by David Weber
The sailor brushed wet hair off her face with a gesture so tender it brought tears to her own eyes. He pulled the blanket more closely around her shoulders and urged her to sip the whiskey again.
“Thank you,” she croaked out, voice little more than a hoarse rasp. “Oh, Triads, thank you so much…” She was dissolving into tears again, sobbing and shaking as the terror caught her in its teeth. Howan Fai leaned against her, wrapped in his own blanket. He held her awkwardly, made gentle hushing sounds, rocked her slightly while she clung to him and cried helplessly.
When the hysteria had finally run its course, she knew a long moment of stinging shame for having broken down in front of all these people, still working to clear the wreckage and find whoever else might have survived. But a gentle touch and the tears streaking down Howan Fai’s own face told her she was more than entitled to a little bawling. She sighed softly; then lifted her face.
The expression of the sailor still holding the bottle had twisted with anguish as he watched his crown princess and consort weep, and she gave him a tremulous smile.
“Thanks,” she whispered. “Ever so much.”
For some reason, those words and that shaky little smile caused a fresh rush of tears to well up in his eyes. “You’re welcome, Your Grand Highness,” he choked out.
She turned her head and looked around to find every man in the lifeboat watching her. She managed another smile, then turned again to Howan Fai. His blanket was slipping, his cold-numbed fingers having difficulty holding it one-handed. His jacket was gone. He must have wrenched it off on the way down, when he’d jumped overboard with her. He was still wearing the sheath he’d worn since the day of their wedding, but the knife was missing.
He must have used it to cut away her gown, she realized slowly. No wonder he’d managed to rip it off her back so quickly. Then he’d lost the knife, somewhere in the wild confusion when the ship had blown up. He cradled another whiskey flask in his hands, and his shoulders drooped in exhaustion, but his eyes shone fiercely, fixed on her. They might be huddled in the bottom of the lifeboat, shaken out of their wits, but they were still alive and still together.
The rush of love she felt for the quiet, courageous man she’d married filled her heart to bursting, and then, suddenly, there in that crowded lifeboat, a wall went down. That turbulent tide of love lifted her, reached out, opened what she realized must be the marriage bond Darcel and Alazon had described to her. But how? Howan Fai wasn’t Talented! They couldn’t forge a marriage bond, yet they had. They had! And as her emotion swept across him, through the bond they now shared, the look in his eyes shifted, gentled…and somehow blazed more fiercely than ever.
Until now, she realized, she’d only tried to love Howan Fai. She’d liked him immensely, enjoyed his company, been enthralled by his touch in the night. But not until this moment, crouched nearly naked in the bottom of a lifeboat, wrapped in a blanket and leaning against him…not until now had she truly realized how much she’d come to love the man she’d married.
“You are my heart,” she whispered fiercely, gently, deeply. “I’ll need you forever.”
A moment later, she was in his arms, shuddering against his shoulder. He choked out her name again and again, his heart slamming against her ear, his lips buried in her wet, tangled hair. When the shudders had finally run their course, again, he touched her face with wondering fingertips; then he kissed her lips, very gently.
“I may be your heart,” he whispered, “but you are my soul, Andrin.”
She clung to him, needing the quiet strength of him more than she’d ever needed anything in her life, and he braced himself carefully against the gunwale beside her, then pulled her down to rest against his shoulder. She leaned into him, longing to simply sit in the safe haven of his arm forever, yet she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t, for the cruel echoes of her Glimpse were still upon her. She didn’t want to face what came next—more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life, she wanted not to face it—but she was a Calirath, heir to the Winged Crown of Ternathia and the throne of Sharona.
She bit her lip, then faced the sailors who’d pulled them from the water.
“Does anyone know if my parents are alive?” she asked in a shaky voice. “The Grand Palace exploded just before my Prince jumped overboard with me.”
She watched shock wash across their faces. They’d been so desperately focused on the search for her, they’d forgotten about the explosion at the Grand Palace. She could all but hear the next thought reflected on their faces: We might be guarding the Empress…
Firelight from the burning fuel revealed the shift from shock to hard, grim determination.
