“Oh, that’s shiny,” she murmured, grinning at the concept.
“You see, then,” Salvor said, smoothing away a hint of a frown, “how far ahead of you Geret is thinking. How far ahead he was raised to think. Though it must be said, he often fails to see past his nose.”
She squinted at him. “I’m not sure whether you’re insulting him, or me.”
He smiled warmly, letting his eyes slide down to her damp white blouse. “I try not to discriminate,” he finally said, meeting her eyes again. “It interferes with my work.”
Rhona studied him in the lamplight. The kiss he’d given her after their duel made more sense now that he’d also undressed before her. “I see your tactic, Lord Thelios,” she said, letting her own eyes trail along his features. “You’re jealous of Geret’s influence with me. You want it for yourself.”
He tsked. “Is that all you believe me capable of?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Why else would you do as you’ve done?”
Salvor eased up next to her; she could feel his warmth radiating onto her pebbled skin. He leaned in close to her ear, his breath hot on her skin, his lips brushing her cheek. “I do as I’ve done, fair Rhona, because I’m a whore for my country. I’m compelled to ensure its cohesion and survival, whether present or future, by any tactic I see fit.”
Her breathing sped up; she turned and looked up into his face, so close to her own.
“And,” he added, “because you’re a truly beautiful woman.”
Rhona drew her dagger from her belt and gently slid the flat of it alongside his jaw until it rested against his ear. “Perhaps I feel compelled to maim you for being so forward with me again,” she said, a small smile playing about her lips.
He didn’t even blink. “You won’t, though,” he said, his voice low and confident.
She pressed against his chest, pushing him onto the mattress, then leaned in over him, dagger still in hand. “And why is that?” she asked.
“Because,” he said, eyes golden in the lamplight, “you need to hear what a man thinks of you. Even if it’s not Geret.”
Rhona’s face shifted, clouding. In one swift motion, she rose from the bed and slipped out the cabin door, closing it behind her. Salvor sighed, picked his feet up off the floor and put them on his pillow at the other end of the bunk.
“Folly,” he cursed, staring at the planks of Geret’s empty bed. “Now I’ll never get back to sleep.”
Chapter Sixteen
Harbinger’s bronze port-side cannons boomed in the muggy night, leaving clouds of smoke trailing in the oddly blue moonlight that pierced the ragged grey clouds overhead. On shore, Yaren Fellows screamed and ran through the darkness, fleeing dock house shrapnel and flaming debris. Marela stalked along the deck behind her crew, alternately cursing and encouraging them.
On the starboard side, Count Runcan and Anjoya slithered down a rope until they slipped into the warmth of the sea. The Clansman holding the rope on deck gave them a parting whistle of good luck.
Spitting out a mouthful of seawater, Runcan murmured, “This way, while she’s exploding things over there.” He began an awkward paddle toward an undamaged pier a short distance away.
Anjoya made graceful strokes by his side, pacing herself to his speed. As they clambered onto the dock, Yaren Fel began to return fire from cannons along its defensive walls. The next volley from the Harbinger arced high through the night, its cannonballs falling inside the walls. A few moments later, fire sprang up inside the walls, and screams reached their ears.
“I need to stop coming here,” Runcan muttered.
As the chaos built up behind them, Anjoya took Runcan’s arm and slowed his surreptitious scurry to an amiable stroll. Guardsmen darted past them toward the action, paying them no mind.
“So this is Cyrmant. It smells different here. Is there usually this much chaos?” she asked.
“More often than I’d like,” he grumbled, feeling water squish inside his boots with every step.
She smiled. “Do you think you can find the head of the merchant guild in this city?”
“Probably. Why?”
“He’ll remember me well, and fondly. And his office will put him in an excellent position to provide us with a speedy carriage to Highnave. And dry clothes.”
Runcan’s teeth glimmered in the blue moonlight. “You’re a fine traveling companion, Anjoya Meseer.”
Something exploded inside the city walls, and they both flinched.
“On our way, then,” Runcan added, picking up the pace. “I’m more than glad Vint is a landlocked realm.”
