by Megan Derr
He'd also possibly be making a gift for Kamir, and he wished he could see Chiri and Chara walking around in their little flower crowns. If he were in Harken, he'd be celebrating with Shemal and some of the palace Islanders, having their own feasting and dancing on the beach. Would Kamir have come if he'd asked? It was one of the few celebrations where Islanders had never minded outsiders; the new year was all about new things, new faces, new starts.
Swallowing, pushing the ache of homesickness away as best he could, Jader continued reading.
The children have asked after you, and wanted to know when you would be back to tell them more stories. They want to show you the new house, too. You seem to have made quite the impression. I told them you'd be home as soon as you could, but that you're doing important things for the High King. They considered that far less crucial than telling them stories, but I do not think His Majesty would be amused if I said as much.
Jader laughed. On the contrary, Sarrica would be amused and delighted, and probably insist on telling stories himself. Few ever saw the High King when he was simply Sarrica, husband and father, and a man who very much adored being both.
Idly pondering what stories he could write out for Kamir to pass on, he read the last bit of the letter, which answered the question he had from the previous paragraph.
As you no doubt deduced, we are recently moved into a new home in the city. Nothing grand, but it's handsome and spacious and well away from my family and the machinations of court. Thankfully your secretaries do not mind coming to me, as I'm unable to visit the palace every day. But of course, if you prefer I do so, it will be done.
If there's anything you'd like me to send you, some token of home perhaps, simply let me know.
Yours,
Kamir
"You look the happiest I have seen you in days," Tsarana said. "Is that from—get down!"
Jader obeyed, just as Tsarana leaped in front of him and drew his sword barely in time to block the thrust that would have put a hole in Jader's chest had either of them reacted any slower.
Their assailant rapidly became eight. Jader took a sword from one of the felled men and joined the fray, and in the end, they managed to kill six of them, the other two fleeing back into the woods from which they'd come.
The Shattered Wind soldier who'd followed them outside gave chase, vanishing into the dark woods just as the door flew open and Wessel, Cherrell, and Seredia spilled onto the patio. "What in the Pantheon?" Seredia demanded. "Were you attacked?"
"So it would seem," Jader said, retrieving his dropped letter and shaking the snow off, frowning at the places where the ink had smudged. He carefully tucked it away inside his jacket then turned to the bodies. "Do we have any idea who they were?"
Cherrell was kneeling beside one of them, and with a grunt tipped the body over so it was on its back, revealing a cheap black tunic with a rough, homemade crest embroidered on the front: a two-headed swan surrounded by a ring of evergreen needles. "Rebels."
Wessel's voice cracked out, making the servants who'd come out behind him jump. One of them vanished back into the house, and the remaining two moved forward to help with the bodies—but stopped when Wessel said something else.
"What did he say?" Jader asked.
Seredia replied, "He wants to know how the rebels knew to come here—he's angry at Cherrell, I think, though I couldn't say why."
Cherrell rose to his feet, wiping one bloody hand on his breeches, and replied coolly to Wessel.
"He doesn't know. The last time he had dealings with rebels, it wasn't anywhere near here, and the men he brought with him on this visit are all highly trusted and loyal to Abernoth. Wherever the leak is that revealed your presence, it has nothing to do with him."
Jader frowned. "Why did they attack me out here? They couldn't have known I would come out here alone; I didn't know it until I decided to do it."
"They were probably waiting until tonight to sneak into your room and kill you there," Tsarana said. "That's what I'd do in their place. A small force, break into the house, swift murder, sneak back out. Not hard to bribe or blackmail the location of your room from a servant."
Seredia's mouth flattened as she turned to repeat Tsarana's words to Wessel, who by his puzzled look hadn't been able to follow everything they'd said. Both he and Cherrell looked even angrier by the time she finished.
Movement came from the woods, and Jader relaxed slightly to see the Shattered Wind soldier who'd given chase was returning. She looked the little worse for wear, and frustrated, but alive and relatively unharmed.
