A brittle quiet fell over the room. Nica immediately regretted her impulsiveness. She pulled her hand back and glanced over at Sebande, but he was watching his friend with an unreadable expression. A familiar burn started eating at Nica’s stomach. She shouldn’t have asked.
Sebande turned abruptly. “I’m going to go get some food,” he said in Jarisan. He disappeared through the door and slammed it closed as he exited. Nica started to push herself away when Shanks’ hand reached out lightning fast and gripped her wrist. Nica froze, unsure of what to expect. When he looked up at her, she was startled at the raw emotion she saw in his eyes.
“Nica—” he started— “it’s just…” He relaxed his grip and let his fingers slide down to hers. Nica didn’t move, unsure of what was happening. Her heart pounded unevenly in her chest. Was he angry? She should never have been so forward.
“It’s difficult to explain.” He let out a heavy sigh as he pulled away and leaned his head back against the wall, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“It’s all right.” Nica carefully scooted backwards, trying not to wiggle the bed. Fear bubbled in her stomach like a noxious stew. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry I asked. ” She inched backwards a little more. “I won’t ask again. I promise.” Could she stand and move away from him or would he try to stop her? Nica bit her lip and blinked hard several times to stop the tears welling in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of Shanks.
“Shaunismyrealname.” He spoke so fast, she couldn’t understand what he’d said.
“I understand, really.” Nica pushed herself off the bed and paused. “What did you say?”
Shanks took a deep breath, as though preparing to jump off a cliff. He reached for her hand and pulled her back down to sit next to him. “Come here. Don’t be afraid,” he said gently. “I won’t hurt you.” He smoothed her hair back from her face. “Shaun is my real name.” This time his words were easily understood. “I haven’t used it since I ran away when I was twelve. Sebande came with me. He’s the only one who knows who I really am.”
Nica tried to act unruffled at this shocking bit of news. If he wasn’t Jonn Shanks, then who was he? “Will you tell me your real name?”
Shanks looked deep into her eyes. “Nic,” he said softly, tracing her jaw with a gentle finger, “I’ve never trusted anyone other than Sebande to keep my secret.”
The room faded away as she sank into his beautiful blue eyes. “You can trust me,” she whispered.
He hesitated, his brows pulling down as if he was in pain. He took a deep breath. “My real name is Shaunte DeGran.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in.
“DeGran?” Nica repeated. “DeGran as in the…”
“Yes.” Shanks nodded. “Canja DeGran. The pirate king of Corsock.” His voice sounded strained. “That bloodthirsty murderer is my father.”
Nica covered her mouth with her hand at his shocking pronouncement. Words failed her at the magnitude of Shanks’ admission. The snippets of information she’d heard about DeGran over the years raced through her mind. The man was brutal—that part was without question. Brilliant at the strategy of warfare. Uncommonly bold and brave. But a vicious man and without mercy. ‘No traitor left alive’, was his motto. Canja DeGran was a man who Mosaba admired.
“I didn’t know he had a son,” she finally whispered. She tried to imagine what it must have been like to be a child in such a violent atmosphere. Not so unlike her own, she realized.
“So, you see,” Shanks said, with a sad smile, “I recognized much more in you than your resemblance to Jaaniyah.” He turned her arm over and traced the scars that lined the tender skin up and down her inner arm. “I had a father who liked to mark me, too.”
Nica’s heart sank. “The scars on your chest?”
Shanks nodded. “Carved into my skin because it pleased him to see me cry. He said he did it to toughen me up.” Shanks sighed, his eyes distant with painful memories. “And then when I learned not to cry—” his lips twisted in a bitter grimace— “he said he did it to mark me as his property.”
Nica reached for Shanks’ hand and held his long fingers tight in her own. A tear escaped and ran down her cheek. Her heart ached. She understood only too clearly the reality he was describing.
“So when I was twelve, I ran away.” Shanks spoke calmly, as though describing events that had happened to someone else. “Sebande’s father had been killed in a drunken knife fight with another pirate. He never knew his mother. There was nothing left for him in Corsock and no one to care if he left. So he came with me.” He shrugged. “And I became Jonn Shanks.”
