Godfire

by Cara Witter

  Or what little he knew of it, anyway.

  “You understand,” Kenton said, “why I don’t trust you not to kill again.”

  Behind Perchaya, Sayvil snorted.

  Kenton turned to her. “What?”

  “You’re one to talk about killing people.” She looked at Jaeme. “He got us out of Peldenar, but he didn’t hesitate to endanger my friends to do it. He doesn’t want Daniella to come with us because he doesn’t see a use for her. We’re all tools to him, and when we outlive our usefulness, he’ll leave us for the wolves.”

  Kenton grit his teeth. That was partially true—he had sold out the resistance, though they’d been the first to play the game of turning people over to Diamis.

  “That’s not fair,” Perchaya said. “He didn’t leave me there.”

  Sayvil nodded. “Because you’re important to Diamis. And if Daniella wasn’t, he’d have left her back in Peldenar without so much as a thought.”

  Perchaya shook her head. “It isn’t true. I know it might seem that way, but it isn’t.”

  Kenton didn’t argue with her, but Sayvil was right about Daniella. He would have left her there—would have preferred it. In fact, he’d spent a good part of the last ten years wanting her dead.

  Daniella’s tears were welling higher now, and she still looked at Kenton as if the two of them were the only ones in the room. “Is that why you left me there with Maldorath, to die?”

  The room went silent again, everyone turning to Kenton. “I thought your father would find you,” he said.

  “Because he’s ever done anything for me,” she said bitterly. Her jaw set. “I didn’t ask for my father to do this—whatever he’s done to me,—but you can’t stop punishing me for it. The only reason I put up with you is because I’m not going back to let him use me. No matter what you think of me, I won’t.”

  Kenton opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say, but Daniella looked around suddenly, as if only now realizing that everyone had been listening. Then she turned on her heel and ran from the room, nearly hitting Saara with the door as she opened it.

  The rest of them regarded Kenton in silence. Perchaya gave him an agonized look.

  Kenton realized there wasn’t a single thing he could say for himself. So he stalked from the room, leaving them all to complain about him in his absence.

  Kenton only got as far as the stairs before he realized Perchaya was following him. She stepped quietly behind him, not speaking, waiting for him to turn around.

  Kenton went down the flight of stairs and sat down on a bench tucked into an alcove there. Perchaya followed hesitantly behind him, then sat down beside him without speaking.

  “You can say it,” Kenton said.

  Perchaya looked at him. “Say what?”

  He sighed. “I was too hard on her. I shouldn’t blame her for things she couldn’t have chosen.”

  Perchaya paused. “That must be terrifying. To have done terrible things and not even know what they are or how they happened.” She leaned her head on Kenton’s shoulder. “But that also must have been terrible for you. Watching your father die that way. I knew your family had been killed, but . . .” She shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t know you were there.”

  Kenton stared down at his hands. “I don’t like to talk about it. For most of my life, I wasn’t sure it was real.”

  Perchaya nodded against his shoulder. “So Daniella isn’t the only one who doesn’t remember things.”

  Kenton winced. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said those things to her.” He shrugged helplessly. “But it doesn’t change what she is.”

  “No,” Perchaya said. “But it might change how you treat her.”

  He looked down at her, grateful for the comforting warmth of her body against his. “What do you want me to do?”

  One corner of her mouth quirked upward. “You could apologize. If you know how that goes.”

  Kenton groaned and leaned forward, rubbing his head. “What are the words again?”

  “Well,” Perchaya said, smiling. “You start with I’m sorry. And then you say what you’re sorry for.”

  “Not exactly a specialty of mine.”

  “Ah, yes,” Perchaya said. “But if there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s learning new tricks to get out of tight spots.”

  Kenton sighed. She was right, of course, though he hated the idea of apologizing to his father’s killer, even if she’d been nothing more than Diamis’ tool.

  Still, one didn’t blame the sword for the people it killed. Just the one who wielded it.

