by Giles Carwyn
She glanced quickly at the dim light from the lanterns. There were a few servants chatting on the next ship over, but none of them were looking this way. The storm had abated somewhat, cutting back to a low drizzle, and she heard the distant sounds of revelry from Glory of Summer.
Climbing up the last few feet of the ladder, she came aboard. She forced herself to stand tall, act naturally. At a distance, she wouldn’t look any different than any other reveler who had stayed too long in the rain. She headed toward the next ship, but ducked behind a storage locker when she saw someone coming.
Her heart thundered in her aching chest as she heard boots cross the wet deck and stop a few feet away from her. Shark teeth flashed through her mind’s eye. She spun around, drawing her dagger and preparing to attack.
“Hot soup?” a voice asked.
Lawdon’s face scrunched up, trying to make sense of the words.
“After that long swim, we thought you might like something warm in your belly.”
“Mikal?” Lawdon said, peering at the cowled figure. He stood in the rain, a covered pot in one hand and a spare cloak in the other.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
She was too stunned to answer, and he hurried forward and crouched down on the wet deck next to her. “Hot soup. Warm cloak.” He offered them to her.
She took the steaming pot and held it close to her chest as he wrapped the cloak around her.
“Reignholtz is dead,” she said hoarsely. “And Brezelle.”
Mikal closed his eyes, and he bowed his head forward. His mouth set in a tight line. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We feared the worst.”
Lawdon swallowed past the hard lump in her throat.
“How did it happen?” he asked. “Shara’s been looking for you ever since you left. She found you with her magic, but couldn’t locate the others. She sent me to meet you while she kept looking.”
“I’m going to end this tonight,” Lawdon rasped. She couldn’t break down. Not now. She had business first. The mourning would have to come later.
Mikal looked at her but didn’t say anything.
“That bastard is going to pay for what he did. Pay with his own life this time.” She clutched the reassuring handle of her dagger.
“Lawdon.” Mikal touched her shoulder. She shrugged it away.
“Don’t touch me. I’m not here for sympathy.”
He leaned back, his dark eyes searching her face. “Tell me what happened,” he said, touching her shoulder a second time. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, fighting the tears that wanted to come.
“Sabotage,” she murmured. “Brezelle’s blood and…” Lawdon choked, then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She set the soup down. “Tonight, Vinghelt dies. I’m going to kill him. With or without your help.” She struggled to stand up, but Mikal firmly held her down.
“Calm down, Lawdon. We want Vinghelt to pay for his crimes as much as you do—”
“How dare you say that to me!” Lawdon raged, raising her voice more than she should have. She struggled to her feet and backed away from him. “This isn’t some pleasure cruise. If you had the courage to draw that blade you carry, this would never have happened!”
Mikal took a long breath and sighed. “Are you done?” he asked.
Lawdon said nothing.
“Good. Then shut up and eat.” He took the lid off the pot and offered her a spoonful. “I got you the shellfish in cream sauce you like so much.”
Lawdon clenched her teeth. “I don’t want your Fessa-be-damned soup!”
“We’ve already sent word to Laughing Breeze,” Mikal interrupted. “Reignholtz kept good men about him. They’ll get the children out of here, keep them safe.”
Lawdon tried to calm her thundering heart. That was good thinking. There wasn’t a ship in the Summer Fleet that could outrun Laughing Breeze, especially in a storm like this. Mikal offered the soup again. She considered kicking it into his face, but her mouth watered at the sight of it. Reluctantly, she sat back down and took a bite. It burned her raw throat going down, but warmed her belly.
“Was the blade poisoned?” Mikal asked. “Is that how Brezelle died? Vinghelt will be disgraced. We’ll take it before all the Summer Princes.”
“We can’t. It wasn’t poison,” Lawdon said, between bites. “It was sharks.”
“Sharks?”
She nodded. “They took him. They took Brezelle. They took Javthus and Matten.” Lawdon told him of the boat that appeared out of nowhere. It was all a setup, and they had fallen for it.
“How did you survive?” Mikal asked.
“This,” she said, grabbing the lapels of her soaking long coat. “This stupid thing. A few sharks approached, brushed against me, testing me the way sharks do, but none of them struck, they all turned away at the last second. There’s something in the coat.” She opened it and showed him the satin lining, sewed up in dozens of places, little sealed pockets.
“What is it?”
“My cabin boy, Dashiell, gave it to me. He’s a superstitious boy; his mother’s an herb woman from Tania. She sewed karryl leaves into the lining of the jacket.” She shook her head. “Said they would keep away evil spirits of the sea. I humored him. I never thought…” She swallowed. “But it doesn’t matter why. I shouldn’t be alive, and Vinghelt will think the same.”
“I see,” Mikal said. “What is your plan?”
“Assassination. Quick, simple, while he thinks he’s gotten away with it. There isn’t time for anything else. I have to strike now, before it’s too late.”
“What do you plan to do about Vinghelt’s men?”
“What?”
“I was followed on my way over here. And right now, the man who tailed me is chatting with a couple off-duty stewards on the boat next to us.”
Lawdon peered over the locker at a small group of men standing under a rain tarp, around a smoldering deck-top fire pit.
“And Vinghelt probably has at least three more men around here someplace,” Mikal continued. “If Shara can find you with her magic, then Vinghelt can find you with his. There is no element of surprise; you won’t get within three ships of him.”