As they mingled with a crowd of pedestrians trying to cram through a narrow gate into the city, Anjoya said, “There’s an appeal in being able to demand that the world respect the niche you’ve carved for yourself, despite its best efforts to wipe you from its face. Marela has earned her place. I’m still searching for mine.”
Behind them, Marela m’Kora drew her blade and cried invasion, leading her crew down onto the docks of Yaren Fel. As she darted toward a dockside warehouse packed with goods, her dark red braids bounced on her shoulders. Among them, secured to a small comb, was a single lock of long, dark, curly hair.
~~~
Meena came up on deck one morning toward the end of their voyage to see Sanych practicing with her signal flags, enjoying the fresh air and the relatively stable deck beneath her feet.
“I think I’m getting a real feel for this,” she said in Shanallese, smiling and wiping her brow with a sleeve as Meena drew near.
“Good,” Meena smiled, and then sobered. “I have something I need to tell you before we go ashore.”
“What is it?”
“Why you’re the one I need with me, out of everyone here.”
A small frown of concentration marred her forehead, and she turned to give Meena her full attention. “I’m listening.”
But Meena shook her head. “Come up into the rigging with me. This part of the plan is for your ears only. Everyone who knows this secret is a threat to the Cult of Dzur i’Oth, and they’ll be looking for you. The Circuit may still protect you from their probes once we enter the caldera, but it won’t protect the crew from the cult’s attacks once we part ways.”
~~~
The fleet sighted land two evenings later: a rocky spur silhouetted against the burning sunset. As they sailed closer, it became apparent that the spur was no mere jetty; it towered over them by many hundreds of feet and boasted an entire windswept forest on its basaltic crest. The ships dropped anchor for the night in a protected, uninhabited cove near the end of the arm of land; the slender arc of stone bent away into the darkness of the northern horizon.
Rhona sat on her swaying bed in the dark. When dawn came, she would have to leave the Princeling and her other four ships in the hands of her second mate, Siela. The capable pirate would take the Clan vessels westward toward the trade lands and get in some well-earned raiding, while Rhona and Ruel rowed ashore with the Seamother, Salvor, Kemsil, Sanych and Geret.
Geret. He didn’t want to join Agonbloom, had his own silly rules about creating heirs, and hadn’t fallen even the slightest bit in love with her. The knowledge that she’d entirely failed to paint herself as a sympathetic character, let alone a fascinating one, wormed painfully in her heart, yet she couldn’t figure out what she’d done wrong, what better heading she should have sailed. Should I have been more like Sanych, who’s already familiar to him? No! She rejected the thought immediately. I won’t ever stoop to impersonating a dirtwalker for a mere man.
Even if it leaves me alone, with nothing to show for weeks and weeks of effort? She shuddered in the cool dimness of her cabin. Overhead, the constant thuds of feet on the deck, accompanied by a few reed pipes, small drums and a sitar, told her the crew was enjoying being at anchor.
I’m so alone. No one understands me. Is this how the Prime feels? Is this all I’m destined to have? Power, without love?
A tear spilled over her cheek. �
�Oh, gods above. Now I’m crying over a man. Scuttle that.”
Rhona swung off the bed and rummaged around in the back of her bottom cupboard until she found the bottle she sought. Then she opened her cabin door and hollered for her cabin girl.
~~~
Geret tapped on Rhona’s cabin door. Beneath his clean white shirt, his heart hammered against his heavy medallion. On the morrow, he could drop this farce with her, but tonight, she was still a Clan captain aboard her own vessel. And she still had a favor to call in.
Rhona opened the door and ushered him inside. The table was lit by candles, and a light meal for two was set on one of its corners. The red silk curtains were closed.
He swallowed and met her eyes. “Good evening, Captain m’Kora.”
“Good evening, Prince Geret. I’m calling in my favor: help me celebrate the end of things as they never were.” She lifted one side of her mouth in a mocking smile.
He sensed her honesty, let his guard down. “Aye, Cap’n. I can do that.”
