by Chloe Neill
He shifted his gaze to her, brows lifted. “That pained you?”
“I don’t care to compliment members of the Beau Monde,” she muttered.
“I’m aware.” Grant closed his eyes, rubbed his temples. “How long to Forstadt?”
She considered. “From Norgate, give or take two days. About as far as Finistère, and again depending on the wind and weather. I expect we’d go back to New London, so if your brother hasn’t returned in your absence, you could look for him there.”
“Damned convenient, that,” Grant muttered, then sighed. “Mrs. Spivey,” he called out, and given she darted right into the room, Kit guessed she’d been listening outside the door.
“My lord?”
“I’ll be accompanying Captain Brightling to the Diana. It appears the queen has more use of me yet.”
Her smile fell away. “Oh, again, my lord? We were going to make a treacle tart this evening. One of your favorites.”
That managed to pull a smile from him. “As I doubt the queen would care overmuch for the excuse of my staying to eat it, you’ll have to enjoy it on my behalf. I presume Captain Brightling would like to leave as soon as possible.”
“Please,” Kit said.
“I’ll need my trunk again, and I’ve some messages that will need to be sent.”
“Of course, my lord,” she said, and they heard quick footsteps as she rushed down the hallway.
“She’s going to hold this against me,” Kit said. “Your leaving again.”
“Probably,” Grant agreed. “You can make it up to her by sailing quickly.”
Fortunately for Grant, that was always Kit’s goal.
* * *
Kit quickly penned a message for Jin, advising him what she could of their next mission, and gave it to Sampson so the crew could be readied for what came next. When the trunks were packed and loaded, Kit and Grant bounced in the carriage for the return to Queenscliffe.
“You jump every time the carriage does.”
“The sea is smoother,” Kit said.
“Hardly,” Grant said, long legs spread across the carriage, and offered a wry smile. “It’s not because you’ve a fear of horses?”
“I don’t fear them.” She absolutely feared them. “I know my place, and theirs. And my place is where they are not.”
“Mm-hmm,” Grant said noncommittally, then glanced out the window. “Do you know why it’s called Queenscliffe?”
“I can surmise the reason for the ‘cliff’ bit,” Kit said.
“I’ve heard sarcasm isn’t an attractive quality in a single young woman.”
Kit snorted, both at the sentiment and because she’d said nearly the same thing to Jin. “That would be incorrect. It’s a very attractive quality, as it enlivens long walks and lonely days at sea.”
Grant rolled his eyes.
“Queenscliffe?” she prompted.
“Queen Morgaine, before she became queen, toured this place.”
“I know her story,” Kit said. “There aren’t many queens who led warships.”
He smiled. “No, I imagine not. Morgaine disembarked at the village, where she was to tour the surrounding towns and meet her subjects. But the weather changed, so she and her ladies were forced to take shelter at a castle on the cliff. It’s gone now,” he added. “Has been for nearly a century, after storms battered the cliffs, dropped the stone right into the sea. But it stood while Morgaine visited. It was a cold, lonely place, with the wind whipping through the hallways.
“One day, Morgaine was hungry, so she walked through the castle to the kitchens below, looking for an apple. And nearly screamed when she ran into a young man with dark hair and green eyes and a strong and honorable way about him.”
Kit snorted.
“‘Hello,’ said Morgaine. ‘Hello,’ said the young man. And the storm roared for six more days, and they spent that time together and grew to love each other. Morgaine dreaded the clearing of the weather, for she would be forced to leave the young man and continue her travels as queen. One morning, the sky dawned clear, and Morgaine, lovesick and sad, went to find her beau and wish him goodbye. But she found he’d already traveled on, knowing he had to let her go. They say we have mists and fog now because she cried copious tears for her beloved.”
Kit lifted a brow. “Queen Morgaine married a Gallic duke and had four children.”
“So she did,” Grant said with a grin. “Afterward. And she was a good and steady queen. But they say her heart lies still at Queenscliffe, and she never forgot the boy she met here, whom she loved till the end of her life.”
None of that had appeared in Kit’s history books. She narrowed her gaze. “Is any of that actually true?”
“It’s true to the tale my governess told me. Although I recall she was trying to encourage me to eat porridge at the time. Horrid stuff.”
“For once,” Kit said, “we agree.”
* * *
They reached the village proper, children playing in front of stone cottages, and linens flapped in the breeze, probably refusing to dry in the damp mist. They reached the street above the dock, and Kit was relieved to see the Diana below, albeit with a new stripe of honey-colored wood where the ball had struck her side.
Kit boarded to the waves of the villagers while Grant conducted a bit of estate business in preparation of his leaving. On the deck, Kit found energy and anticipation. Her sailors had enjoyed a few nights ashore, and were ready now to return to wind and water.
“Captain,” Jin said.
“Commander.” She nodded at Simon, checked the mast, and found Tamlin’s hair streaming in the wind. “I take it she’s comfortable with the new topmast.”
“She is.”
“The patch looks well.”
“Mr. Oglejack is confident she’ll hold to Forstadt. He’s less confident about the return. But we’ve extra lumber and ample pitch, should we need them.”
