The Story Raider

by Lindsay A. Franklin

  Then perhaps you ought not act so brashly. Craft a plan, you fool.

  “Yes, Master.”

  Of course, I have already crafted a plan for you. I know my game pieces well enough to know I cannot trust you with this.

  He lowered his head. “Forgive me.”

  I shall. Because I need you. Do you know what I’ve just witnessed, Naith?

  He didn’t even know where the Master’s body was at this precise moment. “No, I do not.”

  I’ve just watched a ship set sail.

  “From . . . the river?” A riverboat was hardly a ship, but Naith couldn’t follow the Master’s train of thought. Hadn’t they just been speaking of Urian? Urian had no ships, only river vessels.

  No, Naith. Out into the great, wide Menfor Sea. I thought I would be watching this ship set sail, charting its course, then meeting you back in Urian so that we might work together. But things have changed.

  “Changed?”

  Yes. I cannot meet you in Urian now, for my quarry has departed and now I must wait.

  “I don’t understand.”

  No, you do not. Not yet. But you will. Listen to the peasants, Naith.

  He obeyed. They had grown louder and angrier with each passing moment. “I hear them.”

  It is time to leverage their rage. It is time for you to create your weapon while I chase mine.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TANWEN

  Mor looked at me like I’d murdered his favorite fluff-hopper. “How could you not tell me?”

  Despite the state of things—that I’d just forced my way onto his ship and demanded he save my life—I glared at him. “Is that a serious question? Take a moment, Mor, and consider when I might have told you. When you gave me any inkling you wanted to hear about my burdens.”

  He blinked, looking properly chastised, but that didn’t make me feel a bit better. “Still,” he said softly. “You could have told me. It might have . . . changed things.”

  “Really? How, exactly?”

  “I . . . don’t know.” He glanced at Father. “If we had known, we could have . . . done something.”

  “Aye. Like we’ve been able to ‘do something’ for Gryfelle?”

  “That’s enough,” Father interrupted. “It doesn’t matter anymore. She’s here and we know now.”

  I glanced at the others. Most of the crewmen had returned to their work, including orange-haired Jule, who I now saw at the ship’s wheel. But the weavers stared at me, and something told me that even if they couldn’t hear this hushed conversation, they knew. They knew this was no longer “Gryfelle’s quest” but now was “Gryfelle and Tanwen’s quest.” And their knowing I’d squashed down my storytelling gift enough to land myself with a curse made me want to hurl my breakfast overboard.

  “Yes. She’s here.” Mor’s voice had lost its confusion, hurt, and concern. It hardened to stone. Again.

  Maybe I should toss him overboard instead.

  “Excuse me, General. Tanwen.” And then he stalked away, like my illness personally offended him. Or like he had a ship to captain, or something.

  “Easy, Tannie girl.”

  Father touched my fingertips, and I looked down at them. They were glowing red-hot.

  Oops.

  I sucked in a deep breath. “Sorry. He’s just . . .”

  “I know. Give him time. This isn’t easy on anyone, and he’s just a lad.”

  “He’s not just a lad. He’s captain of a ship and fully of age, far as the law is concerned.”

  Father smiled. “Aye. You’re right. But you’re all children from where I sit.”

  “Nearly of age myself, you know. Will be before this journey’s done, if I make it that long.”

  Father frowned but didn’t argue. “I’ll see to a cabin for you. I hope Aeron’s brought extra clothes.” He eyed my traveling dress. “That won’t do.”

  “Trousers? You want me to wear Aeron’s trousers?”

  He shot me a look. “You’re part of the crew now. This is what you wanted, and you’ll need to dress for the work. I’ll see to that cabin.”

  And then I was alone on the deck, feeling exactly like a bumplelump that had fallen off her favorite log and into some very deep water. I didn’t quite know what to do with myself.

  “That was pretty brave, you know.”

