by Dawn Cook
My slight headache vanished as my magic swung past its usual limits and into a temporary extreme by the dose of venom. I’d need the extra boost to sense Contessa’s emotions. Giving oneself a dose of venom to increase one’s magic wasn’t advisable since it also put one closer to death until it wore off, but I was reasonably secure. Jeck was more likely to steal my limited stash of venom than try to kill me with an overdose of his—Kavenlow would be furious. Building an apprentice’s tolerance to venom was expensive and risky, but he’d be angry because he loved me as the child the venom prevented him from having.
A flush of warmth from the poison swirled through me, and I sent my thoughts out to find Contessa’s current state of emotion. This was a magic I had found on my own, completely by accident and shocking Kavenlow speechless.
We had been building my ability to find a rival player when he or she was trying to avoid detection, an extreme game of palacewide hide-and-seek. It wasn’t taking me nearly as long to find him as it should, and when I innocently told him that I was following his emotions of tension and anticipation, he had stared at me for a good fifteen seconds, which may not sound like much, but it’s an eternity when you think you’ve done something wrong.
Rubbing his hands together in delight, he immediately sent me to find Jeck. That was harder, but after a week’s practice, I was able to find him as easily as anyone else unless he was sleeping or intentionally keeping his emotions quiet. Kavenlow said sensing people’s feelings was probably born from my uncanny ability to manipulate animals by finding their emotions and playing upon them. I just thought it was fun to sneak up on Jeck, catching the young, stoic man doing something scholarly like reading a book or penning a letter. He would much rather I think of him a muscle-dense lout who got his position by strength not cleverness. I had quickly run out of excuses for stumbling in on him, and I think he suspected I had been using him to hone my skills when he stopped trying to hide from me, making it harder to stretch my abilities. By comparison, finding Contessa’s emotions was easy.
Slowly our breathing synchronized as Contessa’s emotions mingled with mine. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, and I searched my feelings, finding the ones that didn’t fit. Overwhelming, almost debilitating worry crashed through me, and I held my breath, dealing with it.
Pulse pounding, I turned to shake out Contessa’s drying dress and the underthings strewn about. Contessa was worried. Worried about Thadd. Worried about the bed she slept in and the hammock that Alex had voluntarily consigned himself to, waiting until he thought her asleep before even entering their small cabin. Worried that she might like the clever, fun-loving man who could make her laugh as easily as frown. Worried that she was an inconstant woman and weak of will if she found herself attracted to him as well as her slow, predictable Thadd.
Her confusion was deep, directed inward by a wedge of shame. There was no anger at Alex or me. Relieved she wasn’t upset with me, I let my shoulders slump, surprised when Contessa’s did the same. A flash of worry pulled me upright. There was the potential here to direct her emotions, to manipulate her by making her feel things she really didn’t, and the idea that I could twist her so easily left me with a strong feeling of wrongness.
Immediately I worked to find the emotions that were entirely mine, separating myself from my sister. We simultaneously took a cleansing breath, and I wished Kavenlow were here.
“You like Duncan,” she said softly—as if the thought had just occurred to her.
My mouth dropped open. She met my startled gaze, and I wondered if she was commenting on the obvious camaraderie between us or if she had picked the more-certain emotion from my thoughts. Had she seen a smidgen into my feelings as I had seen into hers but labeled it intuition? What have I accidentally learned to do?
She met my worried smile with the confidence of shared secrets between sisters. A tap at the door startled us both, and I ran my hand down the dress I had thrown on so I wouldn’t be running about in my underthings. “Come in,” we said together, me sounding relieved.
It was Duncan, his gangly frame halting in the door. Contessa saw my flush, her smile going knowing. “Water’s hot again,” he said, his expression unbothered.
“Thank you,” I said, hoping he hadn’t been eavesdropping. Eyes down, I edged about the chair to get to the door. I was so desperate for a bath that I would have taken it cold, but I had to get Contessa presentable first. And water was easier to heat when we were stalled in the sea. Through the deck came the call for sails to go up. Even fainter came the signal horns from the two warships. Though we weren’t actually moving, we were under way. It was going to be harder to wash up, now, but I’d done it before.
