The Lion of the Sea (The Maiden Ship Book 2)

by Micheline Ryckman

  For days, Dain refused to leave the cabin he’d been given. Instead, he filled the long, solitary hours with tears. His dreams ceased, perhaps from exhaustion, perhaps from emotional despondency, but he didn’t miss them. He constantly ignored the thrum of elemental power raging inside—even that beckoning was not strong enough to sway his mind from Sable’s loss. He missed her more than he thought any one person could miss another. What was she facing? What was she suffering? It wasn’t long before he stopped eating, stopped talking. When Tars visited, they sat in silence, and no manner of sweet rolls or spiced nuts pilfered from the galley helped. Dain preferred the gnawing hunger, embracing it like penance. He should have been able to save her.

  One night, Tars appeared at an unusually late hour. Dain hadn’t moved from his bunk for two full days, except to take sips of water and relieve himself. He didn’t even glance at the man when he entered and said, “I’ve brought you a gift.” Dain just kept his eyes shut, vaguely recalling the time he’d given Tars a gift himself, a lute from his childhood home in Aalta. The alchemist-healer was a master musician—perhaps the man had brought the lute. Maybe he planned to play? In the past, music might have roused Dain, but now…

  The bunk shook.

  Dain’s eyes snapped open to find Tar’s grimacing face only inches from his own. As Dain inhaled the sea air still clinging to his friend, he felt a small weight pitched onto his chest. Without another word, Sable’s brother turned on this heel and slammed the cabin door behind him.

  Dain knew he should care about Tars’s feelings, but he couldn’t. And he was frustrated that the weight on his chest actually beckoned to him. Reluctantly, he reached up, hand trembling as cold metal met his touch. His fingers instantly knew the form, and his other hand whipped up to meet it. Dain held the medallion suspended above him, his body so tense he thought he might burst. How had Tars convinced them? Maybe he’d stolen it? Dain expected tears, but they must have dried up days ago. Spinning the pendant, his gaze burrowed into the golden details: a bird in flight hovering above a line of three triangles, all rooted on the bottom by four intersecting spheres. Sable’s Dernamn. Now he understood how meaningful the pendant had been to Sable herself. It was a wonder how something so material, just by virtue of being precious to the person you loved, could cover up a small portion of the loss.

  Dain’s heart pounded as he clutched the necklace to his chest, suddenly remembering Ileana’s words: “The Dernamn is capable of summoning a god.” He bolted upright in his bunk. No one aboard The Wildflower knew—or maybe they didn’t believe it? Had Sable even told Tars? Dain dangled the pendant in front of his nose again. Ileana had warned against using it for such a purpose, she’d said something about the dangers of doing so, but if anyone could save Sable, if anyone could bring her back, it would be a god.

  Tars sat on the stool across from his bunk, his eyes flicking between Dain’s face and the pendant now fastened around his neck. Dain had told him nothing about his hopes for the Dernamn—the man probably would’ve called him mad and reported his continued instability to Alis. To be honest, Dain couldn’t even be sure that he was sane or stable anymore. It wasn’t long ago that he would’ve scoffed at the concept of gods himself, but he’d had a change of heart of late and, well, he trusted Ileana. The princess hadn’t led him astray yet. He only wished he could talk to her now—ask her more—but that was a far-off conversation. So the goal, for now, was to appear as recovered as possible so he could gain access to his mother’s treasure trove of knowledge. She was the next best thing to Ileana, and if being civil to Alis Alloway meant Dain had a chance of saving the girl he loved, he’d swallow his pride.

  Tars offered him a bread roll, and the man actually looked relieved when Dain accepted it. They ate breakfast in silence, but when they were through, Dain cleared his throat. “I think I’d like a tour of The Wildflower, Tars.”