“Get us back to the Striker,” the petty officer in the prow barked. “Move, damn it!”
The oarsmen bent over the shafts of their oars, and they shot across the black water like a sculling boat in a regatta. Andrin had never imagined such a heavy boat could move so quickly without steam, but then the destroyer’s hull rose above them like a steel cliff, blotting out the stars. Their helmsman brought them alongside with the polished efficiency that was the Imperial Navy’s hallmark, and then the falls from the davits were being hooked on. A steam winch clanked, and the lifeboat rose smoothly, water running from its keel to the water below as it rose to deck level while Andrin clung to Howan Fai, exhausted and so deeply afraid she could hardly breathe.
When they reached the deck, the captain, himself, helped her out of the boat while Howan Fai steadied her. She clutched the blanket around her as the captain said, “Vothan be praised, Your Grand Highness! Let’s get you both someplace safe and warm.”
Someone else turned up—a grizzled Marine chief armsman, with four enlisted men at his back. There was a heavy Halanch and Welnahr revolver at the noncom’s side, all four of his men carried both revolvers and slide-action shotguns, and their faces were grim, their expressions harsh in the light of Peregrine’s fires. They fell in about her and Howan Fai as the captain escorted them across the swarming deck. They passed sailors who stood rigidly at attention, faces wet, but eyes shining as she passed, and she tried hard to smile at them.
They were met part way across the deck by another officer, running to meet them. He carried a surgeon’s bag, and several medical assistants were right behind him with stretchers. The moment the ship’s surgeon touched her, Andrin knew she was safe, in the hands of a master healer. A wondrous rush of warmth and strength washed through her, and then she was lifted up, carefully, and placed on one of the stretchers.
“I can walk,” she protested.
“So you can,” the surgeon nodded, sounding her pulse, “but I won’t be letting you, so just rest quietly, Your Grand Highness. We’ll have you in sick bay and feeling better in no time.”
She didn’t want to let go of Howan Fai’s hand, but the surgeon ordered him onto the other stretcher after the briefest touch on his shoulder. The stretcher bearers lifted them, and she suddenly realized they were taking her away and the captain wasn’t coming with them.
“Wait!” she cried. “Captain, I need to tell you something! Urgently!”
He was at her side in an instant, even as the surgeon sent another flood of healing energy into her, inducing drowsiness.
“We heard two men on a cabin cruiser out there,” Andrin said, gripping the captain’s hand. “While we were in the water. They’d planned this whole monstrous thing. They might still be out there. They have a Masker and”—her mouth twisted—“someone who Calls sharks.”
The captain’s face flared with sudden blazing interest.
“You know who did this, Your Highness? Was it agents from Arcana?”
She shook her head, wishing it were so, but Arcanans didn’t have Talents and they didn’t speak Shurkhali.
“No,” she said in a hoarse rasp. “It was the Seneschal.” Her voice went harsh with hatred. “We heard his filthy hirelings talking about it, not thirty feet away. He sent men to board the Peregrine in the dark to throw me over the rai
l to the sharks. They meant to make certain I was dead before the bomb went off—they probably didn’t know the yacht had so much fuel aboard and they were afraid I might have survived the explosion somehow—but I had a Glimpse just seconds before they attacked. We saw men swarm up over the rail and come running at us across the deck, right before Howan Fai threw me over the rail. My armsmen and Marines were shooting back in a gun battle as we went overboard.”
The captain turned from Andrin to Howan Fai then spoke roughly, “Your Grand Highness, you have my gratitude and deepest respect.” He saluted Howan Fai, sharply.
“Thank you, Captain. But if not for Andrin’s Glimpse, the Seneschal’s plan would have worked and I’d be dead, along with all the rest.”
Water started to stream down Andrin’s face again—the inhaled ocean water stung her eyes and nose now that she had time to notice it—but her tears more than that. Raw fury clawed at her throat.