“Thank you, Tess,” Contessa said, when I reached the door, her voice precise, every syllable carefully pronounced as she adopted a formal air in the presence of someone besides the two of us. “You may go tidy yourself.”
I jerked to a stop, her altered tone reminding me of our public relationship. Duncan grinned, catching a glimpse of my frustration before I hid it. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I murmured, managing to elbow Duncan in the ribs as I curtsied in the doorway.
“Would you please see that Jy is given an extra ration of grain tonight,” she added. “And have Captain Borlett free enough water from the cisterns to rinse his coat.”
“Thank you, Contessa,” I added, grateful she had remembered my horse. I’d been planning to use all my wiles to get Jy something. Now all I would have to do was say Contessa wished it.
The young woman met my smile with her own, reminding me that for all the temper and the provincial fishwife at her core, she was an intelligent woman who naturally thought more of others than herself. Perhaps, I mused as I shut the door behind me and followed Duncan through the boat, I should remember that more often.
Three
The wind from the nearing storm had become aggressive, but it felt wonderful in my curls, a few brown strands pulled from my topknot to blow artfully about my shoulder while they finished drying. My bath had been short since the waves had grown higher, but the salt was gone, and there was no better feeling than standing at the rail of a ship with the wind in your hair, the balance of power between the wind and waves vibrating up through your feet. I didn’t care that the crew members were surly and bad-tempered. None of it was my fault.
Because of Alex’s dumping Contessa overboard, we weren’t going to make the next harbor before twilight. Normally it wouldn’t matter since Captain Borlett and the captains upon the two accompanying warships could sail at night as well as day, but the approaching storm had added a dimension of uncertainty. I knew everyone was blaming me for the delay through some twisted male logic. They couldn’t blame Alex, and because women were bad luck on ships, the thought to toss her over had probably occurred to every one of them at some point or other. I had even overheard Haron grumble, “Our first mistake was goin’ back for ’em.”
My fingers upon the railing tensed when the wind gusted and the light boat slowly heeled. Hair blowing into my face, I turned to look behind me to Haron at the wheel, his feet spread wide so his short stature could better control the boat. His bearded features were lost in the gathering dusk, but his stance said he was glad to be moving again. Near to him were Captain Borlett, Duncan, and Jeck.
A frown pinched my brow. They looked deep in discussion, and immediately I headed over. My stomach clenched as I snuck glances at Jeck. He stood a head above everyone else and looked trim and elegant in his tidy Misdev uniform of black and green. The wind tugged his severely black, gently curling hair about his small ears. He had taken recently to shaving, and his cheeks had tanned to the same dark, well-oiled wood sheen the rest of him had.
The black-silk sash about his waist was the only sign of his higher rank since the official, overdone hat with the drooping feather had gone over the side the first day out. I knew Jeck had lost it on purpose, rightly thinking it looked ridiculous on him. He was not much older than I, his hidden status of player h
aving pulled him higher in rank faster than was customary. But with his square jaw and muscular arms, it was obvious it wasn’t just his status of player that had gotten him his captain’s appointment. The man had enough muscles to force what he wanted when his magic failed him. It was this last I didn’t trust.
The sword hanging from his belt was different, and I imagined Alex had Jeck’s best blade, now. Jeck saw my eyes on the new hilt as I approached, and he moved his powerful shoulders in a small shrug. There was a wisp of amusement in his brown eyes directed at me even while he discussed something with Captain Borlett. He thought it had been funny. Contessa’s almost death had been funny to him. What a chu slinger.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” I said, boldly interrupting them by forcing myself between Captain Borlett and Duncan. I touched my still-damp topknot to reassure myself my darts were there where they would stay as long as Jeck was on board.
“Ma’am,” the squat captain of the Sandpiper said, accepting my presence as an equal. It was refreshing, and my bother eased.
“Hey, Tess. You look good,” Duncan said, making a show of taking in the dress I wore when we were in harbor, where impressions were important. I knew I was embarrassingly overdressed, but it was the only clean, dry thing I had to put on.
