by Cara Witter
Sayvil and Jaeme both raised their hands, looking unapologetic. He’d known about Sayvil, but Nikaenor and Jaeme, too?
Kenton swore, drawing a scowl from Nikaenor’s mother.
Then Perchaya cringed and slowly raised her hand as well.
Kenton stared at her. “What?”
“Reisa will be worried about me,” she said. “I didn’t tell her where we were, or where we were going, or anything, really. Just that we’re all right.”
“We all have families who need to know we’re all right,” Sayvil said.
Kenton met eyes with Daniella, and she looked away. They all did. He and Daniella alone had no one they wanted to write to.
But even if he had, Kenton would have had the good sense to refrain until the job was done. The letter-carriers who rode from town to town weren’t exactly impossible to overtake or bribe for information. And if the letters of any of the mouthier bearers were intercepted, Diamis could long since have known exactly where they were headed.
“I need a drink,” he said.
Nikaenor’s mother stopped preening over Nikaenor, and her expression softened somewhat. “You’ve come to the right place for that. And while you drink,” she pointed to Nikaenor, “you can tell me what you’ve been doing gallivanting the Five Lands in the company of these people.”
Then, after a few more exclamations regarding Nikaenor’s health and general state of well-being, and the final bizarre pronouncement of “Well, you don’t smell too bad,” the woman bustled off, hopefully in search of those drinks.
The little boy still stood at Nikaenor’s feet, staring unabashedly at Kenton with his thumb firmly back up his nose.
“Even you can relax a bit,” Perchaya said, elbowing Kenton softly. “This isn’t exactly a large city. New groups of soldiers lying in wait for us would have been noticed.”
Kenton sighed and looked to one of the patrons—a round-bellied gentleman who wore a hat that was more hole than brim. “Have there been any military boats in port lately?” he asked.
The man shook his head. “Not of late.”
Kenton supposed it would be overcautious even for him to assume that their letters had been read immediately upon sending, when there was no sign that Diamis had, in fact, anticipated their arrival.
“Well,” Kenton said. “Let’s sit, then.”
As they did, Kenton surveyed the patrons, most of whom had returned their attention to their own drinks following the outburst. He noted not a single soldier was among them, which was good. The standing military presence in Ithale seemed to be light, and now that Nikaenor was home, hopefully he would be able to turn his attention to the real matter at hand—finding the stone.
Perchaya sat at the opposite end of the table, petting a brown cat that had leapt up to join them. She noticed Kenton looking and smiled at him. He smiled back weakly.
“Here are some rolls, fresh from the oven,” said a sweet voice from a girl suddenly standing next to him.
“Aralie!” Nikaenor jumped up from the table with a shout, greeting the girl holding the bread basket. She looked to be a year or so younger than him, her hair bound back in a kerchief, her blue eyes bright. Two small girls a few years younger than Aralie, with their hair in long honey-blond braids, ran into the room.
“Nikaenor!” one of the girls shrieked, while the other one finished with “You’re back!” and he was once again enveloped in hugs.
Kenton wished he’d already had a few drinks, if he was going to have to watch this display. Kenton had once had a family like this, who would have greeted him like he’d been gone for years.
He hoped, for Nikaenor’s sake, that this family wouldn’t meet the same fate.
One of the little blond girls skipped up behind Daniella’s chair and began pawing at her hair. “Can I braid it? Can I?”
“Um,” Daniella said, but the girl had already grabbed a fork from the table and was picking at knots at the ends of Daniella’s curls. Her sister quickly joined her with a second fork, the two of them oohing and ahhing over the bright red of her hair.
Which Kenton most definitely should have made her dye.
“What’s your name?” one of the girls asked.
Daniella shot a look at Jaeme and opened her mouth, but Kenton cut her off. “Pleasure to be here,” he called to Nikaenor’s mother. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Noreen Alwyn,” she said proudly, straightening her apron.
“Noreen,” Kenton said. “Drinks all around? I’m buying.”
