"Grab her," Lorne snapped, stepping back as her weapon swiveled between them.
"Stay away from me," Roana demanded, thoughts scrambling. She straightened her back with a confidence she didn't feel. "Xetsa will not be happy that you just opened that crate. She's gone to great lengths to keep me hidden."
At the mention of Xetsa's name, the kettle-bellied man, Lorne, cocked his head. "And where is Xetsa sending you?"
Roana licked her lips. "To the mainland of course. She has a job for me there."
Doubt flickered over Lorne's face, but he gestured to the crate. "There's no special marker on your crate. Nothing to prove that you belong to Xetsa."
"Of course I don't belong to Xetsa," Roana spat. "I just work for her."
The doubt eased from Lorne, and he smirked. "See, if you really did work for Xetsa, then you would know she owned you, whether you wanted it or not." Looking at the dark man, Iniko, he jerked his head. "Let's get on with it. Take her knife."
"You will get hurt trying," Roana warned, glaring at Iniko. She would hurt someone, she knew, but three men could still easily overcome her.
Basel, the pale one, only glanced warily at her knife and crossed his arms, undaunted. "I know you," he said. "You're—" he cut himself off and shot a look at Iniko as if remembering something. He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand down the trimmed, near-white beard, his light eyes hesitant. "I think she's from the Ramnarine family. One of the Rain Mage's daughters."
Roana's hand wavered as she considered making a run for it. She knew she could rely on Jip to ward off anyone who tried to hurt her—it was why Roana could never stay angry at the pup for very long.
"You think so?" Iniko asked, sounding unconcerned that he had a knife pointed at him. A small hoop winked on his ear as he looked her up and down, and Roana felt another wave of anger. "I thought they all died in the shipwreck. Except for the younger daughter—"
"You don't know anything about it," Roana interrupted, before she had to hear yet another rumored theory about her family. Her grip on the knife hilt turned slick. She glanced behind her, mentally mapping her escape route, but saw with dismay that several other porters hung behind her. Muttering a curse, she turned back to see that Iniko had stepped closer.
Lorne's impatience grew. "Iniko—"
Iniko lifted a hand, then stepped closer. "There's no way out," he stated. Springy brown hair was cropped close to his head, and more dark hair made a trim line down his temples and skimmed along his jaw in a very Ekesian fashion, tapering to fine points at his chin. A very nice chin, Roana noted with irritation, and dark eyes that seemed to pull her in like a fish to a worm.
"I haven't done anything wrong," Roana said, backing away a step. She edged to her left a little, realizing that she could jump ship if it came to that. There were arm-length tentacled squelkin in those shore waters, but she hoped her knife would be enough to protect her.
Basel uncrossed his muscled arms, looking as if he might pounce, but Iniko rested a hand on his shoulder before he could move and gave Lorne a nod of reassurance. Roana clenched the hilt of her dagger.
"You've just tried to board a merchant ship without paying for passage," Iniko explained in a reasoning tone. "And not just any merchant. Xetsa—"
"I know who she is," said Roana. Everyone did. The most powerful merchant on the Isle of Wings. Rumors of the woman were whispered everywhere across the isle—mostly in warning, others scathingly, and still others filled with disgust and fear. It was said she could compel people to do whatever she wanted. Some said she slept with snakes, others said she was a shapeshifter who preferred the serpentine form. If she really hated you, she would put you in a room full of her slithering pets, and their venom would kill you after three long days of agony.
Roana didn't believe the rumors, of course, but had still attempted to be cautious. She would've chosen a ship owned by a different merchant, but therein lay the problem: Xetsa owned all of the ships to be found at the isle harbor.
Somehow Iniko had moved closer to her, hand outstretched to Jip. "Then you know how dangerous she is," he said in a calm voice. Jip's ears relaxed, and suddenly the mutt trotted forward, tail wagging as Iniko scratched her head.
Roana stared at Jip in disbelief, and her weapon dropped an inch. Iniko turned his shadowed eyes on her, and her panic began to drain away, replaced by a pulling sensation that drew her inexplicably toward the man. Thoughts receded as she took one step and then another, each step strengthening the pull she felt, deepening the calm that crept over her mind and body.