That would have to do. “Were we able to resupply?”
“Yes, although Cook was not enthused about the meat selection, so prepare for a week of mutton.”
Cook would, at least, spice the mutton, so they’d manage.
“Other than that,” Jin said, “we’re ready. Oh, and the receipts for the repair have been delivered to your quarters and await your review and signature.”
“How dare you,” Kit said, but without enthusiasm.
Grant came over the gunwale like an old salt, on his arm a basket of something that smelled incredibly tempting.
“So that’s how it is, aye?”
Kit looked back at Jin, found amusement in his eyes. “That’s how what is?”
“The very friendly look you gave the colonel there.”
“I gave no one a look.” And even if she had, it was perfectly reasonable to appreciate the fine cut of a tailcoat.
“Mm-hmm,” Jin said noncommittally, and glanced at the basket when Grant joined them. “What have you got there?”
“Meat pies,” he said, and pulled back the gingham cloth, revealing crescent-shaped rounds of golden pastry, steam rising from a small hole in the top shaped like a bird.
“Those are lovely,” Kit said. “And very kind of them.”
“They are, and they are,” Grant agreed. “And I know from experience they taste as good as they look.”
“I can take those to Cook.”
They looked down, found Louisa standing in front of them, arms outstretched and little eyes narrowed with purpose. Kit had considered—again—sending her back to New London by carriage, but since the Diana was ultimately bound for New London and Louisa had followed instructions during their last round, she decided to give the girl another opportunity.
“Thank you,” Grant said, and offered her the basket.
“Those aren’t to go into Cook’s personal supply,” Kit said,
and Louisa batted innocent eyes.
“I don’t know what you mean.” And before it could be explained, she’d disappeared into the companionway.
“Are we going to regret giving those to her?” Grant asked.
“Probably,” Kit said. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get to sea.”
She walked to the gunwale, looked out at the water. The harbor seemed smaller now than it had been when they’d arrived with the wind at their back, and they had no such luck today. And it was far too narrow for her to risk touching the current; she could get the boat moving, but she didn’t have enough control over where it ended up to risk it here.
“We’ll have to winch our way out.” Winching was so anticlimactic, and not the heroes’ exit she’d prefer to give to the villagers who watched avidly, waiting for canvas to fill with wind. But not even Tamlin had that power, so it would be a slow crawl out of the harbor.
Kit and Grant joined the work at the capstan as lines were thrown to one cleat at a time, the ship winched to that spot, and then the line was thrown again. It was hard and slow and painstaking work. But while less glamorous than leaving the village under full, crisp sail, it was a necessity.
They were able to make sail when they reached the bay, the jibs set to the cheering of the villagers as the Diana and her crew streamed toward open water.
* * *
They briefed the crew on this second mission, found significantly less enthusiasm about sailing to a tree-laden Frisian island than a treasure-laden pirate fortress. Although she’d walked away from Finistère with none of that loot, she understood the sentiment.
Kit found the sea as calm as she’d left it several days ago, and was soothed by the connection, which was a balm to conflicting emotions she’d rather not consider. The course was charted, the receipts reviewed—the villagers valued their work very highly, she found—and the sails unfurled for the voyage to Norgate. Maps were hardly necessary given that the crew were intimately familiar with the Isles’ coastline, but Simon reviewed them for form. They were forced to tack against a hard wind that refused to turn in their favor, which slowed their progress, even when Kit steered them toward favorable currents. The wasted hours added frustration, as Kit had wanted to arrive before the trio of ships. It set a certain tone, she thought, to be in position and waiting for the others.
While the sailing wasn’t easy, it was no more eventful than usual. They watched a school of dolphins in the surf, more than a few jackgulls, and the faraway spouts of whales savvy enough not to go near a naval ship.
Not eventful . . . except for the crawling unease that Kit began to feel the farther east they sailed. The sky was white as if the color had been leached away. And beneath them, chaos.
She stood near the helm, hair blowing across her face in the hard wind, trying to pick out the magic’s song. But there were intervals—pauses—when it felt as if the current had stuttered. Not unlike she’d felt on the way to Finistère. And the sensation was so strange, so unusual, that she wondered if she was the only one feeling it.
She opened her eyes, found Grant’s and Simon’s gazes upon her. “I’m going aloft,” she decided.
“Aloft?” Simon asked, head cocked.
“I want to talk to Tamlin, and I want to talk to her in her . . . territory,” she said for lack of a better word. She glanced at Grant. “Would you like to go?”
“No. I’m fine on the ground,” he said. “Or what stands in for it.”
Kit nodded, began to make her way across the boat, rising and dipping in the water, toward the foremast. Sailors jumped out of her way as she moved, and watched—she thought with pride—as she began to climb the shroud that angled toward the mast, and then swung over to the mast itself. The sea’s motion was more pronounced aloft, the mast swaying back and forth as the ship rolled, and she had to close her eyes only once to keep her bearings. Then it was hand over hand until she reached the plank just below the topmast that served as the fighting top. Tamlin sat facing the bow, one leg curled around a rope for stability.