“I’m so sorry,” Nica whispered, reaching up and cupping the side of his face with her hand.
His eyes were unfocused and distant as he remembered. “It was rough for a while. I knew my father would try to find me so we were always on the run. There were months where we didn’t get enough to eat and more than one winter when I was sure we would freeze to death before we starved.” He gave her a rueful smile.
“Sebande and I survived some terrible times. Then I met Amistad Jacoby and I found a purpose as a soldier. As a spy.” He corrected himself. “Because I knew Mosaba was as evil as my father and I was determined to help Jacoby destroy him. But then I saw you.”
Shanks traced her features, a strange longing on his face. “I saw how brave you were—spying on Mosaba yourself. I suspected how cruel he was to you. Yet you didn’t break. You were strong. I was going to help you escape, but you didn’t need me. You had your own plan.”
“I didn’t know…” Nica whispered, “I was afraid to trust anyone—”
Shanks’ long fingers tangled in her hair and slid behind her neck, pulling her closer.
“I told you before, spies and pirates must stick together.” His warm breath caressed her lips as he whispered, “I will do everything I can to keep you safe.” His lips touched hers, gentle and soft. Nica could smell the sweet scent of his skin. She leaned into him, pulled by a desire she’d never felt before and his kiss deepened. Heat spread through her like the glow of sunlight, warming her from the inside out and she knew she was in love with Shaunte DeGran.
he town square was busy as they wound their way through the crowds the next morning. Nica wore a scarf over her head, her long blond hair braided down her back and tucked inside her jacket. Somewhere Shanks had found a peasant dress complete with a shade bonnet for her to wear. It felt strange to be in a dress again, but she blended in with the crowds that jammed the streets and became invisible.
She had molded warm wax and fitted a mouthpiece into her upper lip to distort her features and her speech. Ashes from the fire were used to shadow her eyes above and below giving her a gaunt, ill appearance. At a glance, she didn’t look anything like Madanica Santos or Jaaniyah Jacoby.
Nica suspected Shanks and Sebande had acquiesced to her request and escorted her to the square so she would agree to stay in the room later while they sought news of Mosaba or Jaaniyah. She could tell they were anxious to be on their way, but Nica was unwilling to miss the opportunity to possibly find another clue about the Getheas Stone.
She had listened to Mosaba ramble on in his drunken rants for too many years to ignore how fervently he believed—not only in the Stone’s existence—but also in the mysterious power the Stone held. Somehow, his quest for the Stone was tied to the kidnapping of Jaaniyah and Becknah. Of that Nica was sure.
Earlier, Nica had checked Shanks’ wound again. The tightness of the wrap had helped slow the bleeding but as soon as she released the pressure a small trickle of blood began to flow again. She rewrapped his side with a clean bandage, using Sebande’s help to get the wrap nice and tight.
“Doesn’t look like you’re going to need to do any sewing after all, does it?” Shanks gave her a pleased grin.
“Oh, yes it does,” Nica retorted. “That cut still needs to be stitched. I just need to get a needle that’s big enough and some catgut, then I
’ll fix you right up.”
“Catgut?” Shanks repeated with a look of disgust. Even Sebande turned to look at her.
“Se tigrynde blackmo,” Sebande muttered to Shanks.
Nica frowned at Sebande. “What did he just say?”
Shanks bit back a laugh. “Something about an evil streak.”
Nica’s eyes narrowed and she glared at the tall young man. “Don’t forget it, either.” She turned away before they could see her smile.
IT WAS PAST ten in the morning when they stopped before the clock tower and gazed up at the impressive structure. The largest ring on the clock was lined with twenty-four numbers to indicate the hours of the day. Colored arcs on the interior indicated day and night as well as the seasons. A second, smaller ring sat on top of the first ring, marked with symbols for the constellations found in the zodiac. One arm of the clock was adorned with a sun while the other arm had a moon on the end, indicating their relative position during the day.
