by Julia Knight
Grey clouds scudded along the horizon in a stiff wind, but the mast seemed to be holding up well enough. A great rocky headland loomed off the port side, waves crashing far up its sides. As they got closer, a bay opened out on the other side, the water calmer there.
“Up at the top,” Skrymir said.
A thin plume of smoke puffed from the rocks, soon ripped to shreds by the wind. Something fluttered by it, a shirt maybe, a flash of blond hair. Holden’s glance at Cattan, and a curt nod in return, confirmed it.
“Get out the longboat.”
It took all Skrymir’s muscle, and that of three other men, to get the longboat over the waves that thundered along the shore, still turbulent from the storm. All manner of things had been dredged up by its ferocity. Fresh splinters of wood from some ship not as lucky as theirs. A broken barrel, trees ripped in half, yard upon yard of seaweed clogging the edge of the waves, part of a dead shark, gulls already feasting on the softest parts. They screamed their anger at the boat’s approach.
Holden leaped onto the beach, his boots sinking halfway up to the top in detritus, and made his way up the rocks. He left the rest behind. His mind was folding in on itself in secrecy now, because he knew, none better, that a Remorian mage could read a mind in their sleep, for little or no power, and Cattan was not a happy mage. No, not happy with him at all, and it’d only take one little peek and Holden was as good as a dead man.
The rocks were slippery with wet and moss, but he made it to the top with little trouble. The dying fire guttered in the wind. Josie sat with her knees up, her arms crossed over them and her chin perched atop, staring out to sea.
Holden took a step toward her, but her sharp voice stopped him before he could get any farther.
“I really can’t go against it, can I? Jump to escape you and the pain near enough knocks me out so I all but drown. Can’t disappear, can’t run away because you can find me. Can’t do anything but get Van Gast into your trap. Can’t even speak out of turn. Tried it in a village over the way there, can’t even speak against the bond. Bonded to you. You’ve got me good and proper. I had to stay here like a good little girl and wait for you. Is that what you wanted, Holden?” She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes hot and angry under lowered brows. “A good little slave for you. Well?”
“No, I just—”
“Just! It’s always just this or just that with you, isn’t it? Never the guts to say it right out. Never the guts to even try and fight it.”
“You can’t fight it. You can’t.” He pulled at her shoulder and got her to her feet. Gods knew how she was alive and not drowned or frozen to death, but she was still cold, still shivered in the wind that whipped across the bay and swirled around this bare outcrop of rock.
“I can and I fucking will.” She shook off his arm. “I’ll fight it and I’ll fight you, every step of the way.”
Gods damn the woman, why did she have to make it so difficult? He grabbed her by the arms, and this time when she tried to shake him off he held tighter, till he had to be hurting her, though she never showed it. She just glared at him with thinly disguised contempt.
“Josie, if you keep doing this, keep struggling against it, it’ll kill you all the quicker, and it’s not just you, is it? Not just you who’ll die, the boy too, dead or bonded, and that’s just as bad as far as you’re concerned, isn’t it? I don’t want either of those on my conscience. Eight days till we meet with Van Gast. Just eight days, and when we have him, you’ll be free, you and the boy. I swear it. But if you keep fighting against it, you’ll be dead before then, or so far gone that taking the bond off will kill you.”
It had started already. Her breeches were loose on her where weight had dropped away. Her eyes, even when angry as now, had a dead, hollow quality to them, sinking back into her skull as though she were a corpse already.
Josie pushed him away and turned for the rocky track. “If you think I’ll stop fighting it just to ease your conscience, you’ve got another fucking think coming.”
They reached port before sunset—just. The squat brown buildings of Gerran intermingled with dusty palms, and the occasional lofty spire of a temple appeared on the horizon just as Holden started to fear they’d sink before they reached shore.
The ship limped into the small harbor as the sun touched the waves, and a horde of men swarmed the jetty, offering their services, anything from ship repairs—“Mage-nailing, sir, best mage in port, get your mast good as new by morning”—to more down-to-earth needs. If all the hawkers said were true, half the city must be brothels populated with only the finest whores, and that was closer to truth than to lies.
