The Emerald Sea

by Richelle Mead

  “Still. You’ve made some Icori friends. They seem to like you.”

  “Eroc and Briga do. I think the others are just pleasantly tolerant. You, on the other hand . . .” I could sense Gideon’s big smile, even if I couldn’t make it out in the shadows. “They all adore you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Well, even if they don’t know all the details, they know you played a part in helping Orla smooth things out with Grashond. And you were, what, blessed by their priestess or something?”

  “Or something.”

  “Then, of course, there’s Jacob. You’re his friend, and they really adore him.”

  “Sounds like all my adoration just comes by association,” I teased. I gazed around at the dancing fires and silhouettes moving about on nighttime business. “But most of them are good people, and it’s been eye-opening.”

  “Agreed. That’s why I’ve enjoyed getting to know them—even if it apparently requires manual labor. I may not have a congregation yet, but I’ve been making notes on what I’ve seen to write a sermon on...eh, let’s see. Tolerance? Understanding? I’m trying to explain how we can find peace by learning about our so-called enemies because...how do I put it . . .”

  “. . . because we’ll find we probably have more in common with our enemies than we have differences?”

  Laughing, he came to a halt not far from our friends’ campfire. “See? You’re doing it again. Just like I said. You take all these things jumping around in my head and hone them down into one efficient line.”

  “You would have come up with it if you weren’t so tired from making that fire.”

  “That was my third one tonight, actually.” When we both stopped laughing at that, he continued, much more seriously, “It’s nice to be able to talk to you again, Tamsin. Really talk to you. I’ve missed our talks.”

  I looked up into his kind eyes and smiled back. “Me too. I’m glad we get to spend this time together before you go off and start your great spiritual revolution.”

  He hesitated, uncertainty spreading over his features. “Yes . . . about that . . .”

  “Tamsin? Is that you? And Gideon?” Dinah rose up like an apparition from those gathered around the fire. “Finally! It’s almost time to go to sleep. You shouldn’t be wandering around with . . . them. Gideon, will you lead us in a prayer before bedtime?”

  “Certainly,” he called back. None of them knew yet about his decision to leave the Heirs, and so long as nothing went against his conscience, he didn’t mind going through the motions with them. Likewise, my friends and I were also going through the motions of adhering to Dinah’s directives. She could do little to enforce them, and it was easier just to keep the peace sometimes.

  As he turned, I lightly touched his arm. “What else was it you were going to say?”

  “N-nothing,” he said, gesturing me forward. “Come on, let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 28

  DURING THE LAST FEW DAYS OF OUR JOURNEY SOUTH, I began to believe Adoria could be warm. That didn’t mean I was warm yet. A chill still clung to the air in the evenings and early morning, but by noon, the clouds would burn off, letting the spring sun come out in full force. Green buds swelled on the trees, and I spied crocuses blooming on the banks. There was no trace of snow, though its memory lingered in the river. Its water level was running high from snow having melted here, and the Icori often spoke about how the lands upriver tended to flood.

  “Look how warm it is,” said Briga. She tossed her coat onto the barge’s deck. “We could swim in this for sure.”

  “It’s a trick, and you know it,” Gideon responded. “The sun may be out, but that water’s still freezing.”

  Eroc stood at the barge’s side, peering over the wall, which was almost as tall as he was. When he tried to touch the water, Damaris and I sprang forward as one and jerked him back.

  “Have a care, child,” she scolded. “Tumble over, and you’ll make poor Gideon have to go in after all.”

  Gideon shot us affronted looks. “What? Why me? You two are always bragging about what expert swimmers you are.”

  Damaris winked at me. “Well, it’s not easy swimming in dresses, and we figured you’d want to step forward and do the manly thing.”

  Gideon, feigning indignation, returned to the book he and Briga were looking at. She and her brother had started spending time on our barge this week, both because our group was novel and because Gideon was helping her understand Osfridian letters. The children were light enough that the barge captains didn’t mind their moving from ship to ship. The older Icori also approved of the lessons. They believed surviving the political turmoil of these times required understanding the language of those they were struggling with. Most Icori children were taught to speak Osfridian—but rarely how to read or write it.