  Kenton reached between them and squeezed Perchaya’s arm. “All right,” he said. And before he thought better of it, Kenton stood, walked back up the stairs, and rapped softly on the door to Daniella’s room.

  He heard muffled sobs inside, and for a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer. But then a soft voice called. “Come in.”

  Kenton pushed the door open and found Daniella strewn across one of the narrow beds, her face a blotchy mess. Her eyes widened when she saw him—she’d clearly been expecting someone else, probably Jaeme or Perchaya.

  “I’m sorry,” Kenton said. “I shouldn’t have yelled all that at you, and I shouldn’t be conspiring behind your back.” He paused, sure there was more he ought to be sorry for but unable to find the words.

  Daniella stared at him like he was the ghost of his own dead father, come back to haunt them both. She sniffled loudly. “You’re . . . sorry.”

  “Yes,” Kenton said. “I am.”

  Then he shut the door again and went off to find the washroom before he could cause any more trouble.

  Forty-one

  Daniella stood at the railing near the front of the ship, shifting her weight instinctively as the bow plummeted and rose through the waves. She breathed in the fresh, salty air, a far cry from the trapped scents of too many bodies and too little room below deck. The wind blew her hair away from her face, billowing like the full sails above her. The ocean spread before her, deep and blue and seemingly endless, the sun glittering off the water.

  Up here, at least, she was able to avoid Kenton. He’d apologized back in Berlaith, but she now knew the reason for his dark looks. The truth was far from comforting.

  You killed my father. Kenton said she wasn’t the murderer, only the blade, but that didn’t make her feel better. She didn’t want to be used—not in that way, certainly.

  Not in any way.

  I happen to like weapons, Erich had said. Daniella shuddered, the bright sunny day suddenly chill.

  “There,” Nikaenor said from beside her, pointing off the port side. “There it is again.”

  Daniella followed his gaze and saw it—a brightly plumed, large-winged bird skimming the surface of the waves. As she watched, the creature dove beneath the surface and emerged several feet from where it had gone under, a flapping fish caught in its beak.

  “We’re getting close,” Jaeme said.

  Daniella startled. She hadn’t heard him approach.

  Jaeme stepped up beside her and wrapped an arm casually around her waist. He’d done that often of late, especially standing here at the ship’s rail, as if he wanted to be sure she didn’t fall into the sea. She should have felt annoyed, but instead she found it oddly sweet. Especially because after what he’d heard from Kenton back in Berlaith, she wouldn’t have blamed Jaeme for staying far from her at all times. If anything, though, the opposite had happened. She didn’t dare assume these small gestures meant anything—Jaeme touched Perchaya and Saara on the arm or the shoulder often enough, and she didn’t fancy he felt anything other than a possible brotherly affection for either of them.

  Still, his body next to hers, warming her side, his scent washing over her like the spring air after a storm—it was enough to send a shiver down her spine and for her body to lean into him
unbidden.

  If she was being honest, this terrified her almost as much as the oncoming mission.

  Which was ridiculous. Jaeme wasn’t to blame for the way her last relationship had ended. It wasn’t as if her father could have chosen the bearer of Kotali and sent him especially to watch her.

  Nikaenor wandered away, following the bird as it flew to the starboard side of the ship, and Jaeme ducked his face closer to hers. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing up here.”

  Daniella smiled up at him. “Birdwatching?”

  He grinned. “Avoiding our rematch. I finally found the veiled woman, so we can continue our game.”

  “Ha,” Daniella said. They’d played three matches of shula in Jaeme’s cabin in the early afternoon, but during the third, the veiled woman piece had slid from the board as the ship pitched over a particularly large wave. “I still maintain you pushed her. You were about to lose two out of three.”

  “I was robbed of my startling comeback.”

  Daniella cocked an eyebrow at him. “And where, pray tell, did you find her?”

  “Under my sheets,” Jaeme said. “Which means you also unjustly maligned my honor when you accused me of pocketing her.”

