by C. E. Murphy
Adele's face tightened. "I noticed the servants always kept this part of the wardrobe mostly clear. I wondered why, and found the door. I've gone through it a few times, seeing where it goes. To a lot of the other bedrooms, and the main passage leads to Roscord's. I think he uses it to visit his mistresses." Her voice was brittle, like she had spent so long being afraid that she couldn't quite let herself hope the need was ending.
After the past month, Rasim understood, but didn't know how to say so. He only nodded, then said, "Just a minute," and squeezed back into the room. He propped Adele's pillows as he'd done his own, then arranged the clothes back into the wardrobe as tidily as he could from the back side. "In case anyone looks in," he said. "Maybe it'll buy us another few seconds."
Donnin's daughter gave him a tense smile, then scurried deeper into the passage. It got taller after a few strides, making their quiet run more comfortable. "You never tried to escape before?" Rasim whispered to Adele's back.
"Not without some kind of allies waiting for me. He'd have caught me, and he might have stopped waiting for my sixteenth year, then."
Rasim blurted, "You're fifteen?" in surprise. Adele glared over her shoulder and he winced apologetically. He, of all people, should know better than to be surprised at someone looking younger than they were. At least Adele was tall enough, just childish of feature.
"Only for another month," she said when silence had chastised him. "I meant to try leaving in two weeks no matter what, because I don't want to be that horrible man's mistress, but if my mother is here, even captured, then right now is my—our—best chance. If you're lying to me, Ilyaran..."
"There's not much point in threatening me now," Rasim muttered. "You already decided to come with me." As if she'd had much choice, he wanted to add, but thought she would be angry. Instead he asked, "Where are we going?"
"There are servant's halls that these passages meet up with. I haven't dared explore them, but I know where the kitchens are from my room, and if we can get there we can get to the stables. That's where he puts his prisoners."
"In with the horses?" Rasim asked, bewildered. "Wouldn't that upset them?"
"Upset the horses or the prisoners?" Adele breathed, but shook her head, dismissing her own whimsy. She was strange, Rasim thought. Strange and strong, if she could make even feeble jokes when they were running for their lives. "There's an entire barn that's not used for stables. Roscord's planning to bring more men here, but he hasn't yet. So right now when he has people he wants imprisoned, he puts them there. Shh, now. This is the entrance to the servants' halls."
She stopped at a panel that looked like all the others and pressed her ear against it. After a few breathless moments she nodded and put her weight against the panel. It gave slightly, then opened with an almost-inaudible click. Adele peeked out, then nodded again and slipped through the door as soon as it was open wide enough for her to do so. Rasim came out a half-step behind her, close as a shadow. They stayed where they were, breathing in tandem, waiting to see if their appearance had been noticed. Both decided they were safe in the same moment. Adele seized Rasim's wrist, keeping him at her side as they ran.
The passages were clear and quiet. Not even servants were awake at this hour, long after the master of the house needed duties done and still well before the kitchen staff began their work. Twice, Adele said, "This way," and tugged him down a hall he wouldn't have chosen. She didn't slow again until they'd reached the massive kitchens, as large as the guild's. She stopped in the doorway, pulse fast in her throat. "There'll be guards outside."
"If there's still fog I can keep us hidden." Rasim set his jaw as he made the promise. He would keep them hidden. He had to. He'd been terribly lucky to find Adele, and luck never lasted. His magic would have to be strong enough, just this once.
Adele gave him a sharp look, then nodded acceptance. They ran across the kitchen, staying on their toes to minimize sound. Rasim edged the door open this time, wisps of fog trailing through the crack. Rasim's stomach dropped. The mist had thinned, making less of a cover than he'd hoped. He couldn't just draw what there was around them: a single cloud of rapidly-moving fog would be just as noticeable as two people racing across the courtyard. He had to bring the fog up again, strengthen it everywhere so they could slip through unnoticed.
For a despairing moment he thought about how the mist had rolled in from the sea so easily. Too easily: it hadn't been his magic at all. There was no chance he would be equally fortunate this time.
