“Master, I don’t understand.”
“And it is not necessary that you do. Only believe me when I tell you these strands are powerful. If we might collect some and learn how to use them . . .”
“We would be unstoppable,” Naith realized.
“Precisely.”
“Then you must destroy the rebels and take their strand.”
“No. So rash, Naith. Always so impulsive.”
Naith stayed silent, thoroughly chastened.
“They are now on their way to Haribi to gather another. And then after that, Minasimet, if I guess correctly.”
“And you’ll kill them then?”
“Not all of them.”
“Master?”
“That is enough for now. You continue with your ‘chosen one.’ You build your army of peasants, and I will pursue my weapons.”
“Weapon or weapons?” Naith was puzzled. When had weapons become plural?
“The strands must be mine. But I will need some weavers powerful enough to wield them.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
TANWEN
“Dylun!” I squealed. “Look!”
I pointed toward the long, flat, sandy coastline. It sloped slowly up to rolling green hills. Totally different from the white sand and steep red cliffs of Meridione but also different from the rocky formations and pebbly beaches of the Eastern Peninsula. It was as if everywhere the land touched the sea, it claimed its own unique appearance.
“Yes, I see.”
I gestured again. “Look, Dylun! It’s the west coast of Tir!”
“Indeed, it is.”
“Have you seen the Wildlands before? I’ve always wanted to.”
“Well, you will have your chance. We’re staying in port for three days to restock our supplies.”
My stomach twinged. Could Gryfelle spare three whole days? Could I?
“But I wouldn’t make too many plans,” Dylun added. “You know what Mor said. No one is to be traveling. He’ll need all hands.”
Blast. If we were forced to stop for three days, at least I might have made the most of it by having an adventure. It might be my only chance to see the Wildlands.
But it wasn’t worth the fight. I knew Mor wouldn’t relent and no one was going to undermine the captain of the ship.
“Have you been to the western coast?” I asked again.
“No, I haven’t.”
“And still you’re so calm as you glimpse it for the first time? Does nothing excite you?”
Dylun paused. “History excites me.”
I laughed. “You are a truly bizarre individual, Dylun.”
“Oh.” He blinked.
I studied him another moment. It hadn’t occurred to me before then, but he hadn’t seemed quite himself since we left Meridione almost eleven days prior. “You seem a little sad, Dylun. Are you all right?”
“I suppose.”
Realization dawned. “Oh, Dylun, I didn’t even think of it. We were back in your homeland. You’ve been captive in Tir so long, and you’d finally come home. Of course you wanted to stay in Meridione.”
“Well, I thought I would want to stay. I thought I would feel at home in Bordino. And then I found I didn’t really belong there.”
“But you and Master Insegno seemed to pick up right where you left off all those years ago.”
“In a way, yes. But in other ways, I felt very out of place. I’ve lived in Tir my whole life. I’m not as Meridioni as I thought I was. I have no country and no people, Tanwen.”
“No, don’t be silly. Of course you are Meridioni. You’re just a Meridioni who had to live away from your home country a long time. And you’re also Tirian. You’re every bit as Tirian as I am. You just need some blond braids and freckles.”
He actually laughed at that.
“So, how about that adventuring in the Wildlands, huh?” I flashed a big, hopeful grin.
He raised an eyebrow, and a hint of a smile crept onto his face. “Maybe we can arrange something.”
“The wood looks darker. Is it darker?” I gazed around the Wildland pub, simply called Mho’s. An afternoon in a pub wasn’t exactly the adventure I had been envisioning, but I was grateful for it anyway. At least I was getting to see a bit of Tir’s west coast away from the ship.
Warmil raised an eyebrow at me. “We have different trees here.”
“I forgot you’re from the Wildlands, aren’t you?”
“Aye.” Then he took a drink of something that smelled like it was made to strip the bark off Wildland trees.
I wrinkled my nose at the barmaid. “Got any tea?”
She stared at me.
I tried again. “Hathberry tea?” Silence. “Brisk-leaf? Anything?”