They sat and ate, talking easily. When the meal was done, Rhona touched his arm. “I’ve got a special treat for you tonight,” she said, rising from the table and stepping through the red silk curtains. “Wait here.”
Geret gulped, but the pirate returned in a moment, carrying a long, slender green bottle with a glass bulb at the top.
“What is it?”
“A rare spirit from the Sacred Reefs.” She unwound a length of thin cord from the seal at the bottle’s neck, then twisted the glass bulb, which popped free with a crack of wax. “The merchant I stole it from told me it’s highly sought after in Bermah by High Celebrants and common druids alike. Few bottles are allowed to leave the reaches of the Jade Sea. It’s one of my most prized possessions, and I wanted to share it with you before… Well, let’s just say that going ashore traditionally holds more dangers for me than for you. Even here, in Shanal.”
She poured a small amount of the liquor into their glasses, then replaced the bulbous stopper. Geret picked up his goblet and swirled the light green liquid around, smelling its sweet, spicy scent.
“To victory,” Rhona murmured, clinking her glass against his.
He sipped at the green liquor; it felt like warm silk, slipping down as if eager to reach his stomach. “That’s superb. I know you’ve been generous with your swag,” he waggled his hand, heavy with rings, “but I’m honored you shared this rare treasure with me.”
“Oh, it gets better.” Rhona leaned forward.
Geret blinked, then leaned forward as well, feeling a lazy warmth curling around his insides. “Do tell.”
She lowered her lashes. “I’ve been going about this all wrong, and I apologize. I’ve been trying to force you into Clan ways, but it’s clear to me now that there’s nothing holding you to us. Why should you stay with us? We’re not your people, and you have prior obligations to Vint. I understand that now, and I never did before. I was blinded by what I wanted from you.”
Geret absorbed that for a moment. “Well, thank—”
“So I want to come with you instead.”
“What?”
“Think of the political advantage it would bring if Vint had a peaceable alliance with the greatest Clan in the Southern Sea.”
“I’m not sure my uncle will be willing to engage me to a pirate princess, even if it is for the good of the realm.”
Rhona poured more of the green liquor into his glass. “Shouldn’t he be the one to decide that? I heard you turned down the chance to control Vint.”
He sampled the drink again. It was even better the second time; he could feel colors dancing along his tongue. “So, you’re not insisting on coming to Vint as my consort or anything?”
“Not at all. If we’re to have any sort of relations, I need to take Vinten mores and customs into account. After all, it was my ignorance of them that caused us both such problems these last few weeks. Don’t you agree?”
“Well, yes.” Geret’s mind flooded with relief.
She smiled broadly at him, reaching again for the green bottle. “Shiny. We have an accord.” They both drank again.
A sudden bout of vertigo made Geret wince, and he felt as if a wall he’d never known was inside him had suddenly cracked. Pupils wide, he blinked at Rhona, who smiled dazzlingly at him. Her twin cordage braids whispered secrets. His consciousness flowed out into the darkness beyond the splinters of his control, and the room went hazy with a transcendental bouquet of irresistible sounds and scents.
“What…?” he asked in wonderment.
“There’s a reason people seek the sacred spirit, Geret,” Rhona breathed, watching her finger as it brushed along his lower lip. “It opens the mind to so many wonderful possibilities.”
~~~
Sanych clung tightly to a wad of her blanket, unable to manage more than a doze due to the sloshing sensation in her stomach. She tried to lull herself to sleep by tracking the rolling of the ship at anchor as the tide shifted, idly wondering whether she’d get any proper sleep before dawn broke.
Soon, a new set of sounds reached her ears. That’s not from the party on deck, she thought muzzily. A distinct giggle passed through the wall next to her head, and she froze, upset stomach clenching tightly, as she realized with a shock what she was hearing.
Two thoughts shot through Sanych’s mind at the same time: These walls are thinner than should be allowed in ship construction, and How could I misjudge his character so terribly? Geret was just piping me a tune all this time! Unable to help itself, her mind conjured images to match the sounds. A sob forced its way through her teeth, and she curled into a ball of numerous agonies. She pressed her hands over her ears in denial; a tear dripped across the bridge of her nose and ran into her other eye.
