”
“Are you? Let’s have another go to be sure.” Eyes sparkling, he opened her knees and buried his tongue in the cleft between her thighs. Breath gushed from her lungs as he explored, lingering here and dancing there according to each moan and purr. It was as if they wove a symphony together, his tongue her conductor, she his muse. Heat waved up her nerves. Her fingers balled into fists. Her hips rose toward him, followed by her feet and shoulders. When her back arched and body trembled in bursting ecstasy, his kisses climbed her torso and he pushed inside her. She wrapped her legs around him, pulled herself tighter onto him, while his thrusts sent starbursts through her blood. A final squeeze, and a gush from two throats melded into a single cry.
He settled them on the mat, where they lay with matched grins, skin pressed to skin as he slowly twirled her hair round his fingers. “You know,” he said, “in Alna there are shops where you can buy a woman-shaped balloon. For lovemaking.”
Her jaw dropped as she wondered just how much bawdy knowledge he’d acquired from Geram. “Your Highness, my ability to float does not make me a balloon.”
“But the lovemaking does make you my wife, marshal.”
“Just marshal? I don’t get to be a Highness too?”
“Only Beth’s husband will get that title, if she marries before she’s Ruler.” His humor faded. “When she’s queen, he’ll be called Your Majesty, same as my mother was while Sashal was alive.”
“I miss your father.” She kissed the yellowed skin under his eye. “Why do you look like you’ve been beaten with a stick?”
“Many sticks, not to mention steed tentacles and a rock.” He told her about the flight with Melba and a friendly outlaw. “It was the Kragnashian chasing us. Then Thiellin sent it to harry any cavalry that might be in pursuit. I hope Beth is all right—she’s at the outpost, isn’t she?”
“She should be, and I’m sure she’s fine. I want to know what you were doing when I found you.”
A corner of his mouth slid sideways. “I suppose you heard about the mess I got into with the Caleisbahnin.”
“What mess?”
“It was in all the papers—a year ago last autumn.”
“When I was at the front, preoccupied with blood and vengeance.” She stroked his beard. “Just tell me, my love. Shrine, I like saying that: my love.”
“Well, I lost a lot of money to some Caleisbahn gamers. Since I’m not Heir, I have no right to the royal coffers, so I asked the Guild for a loan. Instead the Harmony got the Senate to banish the gamblers.”
“And how did you end up here?”
“Lornk paid the debt, and he paid the Herders to bring me here. Joslyrn—he’s the one with the clay-molded hair—he tricked Melba into introducing us, and then he lured me out on the plains by offering me a chance to ride a steed. They’re beautiful and unimaginably fast, and I’ve wanted to ride one all my life. It was supposed to be an afternoon lark, but here I am.”
“What does Lornk want with you now?”
“He told me something in Olmlablaire, which I haven’t shared with you.” A long sigh blew from his lips, and a tear rolled across his nose. “Lornk never married Earnk’s mother—my Aunt Richelle.”
She touched her lips to his. “I know. Your mother told me he seduced Richelle into living as a mistress rather than his wife.”
“Well, the reason he never married Aunt Richelle, it wasn’t . . .” He swallowed. “It wasn’t just because he’s depraved but because he was already married to my mother, by Lathan custom. They never declared, but . . . they wed, and there’s a good chance he’s my father.”
Her love and the urge to protect him surged as she studied the shame writ across his face. “Sashal loved you, Ashel, and he bore as much pride in you as any father could for his child.”
His eyes narrowed. “My mother wed Lornk. That makes Sashal a cad and Bethniel a bastard. If the Senate found out, they’d force Mother off the throne and wouldn’t let Bethniel succeed.”
She sighed at Latha’s strange and strict moral customs, wincing at the pain they’d caused her, when every promotion and honor she’d received had been questioned because she’d once been Lornk’s slave. Her fingers combed through his curls. “Lornk bewitches people. Look how deeply he has his hooks into Wineyll. Whatever happened with your mother, it was a long time ago, and she despises him now. Is this why you challenged Lornk to a duel?”