The barmaid looked at Warmil. “She with you?”
“She’s fine.” He smacked a few copper bits on the countertop. “Just bring her whatever you brew with your breakfast.”
The barmaid shrugged and disappeared through a set of swinging double doors. I guessed that must be where they kept the tea.
“Why did she look at me so funny? You don’t drink tea in the Wildlands?”
“Not usually in pubs, Tannie. And besides, that lass has probably never had a hathberry in her life. They only grow on the east coast.”
“Oh.” I sniffed at his glass. “Ugh. If that’s my other option, Captain, I think I’d rather drink fish juice.”
“That could probably be arranged.” He glanced at me wryly, then took another sip of the bark-stripping concoction.
“You know, you could cheer up a little. You’re home, after all.”
Warmil drained his glass. “Nah. Home is still three hundred leagues inland for me.”
“Oh. Well, you could at least enjoy your afternoon off.”
“I’m not off. I’ve been assigned to watch you.”
I glanced at the sword at his hip. “Aye. I guess my father wouldn’t let me come in here without some accompanying steel.”
“Wasn’t your father, though he has been on edge of late. Says he feels like we’re being watched.”
I shivered but didn’t comment.
“It was the captain who insisted I stand watch over you.”
“Mor?” I rolled my eyes. “Honestly.”
Warmil signaled the barmaid to bring him another drink just as she returned with my tea.
The scent of a rich black tea filled my nose, and I closed my eyes at the heavenly smell. But then I looked at Warmil’s second drink. “If you’re on duty, you shouldn’t have any more.”
“Last one.” He drained half of it.
“Something bothering you, Captain?”
He shrugged and stared into his glass. “I tried to have that talk with Aeron last night.”
I sputtered into my mug, then reeled back and looked at him. “Just now? Took you long enough!”
“I needed to collect my thoughts.”
“For three moons? Goodness. How do you stand yourself?”
“Not sure.”
“So. How did it go?”
“Great. Can’t you tell?” He took another drink.
“What happened?” I was almost afraid to ask.
“I choked up. Told her she was nearly as good a sailor as she was a swordswoman. I might have said something about the ‘mighty fine knot’ she was tying.”
I made a valiant effort not to snort into my steaming drink. “Well . . . that’s nice?”
He glared at me. “It’s the least romantic thing any man has ever said to the woman he loves. I’m . . . not cut out for this.”
“Well, this isn’t the end of the world. Maybe in another twenty years, you’ll work up the nerve to have another go.”
“Not funny.”
I sipped my tea, despite my grin. “Look, War, Aeron knows you. You’ve lived side by side for . . . what, ten years? I’m sure you didn’t offend her with that knot-tying business. In fact, I’m pretty sure she took it as you meant it and is just waiting for an appropriate time t
o tell you she feels the same way about your sailing skills. Like when she has an afternoon off, say.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because she’s standing right there. She looks beautiful . . . and very much like she wants to speak to you.”
Warmil swiveled on his barstool, and then he saw what I saw behind him: Aeron had just walked into Mho’s. Though she wore trousers and a blouse like always, she had taken care with her hair. Her shoulder-length black locks were sleek and shiny. A tiny braided circlet wove around the crown of her head.
She strode toward us, then stopped before Warmil, looking like she didn’t know quite what to say.
“Um, I’ll be going now.” I slipped off my barstool and abandoned my tea. “Meet you both outside in a few.”
I hurried away from whatever conversation was about to take place. A little strand drifted from my hand before I could stop it—a rope that swiftly knotted itself into a perfect heart between them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TANWEN
After half a moon of nothing but ocean as we crossed from the Western Wildlands of Tir to the Haribian city of Paka, you would think the sight of land would have thrilled me. Instead, I was puzzled.
“It’s so flat,” I said to Wylie as I gazed over the rail. “It’s like a field that’s been cleared for grain but never planted. Where are the mountains? The hills?”