Kit narrowed her gaze. “Are you eating a meat pie?”
“Yes,” Tamlin said, and took another bite. “You want?” she asked, holding out the remainder.
“No,” Kit said. “Why did you get one? They were supposed to go to Cook.”
“Ah,” Tamlin said with a wag of her finger. “That’s your problem there. Never let Cook get his hands on the good stuff. He’s stingy.”
“Louisa gave it to you,” Kit realized.
Tamlin grinned, mouth full, and swallowed hard. “We’re friends.”
“I’m glad of it. And I’m coming up,” Kit said, and Tamlin slid to the edge of the plank. Kit slid in beside her, and grabbed a line with white knuckles as the top rolled a good thirty degrees. But the view—so much sky, so much water—was well worth it.
“Sometimes hard to remember why we do this,” Tamlin said quietly. “I never forget when I’m up here.”
“No, I bet not.” Kit glanced at her, looked her over. “Your head?”
“Fine as ever,” Tamlin said, then ate the last of the meat pie, dusted her hands. “Yours?”
“Fine,” Kit said with a smile, and hoped that was accurate. “The wind. Is it off?”
“Can you feel it?” Tamlin’s voice held both surprise and relief.
“Not in the wind. But in the sea, yes.”
“There’s a strain in the magic.”
“That’s it exactly,” Kit said, and understood well that mix of surprise and relief. And worry. “The current stutters, as if it’s . . .”
“Broken,” Tamlin finished. “Aye.”
“Have you felt this before?”
Tamlin looked at her. “Not since we left the Isles for Finistère.”
Kit nodded at the confirmation. So it was geographic. Some phenomenon that existed nearer the Isles’ southeastern coast than the southwestern. “I’ve not felt it before that,” she said. “And how many times have we sailed the Narrow Sea?”
“Many, and aye, never before. Are we going to investigate it?”
“Not now,” Kit said. “Not while we’ve a mission to complete.” Unless their mission had some relation to it, but Kit couldn’t see how. Forstadt was hundreds of miles away, and the current between wasn’t a straight line, but a network of them, a lace of magic woven into the water itself.
“We’ll be meeting the squadron soon,” Tamlin said. “Other captains are usually much less fun.”
Kit opened her mouth, closed it again. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment to my demeanor or an insult to my leadership.”
Tamlin lifted a brow, closed her eyes in the sparkling sunlight. “It’s an insult to them, that’s for sure.”
“In that case, thank you.” She made ready to climb down the mast again, glanced at Tamlin. “If anything changes, let me know.”
Tamlin opened her eyes, and her gaze on Kit was direct. Tamlin saw the world, Kit knew, in a unique way. But she took her position very seriously. “Aye, Captain. I will.” Then she looked back toward the sea, eyes closed again. “Perhaps it’s a small thing, and this is the end of it.”
But it was only the beginning.
Eighteen
Sails ho!” was called just after dawn when they rounded the peninsula to Norgate. Kit made what minimal ablutions she could—splashed water on her face, brushed her hair, downed the tea that Louisa brought to her door—and buttoned her uniform jacket.
Grant was already on deck, nodded at her as she joined him at the gunwale.
Three frigates, long and low and triple-masted, sailed swiftly toward them. The frigates were admittedly impressive ships—rugged and loaded with guns—all three painted dark blue with glinting golden accents and carved golden figureheads.
“The Divine, the Lucida, the Delphine,” Kit said. Not just frigates, but three of the biggest and
strongest in the Isles’ fleet. The queen was very concerned about what they might find on Forstadt.
“Make for the Lucida,” Kit said, referring to the ship in the middle. And then felt for the magic again, and didn’t care for what she’d found—even more chaos than the day before. More stuttering, as if the magic thrashed against a captor. And either the magic or her frustration on behalf of it made her head ache.
“The current is worse,” she said quietly, hoping not to alarm the crew any more than necessary. “I’ll need to tell the captains.”
“What can be done about it?” Grant asked.
“Nothing I’m aware of,” Kit said. “But it is . . . unnerving.”
* * *
Simon at the helm, they made the final journey to the rendezvous, and sails were doused as the Diana coasted toward the Lucida.
“Come aboard,” called out a lieutenant in a tricorn hat, beckoning her onto the ship, which loomed a good ten feet over the Diana’s rail.
“Hmm,” Jin said quietly, while Kit considered the request.
Grant looked between them, puzzlement in his face. “What’s wrong?”
“The queen authorized the Diana to lead the way with magic, so the other captains should visit us, not the reverse. It is unusual,” Jin added. “And disrespectful.”
“Do you need backup?” Grant asked.
“I believe I’m safe from three commissioned captains,” she said, but her tone was hard. “If things change, I’ll give a signal. Otherwise, hold her steady.”
Coordinating her movement with the rocking of the sea, Kit bounded across four feet of water and over the gunwale to the Lucida’s weather deck—to the cheers and whistles of her crew.
She was led by the lieutenant across the weather deck to the ship’s plush stateroom, which held a table with ten cushioned chairs and a sofa beside. Both messes on the Diana, she reckoned, would have fit in this single room.
