by Ellyn, Court
Carah stared at the swinging sign on the corner of Flood Way and Prince’s Street. A broken ship foundered in curling billows. Rough-looking men in sleeveless shirts streamed in and out of the inn. A few hard-creased women. Working up her courage, Carah peered through windows etched milky by wind-blown sand. She didn’t expect to find Rhian here, not now that he had a lord’s income, but maybe someone could point her the right way. She hauled back the door, grating it loudly over a drift of foot-packed sand. Smothering air reeked of beer, sweat, and shellfish. Catcalls made the rounds as she made her way between crowded tables.
A buxom woman worked the bar. She wiped the greasy counter with a gray dishrag while siphoning beer from a spigot with her other hand. A purple satin bustier pushed her breasts halfway to her throat. Sweat trickled between the egregious mounds. Purple paint smeared her eyelids. If she had painted her lips as well, she had chewed the dye off hours ago.
“Madam?” Carah asked, careful not to touch the bar.
“Madam, is it?” The woman waved plump fingers at two men leaving the premises, then turned her attention on her new patron. Her painted eyes widened at sight of Carah’s dress. She leaned over the bar to examine it below the waist. “The madams are down the street. I’m just Vella. What can I get you, Velvet? Chowder?”
“Actually, I’m looking for someone you might know.”
Vella breathed tired laughter. “If he lives in Sandy Cape, I know him.” Disconcerting that she assumed Carah was looking for a man.
“Rhian?”
The barmaid’s mirth fell flat. “Eyes, is it?”
“Eyes?”
“He pranced in here one fine day, Eyes did, and swept his mother away without so much as a word. Went pirate he did and stole a fortune. Built that big house on High Street. And ever since, they act like they’re Prince Kaov’s stinking heirs. They don’t come back to the Inn, no siree, don’t so much as look at the likes of us. Ungrateful beast, after all Shark and me done for him. We shoulda let the town hang his sorcerous hide.”
Carah nearly choked on Vella’s spite. “He inherited that fortune, if you must know. From my uncle. High Street, you said? Thank you.” She whirled from the bar and shouldered her way out the door.
If she hadn’t been so eager to leave the filthy sty, she would’ve thought to ask where High Street was. Rather than sidle up to Vella again, Carah spied a boy sitting on the roadside playing roughly with a puppy. Both boy and dog were in dire need of a bath.
At first sight of the silver coin Carah offered, the boy abandoned his playmate and ran south along Prince’s Street. She feared the little pirate had made off with her coin until he hopped to a stop and waved her on. “It’s three whole blocks this way! Hurry!” Seemed Sandy Cape had yet to sap this urchin’s enthusiasm.
At the end of the third block, the boy pointed at a chipped road sign. “Don’t it say High Street? Don’t it?”
Carah nodded, breathless, legs burning from trying to keep pace and failing. The way had been all uphill. She gave the boy another silver, and he raced away between sagging cottages before she could ask which house belonged to Rhian.
After a brief inspection, there was only one possibility. The street appeared to be called ‘High’ not only because it occupied the slope of a hill, but because the houses lining its southern side were larger and more sturdily built than the rest. Some had even received fresh coats of paint. Still, weeds crowded cabbage gardens, and salt clouded neglected windows.
The house on the opposite corner stood out. It was constructed of the same golden sandstone as Windhaven Palace. The mortar and two stories of leaded windows were unsullied by time or weather. Twin chimneys of sea-rounded stones reared up on each end. A wrought-iron fence separated its green clipped lawn from the overgrown yards of its neighbors. Pink flowers cascaded from boxes beneath the windows. Carpets of flowering groundcover lined a walkway.
Before Carah realized, she stood outside the gate. Sight of smoke curling from one of the chimneys made her stomach turn. The gate squealed softly as she opened it. She crept up the walkway, feeling as if she invaded a sanctuary. Sanctuaries didn’t welcome change, and change was the only offering she brought.
A curtain shifted in a downstairs window. The front door opened. A woman emerged. A dark, silver-threaded braid hung heavily over one shoulder, bringing Grandmother Alovi to mind. Her hands worked a towel, scrubbing away flour. “Can I help you?”
