Isle of Blood and Stone

by Makiia Lucier

  Lord Isidore, the only father he knew.

  Five

  N THE MORNING, Elias descended the staircase into chaos. Servants rushed through the front doors, loading trunks and baskets onto carriages. His stepfather was by the fountain, speaking with a guard. Lord Isidore’s white sleeping lace had been replaced with practical traveling clothes: a leather doublet and black cape; a sword on his back and a dagger at his belt. Elias leaned out the door, the early summer sunlight pleasant on his skin. A good day for travel.

  He called out, “When do you leave?”

  Lord Isidore looked over and smiled. “Momentarily,” he answered. “I want to be in Tortri before sundown. We’ll stay the night with my brother.”

  A sensible plan. Only the foolish braved the roads at night, when thieves waited patiently beyond the bend, their movements masked by cricket song. But it would leave Elias with very little time to say goodbye. He squinted up at the sun, goggling as he realized the hour.

  “Why didn’t anyone wake me?”

  “We tried,” Lord Isidore said with some dryness. “Nieve found Lea jumping on your bed and you right beside her. She had to check to see if you were still breathing.”

  Elias laughed. “No.”

  “Yes. You sleep like the dead, boy.” Lord Isidore turned away, distracted by a question from the guard, then added over his shoulder, “Your maman is in the solar.”

  From deep within the house came a burst of feminine laughter followed by a baby’s high-pitched screech. Elias followed the sounds, pausing long enough to accept a cup from a passing servant. He downed its contents—Lunesian coffee, thicker than tree sap, the way he liked it, and strong enough to set his heart racing. He handed the empty cup off to another servant.

  Elias had to make a conscious effort not to tug at his clothing. Basilio had tracked him to his parents’ house with scary efficiency, something he would have to accustom himself to again after months of living in the rough. Now he wore a leather vest over a white shirt and trousers that were more constricting than he was comfortable with. He knew he wasn’t imagining it; the fashions on del Mar grew tighter each year. He wondered who made these decisions, and thought perhaps he should have a quick word with them. Basilio had also forced on him a summer cloak in a green so dark it appeared nearly black, further embellished with a gold compass pin.

  It was customary for female family and friends to send a woman off when she departed for any significant length of time. His family would be gone for three turns of the moon, returning when the early autumn rains began to fall. He found his mother reigning over a visiting chamber full of relatives. Women and children, from his great-aunt Fabiana to Jonas, who toddled frantically across the chamber as a cousin pretended to chase him. The older women draped themselves over chairs and settees while the younger sat upon the rugs, dressed so colorfully that they reminded him of a bowl of fruit. Here was an entire room filled with grapes and jujubes, pomegranates, lemons, and mandarins.

  Nieve spotted him first. “Elias!” His sister ran across the chamber and flung herself at him. He caught her, laughing, then waded in, greeting aunts, nieces, and cousins. It took some time. He made sure the carrier strapped to his back did not inadvertently strike someone. Returning home always gave him a jolt, for his family was never exactly as he’d left them. His elders changed in subtle ways: the curve of a back a little more pronounced, the lines about the face more settled. But the transformation among his siblings and younger cousins was the most dramatic. They sprang up like sageweed, one day as tall as his knees, the next his chin, their faces thinner, or not, or full of spots, but never quite the same.

  He bent to kiss his mother—Sabine, Lady Isidore—on both cheeks. “Maman.”

  Lady Isidore’s face was wreathed in a smile. Her skin, barely lined, contrasted sharply with hair that was a pure white. Elias had never known it to be any other color. Aunt Fabiana had told him that once it had been a rich brown streaked with gold, like his, but had turned white during those terrible months following her husband’s disappearance.

  “How tired you must have been,” his mother said, “that you did not hear the stampede in your chamber this morn—” Her smile faded. She took his chin and turned it, first one way and then the other. “What has happened to your face?”

  He pulled away slightly. “A scratch.”

  She gave him a look. “It is far larger than a scratch.”