He checked in with the harbormaster, made arrangements for repairs and returned to the ship. No matter what the hawkers promised, even magical repairs took time, and a snapped mast would take at least a day, probably more. In the meantime, he gave leave for some of his men to go ashore under Skrymir’s watchful eye. The Gan would say nothing of what they were about, and of the rest of his men only Cattan and his first officer, in charge of guarding Josie’s crew until Skrymir came back, knew.
After the last day, gods knew they needed something, some beer and bad women, even if the Archipelago frowned on both. They were close enough to home that the port catered for them with no qualms—because of the Master’s guarantee to a trade ally that no men would be bond-ganged into service—and far enough away that Holden could turn a blind eye, because they were far enough away that the Master’s vision was weaker, though not so weak they could do anything else. They might manage that, and Holden had before, before his bond was tightened, but there were still constraints. Out of Remorian waters, their bonds were his to control.
Once all was settled, he went to see Josie locked up in their quarters. She lay on the bed, sullen and shivering.
“Come on, up you get.”
She turned a baleful eye on him, but didn’t move.
“Josie, we haven’t taken on new supplies yet, most of the food was ruined in the storm, and we’ve little left but hard tack. You’ve wrecked all the furniture in this room except that one bed. Unless you really want to share it with me tonight, I’ve arranged some quarters with good food, comfortable, separate beds, and a bath. I don’t know about you, but I could really use all of those.”
“It won’t work, you know.”
Holden suppressed a sigh. “What won’t?”
“Being nice to me. It won’t make me all nice and pliable, ready to do everything you ask.”
“I don’t expect it to. But it’d be nice to be comfortable while you’re busy hating me. Besides, I’m going, and I’m not letting you out of my sight again. So come willingly, or come in pain when the bond takes you.”
Josie struggled up off the bed and limped toward the door, clearly favoring her bonded leg. “I used to really like you, once upon a time. Whatever you say, Master.”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped and shoved her through the door.
She grinned up at him, pleased at the reaction maybe, and raised an eyebrow. “But that’s what you are, isn’t it? A master of slaves and a slave of masters, and you don’t even have it in you to fight back. A gutless wonder. I can’t think what I ever saw in you.”
He concentrated on her bond, on wanting her to be quiet, and was both satisfied and mortified when she tried to speak but couldn’t get the words out past a clamp of pain. The worst of it was she was right, had nailed exactly what it was that he loathed about himself. He dragged her down the gangplank, off the harbor and away from the parched and crowded city into a broad, dusty avenue dotted with palm trees.
The houses here were larger than on the shoreline, though still squat, still a sandy, burnt-terracotta color that made them blend into the earth. However these houses were for the rich, or at least the well-to-do pretending to be rich. In an arid land, the gardens were green and verdant, not-so-subtly proclaiming how much water the owners could afford.
Holden led them to a smaller house with jus
t a strip of grass between it and the road. Still, the wealth was clear in the flowers that dripped from boxes in every available space, their perfume scenting the sunset air with a heady fragrance. A tasteful sign swung from the eaves, depicting Forn surrounded by the silver bells that every sailor wore around his ankle, chiming his prayer, his supplication to the god of the sea.
Holden stopped concentrating on her silence and turned to see her reaction.
She opened her mouth hesitantly, her words tumbling out when she realized she could speak without pain. “Oh, very fucking funny.”
“You remember it then?” he asked innocently.
She glared at him and made for the door. He followed her through, into dim-lit darkness. Discreet, Forn’s Bells had always been, and the inn where he and Josie had first met all those years ago. The place he’d been due to meet her that last time, and never made it.