Carah found herself frozen amid the walk. She gestured at the gate. “I’m sorry. I should’ve … there wasn’t a bell.”
The woman smiled; the family similarities were striking. “Why should there be a bell? I heard the gate, thought you might be my son.”
“Is he here?” Oh, please say yes say no.
The woman blinked in surprise. “You know Rhian?”
Carah nodded. Her mouth was too dry for words.
A knowing mellowed the woman’s expression. “Oh, I see. You’re the one, then. The reason he stares out to sea all the live-long day. It’s you he’s trying to forget.”
I shouldn’t have come. “I’ll leave before he sees me.”
“Leave? Certainly not. Come in, come in.” The woman’s arm about Carah’s shoulders was too insistent to resist. “I’m Fiala,” she said, showing her guest into the great room.
Carah gave her name and inspected the sturdy lacquered chairs and shelves, rugs and quaint bric-a-brac. Every item spotless, cherished.
Fiala bustled into the adjacent room. “I suppose he’s telling the truth after all.” Tea things clinked. “A mother wants to believe the best about her son, but rumors have a way of making one doubt.”
“He wasn’t a pirate,” Carah said as Fiala scurried in with the tea service. “He’s my uncle’s adopted heir. He didn’t tell you?”
Fiala filled two cups, frowning gravely. The new porcelain was intricately painted with latticework and rosettes. “He told me precious little. I could see the pain in him, so I stopped asking. But you know, don’t you? You know why my boy came home after four years more dead than alive. He was caught up in that war, wasn’t he? We saw the smoke from Endhal burning. And the tales those refugees brought! Living nightmares, they was.”
Carah stared in disbelief. Why hadn’t he told his own mother? “Rhian was held prisoner for a time. We both were. He got us out.”
Fiala pressed a hand over her mouth, closed her eyes, and swam in thoughts of her son’s torment. With an elegance that would make a queen jealous, she composed herself and picked up her teacup. “You know, all that time, everyone said he’d drowned in the storm. We found his boat, crushed on the strand. But I never believed it. I urged him to escape that night, left the window open, hoping he’d run far away, do well for himself.” Her smile turned wistful. “Still, I couldn’t believe it when I saw him again. Even though he was ill, he was dressed so fine. And now that you’ve come … I don’t believe it was illness alone that brought him slinkin’ home. Was it a grand fight you had? Oh, posh. Listen to me. None of my business.”
Carah considered nodding a lie, but Fiala was bound to learn the truth sooner or later. “Things were … rather difficult for us.” She sipped her tea and added with a shrug, “My father is king.”
Fiala choked. In a rush, she slapped down her teacup and fled her chair. “You mean my son was sparkin’ a … a p-p-p … that daft eejit! Is he in danger of his life? Have you come to arrest him?”
Her horror was so profound that Carah had to laugh. “Quite the contrary. Do you know where he is?” She glanced at the ceiling. Though, if Rhian had been upstairs her voice would’ve drawn him.
Slowly Fiala recovered, surveying her guest with new eyes. She patted her hair, dusted flour from her blouse. “I never know, er, Your—”
“Just Carah.”
Fiala relaxed a measure. “He wanders. He’ll drift in one minute, out the next. Hardly says a word, rarely breaks a smile. It’s as though the life were bled out of him. I can tell he swims though. His hair�
��ll be damp. I’d search the beach, south of town.”
Waves crashed upon the sand, white-knuckled fists fruitlessly battling the barrier imposed upon them. Gusts tore fine granules from the crests of dunes, sent them hurtling into Carah’s eyes. For all the violent clash of elements, the stretch of beach was a peaceful place. The power in the rhythmic waves was humbling, the monotony soothing. Gulls wheeled, crying. Red-speckled crabs scuttled. Fishers pulled in their skiffs and sorted their catch without fuss.
The sand swallowed the heels of Carah’s shoes and eased inside, chafing her skin. No wonder few residents bothered wearing shoes. She slipped them off, unrolled her stockings, bundled both inside her cloak, and tucked all the excess under her arm. She strolled along quickly after that, delighting in the slide of the sand under her naked feet, the shocking kiss of the lapping water, the fingers of the wind tearing at her hair.