“Thank you.” I gave him an honest smile, flicking a glance at Jeck to see him drop back a step and sigh in exasperation. “When do you expect we will make harbor, Captain?” I asked, fishing to find out what they had been talking about.
The squat man curled his lips inward upon themselves to make his graying mustache stick out. His hands went into the pockets of his sun-bleached, long, blue coat, and he squinted at the top of the mast. “That’s what we were just discussing, ma’am. We can make it all right, but it seems unnecessary to risk Yellow Tail’s sandbars when we can hunker down in the lee of Midway Island. Because of—ah—our delay, we would hit Yellow Tail at low tide. The Sandpiper can handle the shallow draft. It’s those damned heavy tubs we’re dragging behind us. They’re likely to ground at the bottom of a wave if we try it at low tide with high seas.”
Duncan gently sucked at his teeth, fidgeting. I never would have noticed it but for our frequent card games. He liked anchoring every night somewhere new, more often than not slipping over the side for a spot of carousing to come back satisfied and with his pockets heavier than when he left. Someday, his desire for money was going to get him caught, and all his pride for being a member of the palace court wouldn’t be worth fish entrails. “So we’ll be anchoring tonight at Midway?” I prompted.
I followed Captain Borlett’s gaze past the bow and to the approaching island, a thickening presence on the horizon. “That’d be my advice,” he said.
The trace of hostility in his gravelly voice brought my attention back. Jeck’s brown eyes were pinched in concern, and I arched my eyebrows, shifting a step so I could hold the boat for balance when an especially big wave lifted and dropped us. I didn’t know where Jeck stashed his darts, though I knew from experience his dart pipe was tucked somewhere inside his leather jerkin. “You disagree, Captain Jeck?” I said boldly.
The man’s square jaw clenched and relaxed at the tart challenge in my words. “There’s a ship already at anchor there,” he said, taking a firmer stance, with his feet spaced wide and his hands laced behind his back. The wind shifted his short black bangs. It was the only thing about him that was moving, his well-made, heavy boots planted firmly on the deck.
I shifted my gaze back to the island, now seeing a pair of lights. “It looks like a small ship,” I said, imagining they put one at the bow and stern like everyone else. “We have two warships full of well-trained men, Captain. What on earth are you worried about?”
Duncan chuckled, and Jeck’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m not questioning the abilities of my men,” the dark man all but growled.
“Then there should be no problem anchoring beside them.”
Captain Borlett was bobbing his head. “That’s what I’ve been saying. The shoals are the real danger. I’m more afraid of them than of a merchant ship. Besides, I recognize her flag. That’s Kelly’s Sapphire, or I’m an innkeeper on the plains of Misdev.”
Jeck’s gaze went distant and unseeing. I recognized his mien as that which he gave stupid people making stupid decisions that he had to deal with. It was annoying, and whereas I might have sided with him, I trusted Captain Borlett when it came to tides and water levels. If the big warships couldn’t make it past the sandbars by the time we reached Yellow Tail, then we should anchor at Midway Island.
“Why don’t we invite the ship’s captain for dinner?” I said suddenly.
Duncan caught his balance with a soft hop step.
“No, really,” I protested, when Jeck gave me a blank stare of disbelief, but Captain Borlett bobbed his head eagerly. “What better way to judge a man’s character than over a plate of food?” I added. “We’ll all sleep better tonight for having met him.”
“Capital idea.” Captain Borlett smiled in anticipation. “I haven’t seen Captain Pentem for over a season. He’d be interested to see what’s become of my boat.” His pride in his new position of captaining the ambassador’s boat was obvious, and I thought that it wasn’t Captain Pentem’s possible interest in his boat but that Captain Borlett wanted to show off.
Jeck shifted his hands. One settled atop his hilt, and I saw a flicker of surprise from the unusual feel of the new weapon. Captain Borlett was nodding, and Duncan fingered the rings on his hand, clearly eager for the chance to take the innocent captain of Kelly’s Sapphire for all he was worth. “Dinner?” Jeck said, not a clue to his thoughts in the short utterance.