The taproom wasn’t the straw-strewn mess of a low tavern but all wooden panels carved with images of Forn, lamps that glittered and shimmered behind carved glass and leather-bound chairs. The staff were subtle, courteous and willing to turn a blind eye provided the rules were followed. Anyone was welcome if they wore the bells, kept their voice low and had the money to spend. Oh, and preferably tried not to kill any of the other patrons. That kind of behavior was frowned upon.
So you were just as likely to see one of the richer racketeers as a minor noble or Remorian peering out from the wing of one of those chairs. Forn’s Bells was as indiscriminate yet tasteful as the god it chose to represent.
A servant glided toward them, bowed to Holden and looked at Josie’s salt-crusted hair and ripped clothes. “Welcome back, Commander. Your usual rooms are ready, but the lady—”
Holden concentrated on silence again and cut off Josie’s protest in a strangled squeak of outrage. “She’s bonded to me, Garlo.”
“Oh, I see.” Garlo seemed flustered. “Well, the Archipelago has its own customs, I’m sure. Would you like me to…?”
“I can find my own way, thank you. Have dinner sent up, and two baths, good and hot. Some new clothes for the lady.”
He pushed Josie up the stairs before she could explode and made for his usual room. At the back, nice and secluded yet handy for the back door if need should arise to leave quickly. One reason it had been his and Josie’s preferred room all that time ago.
He shut the door behind them, locked it and slid the key into the pocket she’d least likely be able to thieve from.
Josie stood in the center of the room, stared around with a softening of her eyes. Less dead, as though something filled the hollow of late. She looked as if she might say something but seemed to think better of it, sat on one of the beds and stroked the cover, embroidered in a striking gold-and-green pattern. Holden could only watch her, unable to speak or even move.
“Still here,” she said softly. “Still the same. But we aren’t the same, are we? What happened to you, Holden? What happened to the boy I knew, the one who dreamed a dream big enough for the world? Where did all your fight, your passion go?”
He was saved from answering, from letting it all pour out of him, by a discreet knock at the door. Dinner and baths. He fished out the key and opened the door. Garlo came in first, a vast covered platter almost filling his arms, which he set by the fire to keep warm. A small army of boys followed, bringing copper baths, hot water in huge jugs, fluffy towels and a clean shirt and breeches for Josie.
They set one bath behind a screen in the corner and the other by the fire, filled both with steaming water and left, one of the boys giggling behind his hand.
Josie stared at the steam, as though she couldn’t decide whether to hate him or be grateful for the chance of a bath.
“Come on, bath then dinner,” he said. “You’ve not really warmed up since, have you?”
She bit her lip as though trying not to grin. “Yes and no. But a bath would be good. It won’t make me like you any more, mind.”
“I don’t expect you to like me.” Though there it was, at the back of his mind. If he could get Van Gast bonded, win his almost-freedom and his life, then maybe, just maybe…Too much the dreamer, he always had been.
“Good.” Her lopsided grin was back. How could she do that? Go from cold, blind hatred to grinning acceptance in a heartbeat? She was as unpredictable as the sea.
She slipped behind the screen and they both slid into their baths with a sigh of relief. The hot water soothed tired muscles, stripped away knots Holden hadn’t even been aware of. Knots that maybe were always there, he’d just not realized how deep, how tangled, until he’d seen Josie again. Realized just what he’d become. He sank farther down till his nose touched the water. Last chance, last chance maybe of any rest before they sailed to take Van Gast. To maybe everything he’d ever wanted, the lessening of the bond to more manageable proportions the least.
Josie splashed behind him and all he could think of then was that she was naked behind that screen, of how she’d looked like that when they were younger, of what she’d meant to him. What he wanted her to mean to him again.
He got out of the bath, grabbed a towel and dried himself off before he tied it round his waist. He couldn’t lie to himself, or her, anymore. As soon as he’d known it was her, he’d wanted her back, had let all those long-forgotten dreams bubble to the surface. Yes, he was following his bond, the best way he could, to get Van Gast. But that wasn’t all, not his only motive. He wanted what he’d always wanted—and had tried to forget—and tried not to let that seep into his bond over her.
