Princess at Sea

by Dawn Cook

  Not even taking a sip, he lay down right where he was and tugged the canvas cloth tighter about him. His chin tucked to his chest, he pretended to fall asleep. I waited until his breathing grew deep and slow before I quietly found my own rest, shivering and cold beside the fire. I found myself thinking that if Jy were here instead of Jeck, I could snuggle up to my horse and at least be warm. Horses were better than men—for lots of reasons.

  They at least listened when you talked, I mused as I watched Jeck pretend to be asleep. They took direction easily. They could carry lots of stuff and never complained about it. You always knew what they were thinking just by looking at them. They smelled good even when they were dirty, and when you were done riding them, all you had to do was give them a good brush and a dinner of oats, and they figured they got the better end of the deal. They were big and strong, and you could curl up against their warmth without them thinking you wanted more. Horses, I thought, shivering as I drifted into sleep, are definitely better than men. Why couldn’t Jeck be more like a horse?

  I woke only once, the remembered nightmare of being alone and betrayed jerking me awake. I started upright, my cloak clutched about me and the steam of my breath showing in the faint coals that remained of the fire. Heart pounding, I took in the moon hanging over the opposite horizon. Embarrassment filled me. It had been my own voice that had woken me: a harsh croak of a cry that seemed to still echo in the utter silence of the spring woods at night. Not even the wind dared break it.

  Breath fast, I looked across the ash-dusted coals to Jeck. His dark eyes met mine as he lay on the ground under his ragged sailcloth, his gaze questioning. Clearly I had woken him. Not getting up, he stretched to reach what was left of the wood and toss it on the fire. Sparks flew up like memories, to die in the blackness of time. A small flame licked the new branch, and it began to burn.

  Feeling cold and achy, I lay back down and closed my eyes, praying the dream wouldn’t return. The feeling of loss still haunted me. It wasn’t the loss of the wind, already grown familiar like an old pain. It was a new loss, still as sharp and bright as new metal. A loss of the heart, and it shocked me in its depth.

  Duncan, I thought. Perhaps I should leave everything. Run away with Duncan and become a wandering vagrant. But even as I thought it, the feeling of loss swelled deeper. It seemed the demise of the game meant more.

  “Jeck?” I opened my eyes to find him still watching me. “How close is my shoulder to the punta vision? Now that you healed it again?”

  His jaw clenched, then released. “Two days. Are you okay?”

  I nodded, not wanting to go into the details of why I had woken. Two days. Had I changed the future, or followed it? Tugging my cloak closer, I decided it didn’t matter. My thoughts full and confusing, I fell back asleep. I woke later from the cold to find the sun up, the fire out, and Jeck gone. My knife had gone with him, but I was too weary even to curse him.

  Horses didn’t steal your stuff when they ran away.

  Nineteen

  It didn’t take me long to start out after Jeck. I had nothing to pack and was wearing everything I owned. The fire was out, and the biscuit I had saved from last night took all of a moment to choke down. My feet were cold and clammy in my gifted boots, and I thanked Penelope again for her selfless generosity. Thoughts on warm baths, hot fires, and how good it would feel to sign Jeck’s execution papers, I pushed myself into motion.

  “He stole my knife,” I muttered, ignoring the whisper of wind calling to me from the tops of the trees. “He stole my knife right off me and left without waking me.”

  It didn’t matter that I’d been pushed to my physical limits and had been sleeping the sleep of the dead. It didn’t matter that he was a master player and had probably used his skills to keep me sleeping while he cut the knife from the ribbon about my waist. It infuriated me that his offer to heal my shoulder had probably only been to help ensure that I had a peaceful night sleep that I wouldn’t want to wake from. He had taken my knife and left me behind.

  Duncan had stolen from me before, but it had always been in fun, and he always gave whatever it was back, usually before I knew it was missing. But Jeck . . . I thought as my steps grew fierce and jarred me from my heels to my skull. Jeck had taken it in malice. To prove he could. To make me do without. And he had left me behind again. Intentionally.