"Learn anything?" Tsarana asked.
"No," the woman said bitterly. "They got away from me, given the edge they had with the terrain in the dark. Definitely Bentan, but we already knew that. Professional soldiers, by their armor and weapons, the way they moved. If I had to guess, I'd say they have horses waiting somewhere. They traveled too lightly for people traveling and staying in these woods for prolonged periods, which would be necessary, given there's not much around here outside of at least a day's ride, more like two in this weather, even with experience."
"You sound like you know snow," Jader said.
Shrugging, the woman replied, "My husband is from Cartha. I lived with him there for several years before we finally couldn't take it anymore and returned to Harken. Snow and I are old enemies."
Jader smiled briefly before the severity of the situation returned. Cherrell and several of his men were hauling the bodies away, their weapons, armor, and whatever other effects had been on them piled on a cloak taken from one. A couple of servants carried it all away at Wessel's bidding.
Following them in, shivering from prolonged exposure, Jader fell into step with Wessel. They came to a stop in Wessel's study, where the rebels' belongings had been laid out on a large, wide table. Though Jader hadn't expected much, he was still disappointed as he took in the unremarkable pile: swords, daggers, a few purses of coin, pouches of foodstuffs… a vial of murky liquid that had a purplish tone when he picked it up and held it to the light. "Swamp water, I think."
He tossed it to Tsarana, who caught it deftly and gave the vial the same thorough examination. Uncorking it, he carefully sniffed at—and wrinkled his nose. "Yes, definitely. It's been cut with some sort of herb to mask the smell, but a bit of it is still there. I guess if they couldn't stab you, they were hoping a sloppy backup plan would suffice."
Jader made a face. "I'd rather they'd succeeded in stabbing me, if swamp water was the only other option."
"What is swamp water?" Seredia asked, and beside her, Krista looked equally puzzled.
"Poisoning, I think," Wessel said, brow furrowed, exhaustion and unhappiness cutting deep lines into his face.
"Correct," Jader said. "It's a cheap, rough, but effective poison. Dump it into anything with a strong flavor and it will kill you rather quickly. It congeals the blood in a matter of minutes: not a pleasant way to die. It's taken from a type of snake that inhabits marshes, swamps, other such environments. They're particularly common to Treya Mencee, though I believe they can be found in the Triumvirate too, or at least something similar can be found there."
Seredia looked sick. "If you hadn't stepped outside…"
"I've never been more grateful for my own rude behavior," Jader said as exhaustion slammed into him. "Speaking of rude behavior, I believe I've had enough excitement for one night. Tsarana, I will trust the solving of this mystery to you. I'm not really allowed to be doing such things, anyway."
"My lord," Tsarana replied. "I'll do my best to have something worth reporting by morning."
"I have every faith. Lord Wessel, I apologize my presence made such a mess of your dinner party. I'll endeavor to make it up to you. Seredia, as always, thank you for everything. Sleep well, all. Goodnight."
He left without waiting for their replies and hastened up the stairs as quickly as his battle-exhausted body could manage. Locking the door to his room once he was inside, he then rigged the door and wind
ow with ribbons and crystal glasses from the table by his wardrobe so that he would hear it if someone tried to open either.
Once he felt relatively safe, Jader stripped, pulled on sleeping clothes, stoked the fire, and finally climbed into bed. He took Kamir's letter with him and reread it several times, mind spinning with stories for the children and what he would say in his reply.
Chapter Thirteen
Kamir sighed and smiled faintly as the men who'd delivered the last of his furniture finally departed, Charlaine escorting them out because his list of who was allowed to go through the house unsupervised was extremely short and not open for discussion.
The main room was beautiful, and he wasn't sorry he'd spent a bit more than initially intended for the sofa, chairs, table, and floor cushions that now filled it. Thankfully, that was the last of it, because as lovely as everything was, he was exhausted from the past several days of moving, settling the children, tending to Jader's estate, sending more paperwork to the courts, and the hundreds of other little things that filled his days.
