Standing up, I was suddenly struck by the sheer number of people around us. Not just the people now surging every which way on the shore, but the people beyond, in the boats on the lake. Rowboats and sailboats, canoes, a few double-masted ketches. All were oriented around the little crescent of beach at the base of the waterfall. All had faces riveted in our direction.
Oh, by the Light. Could we have made more of a spectacle?
Face flushing, I dropped my gaze back to the folk on the beach. Ellamae had moved to my side, her fingers pressed over my wrist to take my pulse, and in her absence were two more figures, one familiar, one not. The stranger was looking me up and down, his face arranged into polite surprise. He had the same copper skin as Ellamae and a thatch of crow-black hair, almost completely hiding the silver circlet over his brow.
He saw me looking at him and offered a slight incline of his head. “I imagine we’ll make formal introductions presently,” he said. “But I’m Valien.”
Ellamae’s husband. . . . and King of the Silverwood.
I dipped to return his courtesy and wobbled, my head swimming. At that, the other person slipped past him to loop my arm around his shoulder.
“Happy solstice, lolly,” he said. “You sure know how to make an entrance.”
I turned to look at Rou Roubideaux—the man who’d abducted me, the man who’d watched Celeno kill his brother mere weeks ago. A thin, fresh scar made a vertical line above his left eye like a spider’s thread, pale against his rich brown skin. He must have felt me stiffen, because the corner of his mouth lifted.
“Lotta water under our particular bridge, hey lolly?”
I released a breath and leaned on him gratefully. “Quite a lot.”
“I’ll make my apologies once you look less like you’re about to keel over.”
“As long as you let me make mine.”
He gave a short squeeze.
Mona, meanwhile, was looking past me, her chin lifted. “Bring him onto the boat, Arlen. Keep the guard.”
I watched as a young freckled man with dirty blonde hair and an eyepatch over one eye hurried to join the two soldiers escorting Celeno down the hill of snow. I slipped out of Rou’s grip and was about to hurry after him, when I heard Mona say, “Colm, great Light, stop staring and have the sailors pull to shore.”
I stopped in my tracks and turned back again, where among the people rushing this way and that, one was standing still. I’m not sure what I had pictured—someone with his sister’s slender build and steely gaze. But Colm barely looked like Mona at all. He shared her golden hair, but his beard was red, and his face was tinged pink from work in the sun. He was uncommonly tall, and built like a bear, trading Mona’s willowy lines for broad shoulders and big hands. Not exactly the pampered, bookish scholar I’d surmised—he looked more like a ship’s bosun or deckhand. More than that, though, was the visible emotion sketched across his face. Mona’s was always guarded—his was wide open, hiding none of his shock as he stared fixedly at me.
Mona murmured to a few more of her soldiers before looking back over her shoulder. “Colm, the rowboat.”
Colm shook himself from his paralysis, his face shuttering like hers often did, and he turned and strode down the pebbled beach. He lifted his arm and called out over the water to a rowboat bobbing not far away.
I hesitated, but then made myself turn back to Celeno. He’d finally found his feet at the base of the snow pile, but the soldiers didn’t ease their grips. They hauled him forward, stopping a few feet in front of Mona. He was as ragged as me, miles away from the overpolished image his attendants had prepared for the negotiations in Lilou, but his jaw was set as he faced the queen. She looked him over coolly. I hurried to stand between them.
“Well,” Mona said, as one might greet a dog that has made a mess in the house. Several yards behind her, Colm reached out to grasp the hull of an incoming rowboat. With a powerful heave, he pulled it halfway onto shore. “Celeno Tezozomoc, Seventh King of Alcoro, I did not expect we would be meeting again so soon, and certainly not on my own shores. I would be remiss if I didn’t welcome you cordially to Lumen Lake.”
He looked up at her, his face bloodless, took one sharp breath, and then crumpled to the ground.
The two soldiers flanking him lurched downward with his fall, just barely managing to keep his face from hitting the rocks. My stomach dropped, and I dove down to catch him.