  “It doesn’t hurt. . . .” He trailed off, startled. Nearly hidden behind his mother, her red skirts spread about the rugs, was Mercedes. She sat patiently while his youngest sister, Lea, knelt behind her, attempting to gather her waist-length hair into a braid. A red peony the size of a Coronad’s fist was tucked over one ear. Mercedes smiled at him pleasantly; the ugly scene yesterday might never have taken place. His mood soured.

  “You’re looking much cleaner today, Elias,” Mercedes commented. “Basilio must have found you.”

  “Mercedes.” He leaned over to accept Lea’s damp kisses and give Mercedes a dark look. She pretended not to see, turning her back to allow Lea a better grip on her hair and to strike up a conversation with his cousin Dita. A cheerful argument ensued about the superiority of Lunesian versus Oslawn silk.

  “Wasn’t it kind of Mercedes to see us off today?” His mother smiled. “Such a lovely surprise.”

  “Yes. Kind.” He managed to keep his voice even, though he knew exactly why she was here. Not to bid his family farewell, at least not entirely. Their mothers had been friends. This home had been Mercedes’s refuge after the lady Alyss’s death. But unlike Ulises, who had accepted Elias’s word that he would give the maps every consideration, Mercedes would stay close to his side to make sure he did. She was first and foremost the king’s man. Or woman. Whichever.

  Annoyed, he turned back to his mother. “I’m sorry to be missing you.”

  “Well.” Lady Isidore placed a hand briefly on the gold compass pinned to his cloak. Once, it had belonged to Lord Antoni. “I’m grateful to catch a glimpse of you when I can. When will you visit?”

  He sat on his heels, trying to think things through as the conversation and laughter continued around them. In six weeks’ time, five ships would sail west past the Strait of Cain on expeditions that would last anywhere from six months to three years. The Aldene, the Amaris, the Nina, the Palma, and the St. Clementina. On every ship, in addition to captain and crew, would be a pilot major to navigate the vessel and a geographer to survey the land and people. Elias was to take on his usual role as geographer for the Amaris and was expected to be gone two years at least.

  His original plan had been simple. Upon returning from Hellespont—an unexpected trip: no one could have anticipated those earthquakes or the destruction they would cause—he would travel to his family’s home in Esperanca and stay a month. Enough time to ensure his sisters at least recognized his face when next he appeared. Then he would return to Cortes to prepare for the expedition. There was parchment to acquire, paints to mix, equipment to ensure was in working order: compasses, astrolabes, chronometers, quadrants . . . a hundred things to do.

  Now what? His plans were thrown into uncertainty with these maps. When would he have the time to visit? “There are things I need to finish here, Maman, that I had not planned on. I’ll come as soon as I can. I’ll send word.”

  “I promised your father I wouldn’t hover.” She studied him, her gaze lingering on the bruise. “But you’ll be careful?”

  He smiled. “Always.” Unsurprisingly, his mother did not look reassured by his promise.

  Against his will, his attention returned to Mercedes. She was different here with his family. Her smile unguarded and Jonas on her lap. Assuring Lea that her handiwork was quite fine, she would wear her braid all day. She was very pretty with that flower in her hair. His thoughts were interrupted when Aunt Fabiana rapped his shoulder twice with her fan.

  “How old are you now, boy?” His aunt wore purple, her hair covered by a black lace headdress,
her face a maze of wrinkles.

  He bit back a sigh. He didn’t need a compass to know where this was headed. “Nineteen, Aunt.”

  “Nineteen? And still not married?” A quelling look was sent to his mother, whose expression said, I agree, but what is to be done? Aunt Fabiana swiveled back to him. “When I was nineteen, I was married already. Three babies.”

  Mercedes looked over at that, eyes widening.

  “I’m never home,” Elias reasoned. “It wouldn’t be fair to find a wife and then constantly leave her.” He ignored the snicker from Dita, who, at eighteen, was betrothed and therefore no longer a target for their great-aunt’s questioning.

  “What is this reason?” Aunt Fabiana was unimpressed by his argument. “You go on your ship. You come back; you make babies. You go. That is how it was with my Henri.”

