The room fell silent. I felt the guards at my back tense, felt Marielle stiffen at my side.
“I told you not to talk to Avrell about this.”
“I thought that—”
“No!” I barked, and anger sparked in Eryn’s eyes. Her back straightened and her nostrils flared briefly. Beside her, Avrell flinched, then drew himself upright, back stiff, face expressionless—the face of a diplomat, a politician. “There is no excuse,” I said. “I told you not to speak to him, and you did.”
“You weren’t doing anything,” Eryn protested, her voice cold, hard, strained.
“You aren’t the Mistress anymore,” I said flatly. “I am.”
Eryn drew in a sharp breath, held it, but said nothing. I glared at her from beside the throne, felt it flowing smoothly from one shape to another behind me.
We held each other’s gazes for a long moment, then I stepped down from the dais purposefully, motioning to Keven. “Get an escort ready. We’re heading into the city.”
“All of us?” Avrell’s voice was neutral, without any inflection whatsoever.
I glanced toward him. “All of us.”
“And where, may I ask, are we going?” Avrell asked as he fell into step beside and slightly behind me. I motioned Marielle to my other side; Eryn followed behind.
“To see Borund about a ship.”
* * *
We found Borund at the warehouse that had been set up on the Dredge, the kitchen next door bustling with activity, a few members of the Dredge’s militia standing at the doors to both the warehouse and the kitchen, their faces hard and serious, their hands on the pommels of their swords.
The escort paused outside the warehouse—blocked by the activity on the street because I’d refused to bring horses down to the slums after the mob attack—and I nodded to the Dredge guardsmen. As I stood there, I glanced down the Dredge, slid beneath the river unconsciously, felt the pulse of the street, the eddies and flows. I stared at the people, at their torn clothing, at the dirt on their faces, and beneath the river I could feel their hope. A living thing, passing through them and around the streets, seeping into the narrows and alleys that made up the deepest part of the slums. I thought of Evander, working stone in the warehouse district, thought of all the men and women he’d brought with him since I’d had the abusive work leader Hant whipped. I thought of Darryn and his militia, of the order he had imposed. And I thought of what Marielle and Erick had said before I’d placed the Fire inside of him, of how the people had hope again.
A few of the gutterscum and denizens of the Dredge paused at the sight of so many non-militia guardsmen, then caught my eye. A couple of the younger boys sneered, made rude gestures. One woman slapped one of the boys on his head, spoke to him harshly, as he glared at her.
Then the woman smiled and bowed toward me, making the sign of the Skewed Throne across her chest before moving on.
I turned back, away from the Dredge, saw Avrell watching me closely, face still expressionless. But he was gray beneath the river. So were Eryn and all of the rest of the escort.
The guardsmen moved forward.
“What can I do for you?” Borund asked as soon as my escort allowed me into the building. Behind him, women were hauling large sacks of bread still warm from the bakeries and ovens along the Dredge into the adjacent kitchen. A few came inside the warehouse and placed some of the bread on long tables before retreating back out into the streets. Behind the tables, crates were stacked almost to the ceiling, straw poking out from between the wooden slats. Dangling from the ceiling were strings of onions and garlic and smoked dried meats that would keep well in the cool, dry air of the building. From where I stood, I could see barrels labeled salted fish and on the far side of the room—
William.
I turned my attention back to Borund. “I need a ship and a crew to man it.”
Borund’s eyes widened and he turned his full attention on me. “What for?”
My entourage of guardsmen had finally caught William’s eye. He moved up behind Borund as I answered.
A day or two ago, William’s presence would have flustered me, forced me to back off. But not now, not today.
“I want to send it out as a trap,” I said, then I outlined my plan, what Erick and I had discussed. I told him about the shipwreck in Colby, about the fire, about how I could keep in contact with the ship, about the vision. I told him everything.
Through it all, I kept my eyes on Borund. He listened intently, didn’t interrupt. His only reaction was to rub his hand across his bald head, smooth down the hair that still grew in a half circle around his ears and in the back. The movement jostled the wire glasses askew on his nose, but he didn’t adjust them.
At the end, he grunted. “It’s a suicide mission for the ship, even with the guardsmen on board,” he said. “You realize that?”
I nodded grimly.
He frowned, then said, “Give me three days. I’ll find you a ship, and a captain and crew to man it.”
I nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
Borund turned back to the warehouse. For a moment, William watched me uncertainly, as if he wanted to say something, then he turned to catch up to Borund.
My gaze followed William as he paused to snatch up a sheaf of paper from a desk set against one wall, but then he ducked into the depths of the warehouse.
When I turned around, I met Avrell’s gaze.
“An interesting plan,” he said. “Let’s hope Borund can find a ship.”
I didn’t answer.
As the escort moved out onto the Dredge, Eryn came up beside me.
“You could have told me,” she said, too low for anyone else to hear.
Without looking toward her, I said harshly, “I would have. You didn’t give me enough time to figure it all out.”
Then I stepped away, leaving Eryn behind.