At least there was fog. Maybe he could just encourage what there was to redouble. Rasim took a deep breath, reaching within himself for the magic. It quested out, discovering the droplets of water suspended in air: that was easy. It was splitting them, changing them, making more and more of them, that was difficult. He didn't even dare close his eyes in concentration, not with the possibility of discovery lurking. Adele kept an eye on the kitchen doors, and Rasim watched the courtyard. The fog thickened, just a little. Encouraged, Rasim clenched his hands and leaned forward, pouring magic into the cool air.
It happened so, so slowly. The courtyard became more difficult to see, mist making soft billows across the ground. No one came to disturb it, which was mostly good. Only mostly: if someone walked through it in the distance, Rasim might get a sense of how far his fog bank extended. A patch of fog wasn't unusual, as long as it wasn't only just large enough to hide two teenagers. It had to be of normal size.
Sweat rolled down Rasim's nose. His whole body trembled with effort, the magic within him already sputtering and weakening. He clenched his stomach, dredging for the power to keep them safe. It was all he had to do, make a little fog to hide them. Luck had brought him to Adele, and Adele had gotten them through Roscord's palace. All he had to do was get them across the open space to the barns. Even the very least water witch should be able to do that.
His magic faltered, and the fog began to fade. Exhaustion made Rasim's knees wobble. He slumped against the door frame, cold with misery. Any of the others, any of his friends—even his enemies—would have been able to do this one task. But they were gone, and he wasn't strong enough. He began to whisper, "I'm sorry," to Adele.
A scream cut the night.
Rasim and Adele both stiffened, terror locking Rasim's knees. Donnin's crew were the only ones who had reason to scream tonight. Adele seized his elbow and he grabbed the door frame, desperate resolution filling him.
Power he didn't know he had poured out of Rasim. The mist thickened, becoming almost solid. Unnaturally fast, maybe, but it didn't matter. Rasim caught Adele's hand—cold, even colder than his own—and ran.
The mist cleared in front of them, just enough to let them see the ground they ran across. Enough to make sure they kept their feet without ever losing the hiding power of the fog. Rasim felt people moving, the fog disturbed by their distant actions before they, and it, went still again.
Adele hissed, "I can't see! I don't know where to go!"
"I do." Toward the movement: at least a few men still bothered the fog, pushing it from the currents and eddies it wanted to follow. He wished there were horses in the barns. Their big warm bodies would be distinctive to the mist's cool touch, even if the fog was largely kept out of the barns. But by that logic, the whole of Donnin's crew, grouped together, should be as big and warm a lump as horses, and he couldn't feel them at all. Rasim bit his lip and pushed through weariness to run a little faster.
A fence came up out of nowhere, barely visible before they hit it. Hand in hand, they went over it together, landing on its far side with thumps loud enough to shake the earth. Adele gave a short cry, then silenced herself. Rasim rolled to his knees beside her.
She lay on her back, one hand clutching the opposite wrist. Her face was set with pain, lips pressed together and eyes crushed shut. Rasim had hurt himself often enough to know not to ask if she was all right, at least not for a minute. Instead he listened hard, wondering if their crash or cries had alerted anyone to their presence.<
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No one approached them. After waiting as long as he dared, Rasim looked down at Adele again. Her mouth was still thin, but her eyes were open. No tears stood in them, though there were tracks of water down her temple. "I landed hard. It's sprained or broken. At least it's my wrist and not my ankle." She kept her voice quiet, but Rasim could still hear the strain in it.
"Don't let it go," he suggested. "I'll help you up, and we'll run again."
Adele nodded once, sharply. Rasim put his hands under her arms and hefted her to her feet, trying not to jostle her too badly. She hissed again, clutching her injured arm more tightly against her stomach. Then she nodded a second time. "Let's go."
Strange but brave, Rasim thought again, and led her through the fog.
#
A knot of worry formed in his stomach before they'd gone much farther. Rasim breathed, "How far are the barns?" and felt Adele shake her head.
"Not very. And I don't remember the fence. It could be new." A different kind of strain came into her voice, less pain than bitterness: "I haven't been allowed to get out much."