Awareness fogged, and she didn't notice Basel's movement until too late. He gripped her wrist, twisting it until she was forced to drop the knife with a cry of pain.
She yanked out of his grasp and turned to run, only to barrel into two other porters, who grabbed her arms. Roana grit her teeth, the false sense of calm fleeing as panic again kicked in.
"No! Please—" Their hands tightened. They were smothering her.
The ship's deck tilted underfoot. Not again, not again, her thoughts screamed, remembering the last time she had been dragged down, the last time she had been attacked, near-drowned— "Jip!" Where was her faithful mutt? She could feel her throat closing up, every muscle in her body rigid as she struggled to get loose, struggled to breath, struggled to reach the surface—
Woof! WOOF!
Jip's voice pierced the whirl of panic. The dog barked again, tugging her back, and suddenly Iniko's brown eyes floated in front of her, pleading and silent.
A gentle wave of tranquility rolled in again, pushing aside the panic, pulling her back to shore. She followed his lead, wanting release from the past, but a part of her knew that this man, Iniko, controlled her.
She shut her eyes against him.
And breathed in the crisp lake air, arms trembling, still trapped by her captors. They aren't hurting me, she reasoned to herself. No need to panic. And Jip is here. She looked to see her pup panting at her feet, and the dog met her gaze, bringing her mind back to equilibrium with its steadiness.
Jip, always her steady rock. Her pink tongue darted out, giving Roana's leg a reassuring lick.
"What's your name?" a voice asked.
Roana raised her eyes to meet those brown ones. This time there was no mysterious pull, only coolheaded patience. She cleared her throat. "Roana," she told Iniko, who stood a hand-span in front of her.
"Well, Roana," Iniko said, his voice tightening. "We're going to have to take you to Xetsa."
Roana didn't miss the apologetic note in his tone. She swallowed and felt her shoulders sag. Her eyes dragged up the harbor, past the bustling fleet of trading galleys and along the steep ridge that led to a rocky peninsula protruding from the water.
Atop the jagged, water-chiseled rocks stood Xetsa's estate, a tight cluster of buildings that crouched at the foot of a massive beacon tower. Dozens of windows scored the dark stone walls, their shadowed faces staring at the harbor, and a great crowned tower glowered from above.
A tremor ran through her, but she lifted her chin. "Take me, then."
2
INIKO
A person had to be either very brave or very stupid to try stealing free passage on one of Xetsa Kone's ships. When Roana leaped out of the crate with a knife in her hand, Iniko decided she was the latter. Although she was young, maybe a few years younger than he, she should've known better.
The only reason he had started using his powers was because he was certain Basel would've gotten hurt in the impending struggle had he not stepped in. When he grabbed hold of her mind, felt how it fizzed and spit with nervous energy, he realized he had been wrong about her. Desperation, not bravery or stupidity, lay behind those eyes.
Iniko stared at her back, straight and rigid as a ship mast, as he walked behind her, wondering where he had seen her before. Her bronze face seemed familiar to him, although he couldn't for the life of him place those hazel eyes.
Even her mutt distracted him. Something about the dog's min
d wasn't quite normal—it felt as though it had once been expansive, but was now shrunken like a dried fruit. Iniko's head throbbed and he let it go, focusing instead on the winding, rocky path underfoot.
Basel led them toward the rocky peninsula of Xetsa’s estate in silence. His cotton shirt billowed in the lake wind, but Iniko recognized the tension in his shoulders. No one liked having to go to Xetsa—with good news or bad. Despite the trouble Roana had caused, Iniko was certain Xetsa would put a stop to any mischief she might still intend. He only hoped Xetsa's punishment would not be one of the heartless, often violent methods people whispered about when in their cups.
But she's a Ramnarine, he remembered. Surely Xetsa wouldn't hurt someone from the well-known and respected Rain Mage family. Especially since everyone in that family was dead except for Roana and her grandmother, if the rumors on the streets could be trusted.
Roana's dark, tousled braid whipped to the side like a rope snapping in the wind as she threw a glare at him over her shoulder. Iniko gave her his most charming smile.
