* * * *
She dreamed—a dream so vivid, she knew at once this was a memory of a past life.
She stood on the deck of a ship, one arm wrapped around the forward mast, her face lifted into the stiff breeze. Nothing but ocean around them, the waves rolling toward the horizon, great vast swells of indigo that glittered with sunlight and the foam of the ship’s passage. Six more ships followed, each with two masts, two prows, and a great deck in the center. West and west they sailed, the season growing colder, the stars shifting and changing with their passage, and if the gods were generous, if their prayers and visions held true, they would discover new lands over the horizon.
Anna knew this dream, this life. Knew this ship and this crew. Everyone dreamed such things, her father had explained when she woke in terror as a child. Like Blind Toc, who died and was reborn, so did all souls pass over the river of souls from one life to another.
And with each new life, her father said, we are free to make new choices. But remember, we are bound by those choices, life after life.
* * * *
The second time she woke, she saw patches of moonlight that seemed to roll and pitch along with the rest of her world. Her head ached, but not as much as before. Her gut felt sore and pinched. She groaned and tried to lever herself upright. Once again, hands firmly caught her by the shoulders and another vial was placed at her lips. She drank more of that soothing potion, which tasted of the familiar and the strange. She tried to thank the person, but they merely hushed her and laid a hand over her forehead, murmuring words of magic.
The aches unraveled from her bones and muscles. She sighed in relief.
“She’ll do, I think,” said a voice, the same one as before. “But you might want to take precautions.”
CHAPTER 3
She woke the third time to find herself blindfolded, her wrists and ankles tightly bound. The air was hot and close, and vibrated like a plucked string. She could taste the thick salt tang of the ocean on her tongue, the old, metallic flavor of blood, and a sourness at the back of her throat.
What happened?
Fragments of memory drifted back. Sarrész and the jewel. Riding with Raab and Maté along a winding trail toward the coast. Maté anxious. Something about brigands and smugglers—
Oh. Gods. Maté.
The entire episode flooded her memory in sharp, unwanted detail. The splash of fire when Maté threw the lantern. The shadows swarming toward them. Raab vanishing into the dark. Her capture. Maté’s blood-soaked body lying on the sands. She gasped and struggled against her bonds. Mistake. Her stomach heaved against her rib cage. Just in time she flung herself to one side and spewed.
“Steady,” a man said.
He took hold of her by the shoulders and swung her around onto her back. She rocked to and fro in a nest of cords, her stomach still fluttering and her skin drenched with cold despite the heat.
“Huh,” the man said. “I know you had a bad knock on the head, but Thea said you would do. Unless you have a touch of seasickness...”
He rested a hand on her forehead. Anna managed not to flinch, but only barely.
Ei rûf ane gôtter. Ei rûf ane strôm.
The cool green scent of magic washed through the air, erasing the stink of sweat and vomit. For a moment, Anna imagined herself standing in a pine forest, in the hills above faraway Duenne. Her stomach untangled, and she could breathe more easily.
“Better?”
Yes. For some definition of yes that included raw terror.
“Who are you?” she whispered. “And where am I?”
“Never mind who I am. As for where... You are aboard my ship.”
He had a nobleman’s accent, the vowels all rounded and soft, the rhythm languid, but with the occasional clipped tone that could be a remnant of a military life. A trace of the southern provinces, as well. Clearly not an islander.
Water splashed nearby. The man smoothed back her hair, which had come undone from its braids, then wiped the vomit from her face and neck with a damp cloth. He worked thoroughly and without any fuss, as though he’d performed this task before. He wasn’t a servant, however, not with that accent. And he had said my ship.
When he had finished, her mysterious caretaker dried her face with a clean rag. Anna heard the clatter of a bucket, then the sounds of scrubbing as he cleaned up her mess on the floor. Her head still ached, in spite of the magic, and her skull seemed to vibrate in time with the hum that filled the air.
The hum rose higher and higher, until it became a groan that set her teeth on edge. Abruptly, a whistle sounded, then dozens of feet thumped past overhead.
The man stood. His fingers brushed against her forehead.
She shrank back. Immediately, he withdrew his hand.
“Feeling better now?” he asked.
She licked her lips and shivered.
“Right. You need water. After that, some broth.”
He raised her head with one hand and set a flask to her lips. Cold, clean water spilled over her lips. She drank until the flask ran dry.
“More,” she croaked.
“Not yet. You’ll have another accident if you drink too much, too fast.”
He eased her back into her swinging cot. He was humming a melody, one that seemed to run in counterpoint to the humming from above. She recognized the tune, a popular song she recalled from her childhood back in Duenne, in the days when men and women from the Court and the University called upon her father to discuss logic and philosophy. They also brought gossip, stories about theatre and musical performances—an influx of the wider world.
The man lifted her head and brought a second flask to her lips. This one contained a mild broth, mixed with an infusion of greens. “Just a few sips,” he said.
The rich smell made her stomach lurch. She twisted away from the flask and her cheek grazed against a cloth. A bandage? Then another memory dropped into her brain. Oh gods, yes. Him. She could almost taste his blood on her tongue.
“You,” she breathed. “You’re that one.”
