“But we lost the throne.”
His smile faltered, grew grim. “Was there any other way?”
I turned back to the window, thought about those last few moments in the throne room, in the throne itself, as the Ochean attempted to seize control. “No.”
“Then the throne was part of the price.”
We’d passed through the worst of the damaged streets, were coming up on the wharf. People were already crowded on the docks, and the carriage was forced to slow. Men and women danced, tankards and cups raised to the sky, laughter and screams combining into a low roar of frenzied noise. Someone slapped the side of the carriage, bellowed something slurred and unintelligible but obviously ribald into the window, then spun away, lost almost instantly. Marielle blushed and laughed.
I turned toward her, caught her gaze, and grinned as well.
Then we were at the wharf, the carriage drawing to a halt as the guardsmen pushed the riotous crowd back and Westen opened the door and helped me down. A cheer broke over us in a wave as Westen escorted me to the open area that had been cordoned off on one of the docks. Chairs had been brought down from the palace, along with tables now lined with platters of food, all set up on a raised platform. Music from at least three different sources merged into a cacophony of sound almost subsumed by the crowd itself, and somewhere someone was roasting a pig, the scent of sizzling meat and smoke making my stomach growl.
Regin, a few of his apprentices, Borund, Catrell, and Darryn were waiting on the platform.
Along with William.
My stomach clenched and I tensed, suddenly conscious of my dress, enough that Westen glanced toward me out of the corner of his eye. William straightened where he stood at Regin’s side, as far from Borund as possible. I could feel the tension on the river between the two, saw Borund cast William a glance, then turn his attention toward the docks, toward the crowd. William was dressed in the crisp white shirt of an apprentice, with breeches and a plain long brown jacket; Regin must not have told him he was to be made a full merchant yet. Regin wore his own merchant’s jacket—dark blue, riddled with the gold embroidery that signified his power within the merchants’ guild, the symbols indicating what resources he traded. Borund’s jacket was blood-red.
I gave Borund and William both a sharp frown.
Regin stepped forward. “We’ll have to launch immediately, if we’re going to catch the tide,” he said. Behind him, I could see the crew of the trading ship lined up at the dock already getting ready to depart, men scrambling in the rigging, others releasing the ties to the dock. The two other ships had already pulled away from the wharf to either side, the refurbished Chorl ships that were to be their escorts waiting out in the harbor. “You should make your speech now.”
I froze. “Speech?”
“You have to say something to the crowd,” Avrell said. The rest of the group had come up behind us. “They’ll be expecting it.”
I turned back to the wharf, saw the docks lined with people, packed into the small space so tightly the guardsmen were having a hard time keeping them away from the platform where we stood. The entire city must have come, including those from the Dredge. I felt a hand seize my heart, felt fresh sweat break out on my forehead.
Someone touched my arm, leaned in close to murmur, “Make it short. It doesn’t have to be complicated. Remember, most of them are already half drunk.”
Eryn.
I pressed my lips into a thin line, not amused. Reaching for the river, I threw a net out over the crowd, as far as I could spread it. Not as far as I’d been able to in the marketplace when I’d condemned Yvan as a traitor, when I’d had the power of the throne behind me, but that hardly mattered. Only those closest to the platform needed to hear.
I stepped forward, and with a low murmur, the crowd closest grew quiet. The festival continued farther out, raucous and loud, but here, on the edge of the dock, it was dead quiet.
Raising both arms, using the net to project my voice, I said, “To Amenkor’s survival.”
There was a pause.
And then the crowd erupted into a deafening roar. Bells and horns from all sides of the harbor joined the tumult. Through the crash of sound, I heard the captain of Regin’s ship bellow a command, turned to see sails belling out with the wind, a familiar sense of excitement seeping through me at the sight. I watched as the trader began to pull away from the dock, echoing the movements of the other two on either side. The roar spread along the wharf in both directions, subsiding only when the ships had cleared the pier and pulled out into the center of the harbor, the sun behind them, setting the clouds afire. The musicians broke out into a dance and the wharf degenerated into a seething mass of people dancing, drinking, eating, and celebrating.
I wondered how many of those from the Dredge were picking pockets. It’s what I would have done, if I’d even risked coming down from the Dredge at all.
I grinned, the energy of the festival infectious.
William cleared his throat beside me. I’d felt him approach. His presence made my skin tingle.
“Nice speech.”
I snorted. “Avrell is going to kill me.”
“I know.”
I turned, caught William’s malicious grin, and hit him on the shoulder. I saw Borund behind him, watching his back with a strange expression on his face—hope and sadness and regret all mixed together—as he spoke to Regin.
I glanced back toward William, who stood rubbing the spot where I’d struck him. “Borund’s been busy.”
William stilled, the grin vanishing from his face, his expression a wall. “Yes.”
I thought William would say more, but he stood staring out at the crowd. Behind, some of those on the platform had begun to dance.
I sighed. “What do you expect him to do, William? He can’t change the fact that he ran on the wharf. He can’t change the fact that he left you.”
“I know that.” Tight. Angry.
“Then what more do you want?”