Truthfully, he felt bad about finding her on the ship. He could've used his powers on the mutt to stop her howling and scratching, but the fact was that something had told him not to. When he saw her in the crate, something slipped into him—awareness that she wanted to remain hidden, but a sickening sensation that she must not leave. His intuition told him to hold back, to let it play out. And Iniko always followed his intuition, even if he didn't understand it.
The terrain grew steep as narrow steps lead up to the twisted iron arch that served as the estate gate. No doors kept people off the grounds, just as no outer walls protected the estate from the fierce gales and ice-cold waves that pounded the rocky shores around it. Xetsa Kone needed protection from no one.
"Halt there," a voice drawled in Lachian, the language of Lach, which lay east of the lake. A single guard stood near the archway, looking bored in leather armor and sandals as he leaned against a crooked black joba tree, munching on an apple. After a moment, he ambled forward, then sneered when he saw them better. "If it isn't the Ghost Cap’n," he said to Basel, taunting him about his unusually colorless skin. He spit an apple seed toward Basel's feet.
Basel ignored him. "I must speak with Xetsa," he said in Ikish, not looking the man in the eye.
Iniko moved to stand just behind Roana, noting how she scanned their surroundings as if looking for an escape.
"And why's that, Cap'n? Shouldn't you be down at the harbor, unloading ships?" the guard asked, continuing to speak lazily in Lachian, juice dripping down his chin as he took a bite of apple. He tilted his head, trying to get Basel to look at him.
Basel's hands curled into fists. Basel wasn't fluent in Lachian, but knew enough of what Iniko had taught him to know he was being provoked.
"We have someone here that Xetsa might like to question," said Iniko, speaking in smooth Lachian as he leveled his gaze on the guard. "She tried to sneak onto one of Xetsa's ships without paying passage."
The guard grinned at the woman and her dog. "What's with the bitch then? Not you, my sweet," he added hastily, giving Roana a snide wink when she crossed her arms. "Your mutt there. No dogs, I'm afraid. Xetsa hates 'em."
"She's coming with me," Roana stated.
The guard lifted his brows, amused. "Yeah? Don't you know those Zarians like to eat dog?" He spit another apple seed over his shoulder, glancing at Basel. "They like to gorge on fine fare. Dogs, monkeys, snakes, carcass-munching rats—"
Basel stepped forward, muttering a slurry of curses in Zindi, and the guard lifted his hands in defense, taking a playful step back as though tempting him to attack.
"The dog stays with me," Iniko said before his friend could take the bait. "I'll wait here. If you want to keep your job, Jerome, you'd best take her up right away. If not, I'm sure my boss would be happy to report your negligence while on duty." He stared at Jerome in challenge.
The guard shrugged and tossed his apple away. "Follow me, then."
"You make sure she doesn't escape," Basel said in Ikish, tight-lipped.
"Yes, Cap'n," the guard answered in Lachian. He put a hand to his chest in a mock shipmate's salute, and pulled out his short sword to gesture at Roana to walk.
The woman started ahead of him, legs stiff as they worked their way over the remaining stony path and across the courtyard to the tall doors of Xetsa's home.
Iniko released a short breath of air and looked at his friend, who still seemed as taut as an anchored rope in a storm. He rested a hand on Basel's shoulder, reverting back to speaking Ikish as he reassured him. "I'm sure it will be over quickly. Maybe a little slap on the wrist."
Basel shot him a skeptical look. "You think so?"
Iniko gave a nod, showing more confidence than he felt. "Why should the most powerful merchant on the island want to punish a young woman for trying to escape on one of her ships? It's not like she stole anything. Roana shouldn't be a threat to her."
His friend said nothing, and, in that moment of silence, only seemed to grow more tense.
Iniko looked back to the immense stone keep that consisted of Xetsa's living quarters, the wide walls spattered with droppings from the shore-plovers sailing overhead. On either side of the keep squatted more buildings, walls nearly touching in an effort to use up every inch of space on the rocks. A short, unceremonious courtyard made of hard stone echoed the wind.
Iniko shivered in the shadow of the keep. "Does she seem familiar to you?" he asked Basel.