“Of course,” Noreen said. “Aralie, come help me serve.” Aralie reluctantly followed her mom as she bustled into the kitchen.
“Well,” Nikaenor said, taking a seat next to Sayvil. “That’s everyone in my family except my dad and Ronan. I wonder where—”
“Dad walked Mr. Canton home again,” one of the girls said, her fist full of Daniella’s hair. “And Ronan’s—”
“Nikeanor!” a man called, striding down the stairs and across the room toward them. He had darker hair than the rest of the family, and a short brown beard, and he looked a few years older than Nikaenor. But like the other siblings, the overall family resemblance to Nikaenor was uncannily strong. Which meant this was Ronan. He clapped Nikaenor on the shoulder. “Where’s that girlfriend of yours? We all thought you’d run off and married her.” Ronan surveyed the table, then brought a chair to squeeze between Kenton and Daniella. Both Daniella and Jaeme shot him looks, and Daniella scooted her chair right up against Jaeme’s, like she was trying to give Ronan a hint.
“Ooooh, are you married, Nikaenor?” one of the younger girls said, followed by a squeal. She pulled her fork free of Daniella’s hair and, apparently deciding that the curls were too much trouble, began to run it through Sayvil’s long black locks, this time without asking permission.
“Married?” Noreen said, swooping back toward them with drinks and full bowls of stew.
“N-n-n—” Nikaenor stuttered, but his mother talked right over him as she tossed the bowls onto the table.
“Nikaenor has always been shy with women. I don’t think he’d ever had relations.”
At this, Nikeanor turned bright red, and his sisters giggled.
“Mom!” cried Aralie, setting a tall drink down in front of Kenton. “Don’t embarrass him!”
His mother looked slightly hurt at this accusation. “I’m not saying he doesn’t know how it’s done. He’s seen our goats have relations. But he’s a good boy. Who doesn’t visit the women from the docks.” She shot a sharp look at Ronan’s arm, which had inched its way right up against Daniella’s—Kenton had to guess hints weren’t his strong suit—and a wary one at Daniella herself.
Ronan jerked his arm away, and Noreen turned her attention to Tam, who had climbed off Perchaya’s lap and was reaching precariously for her drink.
“Ouch!” Sayvil said with a wince, and the girl with the fork bounced on the balls of her feet.
“Sorry! You must be straight off a ship. I can tell by the knots.” She gave Sayvil’s hair another great pull, and Sayvil gritted her teeth, but she didn’t tell the little girl to go away.
“I’m not married!” Nikaenor finally announced. His face had turned nearly as red as an apple.
“Do I look like I work at the docks?” Daniella muttered crossly to Jaeme. His shoulders shook with laughter.
“What are women doing working at the docks anyway?” Perchaya asked. “My sister’s husband worked at the shipyard in Drepaine, and it’s hard work, not really suited for—” She stopped when she noticed the pitying looks Daniella and Jaeme were giving her. Her eyes grew wide as she no doubt realized what profession these so-called dock girls were employed in. “They do that on the docks?” she asked.
By this time they were all laughing, Sayvil included, and Nikaenor was hiding his face behind his arm and his bowl of stew.
>
“Don’t evade the question, Nikaenor,” Ronan said, pointedly ignoring the rest of them. “Where’s Saara? Didn’t you run off with her?”
Nikaenor slumped down in his seat. “Yes,” he said miserably. “But it wasn’t like that. She’s a queen.”
Kenton shot him a look. That story ranked right up with Daniella’s identity on the list of conversations he didn’t want to have in the middle of this tavern. Clearly, he should have been more direct on that point.
Though he’d been quite direct about the letters, and that obviously hadn’t helped.
“Ah,” said Ronan nodding knowingly. “I know what you mean. I’ve been with women like that before. So bossy, you can’t hardly do anything you want.”
Nikaenor opened his mouth, but Kenton put his drink down heavily and shot him a look. Nikaenor, unlike his brother, seemed capable of taking a hint.