A low-pitched voice, raised in pleasure, was too much for Sanych to bear; she threw herself from her bunk with a sob and stumbled out of the cabin, fleeing blindly. She stumbled down the narrow corridor, tears filling her eyes. She blindly pawed for the stairwell that led up to the top deck, managing to miss the open door to Geret and Salvor’s cabin.
Once on deck, she staggered across the planks, shoving her way through dancing circles of sailors, until she found a secluded corner next to the castle wall. Tumbling to her knees at the rail, she dug her fingernails into the weathered wood and soaked it with her tears.
Betrayed again, by the only other Vinten for thousands of miles! Folly must be laughing her arse off at me. Along with Geret and Rhona. This quest is horrible. I want to go home.
Then Meena was at her side, smoothing her hair. Sanych couldn’t hear her words over her own hiccupping sobs. The Shanallar pressed a cup of ale into her hands, and she drained it.
Handing it back, she muttered, “I can’t do this, Meena. I can’t.”
“You can and you will.”
Sanych raised her head, glaring.
A smile of sympathy crossed Meena’s features. “Not because I say so, but because you’re stronger than your most crippling weakness. You’re tougher than your most painful moments. You’re smarter than your own broken heart.”
“But I just—”
“I don’t need Geret to help me complete this quest. So you don’t either. The magical talent you possess sets you apart. You have different goals and responsibilities in Shanal than anyone else except me. You know I’ve been planning this for a very long time. And of everyone on this ship, you’re the only one I need. The only one I’ve ever needed. You’ve never been just a quest recorder. You’re the entire purpose for my journey, Sanych. Without you, I can’t win. With you by my side, I can’t fail.” Meena paused, pursed her lips and tipped her head. “Allowing for a few steps in between, of course.”
Sanych wiped her eyes. “Like what?”
Meena grinned. “None of my stories are just stories.”
“That’s it? That’s my hint? You’ve told me a hundred and thirty-seven different stories since we started this quest. Some heroine you are!” Sanych exclaimed, exasperat
ed.
Meena only laughed and took her by the hand, helping her stand. “Come dance. There’s pain and death enough on the morn’s horizon. Forget your sadness, embrace your power, and take a twirl with my great-great-grandson.”
Sanych looked over her shoulder and saw Ruel hovering at a respectful distance. She met Meena’s eyes again and raised her chin. “I may do just that.”
With a grin, Sanych let Ruel take her hand and spin her into the whirling circle of dancers, and she gave herself over to the thrumming rhythm of the drums, letting it replace the dying beat of her broken heart.
Chapter Seventeen
“What do you mean, Geret’s not with them?” thundered Beret Branbrey, Lord High Magister of Vint.
“I’m afraid I wasn’t entirely clear, sire,” Imorlar said, remaining unruffled. “The returning Vinten expedition consists of exactly one Vinten and one foreigner. Count Runcan has a woman with him. They’re being escorted to your private offices now.” The slender man gave his liege a bow, then retreated from the room.
Beret sighed and looked over at his son, Addan. The teenager, incurious, ignored Imorlar’s leaving as thoroughly as he had his arrival, instead thumbing the wheel on a bright toy wagon he held.
“I’m sorry, Addan, but I have to go. There may be news of Geret. I’ll return later, though, and we can play again.” He rose and nodded to the day nurse, who stepped forward with a curtsey and slid into the chair next to the prince, picking up one of the other toy wagons from the table.
As he slipped out the door, closing it quietly, he took a moment, as always, to set aside the pain his son’s mysterious condition brought him, lest it distract him at a critical moment. Once he’d mentally traded fatherhood for monarchy, he turned and strode down the hallway. He’d done this hundreds, perhaps thousands of times over the years. He never hated himself any less.
Why hasn’t Geret returned with Count Runcan? Thoughts of the devastating volcano and quake ripples flashed through his head. Wisdom, let Geret be alive!
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