He held that anger in for a long moment, then heaved a sigh of exasperation. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“I’ve done what needed to be done for the guild. I’ve done what he’s asked of me. But we haven’t spoken about that.”
I nodded. I’d seen the two on the wharf, in the palace, knew that they hadn’t. “Maybe you should.”
William didn’t say anything. Far out in the harbor, the ships were passing through the protective arms of land that jutted into the water, slipping out into the ocean, two of the traders turning south toward Venitte, the other heading north.
As soon as the ships passed from view, Regin broke away from Borund, headed toward where William and I stood. I straightened, William doing the same as he saw Regin’s approach.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
Regin nodded, his expression neutral. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Give me a moment, and then you can begin.”
Regin nodded and stepped away, motioning Borund forward. William shot me a confused glance that I ignored, turning instead to face the crowd, reaching out again with the net I’d used before, capturing as many of those that surrounded the platform as possible.
Then I nodded toward Regin.
“Citizens of Amenkor,” he bellowed, and I could feel his voice reaching out over the noise of the crowd, reaching all of those touched by the net. Those nearest quieted, those farther out too caught up in the celebration to care. On the platform, the musicians brought their song to a close, and those dancing slowed.
Regin waited until he thought he had most of the people’s attention, then continued. “We have all survived a rough winter, and the attack of the Chorl, as the Mistress said. And during these past long months we’ve suffered significant losses. Many of us are still grieving. But we have survived. The wharf has been rebuilt. The streets have been cleared. And we have just sent out the first ships from our harbor since the attack!
” At this a cheer rose from the audience, a cheer that spread outward from the platform and beyond the net I’d placed over them. Regin nodded, raised his hand to calm the sudden enthusiasm.
“But,” Regin continued, and the crowd quieted grudgingly. “There is one more thing we can do tonight, something that will rebuild Amenkor’s strength in a way that no mere stone, nor wood, nor sailing ships ever will. With the Mistress’ blessing, Master Borund and I would like you all to participate in something that has traditionally only been done within the hallowed halls of the merchants’ guild, something that has never been witnessed by those outside its halls before.” Here, Regin paused, and those closest to the platform whispered to each other, the hush in stark contrast to the distant sounds of revelry. Everyone had stilled, had pushed a little closer to the platform itself.
Regin turned from the crowd, toward where William stood at my side, a slight smile touching the seriousness of his face, of his voice. “William Hartleton, apprentice to Master Borund, please step forward.”
Stunned, William hesitated, then moved stiffly up to Regin’s side. Regin gave him a small nod, then turned to the other waiting apprentices on the platform. “Illum Forestead, Jack Trevain, and Walter Davvens, apprentices to Master Regin, please step forward.”
All three of Regin’s apprentices stepped forward as well, with a mixture of shock, elation, and confusion.
When all four were lined up before him, he said, now deadly serious, all traces of the smile gone, “As Masters of the merchants’ guild, with all of the powers that the titles ensure, and with the approval of the Guild in its entirety, and that of the Mistress of Amenkor herself, I now rescind your status as apprentices of the guild . . . and declare you Masters of the guild in your own right, with all of the privileges and duties that the title entails.”
Silence held for a long moment as the import of Regin’s solemn words sank into the crowd . . . and then it erupted into cheers and thunderous applause. One of Regin’s apprentices—Jack—seemed on the verge of fainting. As the applause continued, Regin motioned forward one of the servants from the palace. She laid a heavy box at Regin’s feet, and Borund stepped forward. I let the net go as Regin pulled a dark blue jacket from the box and handed it to Borund. A few silver-embroidered symbols stood out on the jacket. Regin pulled out another in a dark hunter’s green with gold embroidery.
Borund stepped up to William, both standing straight, backs stiff, faces tight. Borund held out the jacket so that William could slip his arms through the sleeves, then met William’s gaze.
I don’t know what passed between them in that look, but I sucked in a sharp breath, held it. For a long moment, I didn’t think that William would accept the jacket. His jaw tightened, his eyes on Borund’s face, searching.
Then his gaze dropped and he turned, pulled off the plain brown jacket he’d worn to the festival, thrust his hands through the sleeves, shrugged the new jacket onto his shoulders, and turned back. Borund dusted off the shoulders, tugged the sleeves into the correct position, scrutinized the cut, the tailoring, the embroidery.
And then he glanced back up at William and I could see that he was on the verge of tears, that he barely held them in check.
He suddenly grabbed William and pulled him in tight, hugging him roughly. “I’m so sorry, William,” he half sobbed, half choked into William’s tense shoulder. “I’m so sorry I abandoned you at the wharf, and I know there’s nothing I can do to change that, and I wish to all hells that there was. I wish that I could take it all back, relive the whole experience. I wish—” The rush of words caught in his throat and he pulled William in tighter, then released him, stepping back, scrubbing at the tears on his face with one hand, not able to meet William’s eyes for a long moment.
But before William could say anything, before any of those on the platform could react, he caught William by the shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes. “You are the closest thing I have to a son, the closest I will ever have, and I am proud of that. I’m proud of you, William. And I will always be proud, even if you can’t find it within yourself to forgive me.”
