The Story Raider

by Lindsay A. Franklin

  “But what about this noble? Shouldn’t we talk about what to do?”

  “I shall have a plan in the morning. I need a night’s sleep to digest this matter.” And a few moments alone to reach the Master.

  “Aye. All right.”

  “I shall fetch you in the morning, my son.” Naith scurried to his room faster than he had moved in many years.

  “Master, I need to speak now.” Naith would not usually dare such a demand, but this matter was urgent enough to warrant it.

  “I was sleeping, Naith.”

  Judging by the speed of the response and the Master’s tone, Naith did not think it so.

  “I have news.”

  “Then speak. Make the rude interruption worth its while.”

  “An arrival at court.” Naith was breathless, since he had run the distance from the sanctuary to his chambers.

  “Oh?”

  “Kharn Bo-Candryd.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Kharn Bo-Candryd. The nephew of Caradoc.”

  “I know who he is,” the Master snapped. “Or was. Is he not dead?”

  “It would seem not. The farm boy told me he heard gossip in the street.”

  “And the identity has been confirmed? It is surely Candryd’s son? I thought we killed them all.”

  Naith swallowed back his fear at the sharp tone of the Master’s voice. “Bo-Bradwir wasn’t sure. He had only heard gossip of the arrival, and now this lord sits on the council. Perhaps we ought to have kept the lad at the palace longer so that he was nearer the center of activity.”

  “The boy would never have been able to stay in the palace this long. As it is, the duplicity of conspiring against the queen is nearly undoing him. We were right to remove him.”

  Naith paused. “The boy said Braith and Kharn have been taking tea together.”

  “Taking tea?”

  “That is what he said.”

  Silence.

  “I only wish I had more information for you, Master,” Naith said.

  “As do I.” The Master was still for a painfully long moment. “This changes everything.”

  “Tell me what to do, Master.”

  “Our timeline must be altered. We must act now.”

  Naith was taken aback. “The boy is not ready. He needs more practice. More refinement.”

  “We do not have time for it. Do you not understand what a blood heir means? What a courtship between Braith and this man would mean?”

  The priest had no response.

  “A united throne, Naith.”

  Complete and total dread washed over Naith. It invaded his every sense and drowned thoughts of all else.

  “If Braith accepts him as a suitor and the two of them marry, it unites Tir. Those who supported Gareth will be pleased with his daughter on the throne. Those loyal to Caradoc will rest easy to see his heir on the throne. A marriage between Braith and Kharn Bo-Candryd will ease the unrest and lull everyone back into a sense of stability and calm.”

  “Their anger will fade.” The full implication came into focus in Naith’s mind. “And if that dissipates, it will be impossible to enact our plan.”

  “Yes, it is dependent upon unrest and the rage of the peasants.”

  “We must act now.”

  “Yes,” the Master said.

  “I’ll need two weeks before the boy is ready to be put before the people.”

  “You have one.”

  Naith tensed. “One week?”

  “And only that because Braith will resist a courtship.”

  “Why would she?” Naith asked. “It is a perfect solution to those who would challenge the legitimacy of her throne.”

  “Because she is Braith. It will offend her sensibilities to marry for a reason other than love.”

  “Stupid girl.”

  “Not so stupid as I would wish. If she were, we would not have to concoct such complicated plans.”

  Naith paused. What did the Master mean?

  But he didn’t voice the query. Instead, he said, “I will have Brac Bo-Bradwir ready in one week.”

  “Good. And in the meantime, we will hope Braith continues to be herself so that a marriage does not take place. It would be the permanent end of our aspirations.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  TANWEN

  Wind can also be the enemy of a ship. As we left the Kurgarasi, a storm began to brew. The rain and thunder were yet to come, but wind announced the impending arrival with a howl.

  At least I wouldn’t be half dead from making wind strands before we reached the port at Azu. But Wylie and the crewmen struggled to raise the sails and get them secured in the gale.