“They don’t really have them. At least, not in this part of the country.” He pointed. “Those are marshlands along the coast, but when you get further in, the ground’s much drier. They do grow some kinds of grain there.”
“Oh! That means they have porridge!”
Wylie shot me a look but didn’t comment.
“Come about!” Mor’s voice cut through our conversation like a sword. “Bo-Thordwyan, all hands!”
Wylie shrugged. “Duty calls. See you, Tannie.”
I turned toward the approaching Haribian coastline. “All hands” didn’t mean me, and I knew it. I could tie knots better than before and help out with cleaning, but actually lowering sails or belaying lines? Not so much. Still, I donned my tricorn hat like the rest of them. Like I belonged.
They let me pretend.
And it didn’t sting to pretend, as long as I avoided Mor. Which I’d done with success since Meridione.
“Better get ready to disembark.” Speak of the blue-eyed devil. “There’s no proper port in Paka. We’re dropping anchor.”
“What does that mean?”
Mor nodded toward land. “We’ll get close, then we’ll let down the anchor to secure the ship. We’ll lower our rowboats and pull the rest of the way to shore.”
I eyed the rowboats as the men loosened them from their secure holds. They looked rickety, now that I’d been aboard ship so long. “Is it safe?”
“Not really.” Mor shrugged. “What choice do we have? We won’t linger in Haribi.”
I cast another mistrustful glance at one rowboat as Mor strode away. Then I sighed. He was right. What choice did we have?
The men got the ship anchored and boats ready to lower alarmingly fast. They were rather like huskbeetles building a colony. It made me wish I could do more than pretend to be a sailor. It would be nice to be part of that bustle—that efficiency.
Gryfelle was already loaded in one boat, Karlith with her. Mor and Jule conversed about the ship—Jule would stay back with most of the crew while we went ashore.
I caught Wylie’s gaze some distance away, and he shrugged apologetically. I guessed he had been ordered to stay behind.
“Tannie?” Mor’s voice from the other boat startled me. He had climbed over the side and now offered me his hand. “Ready?”
But I wasn’t. I stared at his hand, then met his gaze. What if we made sparks or fire or a golden cage of sadness when we touched in front of the whole ship?
Horrifying.
But then I realized he was wearing leather gloves. Maybe it wouldn’t work if his hands were covered?
I placed my fingers in his outstretched palm. Stillness. No strands. Just the tiniest bit of heat beneath the leather. Our eyes met, and I could see that he had been wondering, too.
Well, at least we knew how to stop it from happening, even if we couldn’t really control it. That was something. And yet, somehow, it felt like a loss.
I settled onto the bench of the rowboat next to my father.
“Ho, Tannie girl.”
I scooted closer and leaned against his arm.
But I didn’t have long enough to settle into anything that felt like comfort.
“General?” The worry in Zel’s voice carried across the waves from the other boat. “What’s that?”
Father craned his neck toward the shoreline. “We have a welcoming party.”
I wasn’t sure what a Haribian welcoming party usually looked like, but the line of warriors taking their places along the marshy coast didn’t look much like they wanted to welcome us.
I knew I was staring, but it was hard to look away. For one, these men barely wore clothes by Tirian standards. They stood bare-chested with long, colorful cloth skirts hanging down to the ground. Some had spears and small stone blades fixed to leather straps across their bodies. All of them held bows as tall as they were, and each man seemed to match Zel in height. What looked like white ink markings stood out on muscled, umber skin that glistened like it was covered in oil.
But I supposed it wasn’t the time to be admiring how impressive this party looked. Seeing as there looked to be about a hundred of them, and every bow had an arrow nocked. Especially since all those arrows were pointed in our direction.
“Hu!” The sharp cry from shore almost startled me overboard.
Several of the men had moved forward enough to meet our boat—and their bowstrings were pulled taut, their spears pointed at our throats.
“Wew ninani? Yaki ninini ni lengo?” one of the warriors shouted.