He came around the screen just as Josie stepped out of the bath. Naked and glorious. She held still for long moments while he stared before she smiled slowly, stood up straight and walked toward him with that fluid grace that always set the hairs on his arms quivering. When she stood in front of him, not quite touching him, she was completely at ease. No embarrassment for her at her nakedness, no subservience, not like the bonded girls of the Archipelago. Fighting it every step of the way.
She cocked her head and smiled at him, warm, like the Josie of old, as though he was the Holden of old. Maybe he was that Holden, doing this, because he shouldn’t, oh, he shouldn’t. But he was going to.
She leaned into him and planted a kiss on his mouth, hesitant at first before she moved closer. Her wet skin against him was warm and silky, her lips soft as velvet as she kissed him harder. She pushed against him, soft and strong at the same time, and he kissed her back, let his arms pull her in, let his hands find the back of her neck, twine in her hair. He pulled his mouth from hers and drifted his lips across her cheek, down round her neck, and she shivered against him.
“Stop all this,” she murmured. “Stop this ridiculous chase for Van Gast. Break your bond, fight it, and then…” Her hands slid down his back and pulled him in closer, pressing him against her, her thighs against his as his mouth kissed back across her cheek. Her lips curved into a grin under his. “Oh, I see some things haven’t changed.”
He shut her up with another kiss, harder now, his tongue and hers, and it was as though they’d never been apart, all those years had never happened. She was everything he wasn’t, everything he wanted to be, letting him dream of who he could be. Free, unbound, open to every possibility.
Van Gast glared at Guld. He’d taken precious time away from repairs, from trying to get to port and refit. Guld was the one who’d found him with his spells, so his crew could pick him up. He’d had no worries on that score. More pressing was the need to be trim and shipshape before he got to Tarana, and Josie and the scam. It would be a drowning in the Deeps before he’d knowingly meet a Remorian without his ship ready to fight. He dropped into the captain’s chair and swung round to pour himself a brandy. “Well?”
Guld shuffled from one foot to the other, blinking rapidly. “It’s Josie. That Remorian. I saw him on the longboat.”
“What about him?”
“I think I recognized him.”
“Oh, yes?” Van Gast savored th
e burn of the brandy. He still couldn’t quite get rid of the chill from his bones, but the brandy surely did help. “Who is he then?”
“Holden, I think his name was. He was—well, I knew Josie before I knew you, and, er, so did Holden.”
The glass stopped halfway to Van Gast’s mouth. Something about the way Guld said it, about the diffident way he held himself, as though he thought Van Gast might explode and he was ready to dive for cover. “And?”
Guld flinched at his tone and swallowed a couple of times, as though he had something stuck in his throat. “Well, they were, um, lovers, you see. Besotted, Josie was. She didn’t care he was Remorian, didn’t care what anyone else said about him, and it’d better not be bad, because anyone who dared that got the sharp end of her sword.”
Lovers. Guld wasn’t born a racketeer, and it might mean something different to him, but he’d been on this ship long enough to know the difference between a quick tumble and a lover. A lover was who you loved. A tumble was, well, anyone else who ended up in your bed. There probably wasn’t a racketeer of age who hadn’t done that, gone to bed with someone for a night or two. If your lover was on a different ship, you might spend months apart. There was an etiquette to it all the same. Don’t ask, don’t tell, and love your lover, no other.
Van Gast drained the glass in a swallow and tried to still the tide of jealousy, that Josie had been besotted with this—this Remorian. That they’d been lovers, as he knew the word. Van Gast was fairly sure Josie loved him. Probably. He couldn’t ever say she’d been besotted with him. Too fiercely independent for that, too wary. She’d said that every man in her life had betrayed her trust at least once, excepting Van Gast, and the way she said it, the way her eyes darkened with fear, he knew she was just waiting for him to do the same.
This Holden had been one of them then, and now she was risking her neck to get her revenge, scam him stupid and getting Van Gast involved too. Why?