  I pulled and tethered lines for a while, much greater help than I once was. But when the wind became too strong, Mor sent me belowdecks to get out of it.

  I sipped bitter-bean brew beside Gryfelle’s bed while Karlith knitted. Gryfelle had not woken up since her episode in the Kurgarasi, and I wondered if she ever would.

  I buried my nose in my bitter-bean and tried to ignore the squeeze in my heart at Gryfelle’s state.

  “Ah!” Karlith said. “We’re underway.”

  I paused and tried to feel what she felt, but I couldn’t tell we were moving until the Cethorelle dipped to one side.

  She returned to her knitting, smiling. “You get used to the slight movements when you’re stuck belowdecks so much. Those little clues that let you know you’re moving again.”

  “Has it been terrible down here?”

  “Only because I have to watch Gryfelle worsen.” Karlith paused and looked at Gryfelle. “But she needs me. Lass’s mother should be here, but I’m happy to stand in that gap. She’s a lass without a mother, and I’m a mother without her babes.”

  I stared at her. “Did you have children once, Karlith?” I had known she was married, of course. She was Karlith Ma-Lundir. But she hadn’t mentioned children before.

  Karlith returned to her knitting. “Some things never stop hurting to speak of, Tannie, love.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t speak of them.” She knitted in silence a moment. “I had a son and a daughter. They would have been older than you now, but they were just wee ones when Gareth’s guards and the priests came for them.”

  “The guards and priests came for them? Your children?” I kept waiting to find the end of the horror of Gareth Bo-Kelwyd, but I didn’t seem to have reached it yet.

  “They came for Lundir. He was a songspinner, and he refused to register, refused to sing those two crowned songs. He wrote and sang the most beautiful ballads of the Creator, and no threats from Gareth would stop him. He knew they would come for him someday, and he was ready. He was ready to die for the truth. But when the little ones got in the way, the guards didn’t think twice, and I lost them all at once.”

  I was shocked. “And then you escaped and went into hiding.”

  “Yes, to the Corsyth,” said Karlith. “I was the first. I never imagined I’d have company there, but I was glad of it. And glad to have a family again when Warmil and Aeron came along. Then Dylun. And the three young ones.” She looked at Gryfelle.

  I held Gryfelle’s cold, limp fingers while I bit down on my lip to keep it from trembling. “Karlith, I’m so sorry.”

  “I’ll see them again, lass.” She smiled at me through sudden tears. “Mourning is for this life. I live for the next.”

  “You say strange things sometimes, Karlith.”

  “Aye.” She returned to her knitting, her smile widening. “But Tannie, my lass, just because something is strange doesn’t mean it ain’t true.”

  With the force of the storm behind our sails, we made it to Azu in half the time Kanja expected. But I won’t lie. I was not looking forward to cruising through the sea gate out into open water in this wind. And what about when the rain hit?

  Mor and Jule stood at the helm in deep discussion while the crew loaded up for our trip to the Spice Islands. I couldn’
t help wishing we had made it there during the summer moons and not now as the weather chilled and autumn blew shivers down our spines.

  I hadn’t spoken to Mor since our moment outside Gryfelle’s room, and I wasn’t sure if I should. Somehow avoiding him seemed to make things worse so that when we did finally speak or touch or make eye contact, everything exploded.

  Maybe if I could talk to him about something normal, it would be like letting a little bit of steam from the kettle. Then there would be no explosions of strands we couldn’t control. Or near-kisses in the belly of the Cethorelle.

  I tightened my shawl around my shoulders and strode his direction with feigned confidence.

  “Ho, Mor. How goes it?”

  “Captain.” Jule nodded to Mor and tipped his hat to me. “Tannie.” He took his leave.

  Mor stared after him. “We’re hoping it will only take five days to get to the Islands, but this storm could slow us.”

  I grabbed at that thread of conversation. “Have you been to the Islands before?”

  “Some of them.”

  “Some? How many are there?”