  Despite his best efforts, Elias could feel his ears turning red. “Maman,” he whispered in desperation, and his mother laughed.

  “Oh, look,” Lady Isidore said, glancing past him. “There’s Isidore.”

  His stepfather stood in the doorway, showing no interest in entering farther. A wise man. “My lady wife, we’re off.”

  Lady Isidore smiled across the chamber at her husband as a mass exodus took place around her. Skirts rustled and children were gathered as everyone made their way outdoors. Most would be fleeing the city themselves in the coming days, Elias knew. Good. Better they were gone. Relatives always knew more than you wanted them to.

  Mercedes kissed his mother on both cheeks. “You’ll be missed, my lady Isidore. Safe travels to you and your family.”

  “I will see you in the fall, child.” Lady Isidore patted Mercedes’s cheek. “Unless my son has the good sense to bring you with him for a visit.” She looked at Elias, eyes merry. “So pretty,” she added, provoking good-natured teasing from those within hearing.

  Both Elias and Mercedes were careful not to look at each other. His mother had never been subtle when it came to the king’s cousin. By unspoken agreement, he and Mercedes stayed where they were until the chamber emptied.

  Unsmiling, Elias said, “You’re following me.”

  “You are all things suspicious. I’d planned all along to send your maman off today.” Mercedes flicked her braid forward over a shoulder. The end unraveled slightly. “However, since you are here . . .”

  He turned on his heel to leave. Her words came to him quietly.

  “I should not have let you walk into that chamber blind.”

  With his back to her, he asked, “Why did you?”

  “I didn’t know what to say.”

  He turned to face her and saw the apology in her eyes. “You always know what to say, Mercedes. That is your gift.”

  It was why she was so rarely on island. Ulises sent her everywhere. To reassure allies and to treat with enemies. To use words, not weapons, to ensure the continued well-being of their kingdom. He wondered if Ulises sensed she was more at ease abroad than at home. More comfortable with strangers than among the del Marians, whose heritage she shared.

  “Not this time,” she answered.

  She said nothing more, only stood there waiting for his response, and he found he could no longer hold on to his annoyance. A leather string kept his own hair off his face. He pulled it free as he approached her.

  She stepped back, startled. “What are you . . . ?”

  He indicated the braid in her hair. “Did you wish to keep it?”

  “Oh.” She glanced down at the lumpy, untidy braid. “Yes. I promised Lea I would.”

  He did not rush, tying the braid. Her hair smelled like the blood oranges that grew in the royal groves. “I’d forgotten how sweet you are to my sisters.”

  She had kept herself perfectly still and silent while he took his time. Now she said, “It’s nothing unusual. I’m sweet to everyone.”

  Elias met her eyes, not saying a word, and saw her answering smile.

  “What were you doing on Lunes?” he asked. “You weren’t there just to steal maps.”

  “Vashti’s wedding. What else?”

  “Ah.” He had forgotten about the Lunesian princess’s wedding. The sounds of laughter in the distance reminded him he was ignoring what little time he had left with his family. He offered Mercedes his arm as they left the chamber and headed toward the main doors.

  She said, “You’ve never been able to keep a grudge.”

  “Lucky for you.”

  “Yes,” she said with a smile in her voice. She glanced at him, turning serious. “I’m glad. It would have hurt him to lose your friendship.”

  Elias was quiet. “Ulises has plenty of friends.”

  “No,” she said with certainty. “He has people who wish to be close to him because he is king.” Her hand tightened ever so slightly on his arm. “When things are peaceful, everyone dances attendance, everyone makes promises, and everyone would die for him so long as death is far off.”

  Amused, he said, “You’re a cynic, Mercedes.”

  “It’s true.” She shrugged. “It’s also true that I wouldn’t have your family hurt for anything. So let’s solve your riddle, and be done with it.”

  “As simple as that?” They passed a life-size painting of the fifth Lord Isidore, the present lord’s grandfather. Not Elias’s ancestor, but a reminder, in oil and wood, that for all his stepfather’s affection, he was no blood relation. Unlike Nieve and Lea and Jonas, Elias was the cuckoo in the nest.