Roscord's beautiful voice cut through the fog, shockingly loud after their murmurs: "And yet you've done a remarkable job of getting out now. What an enterprising pair of children you are. The Ilyaran obviously has to die, but I've gone to a lot of trouble for you, Adele. It would be a pity to put you to the blade now."
He came out of the fog, sword dancing with the mist. It was mesmerizing, as beautiful as it was deadly. "On the other hand, cutting your throat in front of your mother would be wonderfully dramatic. After she's tried so hard, and failed so badly? That would destroy her. I might even let her live after that, just so she had to live with it. And there have been so many deaths already. A shame about my men," he said to the shock of horror Rasim felt cross his own face, "but their deaths will certainly justify yours."
Rasim's breath caught. Roscord's men were nowhere nearby, not even whispers in the fog. If they were to die, it would be at Roscord's hand, to make Donnin's crew look all the worse. He edged a step backward, wondering if he could escape notice long enough to warn Roscord's own men about him.
Instead he nudged something with his foot. He glanced down and went cold to the bone: a dead soldier, eyes still wide with surprise, lay hidden in the fog. Roscord had done the job already.
Which meant he expected to slaughter more than twenty men and women on his own. For an instant a twisted admiration rose in Rasim. He had never met anyone as insanely ambitious as the islands lord. He hoped he never would again. Shivering, Rasim looked up.
Roscord was gone. He had fallen silent after his threat, and now the thick fog swallowed him. Alarm spiked through Rasim. He reached out with his magic, searching for the disturbances that were human-made, not just wind moving water through the air, and found none.
None. Not even Donnin's crew, not even Adele, who stood so close Rasim could still see her. Rasim swallowed a sound of panic. He wasn't the strongest of sea witches, but even tired, he should certainly be able to find people in the fog. Maybe the reason witches stayed within Ilyara and the guilds was that the longer they were away from Ilyara, the weaker their magics became. A strong captain like Asindo could have remained away from the city for months before losing his power, but Rasim's small talents had bled away far more quickly than that. Why wouldn't they warn their journeymen about something like that? Or maybe it didn't matter, because normally witches with limited skills weren't assigned to sailing vessels.
Grimly, he shut his panic down. Wondering and fearing would do no good. If he couldn't use magic to find Roscord, he would manage some other way. They were close to Donnin's crew now; they had to be. Roscord wouldn't murder his own men at a distance, not if he wanted to hang it all on Donnin. Rasim stepped closer to Adele, guiding her into the mist. Roscord couldn't be everywhere at once, and they were better off moving than remaining where he knew their location.
He couldn't even move the mist to clear a path for their feet. Step after step they edged forward, Rasim with an arm around Adele, who still held her injured wrist close to her stomach. As long as they didn't lose each other, he promised himself, they would be all right.
Roscord appeared out of the fog again. Rasim and Adele both gasped and staggered back, but the warlord was staggering himself. He used his sword as a cane, and clutched his heart as he wheezed. Rasim took a bewildered step forward, uncertain of what was happening to the man.
"Witch," Roscord spat. The effort of speaking made him turn purple. "Squeezing… my heart!"
Too late Rasim realized if it was his heart, then the gods were doing Donnin's work for her. But he was too close to Roscord by then, and the dying warlord rallied the last of his strength. He swung his sword, leading with the hilt, not the blade, and bashed Rasim in the temple.
An impossible voice shouted Rasim's name, and the last thing he saw was his own blood dripping from the sword as it fell toward him a second time.
Chapter 24
Warmth surrounded Rasim, softness gentler than a down duvet. The air was warm too. Air. He was breathing, or dead. Darkness suggested dead, and then a familiar voice said, "Give us some brightness."
Dead, then. Dead without a doubt, and the goddess Siliaria had taken on a guise she knew he would find familiar. There was no other reason for her to ask for a light in Captain Asindo's voice.