  I turned toward the sound of a vaguely familiar voice. It was the crewman who had helped me on board after I’d jumped like an idiot. He was younger than I’d realized at first. Barely sporting blond beard stubble on most of his face. His hair was shorn, as sailors favored. His friendly smile felt like a ray of sunshine after Marble-Face Mor’s cold departure.

  “Brave, huh?” I challenged. “If you say so.”

  “Well . . . brave or daft. Depending on how you look at it.”

  “And how do you look at it?”

  He grinned. “A little of both.”

  “Aye, that about sums it up.” I chuckled and held out my hand. “Tanwen.”

  He took my hand and shook it. “Wylaith Bo-Thordwyan.”

  “That’s a mouthful.”

  “Call me Wylie.”

  “Call me Tannie.”

  “I will.” He tipped his hat. “So, you going to explain that little fit of brave daftness? Or will you leave us to wonder what was so important on board that it couldn’t wait for our return?” He glanced toward Mor at the wheel with Jule. “I suppose the captain knows already.”

  The last thing I needed was the crewmen making jokes and jabs about something between me and Mor. “I’m Tanwen En-Yestin.”

  Wylie’s eyebrows rose. “The general’s daughter?”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  “I guess I see it there. In your nose a bit.”

  “Are you saying I have the nose of an old war hero?”

  “Aye. Exactly that.”

  I laughed. “It’s nice to meet you, Wylie.”

  “Likewise. You looked like you could use a friend.”

  He meant it kindly, but somehow it felt like a dart of ice to my chest. “My misery’s been well spotted.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to poke at you. It was just an observation.” He paused, looking around the deck. “Have you sailed before?”

  “Never.”

  “Never?” His eyes widened. “Oh, lass, are you in for a time!”

  “Good or bad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be fun. Do you know anything about ships?”

  “I know they’re made of very hard wood that’s likely to bruise a girl’s ribs when she smashes into the side of them.” I rubbed the sore spot on my ribcage.

  “See now? You’re teaching me things about ships I never knew.”

  My laughter felt good, all the way to the depths of my soul.

  “Want me to teach you about knots?” Wylie offered.

  I hesitated. “Why do I need to know about knots?”

  “We use them a lot in sailing. You’ve really never been on a ship?”

  “Just a boat with oars. And riverboats. A ferry or two.”

  “Well, sails need ropes. Ropes need knots.”

  “In that case”—I grinned—“I’m ready to learn.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BRAITH

  Braith stood at the end of a long row of cells. They had been emptied, most of them, but one remained occupied. The one nearest the door. The most torturous location—so close to freedom one might smell it, yet its prisoner remained just as caged as the others.

  The queen nodded to Cameria beside her. “Give me a few moments, please, Cameria.”

  Cameria curtsied. “As you wish, Your Majesty,” she said, then she slipped from the dark hallway.

  Braith held a single candle close. It flickered at Cameria’s departure, threatening to blow out.

  Braith shielded the flame and stepped forward. “Dray?”

  The straw lining the floor of the cell stirred. “Don’t co
me too close.” His voice, but hoarser than it used to be.

  Braith took another step forward. “Why not?”

  “Because I look dreadful. I can’t bear you seeing me like this.”

  “Honestly, Dray. Are you so vain?”

  “I always have been. I don’t know why you should be surprised. But do you blame me for feeling out of sorts in here?” He stepped into Braith’s candlelight.

  Braith gasped. Dray was cleaner than she’d expected. But ever so thin. Gaunt.

  “Are they not feeding you?” she asked. “I have ordered humane treatment for all prisoners.”

  “They are. They bring me soap to wash with and a cloth to clean my teeth. Your orders have been observed.” Dray leaned his head against the bars. “Why have you come, Braith?”

  Braith did not answer. She regarded him through his cell bars.

  “Braith?”

  But she couldn’t seem to find the words. She looked down at the flickering flame. “I needed to see . . .”

  “Me?” Dray frowned quizzically.

  “I needed to see how you were. What you were like. When we last spoke—”

  “I spilled my heart to you, and you told me I didn’t have one.”