Chapter 8
“Borund found a ship,” I said. “And a captain and crew to man it.” It had taken him five days, not three. I’d called together the captains of the various guardsmen—Baill, Catrell, and Westen—as well as Avrell, Nathem, Eryn, and Erick, to discuss who else should be sent. We were in the same conference room Avrell had used to introduce me to everyone after I’d taken the throne, but this time the room felt different. Before it had been closed in, confined, and crowded. The few potted trees and small tables in the corners, the Skewed Throne banner against the back wall, had all been threatening. And over two months before, in these people’s eyes, I’d been nothing but an unknown, a nervous and somehow dangerous girl who’d managed to steal the throne from beneath them.
Today, I’d barely noticed the potted plants, the banner, the tables. And the men who had thought they ruled the city were hesitant, wary, and uncertain around me. Before, I’d been someone they could sidestep if they needed to, a ruler only in name, too young and inexperienced to be truly dealt with.
But almost a week ago, I’d truly claimed the throne. Not just in name, but in action. I’d become the Mistress. They’d heard from their guardsmen what had happened in the throne room. Suddenly, they didn’t feel as secure in their positions and it showed. In the way they sat in their seats, in the way a few of them wouldn’t meet my gaze.
“And what is it that you need from us?” Baill asked. He looked tired, the skin around his eyes pinched and strained. But his gaze was as penetrating as ever. He sat in his usual place at my right side, Eryn on my left, the rest of them arrayed down the length of the table on either side. Erick stood behind my seat at the head of the table. “We’re guardsmen, not sailors.”
I frowned at the curtness in his voice. “I need a small force of guardsmen to man the ship, since the intention is for it to be attacked. I asked you here to help me select the number of men on that force, as well as someone to lead them.”
“You could have done that without us,”
Westen said. “You are the Mistress.”
“I know,” I said, bristling. Then I caught Westen’s eye.
He had not meant it as a challenge.
I let some of the tension I felt ease from my shoulders, cursed silently. Baill had put me on the defensive with a single question. “I’m asking you for your advice,” I said in a much calmer voice.
Westen’s eyes narrowed in consideration. Then he nodded, as if satisfied. “Then I suggest you send at least twenty guardsmen with the crew. That should be sufficient.”
Baill snorted. “Twenty? The crew of the ship will be stumbling all over them the entire journey. And what do you expect these men to do if the ship is attacked? They’re guardsmen. They traipse around the city and stop street fights. What can they do on a ship?”
Captain Catrell’s eyes darkened at the condescension in Baill’s tone. “With all due respect,” he said, not looking in Baill’s direction, “the city guardsmen would be better on a ship than the palace guardsmen. They’re used to fighting in close quarters and in strange and varied locations. Sir.”
Baill shook his head. “But the palace guardsmen have their own ships.”
“That they barely take out of the harbor!” Catrell protested. “A trading ship is completely different.”
As the argument continued, I glanced toward Avrell, shot him a questioning look. The first time we’d had such a meeting, the guardsmen had been united, a single front in opposition to Avrell and his manipulations to get me onto the throne, Baill in control, backed by Catrell. They’d only relented when it became clear that Eryn herself had wanted me to become the next Mistress, that Avrell was simply doing what she’d intended.
But now it appeared that there was some friction between Catrell and Baill. They were both clearly on edge.
Avrell caught my glance, frowned and shook his head slightly, uncertain.
I slid beneath the river, watched the confrontation through the currents.
Catrell had set himself up in firm opposition to Baill, but I could not tell why. He seemed agitated, the flows around him harsh and swift, more gray than red, as if he were being torn between two opposing forces, being forced to choose. Baill seemed irritated that Catrell was arguing with him, but implacable, the river more focused and intent. He expected Catrell to relent, was getting frustrated that he hadn’t yet.
And Baill was completely red.
Westen, gray and harmless, was watching the entire confrontation with interest.
“But ten men isn’t going to be sufficient if they do get attacked,” Catrell said. “That wouldn’t be sufficient against a band of pirates! If this is something more—”
“If this is something more,” Baill interrupted, words forced out through gritted teeth, “it’s not going to matter if there are ten men or thirty! They’re all going to die!”
Catrell drew breath to continue, eyes flaring, but I cut them both short.
“That’s enough.” They both turned toward me, Catrell still agitated, face slightly red. I frowned at Baill, at the closed expression on his face. “I think it best to send as many guardsmen on the ship as they can handle, to give them the best chance of survival.”
Baill’s face closed off even more. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest. He became a silent wall of disagreement, of discontent.
I didn’t turn away, didn’t back down. “And,” I continued, “I think the force should be mixed. The palace guardsmen that have experience on the patrol ships in the harbor will make up the majority of the force. Select twelve men from those forces, Captain Baill.” I shifted my gaze. “I want another eight from you, Captain Catrell. Try to get men who’ve worked on the docks before, or worked on ships or come from fishing villages. Guardsmen who may be used to the ocean.”
Catrell nodded sharply, satisfied, his shoulders relaxing. He cast Baill a dark look before shifting his gaze to the table.