“Oh, by the Light!” Ellamae’s fringed leather boots appeared at my shoulder. “Lean him back—get his feet up!” She rolled him so he was on his back, his head in my lap. She slapped away the soldiers who were still attempting to restrain his arms and waved toward the rowboat. “Val, help me get him into the boat.”
Valien hurried to join us, winding his arms under Celeno’s shoulders and hoisting him off the ground. Between the three of us, we carried him to the boat. I clambered in, cradling Celeno’s head. Ellamae climbed in behind us, situating his feet up on the seat. After her came Mona, clearly displeased with the whole affair, and Valien and Rou. Arlen hopped into a second boat with a cadre of soldiers and skirted out into the lake. Colm leaned on our hull, giving us a shove out onto the water, and then jumped inside without getting his feet wet.
“Pull away,” Mona called to the sailors at the oars, raising her voice over the wind. “And don’t bother with the ship. Take us directly to Blackshell.” She tucked the edges of her fur-lined cloak closer about her. “No sense in pretending to stand on ceremony.”
With Celeno stretched out in the front half of the boat, the only free space was on the seat next to his feet. Colm stepped past Mona and the others to settle down on it. I dropped my gaze back to Celeno’s slack face. Ellamae had moved up to his collar. She unfastened the sodden cloak around his shoulders and unbuttoned his top few buttons. Frowning at his clammy skin, she unhooked her own cloak, pine green and embroidered with laurel branches, and tucked it over him.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. The wind carried my voice away, so I tried a little louder. “Thank you.”
She grunted and held the back of her hand to his mouth. “He’s a mess.”
“We came a long way,” I said.
“I meant it generally,” she said dryly. “He’s got the shakes, and his heart rate is through the proverbial roof. What’s he on?”
“On?”
“What medicines is he taking?”
“I gave him some ginger a few days ago, for his stomach,” I said.
“Indigestion? Or ulcers?”
My brain seemed to ratchet into place, as if finally reaching comprehension. Ulcers. Of course. He had always suffered from them when he was under stress. “It must have been ulcers.”
“Try boneset next time, or comfrey. Ginger won’t do a damn thing for ulcers.” She lifted his eyelid and peered at his pupil. “Is he taking any narcotics?”
“Not in the past few days,” I said. “He used to take a few tinctures throughout the day, and a sleeping draught at night.”
She stared at me a moment and opened her mouth to continue, when a particularly violent gust of wind made the rowboat rock in the water. Her hands jumped to either side of the hull. A spray of freezing water swirled into the air, soaking my already dripping cloak and wet hair. I shivered and pulled Ellamae’s cloak further up to Celeno’s chin.
“Here.”
I looked up to see Colm unhooking the pearl clasp at his throat. He held it out to me—it was midnight blue and embroidered with white thread.
I shook my head. “I’ll get it dirty.”
Ellamae plucked the cloak from his hand and passed it to me. “Take it. I’m not reviving anybody who comes down with the chills, and I’m willing to bet Colm has other pretty ones.”
He nodded seriously. “I have at least two other pretty ones.”
Reluctantly, I unbuttoned my own cloak and took his. It was double thick and quilted, and still warm from his body. Gratefully I eased into it, shivering.
Ellamae glanced over her s
houlder, to where Mona, Rou, and Valien were engaged in a deep conversation. She leaned a little closer to me, trying to keep her voice low while still being heard over the wind.
“Did you get the letter?” she asked.
My heart jumped. From Ellamae? From the Silverwood? “What letter?”
Her brow furrowed. “Oh.”
I looked past her to Colm, who was staring determinedly back the way we’d come, where the giant shining waterfall was losing some of its intensity. I started to call out, but the wind gusted once more. Ellamae grabbed for the hull again, squeezing her eyes shut. I closed my mouth and hunched forward over Celeno, giving up the idea of pursuing the conversation until we were off the lake.
Despite the wind, the three rowers made short work of bearing us across the mouth of the river that flowed into the southern waterways, and within a few minutes we were passing up the shore. To our right, the mainland rose in gentle snow-covered slopes until it began to buckle and soar into the great mountain range that made up the Silverwood. To our left, the misty lake spread out into the indiscernible distance, the horizon broken by towering islands. These rose high into the sky, much higher than I’d imagined, their peaks just emerging into the sun. Dotting the water were boats making their way homeward from the shining waterfall—I would have to ask exactly what solstice custom we’d interrupted, but I imagined that topic would be quite low in priority.