  My friends and I helped teach them sometimes, and it seemed impossible that only a year ago, I’d been a student as well, learning place settings and political parties in a luxurious parlor that didn’t feel like it could possibly be in the same world. Getting closer to Adelaide and Mira made me think of Blue Spring a lot, and all the good times I’d had there. I’d been composing a thousand apologies for Adelaide. None felt adequate, but I’d deliver all of them if it might give me a shot at forgiveness. Even if it didn’t work, I just wanted to see my two best friends again, to drink in the sight of them and be happy that they were alive and well.

  Something told me Mira wouldn’t be married yet. I could picture men being enchanted with her, but she viewed marriage even more pragmatically than I did and wouldn’t be in any rush. But Adelaide? She was the diamond. If she wasn’t married, the odds were very good that she’d be engaged. She’d have no shortage of options. The question would be if she could find someone who echoed her romantic nature. I hoped she could. Truly.

  And . . . I also hoped that her “someone” wasn’t one of the top candidates I’d culled from Esme’s lists. While thinking of Adelaide and Mira filled me with warm affection, pondering my own prospects dragged me back to cool calculation. I so, so needed one of those ideal men to be available. Just one. I’d been going over their biographies in my head lately, reminding myself of every detail and how I could play to each man’s personality. Between that and my other Glittering Court skills, I adamantly believed I could win someone. And if those men had been taken? Well. That was an unsettling thought, but I’d deal with it like I always did. I’d get things done. I’d find someone else who’d take on a widow and stepdaughter, and then I’d transform into exactly what he was looking for.

  Honestly, that task wasn’t nearly so daunting as the other one weighing me at all times: forgetting Jago. No matter how rationally I plotted my strategy for Cape Triumph, Jago always lingered on the edge of my thoughts. Well, I’d deal with that too. In the long run, it didn’t matter if I ached forever because of him. I didn’t need to convince myself I was over him. Just my husband.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” exclaimed Damaris. “Get back over here.”

  Briga was a diligent student, but Eroc, being younger, often grew distracted. He had wandered back to the edge and was leaning over it again, ignoring Damaris. Pointing up, he exclaimed, “Look at the smoke!”

  Beyond the swathe of evergreens and maples, columns of black smoke rose into the sky. “It must be another village,” said Winnifred, though she sounded uncertain. We’d passed a number on the trip, sometimes stopping for brief trading. But this didn’t seem like the kind of smoke that came from stoves or fireplaces.

  The Icori didn’t think so either. Instructions were shouted among the vessels, and with a bit of coordination, the fleet made an unplanned landing at the bank. Orla leapt out before her barge was secured, uncaring of splashing in ankle-deep water. She issued a few commands in her language, and within moments, she had two dozen Icori assembled. Weapons drawn, they plunged into the woodlands.

  The rest o
f us waited apprehensively, and the remaining Icori drew their weapons. The sailors and soldiers stood braced in tense, watchful poses as well. Gideon and Briga forgot their lessons. I watched at the side with Eroc, my hands clenching the wooden rail.

  Everyone flinched when half of Orla’s group burst back through the trees about fifteen minutes later. They shouted something to one of the captains, and he quickly lifted the tarp covering his ship’s boxes. One of the scouts called out to Lieutenant Harper’s barge, spurring his men to action as they disembarked and ran upriver. The scout then hurried to my barge and looked right at me.

  “Tamsin Wright—Danna Orla says you know how to care for injuries?”

  “Eh, a little.” Racking my brain, I recalled a dinner in Kerniall when I’d fallen into conversation with one of Orla’s advisors about childhood ailments, most of my knowledge coming from caring for Merry.

  The man beckoned. “Then come.”

  Gideon was on his feet beside me. “I’ll go too.”