  The wind soughed louder, inciting the power behind my ears to a simmering chatter. First the wind came in the trees, then the voice in my head answered gleefully until they were singing an insane, distracting duet. The spirit trapped within me had ceased asking for freedom, instead now babbling with an irritating anticipation like a child eager for a favorite sweet.

  I closed my eyes, then opened them when my balance left me and I stumbled. Pain jolted through me when I took a huge step to catch myself. I gritted my teeth and cursed Jeck as if it had been his fault. But if I were honest with myself, I would admit it wasn’t the knife that bothered me. It was that he might get to Kavenlow before I could, deciding it would further his game to tell my teacher what had happened.

  Horses are better than men, I thought as I stomped after him. You could tell them your most fearful secrets, and the worst they would do was snuff in your ear, not run away and tell your master. If Kavenlow found out, he would have no choice but to sever our teacher/student arrangement. I’d have to leave the game, shamed and lacking instead of lying that I chose to leave with Duncan and just . . . walking away.

  Heartache came from nowhere, closely followed by panic when I stumbled into a faster pace. I couldn’t leave the game. It was all I lived for. Duncan had made it very plain he would welcome me into his life, but to leave Kavenlow voluntarily was too painful to consider, even now when the game was falling apart around me. It was what my path had been bent to even before I had known of it, born with a natural resistance to the venom and trained from adolescence to use it. I wanted to be a player, even if it meant my death. I wanted a life with love as well, but to get it only because the first was out of reach seemed like a small consolation. I wanted both. I wanted both, curse me to hell and back.

  The wind bubbled and simmered in my head, inciting the wind in the trees to swell. I want to be a player, I thought, the frustration rising in me. I want to be loved. And it looked like I was going to have neither since Duncan was with the pirates, having only his wits to keep his soul and body together.

  Head down, I pushed after Jeck, clutching my cloak closed about my neck with my good left hand as the wind sang to me. Worry and anger made my blood pound in my ears. My skin tingled, and my shoulder ached when the wind in the trees called to the wind in my head.

  I had promised Kavenlow I would hold to his insistence of no ties that could not be broken easily, and though I had tried, I had failed with Duncan. And see what happened? I thought bitterly as I slogged down the path. Jeck was right. Love made you weak.

  The wind whipped my filthy dress. The red ribbon that hung empty from my waist flung upward to slap my face. I stomped forward, the hurt rising through my body. “And he took my knife!” I muttered harshly, wanting to shove it deep into him.

  A sudden gust mirrored my emotions, punching down through the trees. It hit me hard enough to send me stumbling back, eyes wide. The branches and leaves whipped upward to fly against my face. The howl swirling about me rose to a scream.

  Staggering, I fell to my knees. Frightened, I cowered, hunching into myself and covering my head when torn leaves beat at me and the sky howled. From inside me, the tingle of venom surged, unrecognized until now. My lips parted when I realized the wind was coming from me. My faster pulse and anger had pulled venom from my poison-soaked tissues, and the wind in my head had used it to strengthen itself without me even knowing.

  Cold struck through me and I hunched into myself against the power that still whipped at the trees. I had gotten angry, and the zephyr in my head had drawn the skies to fall upon me. Jeck was right. I was a danger to everyone.

  Dirt
and bits of bark made pinpricks when I pulled my head up. I squinted at the wildly tossing branches. Silence! I demanded, my heart pounding when the wind in my head bubbled and chattered in glee, glad to have found a playmate. You will be still!

  It didn’t hear, intent on calling down another gust of wind. My breath was pulled from me as an incoming blast hit the ground and ricocheted down the path. I cowered, ducking my head. Fear rode high, and I forced my lungs to work. You will be still! I demanded again, stronger this time as I wrapped my will about the hot ember of dark merriment inside me that willfully ignored me.

  Feeling my bonds fall upon it again, it reared in an affronted passion, tugging once in complaint before it fell back to a soft, anticipatory, sullen grumble. The wind beating upon my shoulders gave one last push and died. A final soughing in the leaves, and all was still. The tingle of venom was a pulse of hurt in my shoulder and leg, vanishing to a dull ache.