  “About five hundred.”

  “Five hundred! How will we ever find the right one?”

  “We have a name—Kanac. And I’ve visited it before. It’s the major trading port of the Islands. The crown has an outpost there.”

  “Says the pirate who probably raided it a time or two.”

  “Or seven.”

  “Seven! You’re a scoundrel.”

  “This is news?” His eyes twinkled. But then his expression fell, and he averted his gaze. “I may have some other business to attend to while we’re there.”

  “Other business? What could you possibly have to do in the Spice Islands?”

  “Family business.”

  I watched him. “Is this about Diggy?”

  He waited a moment. Nodded slowly.

  “You think there’s a chance she could be alive.” My mind jumped back to his strange phrasing—that he would give anything to see what she is like now, at seventeen.

  “Unlikely.” He shrugged. “I might be a fool for bothering with this at all. But before we left, I asked around in Urian to see what I could find out. When they took her from me, they said she was payment for my father’s debts. That they would make her a palace servant. Then I ran off and sailed the world for two years. When I got back, I inquired after her as best I could without drawing attention to myself, but she was gone. She wasn’t working in the palace anymore, and I assumed she was dead.”

  “But now you’ve found out something new?”

  “While everyone was working on research in the palace libraries, I was caring for Gryfelle alongside Karlith. But I was also finding out everything I could about Diggy. A bit difficult, since so many people fled the palace when Gareth fell. But the head chef”—he thought a moment—“Ginia, I think. She remembered Diggy. Diggy had been a kitchen slave. She’d been mistreated pretty badly and become a favorite mark of some overseer servant there. So Ginia felt sorry for her and arranged a trade. Because of who our father was, she thought she might make a good cook on a ship.”

  I stared at him. “So Diggy ended up on one of the king’s ships? And you think she may have made it to the Islands?”

  “I’m almost sure she made it to the Islands—to Kanac, specifically, as that’s where the ship docked. And I’m just as sure she never made it back. Like I said, she really can’t be alive. She couldn’t possibly be, for she would have been a valuable servant—a girl with sailing and kitchen experience. The ship’s captain wouldn’t have left her on an island unless she was dead. But I would at least like to find out what happened. A fever, or something, perhaps, but I’m just not sure.”

  “Of course you need to know.”

  “Aye. I’ve regretted not going after her for four years now. I owe it to her to learn what happened at least.”

  “There’s a tiny spark of hope still.” I took one step closer to him. “You don’t have to pretend there isn’t and insist it’s a fool’s errand. I know you. I can see it on your face and hear it in your voice. There is a chance she’s alive.”

  He smiled a little. “Get out of my head, why don’t you?”

  “Do you want me to go with you?” I asked. “When you go on your search, I mean.”

  “Aye. It would be nice not to be alone.”

  Oh, that it would.

  I smiled easily and nodded and pretended that this was normal. Said we would make arrangements as soon as we got our bearings on the island.

  Just letting a little steam from the kettle.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  TANWEN

  The Cethorelle was a fine ship, but I don’t care how fine a ship is. When you’re trapped belowdecks for five days because of driving rain and epic wind, every ship feels like a coffin.

  I could have died of relief when I answered a knock at my cabin’s door and found Wylie smiling and holding two cups of tea.

  “Rain stopped. Want some tea?” He held out one cup to me and the other to Aeron, who stood beside me. “I know you don’t care for the stuff, En-Howell, but we’re out of bitter-bean.”

  Aeron smiled. “I’ll take it. Thanks, Bo-Thordwyan.”

  “Glad I’m not a soldier like you two,” I said as we all three made our way down the hall toward the stairs. “I still can’t make your last name come out of my mouth right. Glad I get to call you Wylie instead.”

  “No offense, Tannie,” Wylie said as he stepped back and let me and Aeron climb the stairs first, “but I think all of Tir is glad you’re not a soldier.”

  I stuck out my tongue as I passed him. “That’s right. Make your jokes. But who will you be calling when your sails go flat and you need some wind strands, hmm?”