"Who?" Basel said suddenly, as though the question had taken him by surprise.
"Roana. I swear I've seen her before."
Basel shrugged. "We live on an island, Iniko. You've probably seen her around. Maybe taken her to your bed?"
Iniko forced a laugh, cringing at the idea. "She'd likely kill me in my sleep. No, I'd have remembered her." If not for her looks, then at least for the feel of her mind.
Basel patted him on the shoulder and cast a last look toward Xetsa's home. "I'll head back to the harbor," he said. "You sure you want to wait here?" He eyed the mutt, who sat at Iniko's feet, nose sniffing thoughtfully toward the keep.
"I'll be back as soon as she's done."
Iniko's pale Zarian friend walked back down the steep path, rubbing the back of his neck where white hair ended in rows of tight braids.
From where Iniko stood, he had a clear view of the curved harbor. With the early summer trading in full swing, the harbor was bustling. A dozen trading galleys bobbed next to the docks, which flowed with the morning’s shift of porters. A large wooden crane lifted tuns of wine from a ship, on their way to a storehouse two streets away.
All of it belonged to Xetsa now. The trading galleys, the storehouses, the shipmasters, and the dock workers. All bought off by the wealthiest merchant on the island, who sat in her dark estate, watching over it all as if she were queen. The chief magistrate, Ogdon Olcinius, had the title of someone in charge, but if rumors were to be believed, he was little more than Xetsa's dog.
That was how it had been since Iniko had arrived on the island just over a year ago. Ever since the drought had started. Ever since he had lost his father, and his father's ship, and all of his dreams had been swallowed by the stormy waters of Skye Lake.
Becoming a ship-master doesn't just take hard work and perseverance, his father told him once. It requires your whole life to be worked and re-worked around it. Your body must be molded to the ship, the rigging, the sails. Your mind must be in tune with the stars, the wind, the waters. You must eat and breathe what the ship eats and breathes, until you realize that you are not the master of the ship, but the ship itself. When you are the ship, you master the air and the water and the land beneath it.
Iniko twisted the ring on his left hand, the lines of the family sigil stamped on the top still deep and strong.
His dream of running his own business had been a guiding light through all the turmoil of the last year. No matter what else weighed him down, it was always on his mind.
The sailing, he loved. Figuring the costs of goods, calculating fees, he didn't mind. But what he enjoyed the most was the idea of running it all—his own ship, his own workers, and determining what goods would cross the vast Skye Lake. And he had worked with his father long enough to know that he was good at it.
Iniko sat beneath the joba tree, mindlessly smoothing the fur of the mutt's head as he traced the harbor streets with his eyes.
For over a year now, he had been working for Xetsa, and had made little headway with his own dream. But he couldn't hate Xetsa as much as he wanted to.
How could he, when she had saved his life?
3
Roana
Xetsa Kone is a sorceress. She can manipulate your mind and read your thoughts.
The woman can see everything you do, everything you think and feel.
Beware that merchant. I've heard she has a strange power that can make her a monster or a friend. Don't get close to her. Don't let her in.
Roana mulled over the rumors of this merchant, wondering which ones were true. Perhaps all of them, she thought, and wiped at the perspiration on her temples as she followed the guard through the thick wooden doors into the main keep.
The smell of animal permeated the dank air of Xetsa Kone's estate. Besides two sentinels standing at the front door, a dark antechamber stood bare of furniture, a few arched corridors leading to different areas of the keep. The guard—whose name she had already forgotten—sheathed his sword and led her down the left corridor, lit by sconces along the walls. They turned down another corridor, and doors appeared on either side. A strange noise reached them—a jabbing, staccato sound like the shriek of a monkey.
Roana paused in her stride as they turned down a hall full of mirrors. Each reflected endlessly into the opposite wall until it looked like thousands upon thousands of mirrors, cascading into silvery waterfalls as she walked past. She entered into the reflection, saw the fear on her face, and immediately snapped her attention away. Righting her shoulders, she focused on the long, near-white rug that spanned the narrow floor, ribbons of black spiraling along its length. The strange design reminded her of a ball of yarn spinning loose from its center.
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