Mistress of Winter

by Giles Carwyn

  The song rose to a crescendo, and she opened her mouth, breathing as raggedly as the dancers below.

  “Now!” Reef screamed. “Now! Now! Now!” The music suddenly ceased as the dancers tossed their instruments aside.

  Reef lunged at the fire, and Ossamyr thought he would immolate himself, but he grabbed a log with both hands and tossed it away. The rest of the dancers followed, yanking the wood from each bonfire, scattering it across the dust and ash of the basin floor. In moments, the fires had been extinguished, and the entire area was a cloud of swirling cinders.

  Coughing, Ossamyr peered below with watering eyes, straining to see what happened next. A steady breeze from the ocean lifted the smoke and ash, played with it, swirled it around.

  A single voice keened amid the swirling smoke. Another ecstatic howl joined it, then another. All of the dancers rushed toward the center and howled, their faces turned toward the smoky sky. The voices mingled, twisted, melding into a single, endless primal roar.

  Reef stood in the center of it all, a long crystal shard in one hand. The cinders swirled faster and faster, and the stone began to glow. A flicker of light sparked in its center, reddish, then purple. It changed to blue, then green, then blurred into a rainbow of colors.

  The embers whipped around him, forming a swirling cone that rose up into the sky. Ossamyr realized that the wind was not natural. It didn’t come from the sea but from everywhere at once.

  In her magical sight, Reef exploded in a blaze of swirling colors. She gasped and turned her head away. Her head pounded at the light, and the rainbow colors in the stone shone brighter still. The primal howl dipped, faded. The swirling wind around Reef faltered, and the cinders began to settle.

  The tingling in her skin, the warmth in her belly drained away, and she crumpled to the ground.

  A baby cried, long and wretched, and the dancers stumbled away. One by one they fell to the dust, gaunt and exhausted. Moments ago they had been vibrant and beautiful. Now they looked like hunger-stricken Physendrian beggars. An old man dropped to his knees, put a palm flat on the ash-covered ground.

  One by one, they staggered to the edges of the clearing and collapsed. Reef was the last standing. He remained upright through sheer effort of will, a lone figure presiding over a field of the dying.

  But finally he, too, dropped to his knees. He clutched the stone with all the strength left in him, but his arm sagged, and he fell to the ground. The crystal shard jarred loose from his hand and rolled a short distance away in the dust. It still glowed, but the rainbow colors faded, swirling lazily.

  Ossamyr struggled to stay upright as the dancers fell asleep all around her. Even the baby’s cry faded to a faint whimper and finally fell silent. She crept down the path into the clearing, her knees weak, her arms heavy. Wending her way through the slumbering bodies, she reached the center where Reef lay sprawled. The crystal shard pulsed softly inches from his hand. Ossamyr marveled at it. It looked just like a tiny Heartstone.

  She crouched next to it, reached out a hand—

  “Don’t touch it,” Reef rumbled, his voice cracking.

  She froze.

  His golden eyes were feverish, but they cast about, finding the shard of rainbow crystal. He scrabbled for it, took it in his hand, and pulled it tight against his chest.

  “What did it do to you?”

  “True power,” he said softly. “Has to be paid for. You can’t steal it. It has to come from…” He closed his eyes, his head moving slightly on his beefy arm.

  “You created this,” she murmured, realizing. “You drew it from the joy and vitality of everyone here.”

  He grunted. She thought that might have been a laugh. “There’s more than one kind of emmeria. Efften made the black. We make the light.”

  His words struck her like a blow to the chest, and she sat down in the dirt next to him. “How? Why? What do you do with it?”

  Reef didn’t raise his head, but his golden eyes watched her through eyelids that could barely stay open. “Brophy caged the black emmeria. We kill it.”

  “The black emmeria is—”

  “Hate,” he growled. “Fear. Spite. Anger. All that and more.”

  “And this? This, light emmeria, is…”

  “Its opposite.”

  Her breath was the only sound in the clearing, and she said, “You fight fear with joy. Hate with love.”

  “This is my truth,” he said, his words a whisper. His lips barely moved.