I turned to Westen. “Would you like to send some of the Seekers as well?”
Westen seemed surprised I’d asked. “Unless you wish to, I don’t see how they would be any more effective than the regular guardsmen on a ship.”
I nodded, then turned to the room as a whole. “Then who should lead them.”
There was a moment of suspended silence, and then Avrell shifted forward. “It should be someone you trust,” he said, “and someone who trusts you. After all, this person is going to be your link to the ship.”
I frowned, glanced toward Baill and Catrell and Westen. Out of the three of them, I trusted Westen the most, simply because I’d dealt with him and his Seekers more than any of the others, calling on them whenever I’d dreamed of someone that needed to be dealt with, someone like Corum. Catrell I knew from the excursion to Colby and the wrecked ship. Outside of that, I’d only had contact with him on a few excursions to the city, when he’d been part of my escort. No other direct contact was necessary. And Baill . . .
Baill had been busy organizing the patrols that protected the supplies in the various buildings that had been converted into warehouses and kitchens now scattered throughout the city. With Catrell’s help, since the city guard made up the majority of the force guarding each warehouse. Baill had barely been in the palace over the last few months.
So which of the three did I trust the most?
Behind me, I heard Erick shift forward, stepping up to my right side. “It has to be me,” he announced to the room.
My heart dropped. Cold fear tightened in my chest, coursed through my body like ice, tingling in my arms and fingers. “No,” I said without thinking, even as inside the cold fear shifted into an even colder acceptance.
I’d known I would be sending Erick on the ship for days, practically since the moment I’d successfully placed the White Fire next to his heart with Cerrin’s help.
I’d known, but I still didn’t want to accept it.
I caught Erick’s eyes, saw the determination there, the intent. His face was hard, his stance rigid. It was a stance I recognized instantly from the Dredge. He’d already made up his mind, and nothing was going to sway him.
On the Dredge, it would have worked. I would have backed down, as I’d done when he’d decided to recruit Bloodmark as one of his trackers. I’d known that was a mistake, but I’d relented. Because I was young, and I didn’t want to lose the only chance I had to escape the slums.
Now I was the Mistress. I didn’t have to relent. I could deny him, could order him to stay—
But I knew I wouldn’t.
Feeling the coldness deep inside, a coldness of the heart that left me feeling empty, I drew breath to agree—
But someone touched my arm.
I snapped my head around, letting anger fill my eyes. I expected the person to flinch back, to retreat.
But it was Eryn. The stern expression on her face never faltered. “It’s the best choice,” she said, her grip on my arm tightening slightly. “Out of everyone here, you trust him the most. Who else can you send?”
“I know,” I said, letting the coldness touch my voice. We’d barely spoken over the last week, since I’d confronted her in the throne room; we’d been avoiding each other as much as possible. But I still respected her advice, and so in a softer voice, repeated, “I know.”
Suddenly, twenty guardsmen didn’t seem like enough. Suddenly, the entire plan seemed flawed.
Eryn’s grip on my arm relaxed. A knowing sympathy tightened the corners of her eyes.
I turned back to the table. The coldness inside had grown, now spread to my arms, numbing them. “Does anyone want to argue?”
No one said anything. Of course, I thought bitterly, trying to shove the coldness away. Erick’s departure weakened my position, and strengthened theirs. Baill actually shifted forward, his obstinate wall relaxing with a hint of approval.
“Then Erick will lead the expe
dition,” I said, and felt something stab deep down inside me, something more than a political consideration.
Nathem leaned forward, shuffled a few pieces of parchment before him. “Then we need to discuss the allocation of provisions for the ship,” he said, and began a litany of supplies that would be needed and which warehouses those supplies could be found in.
I barely listened. His voice faded away into nothing but a dull roar, the sound like wind in my ears. The world faded to gray. But I hadn’t slipped beneath the river. This was something different. This had no focus, no intent, no currents. This was simply nothing. No feeling, no emotion. Nothing but a quiet, cold numbness, throbbing with the slow beat of my heart.
I don’t know how long the numbness held, how long I hovered in silent shock, listening to my heart. It felt like eternity, but it couldn’t have been long. When the world began to fade back in, the numbness retreating, I heard Nathem say, “—although we have enough stores. I just don’t understand how we could have misplaced those crates.”
“What crates?” Avrell asked.
Beside me, I felt Baill straighten in his seat, suddenly attentive.
Nathem shook his head, face perplexed. “There were supposed to be ten crates of Capthian wine in the warehouse on Havel Street near the wharf. Instead there were only seven when we counted.”
“Weren’t supplies missing from the Priem warehouse a few weeks ago?” I asked. The words felt distant, the coldness still enveloping me. But even as Avrell answered, the last of the numbness faded.
“Yes.” Avrell glared across the table. “Captain Baill was supposed to look into it.”
Baill shifted in his seat, the motion careful and considered. “We searched the entire Priem warehouse, using Master Regin’s master list. We found that indeed a few barrels of salted fish were missing. However, we have yet to determine if they were simply misplaced or were actually stolen.”
The Throne of Amenkor Page 53