  “Hmm,” Daniella said. “Unless you caught her and then tucked her there.”

  Jaeme put his hand over his heart and feigned agony.

  Daniella couldn’t help but laugh. “All right. I believe you. But I certainly hope she’s the only woman you found between your sheets.” Daniella’s face immediately flushed, and she cast about for something she could say that would make that comment sound better rather than worse.

  Jaeme’s smile widened, and he elbowed her. “So far, anyway.”

  Now she was certain her entire body had turned a deep shade of crimson, and she stuttered something unintelligible that only seemed to delight Jaeme further, if that was possible.

  A throat cleared behind them, and Daniella wheeled around. Jaeme’s hand fell from her waist, and she wasn’t sure if that was because she’d moved away, or because he’d dropped his arm intentionally. Almost . . . guiltily?

  Regardless, Kenton stood there with his arms crossed. “Time to finalize our plans,” he said. “Saara and I are ready for input.”

  Daniella wasn’t certain what input Kenton would accept from her, but even if she didn’t love the idea of spending time in cramped quarters with him—and being reminded of how she had killed his father every time she looked at him—she was grateful he was including her, as well as the others. Kenton had spent the last week and a half in conference with Saara, asking her over and over to map out the entrances and exits to her aunt’s palace, how many guards would be at this entrance or that one, how visitors to the palace were likely to be received if they announced themselves this way or that.

  At least it had eventually occurred to him that the rest of them might have an opinion on the way they were about to risk their own necks.

  “I’ll tell the others,” Kenton said. “Gather in my cabin. I don’t want to be overheard.”

  Jaeme and Daniella reached the cabin before the others—a pantry-sized room consisting only of three bunks, one each for Jaeme, Nikaenor, and Kenton. It had proved a cramped place to play shula, but preferable to the deck, with the wind threatening to blow the pieces off the board, where they might roll out through the scuppers and into the sea. The board still lay on Jaeme’s bed, the pieces beside it. Daniella leaned over and found the veiled woman nestled up beside the gambler.

  “I suppose we will have to have a rematch,” she said. “So I can defend my lead.” She tucked herself up in the corner on the floor—not on the bed, where Jaeme might comment on her proximity to his sheets.

  The rest of them joined a few at a time. Perchaya took the single chair next to the tiny table that had been bolted to one of the walls. Nikaenor tucked himself up on his bunk—the topmost, where the ceiling clearance was barely the distance between his fingertips and his elbow. Jaeme joined her on the floor with his back against one of the bunk posts, and Saara and Sayvil squeezed onto the edge of the lowest bunk. Kenton came in last and perched on the small table, higher than everyone except Nikaenor.

  “All right,” Jaeme said when they were all assembled. “Let’s get this over with before we all die from breathing each other’s air.”

  Kenton ignored the jab. “Our best bet for getting safely to the jewel is for some of us to pretend to be diplomats approaching Tirostaar, and to create an opening to sneak the rest of us in.”

  “I’ll be with the second group,” Saara said. “Because if anyone sees my face, we’re all dead.”

  Perchaya looked uncomfortable and Nikaenor openly cringed.

  “Jaeme could be the diplomat,” Sayvil said. “He wouldn’t have to hide his identity. And he still wears his signet ring.”

  Jaeme twisted the ring on his hand, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “You want me to use my title to try to usurp the throne of Tirostaar,” Jaeme said. “And risk dragging my duchy into a war?”

  “If we succeed,” Kenton said, “you’ll be in with the queen. And if we don’t, Saara’s right. We’ll probably all be dead.”

  Jaeme shrugged. “Still. No need to drag my countrymen into it.”

  “Would you rather Daniella use her title?” Kenton asked. “She could announce herself just as easily.”

  Daniella shrank back. She wasn’t comfortable using her title to command respect under the best of circumstances, and it had hardly worked in the past. “The queen might let me defect if I promise to give her information about my father,” she said. “But she’d be just as likely to take me hostage and try to use me as a pawn. I can’t do anything from prison.”