  She put a hand over her mouth, suddenly seeing the man on the ground very differently. He was hard, uncompromising, a steel blade that would cut down his enemies, but all for this, to create this beautiful thing, to battle the impossible at such a terrible price.

  “How long have you been doing this?” she whispered.

  “Generations.” He took a ragged breath, coughed again. When the spasm subsided, he said, “Every full moon for the past three hundred years. It’s not enough. We tried, but there are so few of us who believe. So few who are willing to pay the price. And the body has limits…” His eyelids slowly slid shut.

  She reached out, pushed a sweat-soaked lock of hair back from his brow. He jerked awake, and she yanked her hand back.

  “It’s still not enough,” he murmured, eyes closing again. “In a hundred more years, maybe. We could destroy the darkness forever. But the child is sailing, and there is no more time.”

  His head slumped forward again, and this time, he slept.

  Ossamyr touched his sweaty cheek with one finger. Turning, she glanced up at the full moon. The two shadowy guards she’d seen earlier stood at the edge of the trees, watching her, never moving, never making a sound.

  CHAPTER 10

  The warm winds of the Summer Seas blew across Lawdon’s face as she steered the ship. She certainly wasn’t happy about her traveling companions, but she couldn’t complain about the course or destination. It was good to be home, sailing the familiar waters of the Summer Seas.

  Shara had politely refused to return to Ohndarien and speak to the council on Lawdon’s behalf. The Zelani wanted to see the Floating Palace, and there was no changing her mind. When Lawdon asked her if she would look into Lord Vinghelt’s claims of magical powers, she did nothing more than give an enigmatic smile and say, “We’ll see.”

  Lawdon had wanted to throttle her, of course, but every time Shara was around, Lawdon’s anger seemed to drift away. She couldn’t help but smile at a future that seemed so bright and promising. Vinghelt was nothing but an annoying bee buzzing about.

  But whenever the Zelani stepped away, the sun slipped back behind the clouds. Lawdon kept thinking the same thing over and over again: If you were harried by a shark, should you invite another shark to save you?

  Lawdon watched Shara and Mikal laughing and whispering in the hammock they had strung between the masts of Shara’s ship. Shara’s ship. With help from Shara’s crew, heading in the direction that Shara had told them to go. Lawdon had gone north as a captain and come back as a helmsman, and it set her teeth on edge.

  It seemed like a month ago that the three of them had limped the little waterbug all the way to Port Royal. Wearing nothing but Mikal’s shirt, Shara had taken the capital of Faradan by storm. Her first stop had been the shipyards, where she traded her jeweled Zelani belt for a ship three times its value. Moon Maiden’s builder turned the ship over to Shara for the gemstone and a story, and then, to Lawdon’s slack-jawed surprise, threw in an extra sack of silver to sweeten the deal.

  Shara took the money and spent every last flake on lavish, provocative clothing, strolling the day away as she visited all of the most expensive shops in Port Royal.

  By sunset, every man, woman, and child in the Farad capital had noticed the visiting Zelani. On the following morning, Shara-lani and her “attendants” received an invitation to visit the king.

  He wined them, dined them, flattered them all. It was as if he was entertaining the Emperor of Ohohhom. Three days later, after begging S
hara to stay, King Celtigar himself led them down to the wharf to bid them good-bye. Shara glittered with rings, bracelets, and a necklace bearing a ruby the size of Lawdon’s eye, all gifts from His Majesty or his smitten barons. People actually cried at the docks as Shara sailed away. By Fessa’s fins, Lawdon had almost cried.

  “Camber!” she called.

  “Ho, Captain,” the ever-alert sailor replied from the rigging, sliding down a rope ladder toward her. The man always seemed nervous, bursting with excess energy, which led him to do twice the work of a normal man and four times the work of your average floating crew member.

  “Floating” crew always caused Lawdon’s lip to curl. She had little trust for seamen who got so drunk they missed the boat they sailed in on and had to wait for another one to pick them up, but Camber and a few others they hired in Port Royal seemed competent enough. They were all anxious to work their way back home before the Floating Palace assembled.

  “Take the wheel,” she told the man, when he jumped off the rigging onto the deck next to her. “We’re about to round the cape.”

