Pawn (The Pawn Series Book 1)

by Robin Roseau

  The two exchanged looks, then nodded. "If we are truly welcome."

  "It'll be great to speak a little Altearan," Muranna said.

  And so I found myself exchanged. Muranna handed me off to Trace, and she took Vivie's arm, and we turned our noses back to land, and from there, the inn.

  * * * *

  Dinner was actually very pleasant. Muranna and Vivie spoke Altearan the entire time, but Trace's Framaran was excellent, and she spent the meal regaling me with tales of the high seas in between filling my wine glass.

  I hadn't realized just how much I had to drink until Muranna generously paid for our meal, and I tried to stand up. I plopped back down to the bench.

  "Oops," I said. I turned an accusing eye on Trace. "You got me drunk." The words didn't come out quite right.

  "Oh my," she replied. "We'll have to help you."

  And so I found Trace under one arm, and Vivie under the other. They helped me from the bench and said they'd get me right on home.

  At some point, I passed out, but not until I said, "Wait. Isn't our room back that way?"

  Morning Madness

  I woke with a groan, and then I clutched my head. The world was moving, and it wouldn't stop. I'd never had so much to drink, and I didn't even know what a hangover was.

  I moaned and sat up, then clutched the wall, willing the world to stop moving, but it didn't.

  I looked around. The room was small, far smaller than I remembered, and with a lot more wood than I remembered.

  "This isn't our room," I said. "Muranna?" I raised my voice. "Muranna!"

  I looked around again. There was a window. A very small window, and it was round and ringed in brass.

  I got to my feet and almost fell on my ass. The world wouldn't stop moving. I stumbled to the window and looked out.

  Water. There was water everywhere I looked.

  "What's going on?"

  I was still in my dress from yesterday, and it looked the worst for having been slept in. I headed for the door, but I couldn't walk a straight line. I half fell onto the door, but I managed to catch myself, and I got it open. There was a narrow corridor, and then another door, and when I got it open, bright sunlight.

  I clutched at the door, holding myself up, and stared.

  I was on the deck of a ship, with white sails overhead, full of the wind.

  My stomach heaved, and I turned left. Then I ran, stumbling, until my middle reached the railing at the same time a sailor reached me. I leaned over and heaved, puking my guts out, as the sailor kept me from falling right overboard.

  Into the open ocean.

  When I was done, the sailor handed me a damp rag. I wiped my mouth then straightened and turned to him.

  Not him. Her. I stared at Vivie from last night.

  "What did you do?" I asked coldly. "Muranna! Where is Muranna? What did you do with Muranna?"

  Mindless, I launched myself at the woman, She managed to fend me off, and then there were more arms there, more arms holding me still, and Muranna, too.

  "I'm here, Yalla," she said. "I'm here. We're fine. We're both fine."

  I turned my head to her, my body still wrapped in far too many arms, and I stared at her. "What did you do?"

  "I'll explain everything," she said.

  "Muranna!" I screamed. "What did you do? This is treason! Are you insane?"

  "I'll explain everything, Yalla. It's not treason. We drugged you. We didn't have a choice. We drugged you. You didn't commit treason."

  "You're some sort of spy," I said coldly. "That's why Ralalta wouldn't let me stay in the palace if we married. That's why I couldn't help Juleena. They didn't trust you, because you're some sort of spy! Five years, Muranna. Five years of pretending to be my friend. Did you plan this from the beginning?"

  "No, Yalla. Come on. We'll go back to our cabin, and I'll explain everything." She moved to grab my arm, but I pulled it away.

  "Don't touch me, you traitor! How could you do this to me?"

  "I'll explain, Yalla. I'm taking you home."

  "I was home," I said. "Marport is my home. The palace is my home. You know that. Are you doing this for Larien, because that's not how this is supposed to work."

  "No, Yalla," she said. "I'll explain. Let me explain."