  “Jaeme’s title seems safer,” Perchaya offered.

  Daniella leaned her head back against the wall. “What if we used Jaeme’s title, but Kenton played the part? Then if it comes to fleeing, Jaeme can claim it was a charlatan, and the queen will have no recourse.”

  “A charlatan with my signet ring,” Jaeme said.

  Saara nodded. “A charlatan who stole your signet ring. That could work.”

  Jaeme raised an eyebrow at Daniella. “You think he can pass as me?”

  “Ever met the queen of Tirostaar?” Kenton asked. “Because if you haven’t, she doesn’t know you from a blood mage.”

  “You’re not even Mortichean,” Jaeme said. “And no one will believe you as a diplomat.”

  “You’re fair enough to be Foroclaean,” Perchaya pointed out. “Kenton looks more Mortichean than you do.”

  That was true. Jaeme’s fair skin and blond hair were closer to Nikaenor’s than Kenton’s, or the other nobility in Southern Mortiche. “Jaemeson’s a Foroclaean name,” Daniella said. “Do you have—”

  “Yes, okay?” Jaeme said. “Yes, some of my ancestors were Foroclaean. But that doesn’t change—”

  “Kenton speaks your language,” Saara cut in, her sharp eyes considering Jaeme. “And my aunt does not. She does speak Sevairnese, but you’ll have to interact with those who don’t, which means that Daniella needs to go with him, as translator.”

  Daniella’s heart skipped a beat. She could do that. “Translator,” Daniella said. “I like that better than giving myself up.”

  “Do you think she’ll be recognized?” Nikaenor asked.

  “Not too late to dye your hair,” Kenton said.

  Daniella glared at him. “Tirostaar hasn’t sent a diplomat to my father in an age. No one will recognize me, especially if I’m dressed down as your translator.”

  Kenton seemed satisfied by the explanation, and Daniella noticed he hadn’t objected to putting their entire fate into her hands, since no one in their company would know what she was saying on their behalf except for Saara, who would of necessity be in hiding.

  She probably should have been glad, but felt
more unsettled than anything. Apologies in Berlaith aside, she seriously doubted his opinion of her had changed.

  “And what exactly will I be doing?” Jaeme asked. “While Kenton parades around masquerading as me?”

  Kenton cleared his throat. “Announcing ourselves as diplomats will allow us access to a conference with the queen, and rooms in the palace. Once we’re in, that’s when things get difficult.” Kenton leaned closer to Jaeme. “If we could get you into a room adjoining the throne room, would you be able to burrow through the stone wall? Or maybe the ceiling or the floor?”

  Jaeme gave him a flat look. “Sure. If you give me a few days. I can only manage a spoonful at a time.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Kenton said, frowning. “Saara says the walls in the castle are thick, since the whole place is carved out of the stone. But if you went with the other group, you could make footholds in the rock, enough that you’d be able to get to the various levels of the city without much trouble, yes?”

  “Probably,” Jaeme said. “If any of you are inclined to climb.”

  “Excellent,” Kenton said. “Except that once we get Saara in, she won’t be able to move around the palace freely. She’ll have to move using the sewer.”

  Saara nodded to Jaeme. “You’ll have to come with me.”

  Jaeme looked like he wished he’d stayed back in Berlaith. “In the sewer?”

  The corners of Kenton’s mouth turned up into a smirk. “The sewers of the palace are a series of small tunnels carved into the stone. They’re partitioned by metal grates, but they run everywhere. If we could loosen the stone around the grates and remove them—”

  “I’ll be able to move about unseen,” Saara said. “This is important, Jaeme.”

  All eyes shifted to Jaeme, who was glaring at Kenton as if Saara hadn’t just made a very good point. For a moment, Daniella thought he would refuse, but finally he nodded.

  Kenton looked around at the others. “So that puts Jaeme and Saara in the one group, Daniella and me in the other.”