  “Yes, Captain. You’re off to get the wine, then?”

  “No, but Mikal will jump at the chance once I tell him where we are.”

  Camber took the helm, and Lawdon stepped down from the afterdeck and strode to the edge of the lovers’ hammock. Mikal was busy nuzzling Shara’s neck. She smiled and stared up at the sky with heavy-lidded eyes as if someone were rubbing her feet.

  “Seahome Bay in a quarter hour,” Lawdon said.

  Mikal sat up. “Truly?”

  “We’re rounding the cape.”

  He squinted at her, blinked again. “And you’ve no wine.”

  “It’s in the hold.”

  “Ah!” He jostled the hammock as he leapt to his feet. It swung lazily, and he stepped away. “I’m dry as a dusteater’s heel,” he said, then stopped and cleared his throat.

  “We’re birthed from waves and born to roam

  The salty seas and distant shores

  We’re kissed by sun and licked by foam

  But…”

  He bowed deeply, his leg extending far back as he flattened himself almost all the way to the deck.

  “A Waveborn’s favorite port is home.”

  He swiveled around, rising to his full height and stepping toward the hold in one graceful movement. The wine was important, especially to a Waveborn like Mikal. Lawdon didn’t know where the tradition started, but all true Summermen quaffed a cup the first moment they saw the Floating Palace every year.

  At least Mikal would be out of her hair for a few minutes. Lawdon couldn’t bring herself to talk to Shara with him nibbling on her ear all the while. It was difficult enough for Lawdon to keep a straight thought in her head around the Zelani.

  “Can I bother you a moment?” she asked.

  “Of course.” Shara swiveled and stood up, leaving the hammock swinging behind her. “Let’s stand at the bow. I love looking forward at the sea.”

  “As you like.” Lawdon shrugged, and followed Shara forward. Always following. Annoyed, Lawdon did not wait for them to reach the bow before she started talking.

  “You seem bent on being ostentatious,” she blurted.

  The wind played with Shara’s long black hair, and she ran her fingers through it, taking a deep breath and looking out over the water. “I want to be seen,” she said. “I want news of my approach to travel.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I do.”

  Lawdon let out a little breath, fighting the urge to nod and agree with her. “I don’t know if that is the wisest course of action.”

  “You don’t think it is safe,” Shara said.

  “It’s not that—I mean, yes. It is that. The Summer Cities are dangerous these days.”

  “So you keep telling me.”

  “Then please listen.”

  “But I am. I do. You’re afraid that this Lord Vinghelt of yours will hear of my coming and arrange for something foul to befall me.”

  Lawdon nodded.

  “And he is a sorcerer?”

  “That is what we suspect.”

  Shara shook her head. “Then I doubt he will try to harm me until he has a chance to look me in the eye.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Lawdon,” Shara said, putting a gentle hand on Lawdon’s cheek. It felt wonderful, soothing her fear immediately. “Do you really think I would be so careless as to let a fledgling mage hurt me?”

  Lawdon moved her cheek away. “Don’t do that to me.”

  “I’m trying to help you.”

  Lawdon tipped her head in the direction of the ship’s hold. “Like you’re helping Mikal? Like you helped the owner of this ship?”

  Shara drew a breath but only looked contemplative. “Meaning?”

  “I don’t like cheating people. Or deceiving them.”

  Shara laughed. “This from the girl who once tried to squeeze two hundred silver stars out of Baelandra for information about where I was being tortured?”

  Lawdon firmly held on to her frown. “That was a long time ago,” she said. “And it was only one hundred.”

  “That’s not the story I heard.”

  Lawdon said nothing.

  “Tell me, really, who have I cheated? Who have I deceived? Mikal is relaxed and happy. He is bursting with newfound potential. The man who sold us this boat was more than wealthy, and he longed to be part of my legend. He will cherish that stone and the story that goes with it long after this ship has rotted to the waterline.”

  “Your ‘legend.’ Do you hear how that sounds?”

  She shrugged, and Lawdon hoped in vain for some kind of embarrassment, some hint of shame. “I am only being honest,” Shara said. “The powers I wield are unique, often dazzling. I have made my mark on the world, and the man who sold us the ship will tell his children and his grandchildren that he built the ship I sailed into history.”

