“You want a pretend captain?” He inhaled, glanced to the sky to think. “There’re more than a few who might take the task and do the job, but I reckon Segur is your man. His pa captained a merchanteer, and they raised him aboard ship, he can banter quick as a haggler in Sin Medor. Plus, he knows more Thonian than the rest of us put together. But he won’t pass for Mulopo from less than a few hundred strides.”
Language mattered, build mattered, but there was something more vital. “Does he have the temperament for a lie at spear’s point?”
“And then some.”
“I’d like to meet this sailor tomorrow, in a manner that won’t bring suspicious eyes.”
“He’s our cook, a meet should be easy nuf.” Kemin knocked her drink from her hand, the watered rum spattering across the deck. “Next time get your own drink, you ungrateful Tek.” He stormed off having caught Captain Mulopo’s eye.
Meliu laughed and called after him, “A man who spills liquor on a ship full of thirsty men won’t live long.”
Kemin waved her off as the half of the crew who understood Hidreng laughed and whistled at the man. She made sure Mulopo laughed too, she didn’t want Kemin meeting the man’s bullwhip.
Ivin leaned on the rail, staring at the bobbing ships. “You’ve found your front door?”
She slipped her arm in his. “There aren’t any front doors on a ship. You either need to learn to sail, or learn to swim.”
“I don’t even know what the hells that meant. But it sounded full of wisdom.”
“I’m sure it was.” She gazed into his eyes, the dark ring around the blue. “Come, Tulk.”
The look on Meliu’s face as she was spoke was solemn and mischievous at the same time. “There’s another plan we need to discuss.” She led him by the arm to the cabin and barred the door behind them.
Ivin strode to a table, set his cup down, and removed the Ar-Bdein’s sword. “Just how dangerous is this plan?”
She stood by the door slipping her boots off. “Extremely.” Meliu wandered the walls, pulling the curtains on the room’s four windows despite night taking over the sky. She came to him with short steps and turned her back to him. “Untie me?”
Ivin swallowed. He’d tied her dresses more than once, but… He pulled the string and she shrugged, spreading the cross-tie, the fabric falling from her shoulders to the floor with a soft rustle. She didn’t look at him, just walked naked to the bed and crawled atop.
He stared, heart drumming, as she patted the blankets with a grin. “Come, Tulk.”
His feet carried him forward, but his heart was uncertain. “What the hells are you doing?”
She snagged the waist of his trousers. “Inviting you into my bed.”
He grabbed her hand as it plied his belt, stopping her. “Why?”
“Seriously? I walk out that door right now, I’d have any man on deck jumping on these covers. Any man.”
“I’m not any man. You know that.”
She sighed, but didn’t let go of him. “I don’t want to answer that question. I want you to make love to me.”
Gods, he wanted her too. She was as beautiful and perfect beneath her robes and dresses as all men imagined. He sat beside her, hand wandering to her cheek. “Why?”
She huffed. “We could be dead tonight. Tomorrow. The next day. What more reason do we need?”
Ivin smiled and didn’t fight her when she eased close for a kiss, welcoming her tongue in his mouth as a hand wandered to her ribs and slid toward her breast. But he stopped himself, spoke through her kiss. “We’ve courted death since we met. Why now?”
She pulled back, frustration gripping her beautiful eyes. “Those are Thonian ships out there. If we’re captured and I live… A northern barbarian, a priestess, a virgin… Them bastards would sacrifice me to Fikeze, raped during my own murder so the godsdamned priests can commune with their goddess.” Her lips moved in and her hands rubbed his chest. “And because you’re the only man I want touching me.”
Ivin could no longer deny the heat of her lips. And wondered if it was possible to love two women at the same time.
43
A Guarded Life
The White Rose with bloodied thorns,
dripping, dropping, slipping, and slopping,
a Feast, at Least, for the hungry beast.
A dower flower, a dowry so flowery,
the wedded virgin so white and so dark.
Sipping Crimson.