He gave a soft and almost soundless laugh. “Who else should I be?”
She could almost hear the shrug in the man’s voice. “You think yourself clever and strong,” she said in a low voice. “All you are is a murdering bully. Your father must be so proud—”
“Do not speak to me about my father.”
His voice was short and sharp, all trace of amusement gone. Anna flinched from the expected blow. A long moment passed, with nothing more than the hiss and hush of the ship’s passage.
At last the man sighed. “Enough games, my lady. We need to talk, you and I.”
“We have nothing to discuss,” she said breathlessly. They had killed Maté and maybe Raab as well. They had only saved her for their amusement. Once they had finished with her, she would die too.
“But we do,” he replied. “Your father, for one thing.”
Her stomach gave another lurch. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’ve had the bad luck to fall in with pirates, but the good luck to fall in with my particular company. Those others would mistreat you, just as you obviously fear. Me, I do a brisk trade in runaways. Your father will likely pay a high price to see his daughter safely home.”
So that is why he had kidnapped her. She’d evidently played her part too well with the innkeeper and everyone else on Vyros. Well, then, let us continue the charade.
Anna lifted her chin and stared in the direction of his voice. “You shall have your money, you miserable piece of scum,” she said coldly. “And after that, my father will have you whipped.”
At that he laughed out loud. “Oh, you are magnificent. They must miss your sparkling conversation at Court.”
She lunged at him, teeth snapping. He only laughed louder. All at once Anna’s fury deserted her. Maté was dead. So were t
he others, lying like bloody rags on the sands. All the arrogance in the world could not recall them. She choked back a sob, glad the blindfold hid her tears.
It was my fault. I insisted we follow that signature. I lost myself in magic. If only I had listened to Maté…
“Would it help if I promised my people will not harm you?” he asked quietly.
“You’ve already harmed me,” she whispered. “You murdered my—my people.”
“I have my own dead from that encounter. But I see your point.” There was a brief pause, then he said, “Was that man your lover?”
If the ropes were not bound so tightly, she would have savaged him. Maté was her friend. Her companion. Her ally. The one person in Lord Brun’s household she trusted. Had trusted. It was her fault he was dead, and there was nothing, nothing she could do to bring him back.
Her eyes burned with tears. All those lessons from her tutors—how to kill with a single word, how to shape the magical current into a weapon—tumbled through her mind.
But there were too many unknowns for such an attempt, even if she could bring herself to kill. The size of the crew. The other magic-worker who had tended her during the night. In spite of her grief and rage about Maté, she was not yet done with caution.
“I have no lover,” she muttered. “They are not worth the trouble.”
The man said nothing. Anna wished she could see his face, to guess what he might be thinking. From far away, a sailor called out. Another echoed his words, then the floor beneath her leaned to one side. How many hours or days had passed since they had taken her prisoner?
“Where are you taking me?” she said reluctantly.
“Have you decided to cooperate?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No. But if you do, you’ll find it makes your time aboard easier.” When she did not answer, he sighed. “Very well. Let us take these matters in smaller steps. Will you consent to eat, Lady Vrou? Then we can talk about terms and parole. I’ve already sent word to your father, but we have a month or more before he replies.”
And those months would be spent as this man’s prisoner. What then? Barône Klos would deny her, of course. Meanwhile Sarrész would escape with the Emperor’s jewel. He might even find a buyer this time. Any number of rebel provinces might wish to turn the Emperor’s chief weapon against him to regain their freedom.
She frowned and pretended to consider. “Very well. But I want to see your face before I promise anything. You won’t untie me, I know, but please take off the blindfold.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Hold still now. My people tied these knots very tight.”
He took hold of her chin with one hand and slid the blade underneath her blindfold, just behind her ear. With a quick jerk, he cut through the cloth and it fell away.
He knelt beside her, the knife in one hand, the other holding her hammock steady. His face was so close it filled her vision. Lean and angular, nearly as dark as her own, with a nose like a hawk’s and eyes the color of new straw, so pale they appeared ghostlike. A dusting of beard covered his jaw and his thick black hair was cropped short. For a moment he studied Anna with narrowed eyes. Could he see the tears on her face? Or was he calculating the size of the ransom?
“Happier now?” he said. “Or is that a foolish question?”
Her lips curled back, but before she could make a reply—or bite him—a rap at the door interrupted.
“Captain!” a boy called out. “Daria’s back. She’s got news.”
The man’s attention veered from Anna to the door. She caught a flicker of—anticipation? triumph?—in his expression, but just as quickly it vanished.
“Of course she does,” he called back. “Tell her to report to my cabin. Pass the word for the rest of my officers. Oh, and we better have Thea as well.” To Anna, he said, “As for you, you have a temporary reprieve from our discussion. Expect me back before the glass turns.”
He exited the cabin and shut the door firmly. Anna sank back into the swinging cot. Her stomach felt hollow, her bones felt weak. She whispered her own invocation to the magical current, which eased the remaining aches in her skull, but she could do nothing about the panic that fluttered just beneath her ribs.
Before the glass turned. Did that mean an hour? Or less?