After dinner, Nikaenor’s family, save Tam, got back to the work of running the tavern, which had drawn in several more locals and some traveling merchants looking for rooms for the night. No soldiers appeared ready to drag them off, which was as good a sign as any.
“So how is it being with your family again?” Perchaya asked Nikaenor.
He smiled. “Well, aside from the complete humiliation . . . good, actually.”
Perchaya giggled, and Kenton wondered by the slightly wrong pitch if the alcohol was going to her head. “I wish we could stop by my family’s house sometime,” she said. “I miss them terribly.” Her lips were upturned, but her eyes grew sad.
Kenton took another long drag of his drink. She couldn’t go home, not just because of the secrecy of their quest, but because Kenton had unintentionally outed her as a Drim. The gloves she wore concealed the Drimmish ring he’d stuck to her finger. They’d never been able to remove it, and Kenton wasn’t sure they ever would.
He hoped for Perchaya’s sake that her family was all right, as well.
“Me too.” Kenton found himself saying. “I mean, I miss mine.” The rest of the table looked at him like he had grown a second head. Jaeme arched an eyebrow.
Kenton winced. Maybe he had drank a bit much himself.
“Did Kenton just open up to us about his personal life?” Nikaenor finally said, a big smile on his face. “Can I expect a hug next?”
“Nikaenor . . .” Perchaya said softly, never taking her eyes from Kenton’s.
“No, really,” Nikaenor continued. “You can’t stop with that. Everyone’s heard all about me tonight. It’s time to air Kenton’s emotional britches. Go on.”
“I really don’t think—” Perchaya said.
But Kenton looked over at Nikaenor. “They’re dead. They’re all dead.”
Nikaenor’s smile faded. “I—I know. But—” He stopped, and everyone but Perchaya looked away. She met Kenton’s eyes, her drunken smile now gone completely.
And Kenton couldn’t help but wish she was sitting closer instead of so far away.
He cleared his throat. He had no way of knowing how long he’d have before the family swooped in again. Intoxicated or not, he needed to take advantage of this moment alone.
“So,” he said quietly to Nikaenor. “You’re home now. Are you feeling the pull?”
Nikaenor looked down at the table, and he took a long time in responding. “I don’t know.” It didn’t sound very convincing.
Sayvil turned to him. “But you’re feeling something.”
Nikaenor sighed. “I don’t—I hate swimming.”
Kenton leaned over his ale, his mind becoming clear. “But you want to swim somewhere now.”
Nikaenor nodded miserably. “I want to . . . I want to go out in the ocean and dive down deep. So deep there’s barely any light. I felt it before—the night Saara came into the inn.” He grimaced and looked up at Kenton. “Do you think it’s the call?”
“What I think,” Kenton said, “is that tomorrow morning, you’re damn well going for a swim.”
Nikaenor sank back in his chair again, but Kenton took another sip of his ale, feeling pleased. Nikaenor would swim into the ocean—it made sense that the jewel would be there, with the power he’d been gifted. Then they could all move on to Mortiche.
As far as Kenton was concerned, that couldn’t happen soon enough.
Five
Perchaya woke in the dead of night, her mind thick with sleep, with a powerful need to use the privy. She stretched in her bed and sat up, looking around the room that she shared with Daniella and Sayvil. The other two women lay sleeping, their hair still wound into the braids the two Alwyn girls had plaited at dinner.
All Perchaya wanted was to go back to sleep—she was certain this was in equal parts due to the comfort of the real bed and the influence of the ale she’d had with her evening meal. But her bladder cried, so she rose from the bed, pulled on some traveling pants under her nightdress and slid on her boots, then opened the door as quietly as she could to make her way to the outhouse.
As she moved down the hall, she heard noise still coming from the direction of the tavern on the floor below. The lanterns around the inn were still brightly lit, so despite the darkness, perhaps it wasn’t as late as she had thought. They’d all retired early, eager to get some real sleep on real beds that weren’t sea-tossed or hard as boards. Even Jaeme and Kenton, who had expressed the most interest in sitting in the tavern and nursing a beer, had gone to bed early, though Jaeme had looked longingly after Daniella in a way that made Perchaya certain he wished the sleeping arrangements were different.