Quickly approaching along the main shore was Blackshell Palace, a tightly built construct of squat fieldstone towers with conical roofs. Much of it was built out into the lake, supported by stone piers and peppered with docks that extended out past the shallows. Staircases descended right into the water itself, some with platforms flanking them for swimmers and pearl divers in the warmer months. Dominating the nearest lakeside wing of the palace was a wide terrace running down toward the water, headed by a white stone statue. It was a woman, facing the lake, but we passed too far away for me to glimpse her face. She had a crown on her head—it must be a previous queen, then, or some character from legend.
We headed for a small dock. Despite the wind and snow, two crisp soldiers stood guard, eyeing us as we drew closer. Arlen’s boat beat us to the moorings, so by the time we bumped against the dock, it was swarming with soldiers.
Celeno twitched as our hull scraped the wood, his eyelids fluttering. I leaned down over him.
“Celeno,” I whispered.
He shook his head and opened his bleary eyes.
“Gemma? Wh’time s’it?”
I brushed aside his habitual question. “We’re going to get inside, where we can rest and get warm. Do you think you can walk?”
“Somebody get a stretcher,” I heard Ellamae call to the soldiers. “And get a bed ready in the healing wing.”
Celeno’s eyes widened and he pushed himself upright, the pine green cloak sliding down his chest. Without looking at him, Mona stepped smoothly onto the dock. Rou climbed out after her, followed by Valien. Ellamae stood with one boot in the boat and one on the dock, watching the soldiers scatter off to do her bidding. Celeno’s breath began to quicken, and I bit my lip—it would have been better if he’d stayed unconscious if he was going to be carried into Queen Mona’s palace.
Colm was the only one left in the boat. He stood up, bracing his feet against the rocking of the water.
He extended a hand to Celeno. “The healing wing isn’t that far.”
Celeno looked up at him. Maybe if his head was a little clearer, he’d have been able to make a guess at who Colm was, but there was no recognition in his eyes. He grasped Colm’s offered forearm and got shakily to his feet. I stood as well and arranged Ellamae’s cloak around his shoulders, fastening the silver pin at his throat.
Ellamae turned as they stepped up on the dock. “Hold on—we’re getting a stretcher.”
“I think we can make it in, Mae,” Colm said, looping Celeno’s arm over his shoulder.
Mona turned to face us for the first time. Arlen hovered at her elbow. “I want him brought to a cell, Colm,” she said without looking at me.
Both Ellamae and I started protesting at the same time, but Mona flicked her hand angrily in the air. “I don’t care, Mae—you have no obligation to treat him yourself, and a healer can tend to him just as well in the prison.”
“No, they can’t, Mona,” she said. “He needs a fire and a bed, not a mat on some stone floor.”
“I’ll thank you that my prison has cots, unlike yours,” she said stiffly. “Regardless, I won’t have him in the healing wing where there are a hundred ways to get out and access any number of weapons.”
“He’s exhausted, and sick,” I said, trying to keep my voice low. “He’s not going to attack anyone.”
Her gaze fell on me. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take that chance,” she said coldly.
My frustration flickered and rose—I was too tired to fight it. “Mona, I didn’t bring him all the way here just for you to—”
“I have a responsibility to consider my folk, as well as you,” she interrupted crisply. “Every soldier on this dock, every attendant in this palace, spent three years in forced labor under Alcoro’s flag. I’ll help you as much as I can, Gemma, but I’m not inclined to ask them to relive colonization. I apologize for the poor diplomacy on my part, but I will not apologize for prioritizing my folk over your king.”
Heat flared in my collar and cheeks, and I bit down on my lip to keep my emotions from spilling over at her. Celeno stared at the dock with eyes edged with outrage, his jaw working.
I wasn’t going to let her put him in a cell . . . I wouldn’t do it . . .