Beyond the fishermen, beyond the dunes that hid the town from view, she spotted a figure alone. Her belly knotted. She squinted against the glare of sunlight on water. It might be anyone. But it wasn’t. She knew the angle of those sun-bronzed shoulders, the shape of his stride as he walked knee-deep into the water and launched himself headfirst into an oncoming wave.
She had never watched him swim. Effortless, the stroke of the arm, the curl of the dive. Son of the Sea, she thought, smiling, and watched for him to surface. A long time she watched. Worry began to rise.
Just as fear choked her, he broke the surface, farther out than she expected. The sun didn’t shine on his head alone. Someone else swam with him. Sleek, sea-wet, brown. Jealousy bit as Carah suspected a woman, beautiful and powerful in her skilled sea-nakedness. Then his companion turned in profile and Carah recognized the long whiskered snout of a seal.
The creature glided toward shore, and Rhian raced to keep up. The seal won with ease, but Rhian surged onto the sand only half a body-length behind. The wind carried the seal’s bark and a sound like laughter.
The seal basked in the sun while Rhian stepped into ragged canvas pants.
Carah had seen him like this before, standing on a wind-swept beach, facing the sea with the sun on his back. In her dream she had seen it. But never could mere dream mimic the scene so perfectly. The angle of sun, the shape of the dunes, the intense longing with which he gazed toward the hazy shelf of land rearing from the eastern horizon. He was beckoning her, as the moons beckon the tide, even if he didn’t realize it.
She mustered her courage and worked her way past a tangle of driftwood. The seal smelled or heard or felt the change on the beach. One enormous liquid eye pinned her, then with an undulating splash she vanished in the waves.
Rhian turned to look for the intruder that had frightened off his companion. He stared in wordless, blank-faced astonishment. The sea plastered his hair to his shoulders. It was half the length it had been. Salt water dripped into his eyes, but it did not trouble him.
“Who’s your friend?” Carah asked, her glance indicating the seal bobbing several yards out. She dropped her bundle in the sand at her feet, telling them both she meant to stay awhile.
“Car … what’re you doing here?” Wonderment stole his voice. He looked her over, head to heel, as if he feared his eyes lied to him.
How fine he looked. No longer pale or feverish or gaunt. A year in sun, wind, and sea had given him back himself. She detected hints of the despair Fiala had mentioned, however. A reluctance to smile at her, to reach out, to celebrate, to hope.
“I came to find you, silly. Why else come to Sandy Cape?”
“True enough.” He backed away, uneasy, as if her presence were the jaws of a trap. He faced the onrushing waves, finding safety there.
Did I come for nothing? What have you to say to that, dragon? She felt as unwelcome as a net ensnaring the seal. So be it. But she’d speak her piece before she left him. “You might’ve told me yourself you were leaving the Wood. I came to Linndun to find you gone, without so much as a letter explaining—”
“For good reason, Car,” he said, rounding on her. “Why track me down? It’s hard enough. Don’t you see? Better the sea and sand bury me than look on what’s forbidden me.”
Her heart hammered in her throat. “Does that mean, if you could be with me, you still would?”
“Don’t be cruel. I know who your father is. Loving a lord’s daughter was bad enough, but the daughter of a king? I’m just a pearl fisher, Car. There will be no other life for me.”
She crossed her arms, haughty. “I have papers to prove you’re wrong. I’ve come to ask you to sail the seas with me. And to—”
“What are you talking about? Go to sea?” Light sparked in his eyes. A hint of hope, perhaps? Or the sneer of mockery. “Goddess’ bosom, have you run away?”
“No, I have my father’s blessing, my brother’s ship, and a dragon’s orders. You mean, the dragon hasn’t been pestering you, too? Highly unfair.”
“What dragon?”
“Rashén!” She gestured emphatically. “He says you’re to come with me, that we’re to go to Azhdyria.”
“The fuck…? Have you lost your mind?” He stomped about the sand as if telling it its place. “Why would a dragon order you to sail to the most notorious, the most mysterious place in all Lethryn? Have you heard what sailors say about those shores, Car? They’re cursed. No one has set foot on them in thousands of years. Those who try don’t return.”
