by Giles Carwyn
“Is something wrong?” Issefyn asked.
Speevor turned back around and grunted. “I don’t like that thing behind me.”
“It is perfectly safe. It is well tied.”
He sneered. “It’s not that. It’s bad for the balance of the boat. That’s all.”
Issefyn suppressed a grin at the man’s petty lies. If there was anything she despised, it was someone pathetic enough to lie to themselves.
“I can bring it back here, if you prefer,” she offered.
Speevor glanced back at the recently enslaved peasant girl with the black streaks on her precious little chubby cheeks. He grunted. “The boat would glide better if you did.” Issefyn knew what he was thinking. She knew what he wanted to do between the milky thighs of the girl who couldn’t resist him. He would probably close his eyes and pretend she was still a virgin.
“Of course,” she said, stepping over the oars and moving to the bow of the boat.
Shara was convinced that sending an ani slave as an example would help convince the Summerfools to stay out of Ohndarien. Seeing a desirable young woman bathed in black tears would be more than the prancing halfwits could bear. Just as with everything else, the Zelani mistress agreed to everything Issefyn suggested. The baseborn whore was becoming easier and easier to manipulate. Issefyn regretted that she wouldn’t have more time to play with the little bitch before ordering her pets to strip her naked and give her the death she so truly deserved. Time was short, but Shara would crawl before the end. There was no doubt of that.
As Issefyn sat down next to the slave, she drew a tiny dagger from her sleeve and quickly cut the ropes around its wrists. Before she could cut the bonds around its ankles, Speevor spun around, staring at the knife. He was on his feet in an instant, sword in hand.
“Hold him,” Issefyn whispered into the slave’s ear, projecting her desires through the threads of emmeria that connected them.
The girl leapt forward, stumbling over her still-bound feet. She fell face-forward onto the bench where Speevor had been rowing. The oaf beat on her with his sword like a man chopping wood, but the blade bounced off.
He gave up on the slave and lunged toward Issefyn. The peasant girl tackled him as he leapt. They fell in a tangled heap, grappling with each other in the bottom of the boat. The contest was fierce, but short-lived. Within a few moments her pet had the much larger man wrapped up in an unbreakable grip.
“Are you mad?” Shara’s puppy shouted, blood spraying from his spilt lip.
She drew the containment stone from her cloak and knelt next to him. He thrashed wildly, but couldn’t break free.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he screamed, his voice cracking at the end.
“Putting you in your place,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his.
Emmeria surged through Issefyn’s body as she reached into the screaming man’s life force and wrapped her dark fingers around the blazing light at the center of his chest. He fought her. Weakly. Pathetically. And in a moment she felt his soul give way. His entire body spasmed and Issefyn heard the scrape of wood on wood. She looked up in time to see the oar he’d kicked come swinging around straight at her face.
There was a loud crack and everything went black for a moment. The boat lurched and she was suddenly in the water.
Her hands went to her face, unable to stop the pain racing through her skull. Where was her stone? She’d lost her stone. Issefyn searched for it, kicking desperately, but her limbs were slow to respond. She knew she was sinking, her heavy cloak was pulling her down, but couldn’t tell which way was up. She flailed about, unable to open her eyes, fighting to find her magic, to connect to her power.
She finally managed to open her eyes and spun around looking for the surface. She found it, but it was so far away and her arms were so heavy. She saw the little boat, a dark blotch against the distant sunlight. Something leapt from the boat, knifing through the water. It was coming toward her, dark and unknowable. Where was her stone? Who had her stone?
Issefyn woke to the pain of retching and the sting of seawater pouring through her nose. Someone pounded on her back and she retched some more. Salt burned from her lips to the depths of her lungs.
“Come, Mother, where’s your dignity.”
Issefyn’s hands clenched into fists and she looked up from the bottom of the boat. Victeris leaned casually against the mast. The bovine ani slave sat on the bench next to him, effortlessly pulling the oars.
“It’s just a little bump on the head,” Victeris said with a half grin.
She felt her forehead, wincing as her finger slid into the gash that had split her skin down to the bone. Her palm came away covered with blood.
Issefyn tried to take a deep breath, but ended up in another uncontrollable coughing spasm.
“Where’s my stone?” she finally managed to get out.
“Right behind you.”
Issefyn turned to see Speevor behind her. His hair and clothes were soaked with seawater and the black stains had started to form on his cheeks. He held her containment stone cradled in one of his weathered hands.
Desperately, she reached out with her magic, following the tendrils of emmeria into the empty shell of a man. “Give it to me,” she demanded.
Speevor did nothing, staring blankly forward as if he’d never heard her.
Victeris laughed. “That’s not going to work anymore.”
Issefyn tried again with all her strength. Again, Speevor did nothing.
“Mother, that’s me he’s holding in his hand. That stone is as much a part of me as your hand is a part of you. You can’t possibly imagine that I would put myself back into your control?”
Issefyn leapt upon the stone, tried to tear it from the indentured’s grasp. She yanked on it with all of her might, but the stone wouldn’t budge. Speevor ignored her as if he were a mountain she was trying to pull down with her bare hands.
“Dignity, Mother. Dignity.”