  Braith eyed him warily. “I think I told you it was made of stone, actually.”

  “Close enough.”

  “And?” Braith stepped closer so that the light might spill over Dray’s face. “I came to see what lives in your eyes now. Are you still made of stone? Has your time here changed you? Are you the same man who committed treason and regicide and used my father, a man of weak will and abominable character? Are you the same man who tried to steal me and the throne of Tir? Or are you someone else?”

  Dray was quiet for a moment. “You came to see if I found that redemption we spoke of.” He smiled a little. “They are calling for my trial at last.”

  “Yes.”

  “And duty will demand you execute me.”

  Braith’s tone sharpened. “I did not say that.”

  “No, you did not. But do you think you’ll have a choice?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Dray nodded to the jewel-studded circle of gold once worn by Queen Frenhin, now resting atop Braith’s head. “That crown weighs on you. I’m not sure it suits.”

  “The crown or the title?” Braith asked.

  “Either.”

  “Nor I.” Braith took another step toward Dray so that they were inches apart. “Dray, your crimes must be examined in the full light of the law.”

  “Harsh light, that.”

  “Yes. And yet we are all bound to it. Especially me.”

  “Because you must prove to everyone—the peasantry, your council, the nobles, and most of all yourself—that you are not your father.”

  Braith lowered her head again. “Perhaps. But also because it is right.”

  Dray’s voice lost its sarcasm. “Release yourself from guilt, Braith. It is not because of your deeds that I find myself in this cell. Those crimes were mine, and I’m ready to answer for them. My soul is mine to trouble over.”

  Braith’s eyes welled. “Yes.”

  “Do what you must to secure your position, Braith.”

  Braith’s hands trembled. “Very well, Dray.”

  Then she slipped away from the bars. She hurried from the dungeon, and the flame of her candle snuffed to smoke.

  Dray was right, of course. She must bring him to trial, and surely he would die for his crimes, as the law demanded. But his words haunted her. For they were the words of a man whose heart had perhaps changed—a man who cared for her peace of mind. A man who spared a second thought for his own soul.

  And now she must sentence him to die.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  TANWEN

  I placed my hands on the ship’s rail and willed my stomach to stop roiling.

  Nope. Didn’t listen.

  I heaved my breakfast—if you could call it that—over the side of the ship. Again.

  “Ah, Tannie. Not better yet, eh?”

  I couldn’t spare Wylie a glance. Because here came another round of fire-roasted fish and biscuits. For the third day in a row.

  “You say it’ll get better.” I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. “But I don’t believe you. Why do you lie to me, Wylie?”

  “For laughs?”

  “Ugh.” I eased down onto the deck and leaned my back against the ship’s side. “Wouldn’t mind so much if I felt any better after it was over.”

  “The ship would have to stop rocking, I guess.” Wylie sat beside me.

  “Also, this food doesn’t taste any different coming up than it did going down. How will I possibly manage for weeks on fish and biscuits?”

  Wylie smiled. “We’ve had favorable wind. Meridione was sighted during my watch this morning.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “I’ve always dreamed of seeing Meridione. I wonder what they eat for breakfast there.”

  “Fish.”

  “Ha.” I winced. “Ugh. Wish I had some brisk-leaf paste.”

  “We all do.”

  “Sailor Bo-Thordwyan,” Mor’s voice cut in.

  Wylie clambered to his feet in an instant. “Aye, Captain Bo-Lidere.”

  “Don’t you have work to do?” Mor asked. “Surely there’s a deck to be swabbed somewhere.”

  “His watch just ended,” I said, glaring up at Mor. “Thought you’d know that, seeing as you’re the captain.”

  Wylie cleared his throat. “I’ve got things to attend to belowdecks.” He nodded to us in turn. “Tanwen. Captain.”

  Then he disappeared. It wasn’t the first time Mor had chased Wylie away.

  “Well,” I said, peeling myself off the deck and collecting my unsteady legs beneath me. “Are you happy? He’s gone.”

  “He’s being paid to work.”