“You going to let tall tales stop us? It’s worth a look if nothing else.”
“This has nothing to do with some damn dragon, does it? Tell me true. It’s Dathiel, isn’t it?”
That struck her like a blast of sand to the face. “I hadn’t thought about it. Honestly. But, yes, Azhdyria was Uncle Kieryn’s dream. If I can live it for him, I will. Live it with me.” Her fingers curled around his hand. He pulled free, paced, kicked at shells. The invitation tore at him. He wanted to give in, wanted to see what lay beyond the next horizon and the next, as much as Carah did. But…
Last chip. Carah tossed it on the table. “There is one stipulation if you decide to go.”
He flung bitter laughter into the wind. “Of course there is.”
“You are required to marry me first. Da’s orders. Sorry.”
For a moment he just stared. Then he burst into laughter. The fit took the strength out of his legs and he flopped onto his back in the sand. “After … after that beat … beating he gave me? I don’t believe you.”
Not exactly how she imagined he’d react to the proposal.
He rolled onto his haunches and braced his forearms across his knees. “When do you sail?”
You? Not we? She still hadn’t convinced him? At a loss, she sank down beside him, locked her wrists about her ankles, and watched the seal frolic in the waves. “Outward tide tomorrow.”
His gaze snapped toward her. “So this ceremony would take place when?”
“Tonight.”
“You don’t give me much time to consider. Shite.”
“That’s all you have to say? Shite?”
He turned his face away, but she glimpsed the smile he was trying to hide. Bastard, he was just toying with her.
Gulls pleaded, and the seal swam alone, and the avedrin watched the tide roll toward them. A fat merchanter ship, every sail unfurled, Leanian flags flying, slipped south toward open water. “What’s waiting for us out there?” Rhian asked.
Us, at last. Carah shrugged. “Does it matter?” The merchanter dwindled, gone ahead of them. The sun sank, casting the shadow of the dunes on their backs. “We should tell your mother.”
“Aye. Later.”
Gazing toward the horizon until the sunset blazed orange upon the dunes and cast the billows in bronze, they wondered at the unknown that coaxed them out upon the wide, wide sea. Terrifying and marvelous.
FINIS
Appendix: Character Index
Aralorr and Evaronna
AT ILSWYTHE:
Kelyn, Lord Ilswythe, War Commander
; Thorn Kingshield/Kieryn Dathiel, his twin brother, avedra
Rhoslyn, Duchess of Liraness, Kelyn’s lady
Kethlyn, their son
Carah, their daughter, avedra
Eliad, Lord Drenéleth, formerly Kelyn’s squire, one of King Rhorek’s youngest illegitimate children
Etivva, tutor and member of the Shaddra’hin
Lura, Rhoslyn’s handmaid
Rhian, Thorn’s apprentice, of the Pearl Islands
AT BRAMORAN:
Valryk, the Black Falcon of Aralorr and Evaronna, the king under the Falcon Crown
Rhorek, his father, murdered
Briéllyn, the queen mother, Lady Rhyverdane
Tullyk, captain of the Bramoran garrison and city watch
AT WINDHAVEN:
Halayn, Rhoslyn’s aunt, also maternal aunt to King Rhorek
Drael, captain of the Windhaven garrison
Malkym Leng, commander of Windhaven’s militia
Admiral Gregorin, head of the Evaronnan navy
AT TÍRANDON:
Lander, Lord Tírandon, murdered
Andett, his lady, murdered during the razing of Tírandon, twenty years ago
Leshan, their oldest son, killed defending King Rhorek after the Battle of Brengarra.
Ruthan, their daughter, avedra, now Lady Tírandon
OTHER HIGHBORNS OF ARALORR:
Dagni, dwarf, Foreman of Thyrvael
Drys, his son, now Lord Zeldanor, Laral’s friend
Ulna, Lady Blue Mountain
Gyfan, her consort, the first to call Kelyn “Swiftblade”
Kalla, Ulna’s niece, a knight of Blue Mountain, Laral’s friend
Maeret, Lady Lunélion and Lady Vonmora after both parents murdered at Bramoran
Gheryn, Lord Helwende, escaped Bramoran; son of Garrs, murdered