“That evil man has to be found, has to be punished! His people blew up the yacht, killed my staff, my armsmen. And Lazima!” She remembered her personal armsman turning to face the running dark figures, the revolver spitting flame in his hand, the way he’d stepped directly between her and the threat. “Did chan Zindico—? Has Lazima chan Zindico been found? I don’t remember having time to tell him. He was right there not two steps away from us. No, no, he wasn’t in the water. One of them threw something at us in the Glimpse and he moved into it. He couldn’t have jumped, or if he had he would have already been bleeding, and the sharks—”
She froze, her throat closing in anguish for just a moment, but then something went through her—something hard, and deadly, and icy cold, and her voice went hard as flint.
“That bastard arranged all this. My yacht, my servants, my armsmen, and, and—The palace! I saw it burning too. Are my sisters…?” She turned to look towards the coastline where orange firelight flickered too brightly on the spot where the Tajvana Palace should have shone with festival lighting.
She was sobbing again, as grief and fear lashed through her. She was responsible for those deaths. She’d been the target. The target to destroy. It hurt so deeply, she couldn’t breathe against it, but that freezing tide of lethal fury bore her up, turned her quivering sinews to iron and her will to steel.
“Find them!” she rasped. “Find them and arrest them!”
“Your Grand Highness,” the captain gripped her shoulders, peering down into fiery gray eyes which streamed with tears and flashed with fury, “my Voice will flash that message to every law enforcement agency, every military base on Sharona. Those bastards will go down. I swear by Vothan, they will go down. Tonight. There’s no hole deep enough to hide them, not anywhere on Sharona.”
“Thank you, Captain,” she whispered.
Then she turned her gaze helplessly to stare at the burning palace on the shore and that terrible, supporting rage flickered and she sagged as the agony whipped through her again. The surgeon’s hands touched her, urging her to lie flat, and the moment his hands touched her, the terrible pain in her heart eased away, grew dim, disappeared. He was murmuring softly to her.
“Rest, now, Your Grand Highness, close your eyes, yes, that’s right, we’ve got you safe, hush, now. Breathe softly…softly…light as down feathers from a gosling…”
Her eyes closed over unutterable weariness.
Andrin’s last thought was a plea to Shalana. Have mercy, Lady, please. Let my parents and sisters be alive. Please, I can’t bear this burden alone…
Then even that disappeared.
* * *
Relatha Kindare had come a long way from Estafel and the servants’ quarters at Hawkwing Palace. Trainee Healer. Those two words meant more to her than anything ever had in her life, and she had the crown princess to thank for it. Not only had she been accepted into the training program at the legendary Tajvana Healing Academy, one of the Imperial Healers had volunteered to give her extra tutelage in his spare time.
But for tonight, she was just Relatha the servant, again, by choice. She’d wanted to be part of the celebration at the Grand Palace, and gods knew the Grand Palace staff needed all the help they could get! Since she was already well-known and thoroughly vetted by Security, it had been relatively easy to be added to the duty roster for the evening.
So here she was, in the midst of the glittering assemblage on the stone terrace, carrying a tray of drinks, enjoying the fireworks, and surreptitiously stealing glances at the Ylani Straits. She hadn’t learned until just a few minutes ago that the crown princess and her husband were leaving Tajvana for a few weeks of long delayed honeymoon.
If she looked sharp, she could just pick out the dark silhouette of the royal yacht slipping out of the harbor, to be joined by the destroyers waiting in mid-channel, and her eyes went watery. Such a good man, she’d found. Relatha had gone nearly out of her mind thinking about Andrin in the hands of one of Chava Busar’s unholy brood. During her work at the clinic attached to the school, she’d heard horror tales of girls who’d come in for medical help and emotional counseling after running afoul of the Uromathian emperor’s sons. The thought of any of them with Crown Princess Andrin had made Relatha’s blood run cold.
She was just passing Mister Kinlafia and his bride, the Privy Voice, who were talking to First Councilor Taje about some piece of legislation, when shouts erupted on the balcony above the terrace. Relatha jerked her gaze up to see the emperor running toward the Palace, shouting at the empress to get off the balcony.