–Tomes of the Touched
If life with one guard had been a bore, life with a dozen was a peculiar place somewhere between the Seven Heavens and the Twelve Hells, and yet, not the Slave Fields. If in the hells, she’d be living an uncomfortable existence, gnawed on by rats, breaking rocks with her hands, or some such. If it were the heavens she’d be free to roam, not simply in the heaven she called home, but throughout all seven. If in the Slave Fields she’d be laboring and never hear her name.
No, this place was comfortable with a goose down tick on her bed and fluffed pillows, not to mention the plush, comfy chairs, and she never had to lift a finger for nothing. On top of that, she heard her name a thousand times a day. The Ravinrin tent was a cozy torture.
Tedeu assigned a dozen men to her protection after the attack, and those were just the ones dedicated to her tent set smack in the middle of the Ravinrin. If she took a stroll, six men walked with her if Maro was with them… if he was elsewhere, she swore several more followed, but not in the tight circle with the others; they blended in with any folks around, but the repetition of known Ravinrin faces left her little doubt.
Even more unfair? Alu got to go off and play sword maiden! No getting stuffed into a tent between stinky armored men for her. Nor did the stinky boy come to harass Alu.
Leto Ravinrin sat with her in the tent now as he did every day. She appreciated the company, but letting him know that wasn’t part of the game. Today he sat staring at her over a board marked off in squares alternating black and white. Blue and red polished cabochons sat in trays to the side, but she was having no part of another distraction that kept her sitting on her butt.
“It’s a lie for anyone to call that a game. Games must be fun.”
“It’s called treasure hunt, and it is fun.”
“Those aren’t no treasure, they’re pebbles not unlike I’ve seen wash up on shore.”
He held one up to the light. “More valuable than that odd pearl you’ve got dangling by your throat.”
Kinesee squinted. He’d walked into dangerous territory and he knew it. “I don’t play games.” Fact was, she didn’t know how, nor did she care to learn.
“I think you play games all the time, you just don’t want anyone else to know the rules.”
“Does anyone like you?”
He shrugged. “I’m sure they do.”
His crooked, but somehow cute, smile attested to this likelihood. “Well, I don’t.”
He nodded with a wistful gaze. “That is unfortunate. The Lady Ravinrin mentioned we might make a fine match one day.”
She sputtered. “A what?”
“An engagement, to join our clans.”
“I never! I wouldn’t…” But she’d heard of such things in fireside stories more than once. She was clanblood now. “I should take up swordplay just to make sure I avoid such a catastrophe.”
He blinked slow with a tight-lipped smirk. “So, if you don’t like games, what do you like?”
Building sand castles? Fighting my sis? Her thoughts trailed to her pa and gamu, a sad place she didn’t want to visit. “I like walks… without an escort.”
He stood. “Then let us walk.”
A guard stood and stepped through the flap, and two more led the way out. “And them? You can’t dispatch a Ravinrin order… wave them away, make them leave me alone?”
He laughed. “There’s only one Ravinrin with that power. We may walk, but it won’t be alone.” She hesitated, and he sighed. “Do you like stories?”
“Yes.”
&nb
sp; “Well then, in the stories, a princess should always have an escort, chaperones, when accompanied by a courting prince.” He bowed with a sweep of his arm. “After you, my princess.”
Kinesee rolled her eyes. “I will walk with you, so long as we strike this courting notion.”
“A deal.”
Outside, clouds streaked the sky, carried a brisk breeze coming in off the Straits, but it wasn’t so cold for her northern blood that she wasn’t comfortable. They meandered amongst the Ravinrin with haughty strides and puffed chests, doing their best to mimic some imagined royalty. She huffed. “A princess needs a castle, not just a prince and her personal army.”
“Pray, what doth you mean, M’Lady Kinesee of the House Tortoise?”
“To the beach, m’Lord. Stone builds castles, not grass ‘n dirt.”
It took longer than she expected to reach the beach, and once there, longer to find a patch of sand sheltered from human feet. She plopped to the ground and scooped sand; Leto stared.
