Fury of the Falcon (The Falcons Saga 5)

by Ellyn, Court

  He grunted displeasure. “You sound like your mother.”

  “When two people are in agreement, even a king might heed it as wisdom.”

  He waved away the advice. “Yes, yes. I feel better just being near you.”

  “It’s the avë. Who says I’m not channeling strength into you?”

  That made him laugh. “What would I do without you, dearheart?”

  Carah stopped on the stair as if a boulder had crashed amid her path. Find him and enter the waters.

  I can’t. How can I leave my father?

  Kelyn stopped a few steps above. Carah felt the weight of his inspection, his frown and confusion. He let out a burdened sigh. “I know that look well enough. Kieryn would stare off like that. One moment here, the next moment gone.” He tapped his temple. “Traveling. Places I couldn’t follow. Places he didn’t want me to follow.” He hooked Carah’s hand on his arm again and escorted her into the corridor above. Red Mantles lined the walls like raw wounds. “My brother was the loneliest person I ever knew. Whether or not it was my fault, I blamed myself. You’re suffering for the same reason, and I can’t stand it.”

  “Da, I don’t feel like discussing it. You wouldn’t approve anyway.”

  “So it’s Rhian who’s still troubling you.”

  Carah reclaimed her hand as if her father’s arm was studded with barbs. “It’s not as if I have a choice. This damn dragon won’t leave me alone about him.”

  Da stopped her with a firm grip to her shoulder. “Rashén? What does he say to you?”

  “He calls me Gatekeeper and tells me to find Rhian and enter the waters, whatever the hell that means. All I know is that Rashén is relentless. It’s not every night, but nearly. He’s driving me mad.”

  “This is important, Carah. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “As if you didn’t have enough to worry about.”

  He grabbed her by the elbow, not without tenderness, and ushered her into the first door on the left, away from prying ears. The family reading room was walled with books, stuffed with lounges, set with a chessboard. “Listen, dearheart. This crown may be a pretty prison for me, but it doesn’t have to be one for you. If the dragon is urging you to go, you must go. The Mother-Father has need of you.”

  “To do what?”

  “How should I know? You’ll find out sooner or later, but you won’t find out here.”

  “But that means going to Rávalin, Da, you realize that? The same Rhian you horsewhipped? I’ll need a ship, then sail to Goddess knows where.”

  “I think you know where.”

  She held his gaze for a long time, afraid to speak it. “Azhdyria.” She sank down on the nearest settee. “I can’t just leave you. You said it yourself. What will you do without me?”

  Kelyn knelt before her. “Indeed.” He brushed a curl from her cheek, smiling adoration. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t hold onto my girl forever.”

  “But, Da—!”

  “I’ll send for Jaedren.”

  “He’s only twelve. No, eleven.”

  Da shrugged. “He isn’t skilled with the elements yet, but he’s a master of Silent Speech. He’ll sniff out assassins and traitors until you return.”

  Handing such a monumental task to a child was hardly comforting.

  Da stood, paced. “One thing does trouble me, however. You and Rhian, isolated on a ship, together. Any children you bear will be legitimate, I swear upon the Goddess’ bosom. Rhian weds you, or he doesn’t go.”

  “Da!” Carah surged to her feet, fire flooding her face. Her cheeks were surely as red as Eliad’s cloak. “We haven’t exchanged so much as a letter in nearly two years. What if … what if he married someone else? What if he won’t have me?”

  “Then he can take it up with the dragon. And me. He’s your uncle’s adopted heir, and I can knight him when you return.”

  Her ears were deceiving her, she was certain. How could he say this? A king permitting his daughter to marry a fisherman? “Don’t joke about it, Da.”