Darkness flooded his eyes. “He owns my debt now, and he threatened Bethniel. Challenging him was the only way I could see to shed the hooks he still has in my family. After you arrived, and fainted, the Caleisbahnin decided to postpone the challenge until they obtained your approval. They’ve decided I belong to you.” He laughed again, the sound sharp as an obsidian blade. “But Lornk still owns the debt, so by Betheljin law, he owns me.”
“What if I buy it?” Helara’s guildbond was still in her pack. “The debt, what if I pay it off?”
“Do you have thirty thousand mullas tucked away somewhere?”
Her mouth fell open. “How much?” A season’s provisions for the entire Lathan army cost less. “How did—” Her questions fell away in a bed of shock.
Grimacing, he slipped into his trousers. “It was a wild night in Alna, with too much drink and too many temptations. I thought I was wise, choosing a gaming house instead of a brothel.”
A grin spread into a laugh, and she pressed her forehead to his. “My storybook prince is not perfect? Praise Elesendar!”
His echoing smile melted into a gentle kiss. “Last night, I wasn’t thinking about how this affects you . . . Lornk might demand you work the debt off as a mercenary.”
She tugged her tunic over her head. “And it will be a wet day in Kragnash when that happens. Thanks to you, I feel completely restored. We’ll grab Wineyll and go, now.”
Ashel cupped her face, draining the tension from the bridge of her nose. “How do you feel?”
Not a whiff of migraine lurked behind her eyes. “As if I’d never been sick—it’s miraculous.”
“We can’t leave Lornk free. Could you carry me, him, and Wineyll without getting sick?”
“I brought down a mountain, my love.”
“Could you take us all the way to the outpost,” he pressed, “in one go, so there was no chance Lornk could escape? Could you keep Wineyll out of your head, keep her from doing what she did to you in Olmlablaire, when we almost lost you?”
She bit her lip. “You think she’d try again?”
“I love Wineyll; she’s a little sister to me, but I don’t trust her where Lornk is concerned.”
She considered that Wineyll might be Hearing everything they said. Do not betray us, she begged, in case the girl was Listening. “I could take you out of here, then come back for them. I’ll bring them out separately, so she can’t try anything.�
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“Distance doesn’t matter to me and Geram.”
“Wineyll and I aren’t linked, Ashel.”
He sighed. “If you took us separately, there’s the risk they could be gone by the time you returned to fetch Lornk. I think there may be a Device in this area. It’s too risky to come east, otherwise.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Would the Blade be up for some reconnaissance?”
“You want to stay?”
“If Febbin and Melba made it to the outpost, there might be a cavalry unit on its way here, and they could surely use your help. You should pretend you’re still too sick to use your powers.”
She chuckled. “My husband, Prince of Latha. Your mother and sister would be proud.”
A sad smile bloomed and faded. “Let’s say I’m doing this for my father.”
When they ducked out of the tent, the breakfasting pirates stood and bowed, but guffaws and sniggers whisked around the fire too. They’d doubtless heard every gasp and moan. Mortification and annoyance twisted together, and Vic let that sourness show on her face, rubbing her temples in a mime-show of powerlessness.
Ashel grasped her hand and cleared his throat. Making a Lathan marriage official was beyond simple; they said the words together, speaking aloud: “We declare ourselves wed.”
Openly laughing, the Caleisbahnin and outlaws gathered round, offering congratulations. Drawing Ashel to the fire, they slapped his back like comrades, not enemies. Blood heated Vic’s cheeks, but satisfaction warmed her gut when she saw Lornk’s eyes glowing blue as a flame’s heart. She had seen him this angry, but never this impotent. “Never yours,” she mouthed at him, feeling her vengeance was complete at last.
“Madam,” Kelmair bowed and offered her a sliced citrus. “Would you like tea?”