  We followed the Icori back into the woods and immediately found a well-worn trail. The smell of smoke grew stronger as we traveled, and after a few twists and turns, the trail ended in a small collection of houses—or what was left of them. Those that weren’t already reduced to ashes were wrapped in flames. The smoke was so thick here that it was hard to see, and bits of ash floating on the air only made matters worse.

  Icori were in motion everywhere. Some searched the remains of houses. Others had formed a bucket brigade at a well and welcomed the addition of new containers that the scouts had retrieved from one of the barges. I recognized almost everyone here. The village was deserted—mostly.

  Over in a clearing, upwind of the smoke, one of the trappers I knew was tending to five people. One sat upright; the others lay on their backs. I hurried over with two Icori who’d also been recruited for first aid. One of the patients was a boy—maybe eleven or twelve—and the others were adults, three men and one woman. The scouts had brought medical supplies from the barges, and I set to work on the boy.

  He had a few scrapes and lacerations that I cleaned, but as he coughed and tried to sit, it became clear that smoke inhalation was what had taken him down. “Easy, you’re okay,” I said, supporting his back. He didn’t seem to understand Osfridian but guessed my meaning. I handed him a canteen, and he nodded his thanks. Satisfied with him, I moved on to another—the woman. She suffered from similar issues but had also burned her arm. With a small knife from the supplies, I cut away her blackened sleeve to assess the damage. The skin underneath was scaly and red, with a few blisters closer to her wrist. I wrapped it loosely with clean, wet cloth as a short-term fix. Depending on what the blisters did, she could need some kind of ointment, but I didn’t know the extent of our medicines.

  I was treating a similar burn on one of the men when it struck me as odd that I was already on my third patient. Where were my companions? Looking up, I saw them both huddled over another man. As soon as I finished my work, I went over to join them. When I saw the pool of blood on their patient, I clamped a hand over my mouth to stop from screaming. The two healers spoke rapidly in their own language and were trying to stop the bleeding that came from a wound on his thigh. Though they worked together without pause, they also seemed to be having an argument. One kept pointing back toward the river, and the other shook her head adamantly.

  “What happened?” I asked, but neither heard me.

  “Shot,” said a voice.

  The fifth patient, who appeared to be the least injured, watched the others work, his face filled with worry. He clutched his hand to his chest, and I gently pried it away. A long gash across his palm had stopped bleeding, and if he could avoid infection, it would be fine. He grimaced as I cleaned and wrapped the hand. That cut had come from a blade, and I was about to ask more when a sixth patient was brought over. He too had a bleeding wound, in his upper arm. One of the other healers examined it and told me, “The bullets went through. Just stop the bleeding and wrap it.”

  I hastened to obey while she called for two Icori to help carry the other wounded man back to the river. The debate had apparently been whether to remove the bullet here or back there. Back there had won.

  “Who did this?” I asked as I bandaged the arm.

  The man looked me over, taking in my clothing and language. “Osfridians attacked us. No provocation.”

  I paused a moment before continuing my work. “They wouldn’t do that.”

  “I didn’t shoot myself!”

  “No, no, of course not. I’m sorry. Just that—they respect the treaties. If it was them, they had a reason.”

  “Maybe just being caught,” he said with a snort. “They didn’t expect anyone to be here yet.” Seeing I didn’t understand, he grudgingly added, “This is a summer hunting camp.”

  An out-of-the-way target—just like the farm encampment I’d heard about in Kerniall. Its damage had been monetary since the farm was seasonal, and no one had been there to fight back. No one to examine the attackers more closely and perhaps realize that they weren’t, in fact, Osfridian. Peering around at the smoky, chaotic scene, I suddenly wondered if I’d stumbled into the aftermath of another Lorandian ploy.

  Before I could give it much more thought, the trapper and another of Orla’s people dragged a new patient our way but set him several feet from the others we tended. When I stood up to go to him, the trapper shook his head and spread a tartan over the man’s face and body.