  He cupped her face, kissed her forehead. “Never.”

  ~~~~

  Carah’s carriage rumbled west. On each door was the sword-wielding falcon of House Ilswythe. Her guard of twenty wore it like a boast on their chests. As the miles rushed past, her hand pressed flat to the leather case containing the documents. Signed and sealed by the Great Falcon himself. They were more than documents. They were dreams in writing. Any moment she would wake and sob into her pillow.

  The dust swirling through the window and clogging her throat proved she was awake.

  As the carriage swept past the dark eaves of Avidan Wood, she searched for signs of Dragon Eyes, the lifelights of friends. Illusion no longer shielded the trees. They reared straight and majestic for the underbellies of the clouds. She had to lean out the window to see the crest of the canopy.

  “Carah! Carah, wait!” cried a voice. An Elari bolted from the undergrowth and raced toward the highway.

  “Stop!” Carah shouted. “Stop the carriage.”

  Her retinue slowed. The dust caught up with them. Azhien threw himself, panting, against the door. “Can’t believe my luck. Thought I’d have to wait…”

  “Azhien, what’s wrong?” She looked for ogres, smoke rising from the trees.

  He didn’t look distressed, but excited, a fanatic’s gleam in his gray eyes. “I didn’t know you had visited the other day. Shame on you for not saying hello.”

  “I was in a hurry. Da was returning home—”

  Azhien waved away the excuse. “I hoped to ask you … Lyrienn says you’re the one to ask. You must explain my dreams to me.”

  One of her guards overheard. “You stopped Her Ladyship to ask about a dream?”

  But something like an electric shock had jolted through Carah. “What dream?”

  “There’s a dragon and a gate and he asks—”

  “Where is the key?”

  Azhien gaped. “Yes!”

  Carah laughed and unlatched the carriage door. “We’re going to find him. Get in.”

  ~~~~

  “Brother, I need a ship.”

  Kethlyn scanned the royal order Carah handed him. He had invited her and Azhien to tea after their long, bruising journey over the Silver Mountains, but the awestruck Elari begged off. “Please, is that really the sea? And those ships!”

  Pleased that he might grant a simple wish, Kethlyn showed Azhien to the great brass spyglass atop the tower where he might gaze his fill.

  So Carah met with her brother alone. He gestured her to a chair but she couldn’t sit until business was seen to. Salt-scented breeze wafted over the balcony. The view clear to the horizon was blue with sea and sky. On the very edge of sight, against the golden glare of the setting sun, a star shone, marking the lighthouse on Westhead Peninsula. Beyond that, Carah knew, the Pearl Islands stretched along the coast, like sentinels before the unending abyss.

  Kethlyn flapped the parchment. “This tells me nothing. How big a ship? How many crew? How many ballistae?”

  “I don’t know. My education doesn’t extend to ships. Something that won’t sink.”

  Kethlyn laughed.

  Carah felt foolish. While her brother recovered, wiping his eyes, she snatched a biscuit from the tray. Better stuff her mouth than shoot it off.

  “Are you sure you didn’t forge this?” Kethlyn flicked the paper at her. “With funds in desperate shortage, Da is willing to pay a crew to take you on a private excursion?”

  “It’s not an excursion! It’s an expedition. And it’s the dragon’s doing. Would you disobey a dragon?” Carah still suffered fits of jealousy that Kethlyn, and not she, had seen Rashén Varél flying over the battlefield in all his glory.

  It must’ve been stunning indeed, because mere memory of it sobered Kethlyn immediately. “How long will you need it?”

  She shrugged, unable to mask uncertainty, a wave of nausea.

  Kethlyn leaned back in his armchair, staggered. “Mother’s mercy
, Carah, where are you going?”

  She shaped a smile, as if it were nothing. “The ends of the world? Off the map? I’m scared to death. So don’t dally. Please? If I sit around thinking too long, I’ll not be able to go through with it.”

  “You’re mad. You know that, right?”

  She raised her chin. “Probably.”

  Kethlyn gestured her to follow and strode onto the balcony. They gazed across the roofs of Windhaven. Salt-tinted sun cast a golden haze over the city. The dark fingers of the pier reached boldly into the tide. “We’re outfitting older vessels, reinstating them as part of the pirate patrol. Sea thieves are running rampant right now, trying to take advantage of this transition. I can spare you one vessel, maybe a few Salamanders.”

  “Why would I need Salamanders?”

  “Did you hear me? Pirates. Running rampant. I’m not sending you onto the high seas without soldiers.”

  Carah gulped. She hadn’t considered the possibility of pirates, battle, and bloodshed.

  “I’m already short on pilots, though. And I don’t trust commercial captains to protect you properly.” Kethlyn sucked his teeth, thinking. His eyes brightened. “Athna. Did you know our cousin was discharged from the Leanian navy?”