At a nod, the woman darted to the fire. Vic stared at her scars, recalling the Herders’ betrayal. Bastards, every one of them. She settled on a log and chewed a wedge while Ashel sat with the outlaws. The fruit caught in Vic’s throat as she recalled the steeds crushed by boulders in the clearing where she’d found Ashel and the pirates. She hadn’t meant to kill their mounts. Damn! So much she’d done that needed forgiveness.
“Vic?” Hand shaking, Wineyll held out a corona of wildflowers, another at her side. “In the southern Kiareinoll, where my father is from, a bride and groom wear these their first day as newlyweds.”
“Thank you, but—”
“You don’t have to. I know these aren’t people you’d like to celebrate with. I just wanted you to know that I’m happy for you.”
Taking the wreath, Vic squeezed the girl’s fingers. So much that needed forgiving. “I thank you. And I’m sorry. I’m going to get us away from here, but”—she rubbed her temples—“I need a little more time.”
Blinking quickly, the minstrel ducked her head. “Take this one for Ashel. Tell him I’m happy for him too. Be happy together.” I won’t betray you, she added in Vic’s mind, but I won’t go with you or let you take him. With short, quick steps, she returned to Lornk, climbed into his lap, and rested her head on his shoulder. The fruit sour on her tongue, Vic looked away.
“Anything else?” Kelmair laid a cup of tea and some dry cheese on the log.
“No, thanks.” Vic fingered the flower petals.
“I’ve never met a mistress like you before.” The pirate settled herself cross-legged on the log. “I mean, the ones I knew are sniveling maens and shemens, too google-eyed to look sideways at their masters, much less escape and go to Direiellene.” She nodded toward Lornk and Wineyll. “Like that one.”
“Wineyll has more courage than you,” Vic growled.
Blinking, Kelmair slid off the log. “Yes, madam.” With a bow, she fled.
Plopping a wreath on her head, Vic glared at Lornk, vowing to free Wineyll if it was the last thing she did.
Abduction
Two score cavaliers—less than half the full company that had left the outpost—followed Febbin into the clearing where he said the outlaws had camped. A granite outcrop towered above the trees, its face shattered. A pyre smoldered amid fractured boulders. Bethniel shuddered, remembering the blasted rock of Olmlablaire.
“Why blow up the rock?” Lillem asked. “And how much sulfa would this take?”
“A lot.” Or none. Dread and hope settled on Bethniel’s shoulders. Both were old friends now, especially when it came to Vic. Could her sister be out here? She suddenly regretted not checking her mail before they left the outpost.
Febbin screamed and leapt off his mount, falling to his knees beside the pyre. As his sobs echoed off the stones, Bethniel studied the human remains smoking alongside three steed carcasses. Relief washed through her; the hands on the skeletons were whole, the frames too short for her brother and too tall for Vic. Dozens of footprints headed east out of the camp, the trail a clear sign the Kia wanted them to find Lornk and his allies.
Two days later, the horses picked their way through hoarsgrout and messernils toward broken echoes of laughter and song. Greldren signaled a halt as a trooper slipped out of the underbrush. Straining to Listen—wishing she had real talent for it—Bethniel leaned forward in her saddle.
“—killed their last scout. They’ll have no warning.”
Greldren issued orders, and the company split to flank the pirates, the horses silent as stalking cats. “Keep her Highness safe,” the fieldmarshal ordered Lillem.
Hefting a spear, Lillem brought his stallion alongside Bethniel’s mount. She gripped her own spear and breathed deeply, wrestling her fear into the box, and drawing out her wrath. Lornk Korng will be killed or captured today, she promised herself, and Ashel will be safe. In Olmlablaire, she’d foolishly believed the Relmlord wouldn’t dare harm her brother. Now she knew better.
* * *
A year ago, when rumors of Prince Ashel’s imminent wedding to Vic the Blade swept through Narath, Wineyll had privately scoffed at other girls’ late-night laments. That spring, her tears had spilled over her father’s grave, not heart-littered diary entries about Latha’s most desirable bachelor. Yet like the other girls, she had wondered what the artistic scholar-prince could possibly see in the caustic warrior.