  “And he is working! You act like he neglects his duties to play skipstones with me, or something. He works his watches, then takes breaks, just like everyone else. You’re only hassling him because he’s my friend.”

  Mor looked away.

  “But I guess I should feel lucky you’re even talking to me,” I shot.

  “Best I steer clear. You know that.”

  “Yet here you are.”

  My stomach lurched again just then. I put one hand on the rail and the other over my mouth.

  Mor’s brow crinkled in what looked like mingled sympathy and amusement. “Still seasick?”

  I waited a full minute, until the roiling of my stomach settled. “Aye,” I choked.

  “Not keen on our ship food, are you?”

  I glared at him. “What I wouldn’t give for a bowl of porridge right now.”

  “Well, perhaps you’ll get your wish sooner than later.”

  “Meridione was sighted. Wylie told me.”

  “I expect we’ll make port before nightfall. Or maybe Wylie already told you that too.”

  A thick silence hung between us.

  After a long moment, Mor said, “Well, I best be back.”

  Then he was gone.

  But I couldn’t stay too cross, no matter how annoyed or seasick I was. By evening, we would make port in Meridione.

  I only hoped Wylie was kidding about fish for breakfast.

  I was curled in a ball like a paranoid prickle-back, knees drawn up to my chest as I huddled on deck, wedged between a couple of barrels. My stomach felt better in that position, somehow. It was evening, and I was keeping myself busy with a length of rope Wylie had given me for practice.

  “Nice bowline.”

  I glanced up to find Dylun watching me. “I didn’t know you knew how to tie knots, Dylun.”

  “I don’t. I mean, not exactly. I’ve studied them, of course.”

  “Of course. Because why wouldn’t you study knots you have no intention of ever tying?” I softened my jab with a grin. “Barely seen you for days. How goes the tome-combing belowdecks?”

  “
Slowly. I only hope we’ll be able to find Master Insegno alive and well. And quickly, if possible. He would be able to help.”

  I untied my bowline and began to practice again. “And what is this cure we’re looking for, exactly? No one’s told me.”

  “That’s because we’re not really sure. I read a number of dead languages, but not fluently. Not like Insegno. This is old stuff we’re dealing with, Tannie. Ancient stuff.”

  “I don’t care how old it is, as long as it works.” The image of Gryfelle’s ashen face popped into my head and stayed there.

  “Indeed.” Dylun cracked half a smile. “That’s the hope.”

  “Port Bordino!” one of the crewmen shouted from high above.

  I could practically feel Dylun suck in his breath. “Port Bordino.”

  “Home?”

  “Yes.” He wrung his hands. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Dylun.” I nodded to his fingers.

  Red colormaster paint dripped from his fingertips onto the deck. “Oh. Forgive me.” He traced his fingers over one of my barrels instead, and in three seconds flat, crimson flowers like none I’d ever seen covered it. He stepped back, then flicked his fingers toward the barrel. A silver-scaled fish splashed onto the wood in the middle of the flowers.

  It was lovely. A colormaster’s ten-second masterpiece.

  Dylun grinned wider than I’d ever seen him grin. “Home.”

  Warmil and my father jogged by us.

  “Right on schedule!” Warmil declared.

  “Tannie, you should go belowdecks,” Father added.

  “What? No! I’m not going below. This is the first time I’m spotting soil outside of Tir. I can’t miss it!”

  “Belowdecks, Tannie,” Mor said as he strode by.

  “No.” I glared at him. “I’m part of your crew. I can help up here, Mor.”

  He met my gaze. He looked resolved but not hostile. “If you’re part of my crew, then consider it an order.”

  “But—”

  “Tannie.” Father spared me a backward glance. “It’s not safe. We don’t know how we’ll be received.”

  “No arguments,” Mor insisted. “All the women have been sent below.”

  “I see Aeron in the stern right there!” I pointed. I felt my voice rise shrilly, and I knew it wasn’t helping my case. “If Aeron is staying, why can’t I? She’s no more sailor than I am.”