  It seemed the captain of The Wildflower still didn’t trust her son’s state of mind, because Leara An was assigned as Dain’s constant escort for his first couple of days outside the cabin. He tried to avoid the albino child’s gaze, but every time he caught a side-eyed glimpse, his instincts told him to run. Her overall appearance wasn’t unnerving. It was something else, something ancient that lurked behind her fuchsia eyes. He worked hard to suppress his shivers whenever she got too near. The memory of her complete and utter control over his power and person was still sharp as white caps in his mind—he never wanted to be used that way again. This small child seemed to be able to make anyone do, or feel, whatever she wanted, and Dain couldn’t help imagining what other talents might lie beneath her pale palms.

  It was his second day touring The Wildflower. Tars had kept him company, but true to his nature, he remained mostly silent. This morning, the great ochre galleon glittered in the late winter sun, the crimson sails billowing full on the breeze. The vessel was large enough to house two hundred people or more, and Dain had noted that every last member, including the children, had tasks, chores, and duties. That wasn’t to say there weren’t any weather-worn sailors among them. There were, but everyone—old, young, veteran seafarer, and landlubber alike—pitched in where required. As a result, it was a tight ship that ran smooth across the beryl waves. And Dain guessed that his mother wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  The most fascinating part of his tours was watching so many adept practice their magic openly. The safety of the sea graciously gave them the freedom to do so, since stalkers didn’t follow here. He silently prayed that the new demon from Aalta’s harbor was an isolated incident, and that they would now be well out of reach. Very few of the crew interacted with him, and most avoided him entirely, but he observed them all with open curiosity. Some of the adept took shifts manipulating the water, pushing the waves ahead of the ship into a smooth path to ease the forward flow of the great vessel. Other talents were simpler, but no less useful. One woman magically manipulated straw into the thickest, most durable rope Dain had ever seen. Her talent must have been a form of transmutation—or was it translation? Sable would have known.

  Dain drew a heavy breath at the thought of the girl he loved, and the wind responded by blowing his hair into his face. Stopping at the top of the bow steps, he pushed at the strands only to have the element push them right back again. He gave up, letting his hair fly wild, but even through it, he could see the bobbing speck on the horizon ahead—The Maiden. She was swifter on the seas because of her smaller size, and she was quickly disappearing into the salmon sunrise. It was the first time in his life that he recalled ever longing to be on board again—longing to be home. A burning sensation flared low in his gut, making his fists pump. Whether his actions the night of the attack had been reckless or not, being forced, without consent, upon The Wildflower was not something Dain appreciated. He turned, jaw clenched as he willed himself to look down at Leara An. “It’s time I visit your captain.”

  The pale girl simply nodded, as though she’d only been waiting for him to ask.

  Dain followed as the child led him below deck, Tars traipsing silently behind.

  His mother’s office was a haphazard mess. Books piled ten or more high covered every available surface. Vials, jars, and bottled concoctions lined the heavily shelved walls; some containers held insects, others herbs, still others things no one should have been subjected to seeing. What did alchemists do with pickled fingernails, floating eyeballs, and varying blood samples?

  Anira stood silently by her captain as Leara An introduced Dain and Tars into the room. The first mate’s pet peacoline swirled affectionally around her feet, somehow gracefully avoiding the piles of tomes and instruments strewn about the floor. The feline’s deep turquoise fur and feather-lined back captivated Dain with every shift, and he had to resist the urge to move forward and stroke her. He had no idea how she’d respond to a stranger’s touch, and with teeth and claws that size, he figured it wasn’t worth the risk.

  Alis Alloway shoved several locks of hair from her face, h
er mouth drawn in what Dain could only interpret as a disapproving line. Then she said, “I wish to speak to my son alone.”

  Anira and Tars exchanged quick glances of concern.

  Alis tapped her foot, signing toward her deaf first mate. “Dismissed.”

  Dain gave Sable’s brother a quick, reassuring nod.

  Leara An had already left.

  When he looked again toward Alis, a small part of his old childhood self pined, but he squashed the feelings faster than Mo could spout wisdom. This woman—his mother—was Dain’s best chance for saving Sable, he didn’t need anything else from her except information.