She stared me down with the unshakable look she’d given me all throughout Cyprien, the one that dared me or anyone else to challenge her. I bit harder on my lip, struggling to keep her unyielding eye contact.
Before either of us could speak again, Colm shifted under Celeno’s arm. “Why don’t we take him to a guest room, instead of the healing wing?” he suggested, his voice reflecting none of his sister’s cool ferocity. “You can set guards at the door, and he can still be tended to. And we can all sit and discuss matters without having to gather in the prison, or get him out of bed.”
Slowly, she turned her gaze on him, her demeanor unchanged. I relaxed a little out of its glare, but Colm didn’t recoil or look away. He simply gazed back with no emotion written on his face.
After a long moment, she turned on her heel. “Fine. Though I want guards at the door to the patio, too.” She spoke back over her shoulder. “And put him on the opposite end of the hall from Rou and the Wood-folk.”
Celeno stared angrily at her retreating back. Ellamae heaved a sigh and waved to Colm. “All right, a guest room it is. Hey, you, with the hair.” She pointed to a startled soldier with a vibrant red mop. “Bring me kettles to heat over the fire, and someone who’s not an idiot with herbs.”
As the soldier hurried off, Colm nudged Celeno forward. I took Celeno’s free hand and squeezed it. As we made our way up the dock, he turned his head to me.
“We shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.
“It’s all right,” I lied, painfully aware that nothing was all right.
His brown eyes drilled into mine. “Did you know where you were going?”
Colm turned his chin slightly away, as if trying to grant us privacy despite having Celeno’s arm looped around his shoulder. Swallowing, I reached into my bolero pocket and pulled out a spar of gypsum, its point now worn down to a nub. It was the crystal I’d broken off back in the room of petroglyphs. Celeno stared at it, uncomprehending.
“It’s sort of like chalk,” I said softly. “It leaves a mark.”
He looked from my hand back up at my face, and I realized he still didn’t understand—most likely because it didn’t cross his mind that I would do something so dangerous, and so treacherous.
“I put the blazes on the wall,” I explained. “After the petroglyphs. The ones we passed . . . I put them there, whenever I wen
t to scout ahead.”
His face blanched, flickering from confusion to shock.
“I had to,” I said quickly. “We couldn’t go back to Alcoro, the way things were. I had to get you here—”
He dropped my hand.
My steps slowed to a halt. He and Colm continued past me, flanked on all sides by Lumeni soldiers. They parted around me like a river, leaving me behind on the dock. Colm glanced back over his shoulder as they passed into the palace. Celeno didn’t. I gripped the gypsum in my fist until it bit into my skin, my throat burning.
Oh, moon and stars, I’d done this all wrong.
Treason. Treason. Treason.
A hand slid into the crook of my arm. I turned to see Rou smiling wearily as he settled his elbow in mine.
“My granddad used to say that crawfish only clamp when there’s nothing left for them to do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “Crawfish are weird, and so was my granddad.” He patted my hand.
I smiled feebly and wiped my nose on my sleeve. He dug in his pocket—he was wearing a Cypri-style vest and ascot, but they looked like they were made of coarser Lumeni fabric, not the light embroidered silk I was used to seeing him in. Mona must have had them tailored from what cloth was on hand. He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to me.
“Thank you.” I blotted my face, trying unsuccessfully to hold back my tears. I drew in a ragged breath. “Rou . . .” I said softly. “I’m sorry about Lyle.”
“I thought we were going to wait to do apologies.”
“It couldn’t wait. I’m so, so sorry.”
He sighed, and with a soft nudge, we continued toward the palace door, arm in arm. “Me, too, Gemma. I wish we hadn’t spent so much of our lives resenting each other. And I won’t pretend seeing your king doesn’t . . .” He drew in a short breath, his gaze on Celeno’s back as we entered the corridor. “But when I see Lyle dying, I also see you giving him last rites. Don’t think I’m not grateful for that.”
It was literally the absolute least I could have done, and it had come on desperate impulse. “They burned his body.” My voice was a whisper now. “I know it doesn’t help, but . . .”
Creatures of Light, Book 3 Page 18