“What an amazing device,” Shanks said, looking up at the towering clock. “I wish one of those clock hands could point us to where we need to go.”
“Or at least point us toward the princess,” Sebande replied in a low voice, speaking in Jarisan.
Nica glanced over at him in surprise. Sebande seemed to understand the local language just fine but apparently couldn’t speak Sartish. Nica realized he must have been able to understand every word she and Toppen had said to each other, even though he had feigned ignorance.
“Into a box what was once a row,” Nica said. “Do you see anything that’s a row?”
“No,” Shanks replied. “Let’s walk around it once then we’ll go sit across the square and see if we spot anything.” Nica scanned every inch of the building that was visible as they slowly walked around the large tower. There was nothing she could see that fit the quatrain. She tried to quell her sense of urgency. Now that she was back in Sartis, it was as if she could feel the threat of Mosaba more oppressively.
They walked across the cobblestone square and sat down on one of the stone benches. Shanks sat down next to her, leaning on arm on the bench behind her back. Sebande stood on the far side of him, his arms crossed, his expression distant as he searched the faces among the crowd in the square for any threat.
“Read the lines again,” Shanks said.
Nica enjoyed the warmth of his body and the sense of security she felt when he was near. She fought the urge to lean against him as she recited the quatrain.
“A tower slowed watches and waits
An unwitting accomplice for the hand of fate
Now into a box what was once a row
The simple answer of where to go.
“It has to mean this tower,” she said. “Because of the dry air, the Berjerac tower keeps time a few seconds behind the one in LaBricé.” She looked around. “What else could it mean?”
“I agree,” Shanks nodded. “But what’s it waiting for? The arrival of something? Or someone?” He raised his eyebrows at Nica. “An unwitting accomplice for the hand of fate?”
She shook her head, staring at the words again. “I don’t know.”
THEY STAYED AT the tower for an hour before giving up and heading back to the inn. After they’d eaten, Shanks escorted Nica back to the room. “I’m going to scout around to see what I can find out about Mosaba. Sebande is going to stay with you.” His face was serious. “He may not be in the room, but he’ll be close enough to hear you if you need him.” His lips twisted in a sweet smile. “While I’m gone why don’t you figure out that poem?”
“Is that all I need to do?” she teased back. “Maybe I should capture Mosaba while I’m at it, too.”
Shanks’ smile faded. “No, you leave that part to me.” His eyes were shielded again and Nica wondered what he was thinking. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Shaun,” Nica said softly. He paused at the door and looked over his shoulder in surprise. “Please be careful.”
THE DAY DRAGGED by as Nica waited for Shanks’ return. Sebande didn’t come to the room. Nica didn’t know where he was, but she trusted Shanks had told her the truth and he was nearby. She thumbed through the book of quatrains but no hidden message became clear. She tried to sleep, but her rest was fitful, her nerves too ragged to really relax. Thoughts of what Shaunte DeGran’s life must have been like growing up under the hand of Canja wouldn’t leave her alone.
At the back of it all, like a melody that played over and over in her mind, was the memory of Shanks’ kiss and the realization that he had trusted her enough to reveal his deepest secret. The knowledge gave her a feeling she’d never had before—as if a light had settled in her chest and warmed her heart. She was afraid to question too closely what that meant.
THE CLOCK TOWER tolled six and Sebande had brought her a tray of food, but he didn’t eat with her. Nica lit a single candle and sat waiting on the bed, worry gnawing at her gut. It was dark when the door finally opened and she jerked upright, anxious to hear any news.
His tall figure filled the doorframe. His shoulders were hunched as though he were in pain and he blew on his hands trying to warm them. Sebande followed him into the room, a grim expression on his face. He cast a dark glance at Nica then looked away, making her wonder if he was angry.
“Did you learn anything?” she asked. Sebande brought over a tray of food that he had stored for Shanks and held it out to his friend. With a murmur of thanks, Shanks sat down on the edge of the bed and tore into the bread. Even several inches away Nica could feel cool air radiating off of him. He had to be freezing.