  "Fine," I said. I shook, and the sailors slowly released me. Once they let me go, I made my stumbling way back to the door, banging it open and stomping my way to the cabin where I'd woken. Muranna followed me in and closed the door.

  "Sit," she said. When she tried to sit beside me, I shoved her away, and so she moved to the other end.

  "How could you do this?"

  "Yalla, just listen to me," she said. "I truly am your friend."

  "How long have we been at sea?"

  "About seven hours."

  "Turn it around. Take me back."

  "I can't, Yalla. You have to listen."

  I folded my arms. "Explain."

  "It's a long story."

  "It's seven hours back to port," I said. "Or put in somewhere else and I'll make my own way back. Ralalta will forgive me eventually."

  "I'm sorry, Yalla." She paused, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "It started with those words, the ones you say to your mother every night."

  "You said you didn't know the words."

  "I don't. Not exactly. But I recognized the language."

  "You lied."

  "Yes. I'll come back to that. Your hair. You keep it short. So did your mother. Right?"

  "We've been over that."

  "Your father used to cut it. He hacked it off. But you got used to it, so you haven't grown it out."

  "What does my hair have to do with anything?"

  "Your mother's hair is black, like yours. No grey. All black."

  "She's not old enough for grey."

  "Am I right? Hair as black as night, and not one grey."

  "So?"

  "Fair skin. Extremely fair skin."

  "Yes."

  "She's not Arrlottan."

  "So?"

  "Your mother is from Alteara, Yalla."

  "How would you know? You've never met her, and you said those words weren't Altearan. I've heard you speaking Altearan, and I'm pretty sure you didn't lie about that."

  "I didn't. Almost no one in Alteara would know those words."

  "So she isn't Altearan, but what if she were?"

  "She is, Yalla. Your mother isn't just Altearan. She was the high priestess to the goddess Yahamala, and one of the greatest sorceresses Alteara has ever known. I'm taking you home to your people, Yalla. Don't you see?"

  "You lie!" I screamed. And then I stood, wound up, and let go with a fist straight to her jaw.

  About the Author

  A writer by avocation, Robin has a renaissance interest in many areas. A bit of a gypsy, Robin has called a few places home and has traveled widely. A love of the outdoors, animals in general and experimenting with world cuisines, Robin and partner share their home with a menagerie of pets and guests, although sometimes it is difficult to discern who is whom.

  Robin can be reached via email as robin.roseau@gmail.com. Robin's web site is http://www.robin-roseau.com.

  Works by Robin Roseau

  The Madison Wolves Series

  Fox Run

  Fox Play

  Fox Mate

  Fox Afield

  Fox Revenge

  Fox Dish

  Fox Lost

  Wolf Watch

  Wolf Ways

  Wolf Women

  Fox Fate

  Fox Short Stories

  Hunting Pups

  Fox in the Water

  Fox Rematch (set after Fox Mate and Fox Afield)

  Fox Opponent

  A Foxy Valentine

  Other Books in the Madison Wolves Universe

  Familiar

  Poor Little Witch Girl

  Seer

  Seer: Thrall

  The Selected Series

  Collected

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sp; Taken

  Volunteer

  Candidate

  The Games People Play Series

  Stories that ask a simple question: do you want to play a game?

  Do You Want to Play a Game?

  My Soul to Play

  Other Novels and Novellas

  Anonymous Bidder

  Blood Slave

  A Charming Brew

  Emergency Claus

  Fitting In

  Free to Love

  Galatzi Trade

  Galatzi World

  In Custody

  Lost in the Words

  Privateer

  Stark's Dell

  Submission

  Surprise

  The Interrogation

  Tresjolie

  Trust

  The Ski Bindings Shorts

  Short stories of love and lust amongst the slopes.

  Snow Fox

  Short Stories

  Cooking for Love

  Southern Night

  Captured by the Raptor (writing as Rosetta Robins)

  Pawn

  Copyright 2016 by Robin Roseau

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  * * *

  License Notes

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