She passed the room where the two men were sleeping, and Perchaya couldn’t help but wish that Kenton would look at her like that on occasion. Back in Tir Neren, she’d made herself a promise to stop longing for that, and any day now, she was finally going to accomplish it.
She slipped down the stairs and out into the night. A breeze washed over her, and the smell of salt and seaweed drying on the shore. Everything—from the scent to the feel of the air—was so different here than in Andronim.
Though she didn’t mind the warmth, especially as she headed to the privy in her thin cotton shift. With the air as heavy as it was, she didn’t even need to wrap her arms around herself for warmth.
Perchaya found the outhouse thankfully unoccupied and slipped in. Once she’d done her business and emerged again, she headed back toward the rear entrance to the inn, anxious to get back to bed.
That’s when she heard them. Voices, out by the fence at the back of the property. At first Perchaya thought it must be Nikaenor’s father, who hadn’t returned until after they’d headed to bed.
Then she heard the words.
“You’re sure they’re here,” a man’s voice said. “There’s coin in it for you if you’re telling the truth.”
Perchaya froze, then took shelter behind a woodpile, brushing at her hands as a spider skittered from a log right over her knuckles.
“They’re here,” another man answered. “Just like you said. Three men, one with dark hair, two blond, including the Alwyn boy. And the woman with the long black hair, and the blond girl, and the redhead.”
“Good,” the first man said, and Perchaya bit her lip. Something about his voice was familiar. “Secure the inn and the perimeter. We’ll search it room by room.”
Perchaya’s pulse raced at the chorus of “Yes, sir.” She couldn’t count the voices, but there were many of them. Too many.
Gods. She had to warn Kenton. Perchaya took one step toward the back door, but a few of the soldiers were moving around the fence now, and she ducked into the shadow of the woodpile again, crouching low.
The soldiers moved in groups, several of them holding torches. From where she hid, Perchaya was fairly certain they wouldn’t spot her unless they knew where to look.
Then she saw him. A soldier following one of the groups yet walking slightly apart. His uniform was
more decorated than the others, and as he turned to survey the inn, Perchaya caught a glance at his profile.
General Erich Dektrian.
Perchaya held perfectly still. The last time she’d seen him, she’d been fleeing from the wagon where he’d bound her and tried to use her as a lure to catch Kenton. That had been months ago, and the man looked no worse now for having been run over by his own horses as she, Kenton, and Sayvil had escaped.
Perchaya didn’t dare wait until they were all entirely out of sight. She counted heartbeats until they were farther away and all facing in the other direction.
Still holding her breath, she dashed for the back door of the inn, opened it only enough to slip through, then pressed it closed behind her as quietly as she could and dashed up the stairs.
Kenton and Jaeme’s room was the closest—far down the hallway from the room she’d been sharing with Sayvil. That was just as well. She’d warn the men first and let them begin to plan while she got the others. Though she realized now that she didn’t know where Nikaenor was sleeping—he’d gone to his old room in his family’s quarters.
There was no time. Perchaya struggled with the door to Kenton’s room and found it locked. She rapped quietly on it, and Jaeme was the one who answered, his linen shirt untucked over his breeches, his hair still crumpled from sleep.
“What . . .” he began.
Perchaya didn’t let him finish. “Jaeme, we have to go. There are soldiers looking for us. They had our descriptions, and they’re moving to secure the inn.”
Jaeme reached back into the room for his boots and sword before she even finished her sentence. “Where’s Daniella?”
Perchaya looked over his shoulder at Kenton, who was sleeping unusually soundly. “I left her and Sayvil asleep when I went to use the privy. They’re still down the hall, as far as I—”
“Haidshir,” Jaeme said. “If we’re separated, we’ll meet in Haidshir.” Then he pushed past her and moved down the hallway toward her room at a run.
Daniella stood in the hallway of the royal palace at Tir Neren. Her father looked fondly down at her with an indulgent smile that Daniella remembered well.