  Carah gasped. This was a juicy tidbit. “No! Whatever for?”

  “For illicit use of her vessel during wartime. Seems she was stuffing civilians into her hold and whisking them to the Pearl Islands, her family first and foremost.”

  “Saving them from the ogres? But why not hail her as a hero?”

  “The Pearl Islanders didn’t exactly invite the refugees and made a fuss.”

  “For shame. You really think Athna would agree?”

  “I think a captain without a ship is desperate to sail again. And one disgraced, eager to make a statement. Best way to find out is make your way to Wyramor and ask.”

  “Wyramor is not on my way.” Even as she fought the notion of a detour, she knew it was her best option.

  “Look, Carah, if I do this for you, you’ll make me a trade, right?” What was this hesitation creeping into his voice?

  “What? No! This is a royal order. You have to do this because the king commands. Besides, what could I possibly offer you in return?”

  “Advice?”

  Had he slapped her she would’ve been less surprised. She leaned against the bannister, crossed her arms, and grinned.

  “Don’t look smug. I need help. And if you don’t tell me what I want to hear, I’ll take it as good judgment.”

  Carah raised an eyebrow. “Promise?”

  “Ach, you’re such a child. Yes, I promise.” He cleared his throat, scuffed a toe, shoved his hands into his pockets. “Should I call on Aisley? In … in an official sense?”

  Carah couldn’t restrain a burst of laughter. “Of course, you lout.”

  Approval bolstered him. “I mean, it only makes sense, right? It would smooth things over. Prove that Evaronna harbors no ill feelings toward Leania. On the other hand, courting a Leanian might look like an attempt to … conquer foreign soil in another away.” He winced. “That didn’t sound right.”

  Carah raised a hand. “I take it back. You don’t deserve her.”

  “I know that!”

  “Stay away from her. You’re an idiot. I ought to push you off the balcony and save her the heartache.”

  “Why? What did I—?”

  “You would use that girl as a gesture of apology? Really, Kethlyn, don’t be a coward. Just admit you love her, write her gushy letters, and by all means don’t mention diplomacy.”

  He gripped the bannister with both hands, as if it would prevent him being swept overboard. Pale-faced and puffing gouts of air, he looked as if he were gearing up to propose this very minute. “Right. You’re right.”