“What about the Elesendar’s technical specifications?” Vic asked as the couple squeezed through a gap in the underbrush. They walked apart from the pirates but still close enough Wineyll could Hear them. “What scriptural meaning can you possibly glean from a manual on touchscreen maintenance?”
“The Logs are full of mysteries,” Ashel replied sagely. “Do you know what a touchscreen is?”
“It’s a glass plate you use to control the ship’s functions.”
“By touch. Very mystical and mysterious.”
“The real mystery is how you people can believe we came from trees. What about cats and horses and cows? The mammals on this world are nothing like any other animal. Where did they come from? Did Elesendar mate with a bush?”
Ashel laughed. “What do you mean, ‘you people?’ That’s our people, Marshal Victoria of Ourtown, ward of the Lathan Ruler and bride to a Lathan prince. And please explain how arrival by spacecraft is any more believable than Elesendar’s gift of life?”
“Well, for one thing, we can see the spacecraft!”
Wineyll sniggered behind a fall of her hair and soaked up her Guild-brother’s happiness. Yesterday the newlyweds had walked together quietly, holding hands while Vic pretended to need Ashel’s help to endure the long day’s march. After another night of hushed moans and choked laughter, the couple had emerged bright-eyed and cheery. Vic’s feigned illness evaporated in the enthusiasm of their scriptural debate.
Their delight washed away Wineyll’s bitterness, and the chortles she secretly shared with them stirred up nuggets of hope, like gold in a stream. But the gold sifted from her grasp as the couple’s conversation turned toward the Guild and the Harmony’s purge.
“Silnauer wants to bury anything she thinks will promote heresy,” A
shel said bitterly. “She doesn’t want people questioning why a just god would allow evil like this”—he raised his hand—“or what happened to Wineyll.”
“You look troubled.” Lornk wrapped an arm round her shoulders.
She jerked away. “You—you told Silnauer about Olmlablaire.” She’d never confronted him on her expulsion from the Guild, but spite suddenly oozed from that reopened wound.
His lips rolled down, the lines at his eyes deepening. “You don’t need a guild to shine. In Traine, all the musicians freely compete for renown. The only politics are those of proficiency and talent.” His hands grasped her shoulders. “You would triumph there.”
“What would you know about it? You’ve never even heard me play.”
Someone shouted, and a thunder of hooves rolled toward them, horses and soldiers screaming. Swords flew out of scabbards and orders from the commanders.
“Take cover, Songbird.” Lornk pushed her toward a geilmor.
“I can hide you,” she cried as cavalry crashed into the pirate ranks.
Shoving her away, he parried a spear thrust from a mounted soldier. The horse reared, and Wineyll dodged into the swirling geilmor limbs. Arrows whizzed and thunked. The men afoot slashed at hamstrings and riders; the cavaliers thrust spears and threw them. Horses kicked and bit. Soldiers and seamen screamed. A pair of cavaliers harried Lornk and Thiellin. Swords and spear hafts clacked and clashed. Back to back, Lornk and the captain retreated toward a dense stand of trees.
Now would be the time to flee, but Wineyll couldn’t take her eyes off Lornk. She ought to hate him, and she did when she thought about what he had done to Ashel. Yet he had always been gentle with her, even in Olmlablaire, and as they’d traveled east through the Kiareinoll, he’d given more comfort than the old mothers surrounding them. “Rape is rape, even when it feels like seduction.” Geram had said that to her once, and it would be easy to call it that, absolve herself of complicity, go to Eldanion and play chamber music for silly nobles until she was reinstated in the Guild and could resume her old life. But she could never resume her old life; it had ended when her father died. Her breath caught as a spear plunged toward Lornk’s heart. He ducked, and the spearhead glanced across his shoulder. Relief flooded through her, and she decided: she believed in him.
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