For the first time, she took stock of her surroundings. Her prison was a stark box of a room, everything scrubbed clean and polished smooth. Bright sunlight poured through the small porthole, and a faint whiff of magic, like freshly crushed herbs, overlaid the sour smell of sweat and vomit. Off to one side was a stack of crates. One held a tray with biscuits. Another had a pitcher of water and a mug. On the floor she spied a few crumpled sheets of paper. Letters to my supposed father.
She twisted her hands, trying to loosen the ropes, until her wrists were raw. No luck. She spent a useless moment wishing the captain had cut the cords, but the man was no idiot. A murderer, yes. A kidnapper. Brutal and devious. He would pretend kindness even as he planned how to extort money from her supposed situation.
She had to get away, but how?
Think, Anna, said a cool, dispassionate voice from her memory. Identify the obstacles, then consider how to overcome them. Her father’s voice had led her through intractable problems of logic and magic so many times. He had never foreseen his death, or her capture by pirates, but his lessons had taken on a new usefulness over the years.
How many did she face? One captain, who would preserve her only as long as he believed Anna to be Barône Klos’s daughter. An unknown number of crew, some of them vicious, violent men. All of them vicious and violent, she corrected herself. This Daria had returned with important news, which might occupy the officers, but that left the regular watch, not to mention any special guard posted.
I have to take the chance. They won’t kill me if I’m caught. Not until they find out I’m worth nothing to them.
Another whistle sounded overhead, followed by more thumping. Anna closed her eyes and pinned her thoughts upon magic. There was a thin divide between the worlds of magic and mundane, her father always said. The tipping point, he called it. A skilled mage could cross that divide into the magical plane called Anderswar, could stand upon the edge of all the worlds and lives, but for now, Anna would be satisfied if she could unravel the ropes.
Ei rûf ane gôtter. Ei rûf ane Lir unde Toc. Komen mir de strôm...
It took only a moment to reach the balance point. Magic spiraled around her, like the breeze from Duenne’s northern hills, edged with snow and frost and the tang of pine fires. Like the sharp wind from her life dream. She reached into the rope with her magical self...
She had the barest of warnings—a spark, a sudden flare of heat. No time to counteract that spell. The ropes exploded into fire and seared her wrists. Anna bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out. Damn, damn, damn.
The magic vanished almost at once. Anna let out a gasp, then another. Her eyes blurred with tears of pain. Gods, it hurt. She didn’t need to look to know what had happened. Her wrists were burned raw and bleeding. Her boots had disintegrated into charred bits. Nothing remained of the ropes that bound her except a cloud of ashes drifting through the air.
So much for being discreet. She had to act quickly now, and never mind the rest. Gritting her teeth, Anna eased herself from the hammock. Her treacherous legs folded underneath her and she sat down with a loud thump. She cursed again, breathless and terrified, fully expecting the captain to reappear, but there was no sign anyone had heard.
No time for panicking. She had to keep moving. Teeth gritted against the pain in her throbbing wrists, Anna crawled over to the nearest porthole and hauled herself to her feet.
Finally. One small bit of luck in an ocean of disaster.
Anna had half expected to find herself on the open seas, but there, not so very far away, a thin strip of land showed above
the waves. It was not the same cove she and Maté had searched, but one very like it—a small round inlet, bordered by pale sands and tall trees.
She crept toward the door and tried the latch. Her heart jumped when it gave way. Unlocked? Truly? Either this pirate captain was stupid, or he believed her safe enough aboard his ship. Still, she could not believe he had not posted a guard.
Hardly daring to breathe, she eased the door open and peered through the opening. Nothing. No shouts or challenge. Anna slid into the narrow corridor and glanced in both directions.
One end was dark. At the other end, a ladder extended from the lower decks upward into the sunlight. She took a wary step toward the ladder. And another. She was about to take a third step when a woman’s voice sounded from the nearest hatch.
“Dammit, Andreas. I know what you think of Druss. But she is the key to our puzzle.”
“Maybe.” That was the captain’s voice. “But I can’t trust her.”
“No one asked you to,” another voice said. This one was a man’s voice, slow and cautious. “But Druss loves a good bribe, you know. If we offer enough gold, she might share a few details about that idiot. Besides...”
The conversation dropped into a murmur, but Anna had already guessed they were talking about Aldo Sarrész. She didn’t recognize the name Druss, but if—when—she reached safety, she could send word back to Brun.
Though she was tempted to linger to overhear more of that fascinating conversation, Anna forced herself to continue along the corridor to the ladder. Below, the rungs dropped into a thick darkness that stank of grease and fish and oil. Above her was the sky and open deck. She set both hands on the rails and climbed the ladder, teeth gritted against the pain from her burns. A step below the deck she paused and listened. No alarm had been sounded, but for all she knew, ten pirates stood about waiting for her to show herself.
She poked her head above decks.
Her luck was holding true, she thought as she scanned the ship. Fifty yards of the narrow deck, if that, stretched out from bow to stern. Perhaps ten yards from side to side. She counted four men in view, all of them facing the opposite direction, plus half a dozen boys and girls racing up and down the rigging, hallooing to each other.
A Jewel Bright Sea Page 3