  Mercedes studied the painting, then looked up at him, and he had the unsettling feeling that she knew what he thought. But she said only, “Why not? I’ll help. Ulises told me of your creepy forest. That is unfortunate.”

  “You didn’t see it?” The map had been in her possession for some time. She could have studied it on the voyage home from Lunes.

  She shook her head. “It makes my head hurt to look at it for more than a few minutes. It’s all so tiny.” Then, in a softer voice, conscious of passing servants and lingering relatives, “Have you never wondered?”

  “No.” Yes. Of course he had wondered. Once or twice over the years, a little more than that over the past day.

  “Elias,” she said, only a hint of exasperation in her voice. “An entire kingdom sacked, based on one man’s word?”

  She spoke of Felip of Mondrago. The captured soldier, who had spilled his king’s secrets . . . and started a war.

  “He confessed,” Elias reminded her.

  “I’ve heard many confessions,” she said. “Enough to know that they are not all created equal.” She would have said more, but two serving girls bustled by, arms full of baskets, and the moment was lost. Mercedes turned the conversation back to the forest. “What about Javelin? What is your plan?”

  To call what he had a plan was ambitious. He would describe it more as grasping at straws. He said, “I’m going to have my hair trimmed.”

  She stopped. “What?”

  Through the front doors, from Nieve: “Elias! We’re leaving!”

  They joined everyone on the steps, but it was some time before the family actually departed. There were delays. A horse had to be exchanged; a crack had been found in its shoe. Lea refused to leave until a beloved toy was found, a wooden monkey Elias had brought back from his travels several years ago. Eventually, it was discovered in a trunk above the third carriage.

  Elias was accustomed to farewells. They were second nature to him. But today it gave him an odd feeling to kiss his mother one last time and watch the carriages rumble around the fountain and through the gates. To see Lord Isidore on his horse raise a hand in farewell. “Mercedes,” he called, “watch after my boy.” And then he, too, was gone, riding alongside his guards and leaving a cloud of white shell dust in his wake.

  Six

  N THE PARISH of St. Soledad, just outside the barber-surgeon’s shop, a piper played a lively tune. He was Nieve’s age, and so scrawny that when he kicked up his heels to add dancing to his repertoire, Elias was reminded of a puppet on a string. Mori ofte
n hired musicians to perform outside his shop so as to mask the sounds of agony. It made good business sense, he’d once told Elias. Screams scared away the customers.

  Not that it always worked. As they crossed the square toward the shop, Mercedes said what he was thinking. “It sounds like someone is being murdered in there.”

  The piper’s music was loud, though he could not drown out the muffled cries from within. It was not for lack of effort. As the yelps and moans grew noisier, he piped louder and danced faster. Off to the right, a cluster of urchins gathered by the window, lured by the blood and gore that was the barber-surgeon’s trademark. A wooden sign hung above Master Mori’s door. Painted on it was an arm, bent at the elbow and bound in a white sling.

  The piper brightened when he saw them. He paused long enough to pocket the copper sand dollar Elias tossed his way, then danced from the open door so they could enter. Elias followed Mercedes, pulling up short when she stopped abruptly just inside the doorway.

  Over the top of her head, he saw a crowded chamber with low wooden beams. A man occupied a chair, his mouth open at such a wide angle that the pink toggle at the back of his throat was clearly visible. Mori stood behind him. He held a pair of wicked-looking pliers and, as Elias looked on in mute sympathy, did his best to yank a tooth while his poor patient struggled weakly beneath him and moaned.

  Mori was a slender man with black hair, stubble, and an apron splattered with blood. Elias had told Mercedes some of their history on the walk over. They’d met when Elias was a boy on his first expedition aboard the Amaris and Mori was the ship’s surgeon. A few years later, during a storm, Mori had been thrown overboard. He was rescued eventually, but not before a sea serpent had given him a nasty bite on his lower back. Shortly thereafter, the barber-surgeon had declared his sailing days over. He’d returned to del Mar and set up shop near the waterfront.