The desired light flared. Rasim crushed his eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of brilliance, then pried them open again. A candle went into a glass box, softening its harshness, and from the gentle glow Rasim saw he was in Asindo's cabin. In the captain's bed, in fact, which was vastly more comfortable than the net hammock Rasim usually slept in. A pang seized his heart, as sure and as painful as what Roscord had suffered. He could never deserve accommodations as fine as these, not even in the goddess's eyes. "I'm sorry, Siliaria, but I'd feel better in a berth like my own. I'm no captain."
A little silence met his request. He expected Asindo's cabin to fade into a less impressive berth, but it remained the same. After a moment or two, Siliaria spoke again, still sounding like Asindo: "He's addled."
That wasn't a very nice thing for his goddess to say. Offended, Rasim pushed up, onto his elbows. His head throbbed, dizziness sweeping him, but he got a look around before falling back into the pillows.
Asindo was there, and Hassin, and the ship's nurse, a water witch called Usia whose magic rarely met an injury it couldn't heal. Siliaria had made a mistake there, Rasim thought: his head shouldn't hurt if Usia was in the cabin. That seemed strange. Goddesses weren't generally acknowledged to make mistakes.
Slowly, slowly, it dawned on Rasim that perhaps Siliaria hadn't made a mistake at all, and that he had. "...Captain?"
A familiar chuckle rumbled. "Yes, lad?"
That was sheerly impossible. Rasim looked at the wood above the captain's bed. Polished wood, not rough or tarred like the stuff in his own berth. The diffused candlelight made it glow with warmth. They looked real, like they were part of the Wafiya he'd known. A goddess would get those details right, of course, but a goddess would also not make other mistakes if she got the details of a cabin room right.
The idea that he had been wrong, that the fleet hadn't been lost, that he had only somehow missed them in the North—those thoughts were too large to consider. He would drown in them if he let himself think too hard, so instead Rasim cleared his throat, still staring at the captain's cabin and not quite letting himself look at the captain himself. "I see you've promoted me. Thank you. I think I'll be very comfortable in this cabin."
Another little silence rolled through the cabin. Then Hassin laughed. "I told you he'd be all right. Goddess, Rasim, we thought you were dead! What happened?"
Rasim sat up again, very carefully this time. Usia muttered and came to examine his head, scowling when Rasim winced. He had a deep booming voice and surprisingly gentle hands, the former of which scolded Hassin and the latter of which brushed hair away from the pounding spot on
Rasim's skull. After a moment the weight of Usia's magic rolled over Rasim, witchery calling to the water within a human body and speeding the healing process. The pain receded. Rasim slumped, and Usia finally spoke to him: "Sorry you woke up in pain. I couldn't finish the job until I was certain your brains hadn't been mashed by that idiot with the sword."
"Roscord." Rasim's hands turned icy. "Where is he? What happened? Is Adele all right? I thought I heard—"
He'd thought he'd heard a ghost, is what he'd thought. The voice of a drowned friend. Rasim clutched Asindo's blanket to himself and watched the older crew members exchange glances. Asindo nodded, and Hassin let out an explosive breath.
"Roscord escaped. The witchery being used on him—well, no one expected to see you, Rasim. Everyone lost control for a moment, and he ran. We thought you were dead. Again. When you weren't, that girl—Adele? She thought we should keep it secret that you still lived, in case of spies among us. So we brought you back to the ship for a burial at sea, we said, and Adele went with her mother, that pirate woman. She said she'd explain to her mother about you later."
"Donnin," Rasim said hollowly.
Hassin nodded. "Right. Donnin. Except she's evidently not really a sailor, but landed gentry of some kind."
He paused and Rasim nodded, filling in the blank. "She's the lady of a holding on one of these islands. Roscord raided her lands and took her daughter. We were trying to...get her back." It seemed preposterous when said in such simple words. "Roscord escaped? How? Where?" Silly questions. Besides, Rasim knew the warlord had allies on one of the Northern ships. Rasim probably knew more of the how and why than his crewmates did. It didn't matter. What did matter was, "You're alive."
The others exchanged looks again. This time Asindo spoke. "We've been in no danger, lad. It's you we thought dead. What happened?"