“Shut up!” Issefyn whirled on the shade as he calmly contemplated his fingernails. “You’re not my son! You’re nothing like my son! You have what you want, now go ahead. Crack the stone and let the black emmeria sweep over the world. Bask in the smoking ruin of your legacy!”
Victeris chucked. He started to speak, but she cut him off.
“Enough of your games. You’re not Victeris. You’re the first of the Twelve, father of Efften, betrayer of Oh, and wretched prisoner in your own tower. I know you, shade. You’re Efflum the Black and your folly destroyed our people.”
Victeris sketched a slight bow. “Efflum the Black? I must admit I’ve been called that before, but not by my friends.”
The image of her son faded in the bright sunlight, slowly evolving into a different image of a severe man with narrow eyes and long black curly hair that cascaded down his shoulders over a floor-length black robe.
“It appears the nature of our relationship must change,” the new image said. He spoke slowly in exquisitely polished words. The very tone of them made Issefyn feel smaller, like a child on the edge of tears.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
He raised one thin eyebrow. “What parent hasn’t heard that from a child?”
“I’m not your child, any more than I am your mother.”
“Perhaps not directly, but you are of the illuminated line of Efften. You may not be my granddaughter’s granddaughter, but we are kin nonetheless.”
“What are you waiting for? Destroy the stone. Release your venom upon the world as you tried to get me to do so many times.”
Efflum nodded, his face returning to a perfect Ohohhim mask. “That is no longer my intention.”
Issefyn snorted, hating the lingering taste of salt down the back of her throat. “What? Have you suddenly evolved somehow?”
“I suppose I have.”
Issefyn glanced at the stone in the ani slave’s hand. She needed it back, needed it more than anything.
“I was alone too long,”
the shade said with what sounded like regret. “I was desperate to escape and was ready to employ the crudest methods to attain my release. A horde of creatures overwhelmed by emmeria would probably have been enough to overcome the Islanders that guard my prison and tear down the walls that confine me. I admit that at one time such methods appealed to my sense of rage.” Issefyn watched the shade’s face. Despite the illusion he was hiding behind, he did a poor job of concealing the emotions behind his words. “But now,” he continued, “I have much better options to choose from.”
Issefyn knew the shade’s words were lies, all lies, but she could not see what his goal was, what he was trying to manipulate her into. “You speak of Arefaine?”
“Yes. The child is bringing our legacy to me as we speak. She will liberate me. She will bring the Illuminated back to the City of Dreams.”
There! Issefyn thought. That is the heart of his madness. He believes the same lies as the girl. He wants to bring the cursed city back from the dead. That was something she could use against him.
“Is that why you pulled me out of the water?” she asked.
“Yes. You carry the illuminated spark in your veins. We are family, you and I, and family is the only thing that matters.”
Issefyn hid her contempt. She’d heard the stories about Efflum. Some of his own children had helped imprison him. And there were rumors that he’d strangled his eldest son in a fit of rage. He loved his family the way a rapist loved his cock.
Issefyn gathered her breath and stood in the little boat. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
The shade chuckled. “You didn’t need to know before, but there is a battle coming. A battle you cannot win on your own.”
“Really?”
“Issefyn. Child. Your sister is a better sorceress than you. You could turn that entire fleet into your servants.” He pointed at the Summer Fleet in the distance. “But if you led that army against Shara, she would simply take it from you.”
Issefyn breathed through her teeth, biding her time, waiting as she did so well. “We’ll see about that.”
“No, we won’t. The stone is in my power now. I will be the one to lead the Summermen against Ohndarien’s walls. It has been my intention all along.”
“Lucky for you that a stray oar swung so nicely into line with your plans.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it.”
Issefyn flexed her fingers, feeling the presence of the stone hovering just out of reach.
“Then why am I here? Why work though me if you are so powerful.”
“I wanted to get to know you, wanted to see what kind of person you are. You certainly weren’t shy about sharing your ambitions.” He paused. “Which I must admit are less generous than mine.”
Issefyn suppressed a sneer. What a fool. At least she didn’t lie to herself about her ambitions, dress them up in some ridiculous sentimentality about lost family.
“Until I got that stone out of your hands,” he continued, “I never had the power to redirect your aspirations.”
“Redirect them?” Issefyn said, keeping her face an implacable mask.
“Yes. I would like you to join me on Efften. I would like you to set aside your personal objectives, your desire for revenge upon those who were merely defending themselves.”
Issefyn scoffed. “Like the Silver Islanders were merely defending themselves?”
The shade showed his teeth. “Don’t test me.”
Issefyn swallowed as a spike of fear shot though her. She gritted her teeth until she forged the fear into hate, something she could use. “You truly can’t see into the hearts of others, can you?”
“Every parent needs to turn a blind eye every now and then. I know who you are, Issefyn, daughter of cowards, wife of fools, mother of monsters. I hold little faith that you can ever heal the wound that drives you. But you are family. Blood calls to blood and I will give you one more chance.”
“One more chance to what, kneel at your feet in adoration?”
“No. One more chance to stand by my side, to rejoin the family.”
“Rejoin the family? Do you think I’m some kind of child?”