“Dinner,” I affirmed. “It will give Contessa a chance to work on her etiquette before meeting with our neighbors down coast next month.”
“Heaven save us, yes,” Jeck muttered. “I’ll see to the seating arrangements.”
“Contessa will do that,” I said quickly. “She needs the practice.”
Jeck frowned, straightening to look aggressive somehow. The coming dusk made his dark complexion darker, and the military captain’s insignia on the black sash about his middle seemed to glow. “It’s a matter of security. I’ll not leave it up to a nun,” he said.
I put my hands on my hips, too, irate that I had to look up at him. “She’s not a nun,” I said tartly. “And I’ll help her. She’ll learn nothing if none of you let her do anything.” This was my playing field, and I didn’t like his interfering.
His breath came from him in a tired sound, his entire chest moving as he exhaled. It was a clear conflict of interest. His captain duties demanded he obey his distant king and ensure Alex’s safety until his sovereign called him home, but his player status required he minimize his influence over Alex. The prince had married into Costenopolie and was clearly my piece to manipulate and protect. “Fine,” he said, clearly peeved. “But if she puts me too far from Prince Alexander, I’m moving. The woman has as much political savvy as a duck.”
Duncan laughed, and I smacked his shoulder with the back of my hand. “Be still,” I warned. “She’s trying.”
“Give it up, Tess,” the cheat said, when Jeck nodded to everyone and walked away. “The woman is hopeless, and you know it.”
Captain Borlett touched the brim of his salt-grimed hat and started to the wheel, probably to tell Haron we would be anchoring off the island. Duncan started to hum in anticipation, his hands moving in what I recognized as his traditional warm-up preparation for a game of cards. Trying to ignore him, I watched Jeck make his confident way across the moving deck. The tall man moved with a balance and confidence I envied, his pace measured and slow. Duncan’s humming stopped, and I looked to see him eying me in question.
“You’re going to get caught,” I said, and a devilish grin came over him. Frowning, I headed for the galley hatch, not nearly as graceful as Jeck though I tried. Contessa would need some coaching, and I wanted everything to be perfect if Jeck would
be there, evaluating my growing skills at being a player.
Four
The yellow light from the lamp overhanging the narrow table made short arcs, sending beams across the cramped officers’ common room to mix with the pleasant talk and warmth instilled by food and the close quarters. Candles supplemented the usual light, glinting off the china that Contessa and Alex dined upon. Above came the sound of the crew enjoying their ale now that the threatened rain had failed to appear. The approaching storm had broken upon us with little more than wind and high seas and was likely to stay that way.
I pushed my plate of nearly untouched food away, finding the motion of the Sandpiper uncomfortable now that the smooth rolling of waves had been replaced with short awkward bobs at the end of a tether. The warmth of perfumed bodies was cloying, and I couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than the stench of the unwashed crew.
A soft laugh brought my attention up from the glass in my hand, and I smiled as if I had heard the jest. Good Lovrege wine had loosened the tongues of our visiting captain, but Contessa had become depressed and silent. Most of her evening had been spent trying to meet Alex’s eyes at the opposite end of the table. The proud young man would have none of it. His windburned and suntanned hand was ever on his wineglass though he had drunk little, and he looked every bit the noble as he sat with a casual grace in his best coat of Costenopolie gold and green, gold glittering in a subdued show of wealth at his collar and cuffs. Alex had a good heart, and that Jeck had hardened it to Contessa infuriated me.
I turned my accusing gaze to the captain of the Misdev guards. The dark man’s glass was almost full since he had sipped only what was polite. He was sitting between me and Alex, as if protecting his efforts at turning the man against Contessa. His uniform made him look refined and respectable despite my knowing otherwise, and his low voice rose and fell with a mesmerizing cadence. I liked it, even as I thought myself a foolish woman for finding something as simple as the sound of a man’s voice attractive. The man was a skilled player. If I found him attractive, it was because he was trying to lull me into a false sense of security.