  Lawdon couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “You are angry with me,” Shara said softly after a long moment, and Lawdon turned to face those dark eyes. “For taking Mikal as a lover. Aren’t you?”

  Lawdon snorted. “If I ever wanted him, I had my chance. Plenty of them.”

  “I will leave him alone, if you wish.” Shara murmured, laying her hand on Lawdon’s forearm.

  With a grimace, she wrenched herself away. “Stop it!”

  “Lawdon—”

  “Keep your…fingers out of my head,” she breathed.

  Shara smiled sadly and gave a little bow. “As you wish.” She left the prow just as Mikal emerged from the hold.

  “A vintage as fine as we may hope for,” Mikal said, waving the finest bottle on the ship. “And three cups to make the toast.”

  “Beautiful,” Shara murmured, curling into his arm.

  Seahome Bay hove into view as they rounded the cape. The Floating Palace often boasted more than a hundred ships all lashed together into one vast open-air ballroom, but only thirty ships had arrived so far. They clustered together in the calm waters off Vingheld, flying colorful pennants from their masts, but none had yet been tied together. They must be waiting for the pivot ship. This year it would be Vinghelt’s gaudy pleasure barge, Glory of Summer.

  Lawdon breathed a sigh of relief. Vinghelt had not yet returned from his “duties” in Physendria, and the Floating Palace could not truly form until he arrived. She couldn’t remember the last time the palace had formed around the same ship in the same place two years in a row, but things were changing on the Summer Seas.

  Mikal was crestfallen.

  “That’s no Palace!” he said. “We can’t drink to a gaggle of single ships!” With a flamboyant swing of his arm, he tossed the bottle and the three cups overboard. Lawdon opened her mouth to shout, but it was too late. The Summer Seas took the wine and goblets with four little splashes. She shook her head.

  “Come, my moon maiden,” he said to Shara, leading her back to the hammock. “Such a sh
ameful sight has weakened me. Let us rest our eyes until there is something worth seeing.” They tumbled backward into the hammock, almost capsizing it. It swung erratically as they settled back in, draped over one another.

  Lawdon gritted her teeth and walked back to the wheel. She scanned the waiting ships as they drew nearer and spotted the welcome blue and gold pennants of Laughing Breeze, her lord’s shiphome.

  Reignholtz would make things right. He would know what to do with the shark Lawdon had brought south with her.

  Lawdon adjusted her course, drew a long breath, and smiled. Mikal wasn’t always the fool, she had to grudgingly admit. A Waveborn’s favorite port was home.

  CHAPTER 11

  Moon Maiden slid alongside Laughing Breeze, and Lawdon gave a brief smile. Lord Reignholtz’s crowd of children had already gathered at the rail. The three eldest threw lines across as soon as the ships’ bumpers touched, and Shara’s crew lashed them to the cleats.

  Brezelle, the only child from Reignholtz’s first marriage, leapt the distance before the planks had been laid down. She landed gracefully on Moon Maiden’s deck and ran forward, throwing her arms around Lawdon.

  “Welcome home,” Brezelle said softly, her neck warm against Lawdon’s cheek. She held on for a long moment before letting go. “We were so worried.”

  “Tell me you didn’t light any candles.”

  “Only one every night,” Brezelle said, her dark green eyes looking straight into Lawdon’s. She had her father’s coal-black hair, but the high cheekbones, the delicate jaw, and the playful glimmer in her eyes were all from her mother. Lawdon had always envied her smooth, freckleless skin.

  “I told you to stop doing that,” Lawdon said.

  “I told you to stop leaving.”

  “I was under orders,” Lawdon said.

  “As was I.”

  “Whose orders?”

  Brezelle gave a flamboyant bow. “The orders of my heart, sister.”

  Lawdon laughed. The first time Lawdon laid eyes on Brezelle, she had been a stubborn toddler of two. Now she was a beautiful young woman, an aspiring duelist, heir to Reignheld, and a prize sought after by more than a few hungry Waveborn lads.