I stared at my father a moment, then glanced at Warmil. I sure hoped one or the both of them spoke Haribian. Or maybe Dylun? Was there more than one dialect of Haribian? Surely so, though I’d never thought of it before now. Father had said that Haribi was made up of about three hundred clans.
“Sisi kuju amani.”
I swiveled to look at Father again, for those Haribian words had come from him. How strange to hear this foreign language out of my father’s mouth.
He spoke to the Haribian with the harsh voice again. “Jumbe kwa malika.”
“Mwong!” The man pulled his bowstring tighter and aimed his arrow straight at Father’s head.
My heart shot into my throat and stuck there. “No!” I choked out.
Several pairs of eyes turned toward me. Would their arrows and spears follow?
Tears stung. I wished for the first time in my life I spoke Haribian. I gripped my father’s arm.
“Mwongi.” The one who seemed to be the leader nodded toward Father. But didn’t lower his bow, I couldn’t fail to notice.
“We’re not liars,” Father said in Tirian. “I do carry a message from the queen. Queen Braith En-Gareth.”
“Ah! Gareth!” The leader spoke in rough, clipped Tirian.
Mention of the usurper king might have been a bad idea.
But Father kept speaking in a reassuring voice. “Sisi kuju amani.” He held up his hands. “We mean you no harm.”
From the line of defenders came a thickly accented voice, but the Tirian words were clear. “I know this voice.”
While the Haribian warriors didn’t budge or lower their weapons, I saw Father’s breath release in a slow stream that sounded like relief. A smile broke over his face. Though the rest of us could have been carved of stone for all we dared to breathe.
The Haribian man who had spoken appeared at the front of the throng. He was tall, glistening, and every bit as fierce as the others. Just as armed, too. The polished-stone head of his spear was longer than any of the others, and I noticed with a leap in my chest that he wore
a necklace of beasts’ teeth. But the moment he saw my father, his face split into a wide grin, revealing the whitest teeth I’d seen in my life.
“I knew this.” He laughed, lowered his spear. “Yestin. The old general of Tir.”
Father nodded, seemingly delighted. “Askari.” He addressed the rest of us. “Askari is a local warlord. His village is that direction, if memory serves. The village of Kiji.” He motioned left, toward the southwest.
“Yes, this is right. General Yestin.” Askari shook his head. “You were . . .”
“Dead?”
“Yes. How? How do you stand here?”
“Long story.” Father’s gaze shifted to the other warriors, whose weapons were all still trained. “I’m going to reach into my tunic and get the letter from the queen. Is that all right?”
Askari spoke to the others in Haribian. Most weapons lowered, but the harsh-voiced one paused.
“Gareth.” He glared at my father. “Gareth.”
Askari spoke in Haribian again, rapidly. I frowned. That language sounded to me like a hail of arrows hitting a stone turret. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to learn one word of it.
Askari turned back to us. “He fears this name. Gareth.”
“Gareth is dead.” Father held out the letter. “Here. Askari, you know I was loyal to Caradoc II, not Gareth. Please, I beg you. Give Queen Braith’s words the consideration you would have given to Caradoc’s.” He bowed and stretched across the distance to offer the letter sealed in wax with Braith’s signet pressed into it. “Upon my honor, Braith is cut from Caradoc’s cloth.”
Askari looked puzzled. “What is this ‘cut from cloth’? You make no sense, old friend.”
“Forgive me,” Father said quickly. “She is a ruler like Caradoc. Or she will be, if she can gather enough support to keep her throne. You understand?”
“Yes.” Askari stepped into the marsh and took the letter, then he handed it over to the harsh-voiced man. He looked at Father. “Is this why you have come? To deliver the Tirian queen’s letter?”
“Yes. But we have another purpose.”
It took Father a minute to explain the situation with Gryfelle and me. It may have irked the others that Father made a point to say, “My daughter is in danger,” when Gryfelle was so much worse off. But he knew what he was about. What would inspire compassion more, a Tirian stranger near death or the sick daughter of an old friend? I was beginning to realize Father was strategic in everything he did, every word he spoke.
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