  The petite captain crossed her arms over her chest, setting her gaze on the Dernamn around his neck. “My gift helped you recover?”

  Dain’s hands had yet to uncurl, and now his fingernails bit into his skin. “It wasn’t yours to give in the first place.” It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it.

  Alis’s chin tilted higher. He didn’t know how she did it, but this tiny woman always managed to make herself seem far taller than she was. “You love the girl?”

  Dain barely kept his voice even. “I’m not here to discuss my feelings with you, Captain. And I’m not interested in discussing our past, either. I’m only here because I need your help.”

  Her small frame tensed, but surprisingly, Alis honored his demand, only lifting her pale brows as she said, “My help?”

  Dain wondered at her self-control. He’d expected her to fight to tell her side of the story. Perhaps she realized that forcing things farther than she already had would only lead to more conflict? Either way, he was relieved she didn’t push. He wasn’t ready for any of it. He fingered the Dernamn at his neck before he replied, “I need to know more about this pendant.”

  The Wildflower’s captain wove her way through the office wreckage toward him. She stopped only when she was toe to toe with Dain, where she crossed her arms again and stared up into his face. She looked like a general assessing a new recruit, and Dain had to work hard not to back away as she spoke. “I know very little besides the historical significance of that pendant design, but I’ll make you a deal—until we reach our supply port and you are reunited with The Maiden, you will meet here, two hours a day, every day, and you will join me and my officers for dinner. Do that, and I’ll help you.” Her tone and expression made it clear that this “deal” was non-negotiable.

  The bargain wasn’t ideal, but Dain had no choice. Ileana was not at his disposal, and this woman, no matter how he felt about her, was his only hope—Sable’s only hope. He tried to keep his tone indifferent. “Agreed.”

  Alis turned fast on her heels, snatching a notebook from one of the piles on her desk. She began scribbling while she talked. “Good. We’ll start with Ileana. I managed a brief conversation with her before we sailed from Aalta. She filled me in on her backstory and gave me everything she knew about the emperor in Dorthane. According to her, he’s been behind the stalker attacks for centuries. I’d always suspected the North, since stalkers seem to congregate there more densely, but I never had any concrete evidence until now. Your lost princess might be the key to many things, but—”

  Dain struggled to listen as his mother continued to rattle off her plans to sail south and rescue a group of adept she’d learned were hiding out in the southern tip of Iandior. Alis was intent upon The Wildflower and The Maiden saving as many adept as they could, adding to their numbers before even considering war or retaliation. He knew he should be paying attention, he knew it was petulant and callous, but all he could think about was Sable. She was the only one he cared about saving right now—everyone else could wait.

  7

  A sharp pinch forced Sable’s eyes wide, the room reeling as blurry torch-lit stone rose high on all sides. She tried to push herself into a sitting position, but found her limbs bound. The pinch came again, and this time she realized it was to her right wrist. Her head snapped toward the pain to see a tall figure looming, his hands working fast to secure what looked like a rope of flesh to her arm. He cinched harder. Sable groaned. The man’s amber eyes flicked in her direction. “You’re awake. Good.” He turned over his shoulder. “Bring the child.”

  Sable found it difficult to form words. Tears leaked from the corners of her bleary eyes, and her throat was raw. “Who are you—where am I?”

  The man ignored her, continuing instead to stare over his shoulder impatiently. Sable followed his gaze, watching as a soldier dressed in all-black leathers entered. His face was entirely obscured by a red-plumed helmet, but behind him followed a boy. The child’s hair was as white as Ernham’s peaks, its contrast to the dark surroundings startling. He reminded Sable of someone, but in her fogged state, it was impossible to say whom. She watched the boy’s pale mouth set into a hard line as her captor grabbed for the child’s wrist and secured it to the other end of the rope. The boy winced as the man tightened the knot further and began to sing, a frightening, eery tenor that seemed to call shadows from every corner of the room. A horrific chill, deeper and far more invasive than any stalker-induced fear, filled her soul. Sable vibrated violently against the surge, but as quickly as it began, it was over. She and the child both gasped in relief.