  Carah bit her lip hard against her own confession. His Royal Highness might never approve of his sister borrowing his ship to chase a pearl fisher. Seemed they both stood on the edge of a precipice. The only thing to be done was jump and see where the current took them.

  ~~~~

  45

  From the deck of the Falcon’s Pride, Sandy Cape was little more than a jumble of squat gray rectangles. One solid kick might send them scattering like a child’s blocks. Smoke spouted from steep shingled roofs; the unsettled wind seized the plumes and whisked them sideways. Oily black smoke belched, too, from stone pits on the beach, but Carah couldn’t guess its purpose. The wind-whipped dunes fronting the town gave the impression that sand and surf was swallowing it whole.

  “Dismal place,” Carah muttered. The gusts hissing through the rigging whipped the words out of hearing, but Azhien missed little.

  “Rhian grew up here?” He perched precariously atop the gunwale, a line within reach should he need to save himself from a plunge into the sea. But his adjustments to the dip and rise of the railing was flawless. The rolling of the ship, he said, was similar to tree limbs tossed in a storm. He’d taken to the ship immediately.

  Not so, Carah. She hoped she wasn’t a shade of green when Rhian saw her again. “He wasn’t lying when he said he came from nothing.”

  Whatever ‘home’ looked like, there was no denying the urge to return. Carah was homesick already. By the time she traveled to Wyramor and convinced her cousin to join this wild scheme, then journeyed back to Windhaven with Athna in tow and waited for the outfitting and supplying of her ship, spring was half gone. She longed for a walk among trees, a fast gallop on Lírashel, an embrace from her father.

  What in the Mother’s name was she doing here? As miserable as she felt, she must be on the right track. The dragon hadn’t troubled her dreams in weeks.

  The Pride slipped from deep water toward the piers, passing fishermen tossing nets and dumping barrels of bait. Nearer to shore, boys and youths dived naked from tar-bottomed skiffs. They surfaced again with baskets full of oysters. The pearl fishers! Carah looked for anyone resembling Rhian, but the skiffs were too far away.

  From the quarterdeck, Athna bellowed orders. Sailors turned a capstan. Chain rattled. The anchor lowered.

  Carah touched her companion on the arm. “Look, Azhien, let me go alone.”

  “Are you mad? These people wanted to hang Rhian.”

  “You expect me to disembark blasting fire? No one needs to know what I am, and better they don’t see an Elari at all. Besides … if Rhian rejects me, I’d rather not have company to witness it.” She smiled queasily, then climbed into the dinghy.

  Laborers and sailors turned the boardwalk into a gauntlet of rolling barrels, piles of crates and rope and net, swinging cranes, and ogling eyes. Someone whistled. Someone laughed. Carah hurried down an alley between warehouses and emerged on a broad, sandy highway. Carriages, merchants’ wains, and couriers sped through town but did not stop. Only the townspeople, it seemed, cared to browse the vendors’ stalls.

  Eyes strayed toward her in the market, too, and clung a while. She had taken care to dress simply, forgoing her silver robe for a day dress of periwinkle velvet. A lightweight woolen cloak shielded her from the barest chill in the wind. But an inspection of the locals showed Carah that she was highly overdressed. The citizens of Sandy Cape wore canvas shirts, baggy-legged breeches, homespun skirts with quaint floral print. Few bothered with shoes. A woman’s glance clung too long on Carah’s lace cuffs; a man’s leer on her scooped neckline. Was she a highborn or a prostitute? They seemed unable to decide.

  She tugged her cloak closed, raised her chin, and searched the signs fronting the highway. Rhian had told her little about this place. The inn where he had lived and worked was the exception. She passed two inns, four taverns, a dice hall, a general store, and two brothels. None were the place Rhian had described. Music tumbled into the street, carrying laughter on its current. A sailor stumbled from a doorway and vomited a bellyful of beer on the sidewalk, not three feet in front of Carah.

  Her stomach was unsettled enough. She whirled and marched back the way she’d come.

 
; The stink of fish wafted from vendors’ stalls. Carp and cod lay on ice under awnings. Gills vainly flapped. Hands waved away flies. The fishes’ slow death and inevitable consumption brought the Pit to mind. Carah hurried on. Homemade goods lined tabletops: creel baskets woven from sturdy reeds, amulets and buttons carved from mother-of-pearl, delicate fish hooks, fish hooks as big as her curled fingers, spools of line, buckets of flicking silver bait fish. Smoked fish in wax paper occupied a booth in front of a smokehouse. The overpowering odor was mildly appetizing and mildly repulsive.

  Nearby, a woman patted dark mush into flat round cakes, dredged them in flour, and dropped them in a vat of bubbling oil. Workmen dropped a copper coin into an earthenware jar in exchange for one of the fritters. “You there, lass,” the woman called, catching sight of Carah’s curiosity. “Elver crispy?”

  Carah peered into the barrel at the woman’s side. Brine roiled. Baby eels squirmed. “Er, no, thank you.” Carah hoped the smile she offered was polite.

  Skeins of golden kelp, like frills on a lady’s gown, were piled under the neighboring awning. With a great cleaver, a man chopped each long wet rope into tiny slivers. The vendor selling oysters drew Carah’s attention. The shellfish lay in tidy rows on fast-melting ice; fish-scented water ran across the walkway. The top halves of the shells had been removed and any pearls extracted. Rhian might’ve fished them from the sea. The thought made Carah smile. She reached a finger to touch a hint of iridescence peering from under the meat.

  “How many?” asked a youth with a shock of red hair.

  Carah snatched her hand away. “Um, no, I’m looking … can you tell me where to find the Castaway Inn?”

  The youth’s mouth curled as if she had hurled an insult. “Castaway’s Inn.”

  “Yes, that one.”

  “You from the cont’nent?” His accent was so strong that Carah leaned closer, straining to puzzle out his instructions. She realized Rhian’s manner of speech, which her ear had found so delectable, had been greatly tempered after Uncle Kieryn had taken him under his wing. “Sure nothin’s hard to foind in Sendy Cepe. Go to Flood Wei, that carner there. Tek a roight to Prince’s Strait. Castaway’s is the big plece fecing ya, so ‘tis. Can’t miss it.”