She froze, unable to breathe, even, when Security started to run, as well, converging on the Imperial family. The emperor was shouting for Anbessa, but Relatha didn’t see the youngest Imperial Grand Princess anywhere on the long marble balcony. She raked her gaze along the whole, immense length of it—the marble balustrade ran for at least fifty or sixty feet along the open doors of the Grand Imperial Salon—but there was no sign of Anbessa anywhere.
Relatha gripped her tray of wineglasses hard enough to hurt when Security lifted the Empress Varena and Grand Princess Razial over the side of the balcony rail, lowering them to the armsmen below. What was wrong, up there? Why hadn’t they just retreated into the safety of the Grand Imperial Salon? Was there a crazed gunman in the salon? Surely not—Security would’ve been on top of him long before this and there hadn’t been a single gunshot. But if everyone else was running away from the salon, why was the emperor running into it—?
The empress touched the terrace first, followed an instant later by Razial. More Calirath armsmen were vaulting the rail, jumping down to close in around the empress and her daughter. They were shouting at everyone to get back, away from the building, and Relatha stumbled backward, her hands unsteady on the tray. She needed someplace to set it down as more people crowded back, away from the palace walls, but her eyes were locked on the emperor as he slid between two or his armsman like an eel and disappeared through one of the Grand Imperial Salon’s dozens of doors.
The armsmen charged after him. She could hear them calling his name, but the emperor’s voice rose over theirs like thunder, shouting at Anbessa. The girl must be inside the Salon, Relatha realized, and craned her head, trying to see as more people crowded around her, partially blocking her view—
The Salon exploded.
Relatha screamed. She dropped the tray as the whole, long room filled with fire. The Salon was a raging inferno—an inferno licking out to envelop the Emperor of Sharona and his armsmen. There was fire everywhere—only fire, roaring and hissing like one of the Arcanans’ dragons—and then a small, familiar figure arrowed out of the furnace, thrown high into the air. She cartwheeled out above the crowd, her gown smoking and trailing cinders.
“It’s Anbessa!” someone screamed, even as a heavier, far more massive body came charging out of that flaming hell.
And then there was a second explosion.
The blast front picked up that heavier body and flung it out across the night in a corona of fire.
Dozens of people were
reaching up, trying to catch the grand princess as she fell, but Relatha’s gaze tracked that second, heavier body. She knew exactly where he’d come down, and she started to run, shoving her way through the stunned crowd, even as the Salon blew apart in a third massive explosion.
Flame and death belched out into the night, an overpressure of sound and debris roared across the terrace at treetop height, and the entire balcony came down.
Chunks of marble slammed down into the crowd, and Zindel chan Calirath plunged down like a boulder as shocked spectators screamed and scattered. He crashed into the elegant little tables set with crystal and candles, punchbowls and wine and fancy pastries. He smashed down across them. Slid through them. Tumbled and rolled sickeningly off the end. Vanished into a large flowerbed filled with trees and shrubbery and flowers.
Panic-stricken people slammed into Relatha. Heavy bodies almost knocked her down, and she cursed and shoved people aside. She ran frantically forward, toward the spot where the emperor had fallen. More of the balustrade crashed down around them, sending people running in wild terror, but Relatha Kindare didn’t care. She fought her way to him. She hurled overturned tables out of the way, climbed across tumbled chairs, heaved burning debris aside with her bare hands as she searched frantically through the shrubbery.
There!
He lay at a grotesque angle, and he was frightfully still. Horribly still. No! she cried in denial, and dropped to her knees, nerved herself to search. Her fingers shook as she reached for his wrist.…
A pulse! She sobbed aloud just once. Then she closed her eyes, concentrated…and whimpered.
There was pain everywhere. Pain from broken bones—dozens of broken bones. Some of those breaks lay near major arteries, too close for her to dare to move him, even though his pulse was thready, fast, and weak. Shock was dropping his blood pressure, far too quickly, and she concentrated hard. Energy flowed through her body, down through her heart, where she filled it with as much love and strength as she could muster.