  “Release her.”

  The black soldier jumped at his master’s command, cutting the ropes that bound Sable’s legs and arms to what she now knew was a cot. She was free. Despite her disorientation, she instinctively lurched for the door. But Sable managed only two steps before every muscle in her body froze. A tight line was drawn inside her. Somehow, she knew it’d been formed by the flesh rope secured to her wrist. She was tethered to the child’s will, to his flesh, and she was not free at all.

  Bending at the waist, her captor waved to the boy at the end of her leash. “Let our guest sit, Idris.”

  Against her will, Sable found her body bidden back to the edge of the cot. The dark soldier was ordered out, and the door shut behind him as the child’s master grabbed a stool from the corner and seated himself in front of Sable. His lips turned up in a slivered grin as he leaned forward to run one finger along her jawline. “I’ve waited a long time to find someone like you.”

  If she’d had any control over her limbs, Sable would’ve shivered.

  The man’s eyes narrowed, and he drew so close that his breath hit her cheek; he smelled like ash and frostbite. “You, Sable Cortham, will bring me victory.” Then he gave the child another order. “Let her speak, Idris.”

  Sable’s face relaxed, muscles tingling back into her control like they'd been asleep and were now waking. She drew a long breath, trying to focus on her captor’s eyes. “Let me go.”

  He sat back, smile growing wide to display two sharply pointed canines amid a perfect row of ivories. “Sable, we can either have a civilized conversation where Idris allows you the use of your face and voice, or we can freeze you up again and I’ll do all the talking. I recommend the first option, since you might be more comfortable.”

  Sable’s head grew clearer, the fuzzy blur of waking horrors starting to settle in. She remembered the attack on The Maiden—the abduction. She must have lost consciousness after she’d heard the screams. Who was screaming? The memories caused another internal quake, and tears sprang to her eyes—how far was she from The Maiden, how far from Dain? Through the tears, she examined the man before her. He was tall, lean—ageless. His robes were the color of twilight, every edge trimmed in silver, and a dark, neatly clipped beard framed his jaw. He was certainly not a commoner. She shifted her eyes toward the child bound to her arm. He didn’t meet her gaze, his white lashes staying firmly fixed on the cold stone floor. He was an albino, and Sable now realized what his hair had reminded her of: Leara An of The Wildflower. In fact, he could have been her—

  Her captor interrupted her thoughts as he reached forward to wipe at her tears. It was not a tender gesture. “I’ll assume you’ve chosen to be civilized?”

  Sable tried to draw herself up, to straighten her back in d
efiance, but her body remained frozen, trapped. She met the man’s gaze with as much force as she could muster, but she didn’t respond.

  He took her silence for agreement. “Good.” Bowing at the waist in what could only be interpreted as mock formality, he said, “Let me introduce myself. I am Valir, Emperor of Dorthane, and you, Sable Cortham, are now privileged to be in my service.”

  Sable knit her brow. So far away—so far from The Maiden. She stared intently at her captor. If he was who he said he was, then—Sable raged internally against her frozen form. Nothing happened; her body remained rigid as she spat out her next words. “It’s never a privilege to be a prisoner.” She heard the albino child suck air through his teeth as her captor’s smile wavered. Obviously, few talked back to this… emperor.

  Valir’s grin recovered. “Sable, please, we are having a civilized conversation, remember? It might cheer you to know that you have been brought to me for a great purpose. You will help me redeem the four kingdoms.” He waved an arm theatrically toward his chest, the gesture nothing but condescending. “You will aid me in destroying the Unity.”

  Sable had no idea what he was talking about; she only wished she could square her shoulders. “And if I refuse to be in your service?”

  The man’s eyes flicked to the albino. “Obviously, there’s no refusing.” Then his gaze was on her again, his irises noticeably darker, and for a moment Sable thought the amber depths might burn her. Yet, despite that fear, a coil of rebellion unraveled in her belly at his next words. “You have no choice.”