  I was left kneeling on the path with my arms wrapped about me and my heart pounding. It almost took me over, I thought, afraid to get up. I wasn’t safe anymore, for me or anyone else. I had gotten angry and nearly let the wind take control.

  Stomach churning, I slowly unkinked the grip I had on myself. My head hurt, and I could feel the palm of my right hand tingling.

  I took a slow breath, eying the trees shifting in a natural breeze, the morning sun bright on the spring green leaves. Never again, I vowed. I couldn’t slip again, or Kavenlow would realize how dangerous I was. I had to be very, very calm. I had to be very proper. I had to be silent and demure. I’d never make it.

  But my worry turned closer to home when a small breeze spun about me as if looking for its playmate in my head, bringing me the familiar scent of leather and horse. Jeck. Just ahead. I hoped he had been out of hearing.

  Muscles stiff as if I had been unmoving for hours, not moments, I started forward. My limbs felt weak and spindly, still trying to purge the recent venom from me, and the chalky taste of spent poison was thick on my tongue. I felt numb inside as I stumbled down the path to the faint brightening ahead. Jeck had saved my life, but I was too tired to hate him for it.

  I slowed when the path opened up and the forest ended in an abrupt drop that stretched for miles either way. Below was an infertile field where the city’s few horses and ponies found pasture. Beyond that was the smoke-wreathed capital, with its walls and towers, haze and stink. It had never looked so good with the strong morning sun glancing on the fog to impart a golden glow. Carts, ponies, and people made small from the distance crowded the gate. Some were going in, some were going out. None were taking the rough goat path up to here. And overlooking it all with his back to me was Jeck.

  The weary man was standing beside a thick oak whose roots went right over the edge. My thoughts went back to his hands on my shoulder last night, giving me peace in my body with his hands and his magic, and peace in my mind with his voice. I clutched my cloak closer about me, suddenly nervous. I didn’t want him to know what it had meant to me, finding comfort from him, even if I had to buy it with a peek at my shoulder and the future.

  He looked cold, hunched under the sailcloth cloak he had made and rags on his feet. His breath steamed, and he had an uncomfortable-looking stance, awkward and very uncaptainlike though his shoulders were just as broad, and he stood just as tall. I hesitated to move as I took him in. He seemed afraid to go down among the people.

  His head came up and he stiffened. And though he didn’t turn, I knew he had realized I was standing behind him. “I should have knocked you on the head,” he said softly.

  I shuffled forward, halting on the path beside him and looking down at the oblivious city. In the harbor was the pirate ship. We hadn’t beaten them here, but they had yet to leave. We were in time.

  My shoulders slumped, and, looking askance at him, I realized I could feel the warmth from him, though we were a good arm’s length apart. “Why did you wait for me?” I asked.

  He took a slow breath. “The wind came up when you awoke. I knew you wouldn’t be far behind. And after seeing that . . .” He pointed with his chin down to the milling people. “I would rather have you with me under the guise of bringing you safely home then to tell them you were an hour behind me, angry and hell-bent on killing me because I stole your knife.”

  I jerked back a step when he reached behind his cloak and pulled the blade out. Silent at my reaction, he extended it to me hilt first. Heart pounding, I snatched it, retying it on the red ribbon though I thought it an appalling place to keep it since it wouldn’t take much for me to fall and cut myself on it. Penelope hadn’t seemed to have a problem with it, but she probably didn’t slip as often as I did. My gaze went to the mass of morning traffic below us as my fingers tied the knot by rote. There were a lot of people. “Better part of valor?” I questioned bitingly.

  Not looking at me, he pushed from the oak and headed down the steep trail to the gate. “I should have knocked you silly and left you there for them to find.”

  “I’m already insane,” I whispered, and fell into place behind him. But his voice had driven the chattering wind in my head to a soft complaint, and I was grateful for his presence.

  I had to concentrate to keep my footing while descending the rocky scree, and I lost sight of everything else until we reached the bottom. It was only when my feet were again on level ground that I realized how worried Jeck was, and I watched him carefully as he adjusted his makeshift cloak to hide his Misdev uniform before joining the mass of people before the gate. I was getting better at reading him. Though he didn’t say anything, I thought he disliked the crush of humanity in which I took comfort in.