“What are you doing? Tedeu won’t appreciate the state of your dress.”
“I’m building a sand castle. You’ve never built a sand castle?”
“I’ve never been so fortunate.”
He eased to his knees as the guards surrounded them, and as she figured, four more staked out posts further out. Leto was only a half of a half as bad as she first thought him, at least while he dug in the sand and packed walls and towers to defend the realm. It was fun and made her forget the armored men standing rigid around her for a time. For several wicks she laughed and bantered as if living in a time before the horrors came. But once she became aware of her whimsy, it faded. And when folks along the beach murmured, turning and pointing to the sea, the tranquil spell broke before she turned to look.
Billowing smoke rose from the Strait’s waters. Why would anyone build a fire on a boat? It took a flicker for her mind to right itself, and she stood. “A ship is ablaze.” Accidents happened at sea, she understood well enough, but they didn’t happen in pairs. A fresh line of smoke rose west of the first.
A nervous murmur passed through the crowded coastline. Men climbed a nearby outcropping of wave slicked rocks for a better view, one with a long-glass. “Thonian warships! Hidreng! Godsdamn… a hundred of ‘em!”
Leto grabbed her, shook her shoulder as she stared. “Back to the Ravinrin tents! Quick!”
Her guards piled around her, shields in hand even if they didn’t yet draw weapons. Semerun, the lead guard behind Maro, said, “Keep your steps controlled but fast.”
Kinesee struggled to see ahead through her vantage point, but what she witnessed was chaos. Folks were running from the beach, others were running to it, and others stood like grazing cows in everyone’s road. She reached for Leto’s hand as the crowd pressed around them, and Ravinrin swords rang from their sheaths. “Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.”
Semerun said, “Either of you get separated, don’t panic. Look for the Ravinrin hill and the Lady’s banners. Or Choerkin. You hear me?”
They arrived at a bottleneck climbing a bluff which led from the beach. Common folk jostled and pushed for footing on the path, or climbed the sides, while warriors from every clan scrambled down, heading for the beach.
“Emudar! Let us pass!” Semerun’s command went unheeded, and they stood shuffling, pressed tight, waiting their turn.
The crush from the rear, frantic folks wanting no part of a Tek army’s landing pushed her guards tighter, and the screams of fear were turning to anger. A big man in front of them punched another in the nose and blood sprayed, and wherever it splashed chaos erupted. A single blow turned into hundreds in a flicker, and as some hit the ground, the crowd pushed harder, people scrambling over anyone downed in their path.
Semerun shouted, “Shields forward! No blood unless they offer it first!”
When a man in Semerun’s path puffed his chest, Kinesee learned for the first time how a mailed fist to the jaw would drop a man in a blink, and they stepped over the fool’s unconscious back.
Leto’s hand sweated in hers; he was a prince today, not a warrior, and he came unarmored and unarmed. He pulled her forward up the hill, and as they reached the top and open ground, she figured the troubles were over. She was wrong.
Open space released a flood of surging bodies, and the living river swept them into its current. Semerun disappeared in the flurry of frightened people, or her only safety was a boy not so much older than her. They ran. Straight for the Ravinrin tents, or at least where she remembered them to be.
A foot caught hers and she collapsed, and her sweaty grip slipped, Leto washed away in the river of people. She covered her head from boots and bare feet and knees, and with a breath of clear space leaped to her feet to run. Wild eyed. Seeing no one she knew. A woman’s hip drove her back to the ground, and she hid by a cart’s wheel and all she could do was fumble for her pearl.
With tear-blurred eyes she rubbed in desperation, and the warmth of the pearl came. Solineus!
She wailed aloud the next time, “Solineus!”
I’m coming, sweet girl. I’ll find you.”
She curled tighter, weeping. She’d never expected an answer: he must be closer than she’d ever have dared hope.
A hand snagged her arm, and for a hopeful flicker she expected to see her hero, but it was Leto.
“Get up! Run!”