Not to mention the steadily-growing problem inside him. He wouldn't show for some time yet, but according to Velina, rumors were already flying and far too accurate.
Kamir sat at his desk and gratefully took a sip of the tea Velina had left for him—but ignoring the snack she had also pointedly left. Food would not sit well on his stomach just then. Instead he turned his attention to the post, which needed to be taken care of, but was far easier a task than everything else that required his attention.
All thoughts of work fled, however, when he came upon a letter written in Jader's hand. Immediately abandoning everything else, he broke the seal and settled back in his chair to read.
Dear Kamir,
Thank you for mentioning the meeting. I admit I'm mostly relieved the Islands will be left alone a little while longer. Though I've every faith Sarrica and Allen will do right by them, I do not place the same faith in the council.
I wish I could see Chiri and Chara in their little flower crowns. I am deeply saddened I am not there to celebrate; the New Year festivities are amongst my favorite. But thinking of them does remind me of a tale I think your children will like, I've included it on the last few pages.
I've been trapped in this mothers-rejected house for more days than I care to count, and all of the dinner party guests have been trapped alongside us. I think the only person more miserable than me about this overstuffed house is poor Wessel. He's a magnanimous host, but even the Mother Ocean would find her patience sorely tried by these motherfucking Bentans. I think the snow has addled their brains, or at least frozen their manners.
For instance, no less than all of them brought up my 'Islander leanings' and were flummoxed and frustrated that I did not want to simply remove my clothes and conduct an orgy in the front parlor. That I have a lover, and our relationship is a closed one, seemed beyond their comprehension, as though Islanders are incapable of what is standard practice for most everyone else. It's quite frustrating. I thought having the conversation once would be enough, but I have been so very, very wrong.
But the tiresome conversations remind me of something else they said, that you should be grateful I am willing to take you as a lover. I told them, rather rudely, that it's quite the other way around. For all my experience with the world, I am painfully aware that you have swaths I do not, and it leaves me worried I will only add to your troubles, or do something to cause you pain or fear, and I would hate to do that. I hope you will let me know, howsoever you're most comfortable, should I ever do something wrong.
It frustrates me beyond imagining that people seem to think so little of children. I cannot even count the numbers of siblings, cousins, and such that I have. Most of my siblings are only half related to me (well, not related at all, technically, but most Islanders never held it against me, and those who do are looked at askance and reprimanded by the mothers).
I am sorry if I seem more petulant than usual. All this locked in the house nonsense is exhausting, these Bentans make no sense to me, and I am better at being a soldier than a noble. You, Allen, and the others make it look so effortless. I knew it wasn't, but I appreciate that more now.
On the bright side, Lord Wessel has stocked some truly excellent wines. I am hoping to obtain several barrels myself when we eventually make it back to civilization to do some shopping.
I hope you are doing well. Don't hesitate to let me know if you are not.
Sincerely,
Jader
Kamir sniffled and reread the letter—then realized that what he'd thought was the start of the tale was actually a postscript
P.S. Please do not let anything the others might say alarm you. We were attacked by rebels, but they weren't very good at what they did and no one was injured aside from a few bruises. We will be certain to take more care in the future. And I leave the political aspects of this matter wholly to Allen and Sarrica as much as possible.
Rebels? Attacked? Jader had almost been killed? And he'd left mentioning it to a postscript? Kamir was going to kill him.
Taking a deep breath, he finally turned to the story Jader had included, smiling softly over how much Chiri and Chara would love it.
The Tale of the First Pearl Diver
Once upon a time, when the oceans were still young and not many Islanders yet lived on the land granted them by Mother Ocean, there was a young woman, named Ashti, in love with a mother of her village, whose name was Keva. Now Ashti was very young, barely considered an adult, and Keva was some years older and held in special regard by her community for she was wise and kind and strong, and had already born many daughters, all of them showing signs of being very much like their mother, and several strong, capable sons.