“You certainly act like a child, a particularly petulant and disobedient child.”
Issefyn glared at the shade in front of her. She would find this man and kill him. She swore it. But she would have to tread lightly. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“Do what you always do. Hover in the shadows. Lie to me. Try to manipulate me. Plot against me.”
Issefyn snorted. “And what will you do?”
“What any parent does. I will love you and hope your heart changes before it is too late.”
Issefyn clenched her fists, aching to claw her nails across the fool’s face.
“Very well,” she finally managed to say. “We will wait and see whose heart changes.”
The shade nodded once and then pointed at the Summer Fleet in the distance. “Come, we have family business to attend to.”
Chapter 13
Lawdon awoke at the sound of approaching boot steps. She shivered in the damp darkness of the leaky hold, wincing at the manacles that bit into her wrists. Only a thin shaft of dusty sunlight crept under the door overhead, and she could barely see the dim outline of the crates and barrels stacked around her. Rolling over, she placed a hand on Mikal’s chest to make sure he was still breathing. He shivered in his sleep, but he was alive, thank the deep.
As the steps grew closer, she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, feeling the dried blood that matted his hair against his scalp. Her stomach knotted at the memory of the blow that had felled him. She’d never felt so stupid. So helpless.
She had been so confident back in Port Royal when she and Mikal had forced the crook-backed sailor to spill his guts.
The man was working for Llysa Munkholtz, the second daughter of Lord Havect Munkholtz. The Lady Munkholtz was holding the children on her ship awaiting Lawdon and Mikal’s capture so she could deliver the entire family to Lord Vinghelt on the Summer Fleet.
Stupidly, Lawdon thought she and Mikal could sneak aboard the ship and rescue the children. But Llysa and her men had been waiting for them.
It seemed such a foolish plan in retrospect. Lawdon had underestimated Vinghelt’s hold on the Waveborn. She still thought of Llysa as the rebellious teenager she had gone to school with for a short time. Despite Llysa’s higher station, the two of them had almost been friends. They had both been rebellious in their youth and Lawdon had liked the way Llysa downplayed her stunning beauty, completely undermining it with a vicious and filthy tongue that lacerated any starry-eyed would-be suitors. By the time she was seventeen there wasn’t a single man on land or sea who could tell her what to do. She reminded Lawdon more than a little of Brezelle.
Lawdon couldn’t believe such a headstrong girl would ever blindly follow a man like Vinghelt. But she was wrong. Very very wrong.
The boots stopped overhead, the latch creaked, and the hatch flew open. Lawdon squinted at the harsh light, momentarily blinded.
“Captain Reignholtz,” Llysa Munkholtz said, her voice tinged with regret. Her silhouette was a dark blot in front of the sun. Behind her lurked her hulking redheaded first mate, who’d felled Mikal with two brutal punches.
“The Summer Fleet is within sight,” Llysa said. “I’ve brought you some warm water if you want to wash up before your meeting with Lord Vinghelt.”
Lawdon sat up, her manacles clinking.
Why was Llysa so terrified of Vinghelt? The woman had blithely endured countless punishments from her schoolmasters for her insubordination. Yet now she seemed to be crushed under Vinghelt’s thumb like everyone else. Llysa had no need for the reward placed on Lawdon and Mikal’s capture. But here she was, delivering an old friend into the hands of a madman.
Llysa moved down the steep steps into the hold. Lawdon squinted, drew a deep breath, and tried to put as much stern dignity into her voice as she could.
&n
bsp; “You don’t have to follow him,” she said.
Llysa paused on the stairs. Lawdon could see the side of her face in the light now, though most of her remained in shadow. The line of her wide mouth was turned down slightly.
“I have a crew to take care of, Lawdon. Surely you can understand that.” She descended the last two steps and placed a steaming bucket of water at the base of the stairs. She laid a clean, thick rag next to the bucket.
“Llysa—”
“I’ll come back for you within the hour,” she said, turning and thumping up the steps.
“We can still fight him. We can stop this madness.”
Llysa paused in the hatchway and turned. Her features were hidden by the bright light. “Summer’s over, Captain. Why are you the only one who can’t see that?”
“Can you at least tell me where my brothers and sisters are?” Lawdon pleaded. “Are they all right?”
Llysa paused for a moment before shaking her head and slamming the door back into its casing. The hold plunged into darkness once again.
“So…” Mikal grunted, shifting. “Is our little cruise over so soon?”
Lawdon gave a smile. “You’re supposed to be dying,” she said, groping for his hand in the darkness.
He twined his fingers in hers and coughed, his voice rough. “If that smell is me, I think I already am.”
Lawdon let go of his hand and reached for the bucket of steaming water. Her chains clinked as they pulled tight. Her fingers fumbled with the edge of the bucket, tipping it toward herself until she could get a grip.
She dunked the cloth, wrung it out, and brought it to his face. She felt him tense, but he didn’t say anything as she pressed it against the cut on his forehead.
“I hate men who wear rings,” he said.
“You wear three rings,” she said.
“And my self-loathing is legendary.”
She wiped softly across his face, dunked the rag, and did the other side.
“You realize this is all your fault,” he said.