Then he let William go, turned toward where Regin held out a second jacket—a bright yellow with dark red embroidery. He handed it to Borund, who moved to stand before Illum, while Regin presented Walter with his own black jacket with silver edging.
As soon as the last two shrugged into their jackets and Borund and Regin stepped back, the crowd erupted into fresh applause. When this died down, the musicians broke into a lively dance.
All six merchants shook hands, congratulating each other, and then they broke apart, most heading toward the platters of food that had been laid out. William moved toward me.
“Nice jacket,” I said.
William laughed, then said accusingly, “You knew about this.”
“I’m the Mistress,” I said mockingly, mouth quirked. “I know everything.”
He grinned, and it suffused his face, wrinkling the skin near his eyes. The wind tousled his hair, tugged at his jacket. A few months before, I’d thought he despised me, despised what I’d done as a bodyguard for Borund. A month ago, he would have flinched if I’d reminded him I was the Mistress.
The moment stretched. Around us, those on the platform had split up into pairs and returned to dancing. Torches were lit as the sun set completely.
“Would you care to dance?” William said suddenly.
I stilled, felt my carefree smile fade. “I don’t know how.”
“Oh.” An awkward moment, and then, tentatively, “I can show you.”
William held out his hand, his expression hopeful. To the side, I felt the other dancers swirling on the river, heard one of them cry out in delight as they were spun. The motion, the movement, drew me, even though fear roiled in the pit of my stomach.
I hesitated, trapped. But in the end, William’s look won out.
He led me to the edge of the ring of dancers, pointed out steps, demonstrated the position of the feet and hands. I shivered when he placed his hands on my waist, showing me a lift, and then, all of his directions still a jumble in my head, mixed with the queasy warmth that had filled my gut at his touch, he took my trembling hands and began.
I stepped on his foot three times, tripped once. He caught me with a grin, and then I let myself relax, let myself forget that I’d never danced before, let myself sink into the river, into its flows, and suddenly it wasn’t awkward anymore. It was like the Dredge, like slipping through the crowds of people without touching anyone, all about the eddies, the movements, the patterns. I slid along the currents of the other dancers, anticipated William’s direction, let the rhythm of the dance take control.
Through the whirling motion, I caught Marielle’s face, caught her significant look before she was spun away by Keven. Sometime later, Avrell and Eryn flashed by, Eryn laughing in delight.
Three dances later, William slowed to a halt as the music ended and the dancers broke out into applause. A gust brought another whiff of the roasting pork, and my stomach growled.
“I need a break,” I said, gasping and sweaty. My heart pounded in my chest, as if I’d been practicing for hours with Westen, and yet I felt exhilarated, not exhausted.
“Very well,” William said, face flushed, eyes bright.
We moved toward the food-laden tables. All along the wharf and on the remaining ships, lanterns and torches lit the night, the crowd spreading out into the lower city.
William handed me a glass of water, piled some forkfuls of shredded pork and some bread onto a platter, and led me off of the platform onto the dock, moving down its length. We settled onto some crates near its end and ate in silence, watching the distant movement on the wharf. Behind, I felt the presence of a few guardsmen—my ever-present escort—but I ignored them, didn’t think William had noticed them at all.
“Catrell told me you intend to build another wall,” William said when the platter held nothing but a few strands of meat and some crumbs, “one tha
t surrounds the entire eastern part of the city.”
“Yes.” It came out brusque.
William hesitated. I felt his eyes on me. “What’s wrong?”
For a moment, I considered shrugging it aside, not willing to let the palace intrude, but then I sighed. “Avrell says it’s impossible. We don’t have the money. Not after the past winter. Not after the Chorl attack.”
“Ah.” William lapsed into thoughtful silence, seemed almost to speak, reconsidered, then said quietly, “You have four new merchants now. Have you thought about asking them?”
I stilled in thought, but before I could answer, before I’d even had a chance to consider it, William continued.
“I know we haven’t had a chance to set up our own houses yet, that we’ll be starting out fresh. But typically our Masters, the merchant that we apprenticed under, will give us a gift, a portion of their own houses, something to get us started. It still won’t amount to much, but at least it’s something. Perhaps all of us together, all four of us, will have enough to help back the building of the wall.”
I stared at William, at the mute appeal on his face, at the need in his eyes. He wanted to help, was desperate to help, but not because of the city, and not because of his new merchant house.
He wanted to help me.
“William,” I said, then halted.
He shifted, set our empty plates set aside.
Then, I leaned forward and kissed him. A light kiss, but not the sudden, unexpected kiss I’d given him before, when he’d suggested Borund build the ships in the harbor. I felt his indrawn breath a moment before we touched, felt the trembling of his body, smelled his scent—straw dust from the warehouses, sea salt—strong and rich on the river.
Then I drew back, heard him sigh.
Before either of us could react, a harsh, urgent clanging of bells pierced the night, coming from the walls protecting the harbor. William turned toward the sound in consternation. I leaped to my feet, two guards appearing out of the darkness at my side.
“What is it?” I asked, tension coursing down my arms, even though I already knew.
The Vacant Throne Page 7