  I backed away, stunned by the horror of it. The world blurred around me briefly, and when things settled back, I noticed that Gideon was gone. He’d been near me when I first set to work. Scanning the small settlement, I saw that most of the fires had been extinguished. All that remained burning were a roundhouse and a larger, barnlike structure with two floors. Icori were actively trying to put out both; a handful also stood around arguing. After a quick check of my patients, I went to investigate and found Gideon.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  He pointed. “There’s someone up there, in the loft—but Orla won’t let anyone risk going in. He’s Osfridian.”

  “One of the attackers?” I exclaimed. I joined those looking up at the barn’s highest window. I had to wait for a gap in the smoke before I could make out a pale man with sandy hair sitting in the window frame. He had a hand to his chest and a glassy look in his eyes as he struggled to keep them open. Once, he tried to rise, but the effort proved too great, and he slumped back down. His clothing suggested he was Osfridian—but he could just as easily be Lorandian.

  Orla’s sharp voice rose up beside me as she faced off with one of her warriors. He gestured at the window, his expression frustrated as he spoke to her. Orla shook her head and issued an obvious rejection, cutting him off when he tried to argue again. The man gritted his teeth as he peered up at the window and then at the progress of those putting out the fire.

  I touched Gideon’s sleeve. “He’s trapped by his injuries, not the fire. If he had the strength, he could jump out and probably survive from that height. Look—that half of the barn isn’t burning yet.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Gideon. “This side’s almost done for. When it goes, it’s going to take the rest of the building with it. Orla’s right to keep them out.”

  The warrior who’d argued with Orla stared up at the window with narrowed eyes, then studied the barn’s large entrance, and then glanced toward Orla. He reminded me of Eroc, assessing whether he could climb up the side of the boat without getting caught. I understood the warrior’s urgency. Capturing the assailant could provide valuable information about the attacks. That, and having a Lorandian captive would solidify the case Jago and I had made.

  But the warrior proved too loyal to Orla and, though obviously upset about it, held his position. Above us, the wounded attacker attempted to stand again and failed. I caught a flash of terror on his face, and then his he
ad lolled to the side as he collapsed back down. A swathe of smoke briefly enveloped him, sending him into a coughing fit that gave me an unexpected flashback to sleepless nights with Merry. The Icori around me wore impassive expressions, and I couldn’t blame them. But pity welled up in me, despite the man’s crimes. He was still a human being, and it was a hard thing to watch.

  Turning from the window, I spied a gap in the smoke below that gave me a glimpse inside the barn’s doorway. The building appeared to be empty, and while flames raged in one side, the other was still intact, and I could see a ladder reaching up from the ground floor. The way was perfectly clear, only a little smoky. If someone just moved fast enough—

  “Wha— Tamsin? Tamsin!”

  Gideon’s voice rang out after me as I raced through the barn’s doorway. I heard people yelling behind me, and then my whole world became flames and smoke. The flames were still concentrated on the other side, but the smoke was more debilitating than I’d expected. Each breath made me nauseous, and the haze and my tears blocked my vision. But I made it to the ladder, relieved to see it too was untouched.

  I climbed up into the loft, which stretched over only a third of the barn’s length. The fact that the hay on its floor hadn’t caught fire was nothing short of an angelic miracle. A piece of ash blew into my eye, and I tried to rub it out, only driving it in further. I stumbled over to the window and knelt by the man, taking his hand. He groaned and rolled his head toward me.

  “It’s okay,” I told him. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  From the blank look in his eyes, I wasn’t even sure he’d heard me. Either the smoke or his injury had driven him into shock. Then, licking his lips, he stammered, “Molly?”

  “No, my name’s Tamsin. I’m going to help you. Can you stand?”

  I didn’t need his answer to know he couldn’t. The front of his shirt was soaked in blood, so dark and wet that I couldn’t pinpoint where the exact injury was. The ladder would be safe for another few minutes, I was certain, but he wouldn’t be climbing down it. I wasn’t even sure if he’d be breathing in a few minutes.