Ashti had been a foolish child, and many did not think she had left her foolishness behind, for she was quiet and kept much to herself instead of joining more fully in the community. Instead of dancing and singing, or fishing or building, or any of the many other things most young girls did when they had no desire to be mothers, she often spent her days swimming. Further and further she would go, and deeper and deeper, bringing back all manner of beautiful things for the children of her family, sketching what she saw that she could not bring back.
She also brought back beautiful things for Keva, who always thanked her and offered her cool water or nectar to drink, or food to eat, but always Ashti would smile and refuse and depart again. Many declared her cold, self-absorbed, nothing at all like a woman should be. But Keva hushed them and reminded them to be kind, and carefully tucked away every treasure Ashti brought her.
Then came a day that a man from a nearby community sought a bond with Keva that would unite their communities, make them great and strong. Heartbroken, for who would ever look at a foolish woman when they could have so much prestige and authority, so many better options for people to take as lovers, Ashti fled once more to the ocean where she felt safe and welcome.
Down and down she dove, deeper and deeper, until she could scarcely surface again without her lungs bursting. Eventually she found oysters like she'd never seen before, easily missed for the way they blended into the craggy darkness to which they clung. Taking several of them, thinking to present them to her mother, she surfaced again and struggled exhaustedly to the beach. Pulling out her knife, she opened one to taste it for herself—and out spilled a beautiful stone, shaped like a perfect sphere, glistening like the moon, and gleaming with all the colors of a rainbow.
Astonished, Ashti took the rest of the oysters to her mother, then ran off to visit Keva, still damp and sandy from her day of diving. When she reached Keva, who was relaxing outside after a long feast for her family and the visiting suitor, she shyly offered the beautiful stone she'd found in the oyster.
Awed by the stone, Keva asked where Ashti had found it. Excited and proud, Ashti explained—and Keva realized for the first time that the girl she had assumed was merely bringing gifts to a community mother like so many others did, was in f
act a young woman bringing love tokens. Humbled, Keva invited her to stay for a drink, and this time would not let Ashti refuse.
In the morning, Keva proudly wore her newest gift, which came to take the name of the woman who first discovered them—what the rest of the world calls pearls. Not long after, Ashti and Keva moved into a new, larger home together, with space enough for them and the man from the neighboring community.
Over time, Ashti became a highly respected mother in her own right, and taught all her children and grandchildren how to dive for pearls, which they came to do only for those persons they most treasured. Tales of the pearls spread across the Islands, and that particular island came to be known as Shahira, Pearl Island.
Some say (especially my family) that her family remained the greatest of pearl divers, and eventually were called Belarigo, which means 'hidden depths' for our talent at diving the deepest and finding the best pearls. Everyone else likes to say our depths are very, very hidden and not worth the trouble. They're just jealous.
And that is the tale of the first pearl diver, how Shahira came by its name, and the founding mother of the Belarigo family.
Kamir smiled and tucked the story into his jacket to read to his children at bedtime, then reluctantly returned to the rest of his work, which looked even less appealing than it had before. But he needed to get it done because, though he hoped his trip to Kyrmine would remain short, there was always a chance something would go wrong and his stay prolonged. The less he had to worry about while he was gone, or upon his return, the better.
But he hadn't gotten farther than a couple of small tasks before he was helplessly drawn to Jader's letter again. Pulling it out, he read it through a third time, heart hammering as he lingered over the words:
But the tiresome conversations remind me of something else they said, that you should be grateful I am willing to take you as a lover. I told them, rather rudely, that it's quite the other way around. For all my experience with the world, I am painfully aware that you have swaths I do not, and it leaves me worried I will only add to your troubles, or do something to cause you pain or fear, and I would hate to do that. I hope you will let me know, howsoever you're most comfortable doing so, should I ever do something wrong.