  “Tannie!”

  “Exactly.” But then my mind caught up to my mouth, and I realized someone was calling my name above deck—and there was a note of panic in the voice. I cast a worried glance back at Wylie, then took the rest of the stairs two at a time.

  I burst into the humid air. Wylie had said the rain had stopped, but it felt like we were in the middle of a thick cloud.

  I scanned the deck and realized it was Zel who had called me, for he was still shouting my name. But the sound was nearly swallowed in chaos all around us. Crewmen ran everywhere, and some corner of my mind registered Wylie sprinting past me.

  But I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. Warmil had his sword in his hands, and everyone was looking out at the sea, back the way we had come. I didn’t need to see what they were watching for the whole scene to suddenly make sense. I knew.

  The wave of strands had found us again.

  “Captain, can we make it to Kanac?” one of the men shouted at Mor.

  “They’re coming too fast,” Mor shouted back. “Get the rowboats loosed. We may have to—”

  The first stream of fire exploded onto the deck. Wood splintered. I screamed and covered my face with my arms as shards burst toward me.

  “Tanwen!” Father’s voice, but I couldn’t find him. The deck was aflame.

  “Father?”

  I looked around, but I still didn’t see him. Instead, I saw a ribbon of inky night racing toward Warmil. I shot a beam of sunlight across the ship and intercepted it before it smacked Warmil in the face.

  “Tannie!” Father again, but where was he?

  Smoke curled all around me, some from the fire on the ship, some from strands that grabbed at me. I fought to collect my wits long enough to create some wind, but the smoke was everywhere. One strand snapped around my ankle and yanked me to the deck.

  I screamed and kicked at it, but kicking smoke doesn’t do much. I lifted my hand and loosed a blast of cold air. The smoke puffed away. The tension around my ankle released long enough for me to scramble to my feet and run.

  But . . . where?

  Tendrils snaked all over the ship. Everywhere I looked, a new hole was being punched in the deck. A ribbon of hot metal
wrapped around the railing on one side and yanked. The whole rail came free and splintered to bits.

  Realization hit me like a slap. We were going down. The Cethorelle was going to sink.

  Gryfelle. Karlith. They were still belowdecks.

  I blasted a strand of fire away from me with the thought of ice water, then ran for the stairs—to the right, I thought, unless I was totally turned around. But before I reached the steps, I saw Dylun and Karlith loading Gryfelle into one of the rowboats. Dylun had the box with the cure fragments and all his maps and notes tucked under one arm. Always thinking, he was.

  But a coil of smoke was about to wrap itself around Dylun’s neck from behind.

  I ran toward them.

  “Dylun!” I gave him half a breath of warning before sending a stream of wind toward him.

  He gripped his papers just in time. The smoke puffed away as the papers fluttered, but he maintained his hold on them.

  “Thank you,” he panted. “My colormastery—”

  “Doesn’t work against this, I know. You take care of Gryfelle. I’ll cover you.”

  He nodded, and I threw sunshine over his head to kill a ribbon of night.

  “Who is doing this?” I yelled to no one in particular.

  “Tannie!” Father emerged from the smoke. At last. “Are you hurt?”

  “Get down!”

  He didn’t hesitate. He dropped low, and I sent a beam of ice over him. The fire had been a moment away from hitting him in the back.

  “Tannie, you need to get away.” Father stood quickly. “Captain’s orders: abandon ship.”

  “But I have to fight the strands.” I turned around. “Where’s Mor?” I drove away a column of smoke with a puff of wind. “Where is Mor!”

  “Tannie.” Father put his hand on my arm.

  I spun back to meet his gaze. “What?” But then I saw it there in his eyes, and somehow he didn’t have to say anything else. I knew what he was going to tell me.

  Captain goes down with the ship, fighting.

  “No.” I wrenched my arm away.

  “Tannie girl . . .”

  “No!”