  The chattering insanity of the wind in my head was all but drowned out by their combined noise. Being surrounded by the swirling mass of people was the best I’d felt since seeing the Sandpiper flounder on the reef at Midway Island and realized I had made a life-changing mistake. Chin coming up, I pushed ahead of Jeck. I was home.

  “Stay behind me,” I muttered, dodging a cart loaded with deadwood.

  “The hell I will,” he said, sounding affronted.

  I jerked to a stop, not caring that people streamed about us to gain entry. I had endured enough of him. “You will mind your tongue, Captain,” I said, loud enough so that the surrounding people could hear. From my peripheral sight, I could see them gossiping, starting to point. Despite my ragtag appearance, I was being recognized. Good.

  Jeck must have realized it, too, since he pinched my elbow and all but hissed at me, “What are you doing? You’ll start a panic if you’re forced to explain why we’re here, looking like this and without the royal couple.”

  Meeting his gaze with a satisfied calm, I raised my eyebrows mockingly. “We are out of the wilds, Captain,” I said. “You’re a Misdev officer who lost your prince and allowed brigands to retake my sister and burn my boat to her waterline. I am the sister of the reigning queen, and if she and Alex die, I succeed them. Half the people out here saw her reaffirm my title.”

  Jeck’s brow furrowed, and he leaned closer so the surrounding people couldn’t hear. “You’re a player’s apprentice. If you take the throne, every player will fall upon you, drag you to ground, crush your master’s playing field, and squabble over the scraps like dogs on a downed cat.”

  I pried his fingers off me. “They don’t know that.”

  My attention lifted when the swelling of questions rose around us and the inevitable, “Princess Tess?” was called out. More heads turned, and the milling people bent on gaining the capital hesitated, swirling to a stop about us a deferential four feet back. “Princess Tess?” it came again, worried and frightened.

  I scanned the faces, my gaze alighting on a man standing atop the bench of a wagon.

  “Look!” he called out, pointing when he saw me see him. “It is her. It’s the princess!”

  A worried murmur rose like birds from a beach. Jeck possessively took my elbow, and I let him, thinking it gave him strength. Smiling, I met the ey
es that turned to us. Concern outweighed curiosity on all of them, and calls of “Where is the queen?” and “What happened?” and even a few, “Who hurt you?”

  I tried to be reassuring as I raised my hand for silence, but the noise of the crowd swelled, becoming dangerous. From the gatehouse, the guards stood tall and watched from atop the observation platform. Jeck pressed close lest we become separated.

  A woman pushed forward, putting a blanket over my shoulders. The smell of horse rose from it, warm and reassuring. I met her eyes, fixing her flushed, eager countenance into my memory forever. I could tell she thought it a rude gift, but I was so cold, it felt like the finest wool. My smile went grateful. I touched her hand and gave it a squeeze of thanks.

  Almost as if it were a signal, the rabble pressed inward. Jeck stiffened. Questions rose and fell, unanswerable. A man elbowed his way to me, smiling to show he lacked a tooth as he fostered upon me a pair of mittens, thick and ungainly. Tears pricked my eyes when my stiff, aching fingers slipped into them and found them still warm from his body. I gave him a heartfelt expression of thanks. He bobbed his head in embarrassment and was swallowed up by the crowd. He dropped back willingly, having done what he intended.

  “Please,” I said, though I was sure no one heard me over the noise. “I need to get to the gate. I’ll tell you all what happened, but I need to get to the gate!”

  “The gate!” a man large enough to be a blacksmith bellowed, and I winced. “Princess Tess wants to talk to us from the gate. Make a way! Make a way!”

  The call went out like a rippled wave, but no one could move until the outside people shifted first. Slowly a path opened, and I looked behind me to be sure Jeck was keeping up when his grip was torn from my elbow. His face was empty of all but a stoic nothing that I now knew was how he hid worry.

  “Stay close,” I said to him. “My people have long memories from the last Misdev war, and trust comes slow to fishermen if it comes at all.”