She took his cool hand in hers and followed, winding sideways against the flow.
“Where’re we going?”
“Some place safe.”
And it seemed the stinky boy knew of what he spoke. The crowds thinned, and Leto pointed to a wagon. “There!”
Leto slowed to a trot as they approached, three men and a woman stepping from the shadows. He shoved her toward them and she fell to hands and knees.
“Leto!”
“Sorry, princess. She’s all yours.”
Two men grabbed her by the arms, and the woman pulled a hood over her head, yanking the drawstring and tying it tight.
44
Splashing Faces
Love, lust, neither and both bound for dust.
King, Queen, Pauper or Fool,
incessant loined lust is but a tool,
a wicked joke feeding the armies by night,
a next generation destined to fight.
To lust again, from sin to sin to sin.
–Tomes of the Touched
Ivin spent the next three days tangled in sheets and smelling of Meliu’s perfume. He figured he should complain about being stuck at anchor for so long, but it was hard as the hells to gripe about life with her breasts pressed to his chest.
He yawned and opened his eyes to sunlit curtains. A soft light, dawn he suspected. The feet of running sailors caught his ear, then shouting in Hidreng. His heart raced, but the tension eased when he heard the clunk and rattle of the anchor’s chain raising.
Meliu snuggled tight, speaking straight into his ear. “We’re setting sail?”
He relaxed into her. “So it seems.”
Her breath warmed his neck. “Breakfast or me?”
“Couldn’t I choose both?”
She giggled and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, standing, her nudity catching the soft rays through the curtains, and he wished he’d chosen a different answer.
She pulled on a dress and dabbed perfume on her neck and wrists. “We haven’t eaten in some time, and we should make certain all is well. Maybe me instead of brunch? Tie me?”
He climbed from bed and pulled on trousers before belting the sword. He stalked to her back and kissed her neck as he cinched the string. “An early brunch.”
They stepped into daylight arms entwined and wandered to the fore, eyeing a wall of sails catching wind on their journey northeast. As they stared, their own sails first snapped in the morning breezes.
Ivin took a breath nervous with anticipation, not knowing when they’d make their move adding to the uncertainty. “We rattle the dice, but
they aren’t yet cast.” He turned to Meliu, regretting a reference to dice, but she didn’t seem to mind. Or she didn’t hear.
“The night die at night. We have all day, at least.”
Ivin nodded and Meliu led them down a stair to the galley. Three long tables seated a dozen men, most of them Silone.
They strode to a thin, black haired man with a greasy apron and Meliu spoke in Hidreng. “Segur, have one of your people bring food to our cabin. And consider well what you might serve with dinner.” She smiled.
The Silone cook said, “Yes, m’lady. I’ll find something especially filling for tonight’s meal and have it brought to you.”
His Hidreng was impeccable, and according to Meliu, he could teach her Thonian if they had the time. She flipped Segur a silver fifty song, and he snagged it from the air. She said, “My gracious thanks.”
They ate breakfast in the cabin then waited for the rest of the day to pass. Brunch came and went with clothes on and their nerves taut. Most of the day they spent on deck, bundled against the day’s chill air.
Clouds rolled in as they neared sunset, and Ivin stepped from the cabin with a blanket, heading to the fore-rail. The spot had become theirs, with Silone alerting them with a bang or whistle if a Hidreng drew close. He tossed the silk lined wool over Meliu’s shoulders and crawled beneath with her. “What’s on your mind?”
She sighed. “Think them clouds got some rain in ‘em?”
“Maybe, but I don’t see no storm coming. But, what the hells do I know?” He knew what she was thinking now, and he agreed. “Our people are tense, longer we wait, the more apt to get fidgety.”
“It feels rash. Hurried.”
“It’s neither or both, there may never be a right time. Just make sure it isn’t the wrong time.”
She leaned into him. “Tonight, when there’s no moon.”
Night came, and Meliu and Ivin went to their cabin, but there wasn’t sleep.
Trail of Pyres Page 41