“Do you want a blanket?” she asked.
“No, a mug of something hot to drink would help though.”
Sebande left the room without a word.
“Is he angry?” Nica whispered to Shanks.
“No,” Shanks replied in between bites. “Sebande’s father would beat him if he talked, so he doesn’t talk much—even to me. I’m used to it by now. That’s why I was so shocked at his outburst when he brought you to my rooms at the palace. That’s probably the longest tirade I’ve ever heard from him.” Shanks winked at her. “He must like you.”
Nica snorted. “I hardly think that’s the reason. More likely the opposite.” She leaned a little closer to him. She loved how he smelled. “Did you find out anything about Mosaba?”
Sebande returned with two cups of warm cider and thrust one into Shanks’ hand and offered the other to Nica.
“Oh, thank you,” she said in surprise. She reached for the cup and smiled up at him. He returned her gaze without any expression, his dark eyes shadowed by the thatch of black hair across his forehead.
“Mosaba is at the Ortawn,” Shanks said. “There doesn’t seem to be any doubt about that information. Why—nobody would say.” He shoved the last bit of bread into his mouth. “But, I suspect it means he’s got a new prisoner.”
“Oh no,” Nica gasped. “Not the Ortawn.” She would never forget the terror she’d felt inside that underground prison. “Do you think it’s Jaaniyah?”
“I can’t say for sure. I’m going to investigate a little further tomorrow.”
Sebande stood a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest. “I will go with you,” he said firmly in Jarisan.
THE NIGHT FLEW by. Sebande offered to sleep on the floor so both Shanks and Nica could have a bed. In the morning, Nica stayed in the room while they left to fetch breakfast. She was afraid to think about what Mosaba would do to Jaaniyah—or what he would do if he caught her again.
She pushed herself off the bed and paced around the room. Shaun, as she was starting to think of him, had clearly favored his left side this morning. The wound had started bleeding again in the middle of the night and the edges of the cut were red and becoming inflamed. He was moving too much, instead of letting his body heal, but there was no way she could make him stop and rest.
He needed a healer. Or she needed to get the necessary materials to stitch up his injury and keep it bound togethe
r to mend. Toppen had delivered wine to that old woman just outside the town square. He’d said she practiced the healing arts. Perhaps she would have what Nica needed.
When Shanks and Sebande returned, Shanks set out the food on the small wooden table while Sebande pulled out a stone to sharpen their swords. The fare was only sausage, gruel and some biscuits but the aroma permeated the room and smelled wonderful. Nica sat down at the table and eagerly dug into her platter. She glanced at Shanks from under her eyelashes several times before she got up the nerve to speak.
“You know, I’ll be fine here by myself if you two want to go together this afternoon. I’ll take a nap.”
Shanks’ head lifted, his silver earrings swinging with his movement. He gave her a shrewd look. “Where is it you want to go, Nica?”
“Go?” Nica echoed, surprised at his perceptiveness. “Nowhere… it’s just that I know Sebande wants…”
He cut her off. “Where?”
Nica closed her mouth and looked at Sebande. He had a strained look on his face as though he was trying not to smile.
“Well, I did want to have another look at the clock tower.” Nica pushed her food around on her plate. “And…well…” the rest came out in a rush, “there’s a healer I want you to visit who doesn’t live far from here.”
“No.”
“Shaun, please. You need to have someone tend to that wound.”
Sebande made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.
Shanks scowled at her. “I will not purposely reveal myself to anyone in this town who might be able to describe me later. Healer or no healer.” His gaze was intent. “Is that clear?”
Nica took a deep breath. She wasn’t used to standing up to other people. But this wasn’t for her—it was for him. “Then I need to see her.”
“Why?”
“Because she also specializes in—” Nica looked around the room in search of inspiration. Her eyes fell on a spill of lace from the gown Shanks had shoved into his bedroll before they left Jarisa— “womanly things.”
The Midnight Spy Page 17