Lawdon jumped to her feet, spilling the pot of soup across the deck. It didn’t matter. She was going to kill him tonight. Kill them all if she had to! The tears had begun and she couldn’t stop them.
“Come,” he said, wrapping the cloak back around her. “They probably won’t risk attacking us on the Floating Palace, but we can’t be sure. Shara and I rented a berth nearby. We can decide what to do from there.”
Lawdon’s tears had gone by the time Mikal led her belowdecks on a ship known to rent rooms by the hour during high summer.
A few men followed the two of them across the Palace, but Mikal had given them a wide berth and kept to well-lit and populated ships as much as possible. Vinghelt’s thugs never came closer.
Mikal led her down a narrow corridor lit by a single red lantern and stepped into a room at the end of the hall.
Shara met them at the door, wearing a thin underdress. “Are you all right?” she asked, reaching out, but the look Lawdon gave stayed Shara’s hand.
The Zelani stepped back, letting them into the room. The bed behind her was rumpled, the sheets and pillows tossed to the ground. Obviously the two of them had stopped to “fuel her magic” before bothering to look for anyone.
“Looks like you’ve been busy,” Lawdon said, nodding at the bed. “It’s a pity you weren’t so dedicated to your art during the duel.”
“It wasn’t Shara who—” Mikal began, but Lawdon cut him off.
“Magic was used in that duel,” she growled. “And where were you? Disappeared just like Avon Leftblade. My lord and my sister died tonight, and where were you? Fucking in this room? Fucking on the deck? Fucking…” Lawdon turned away.
“I tried,” Shara said. “They caught me unawares, and I was too slow to do anything about it.”
“You trie
d?” Lawdon practically shouted. She wanted to punch Shara’s pretty face.
“Easy, Lawdon—” Mikal put a hand on her arm, but she violently batted it away.
“Let me explain,” Shara said softly, taking a dress from the vanity and slipping her arms through the sleeves. “You may not think so, but I did what you asked. I found the person behind Vinghelt’s victories here on the Floating Palace. His name is Jesheks. He is posing as Vinghelt’s physician.”
“The fat albino?”
Shara nodded. “I was with him during the duel. I was convinced he was the one funneling magic into Natshea. I was ready to stop him, but I was wrong. He must have taught Natshea some of his art, for it was her power that she brought to bear. I tried to counter it, but I was too slow.”
“Why? Why were you too slow?”
“I never suspected her,” Shara explained, buttoning up her dress. “I scanned the woman, looked into her heart. I’ve never seen someone with that little confidence.”
Mikal laughed. “Natshea? No confidence?”
Shara nodded. “Her bravado is an act. I never suspected someone who hated herself that much could access that kind of power. I assumed she was a puppet, just like Vinghelt.”
“Then how do we kill her?” Lawdon asked.
“We’re not going to kill anyone,” Shara said.
Lawdon shook her head and started for the door.
“Think about what you are doing, Lawdon. Do you think you can just walk up to Vinghelt and cut his throat? That man took your lord’s life. Don’t let him take yours.”
“What should I do? Jump off a wall and swim away from it all, is that it, Shara-lani?”
Shara clenched her teeth. “If you can swim away from this, then, yes, you should.”
“Since when did you become a coward?” Lawdon asked.
Mikal stepped between the two women. “Hold on. Emotions are high. We’ve all—”
“Don’t waste your life on petty revenge,” Shara said, pushing Mikal aside. “I know it’s hard right now, but you will find something else that gives you joy.”
“Find something else? Find something else!” Lawdon yelled. “For an all-powerful sex-sorceress, you don’t know a damn thing about love, or loyalty, or family, or even common decency! What are you even doing here? What are you doing fucking Mikal all day long when the love of your life is on his way to Ohohhom?”
Shara went rigid. A flush crept into her cheeks.
Mikal reached for Shara, but she held up a hand, warning him to stay away. “Don’t you talk to me about love! The man I loved gave up his life eighteen years ago. He’s long gone, and there’s no reason I should curl up and die alongside him.”
An angry retort leapt to Lawdon’s mind, but the look in Shara’s eyes froze it on the tip of her tongue. The two women stared at each other for a long moment before Lawdon spoke again. “Are you going to help me kill Vinghelt or not?”
Shara sneered. “Vinghelt’s blood won’t mend your broken heart,” she said, and breezed past Mikal, knocking his hand out of the way. “Nothing will.”
She slammed the door behind her.
CHAPTER 23
Jesheks stood alone in his chambers feeling strangely dissatisfied. He considered calling a servant to fill the tub, but wasn’t in the mood for a bath. He looked at the ironwood cabinet that held the tools of his craft, then turned away. No. Not that, either. He simply wasn’t hungry for another routine exploration in the intricacies of his art.
The problem, he supposed, was that everything had gone exactly to plan. The end of his years in the Summer Seas had come too easily, and it left a bland taste in his mouth. He had so many contingency plans that would never be called into play. He had fingers in pots that would never be brought to a boil. He felt like a master physician who had been asked to butcher a pig.
From this point on, the outcome was in little doubt. The last significant opposition to Vinghelt’s authority had been defeated. Jesheks’s petty puppet would meet with the Summer Princes tomorrow, and by the end of the day they would be begging him to accept the admiralty of the Summer Fleet. Within a month they’d sail through Ohndarien and join the Opal Fleet in the Summer Seas. The combined strength of the two greatest navies in the world could overcome the fanaticism of the Silver Islanders. In eight weeks time, he and the Awakened Child would be landing on the shores of Efften, and his real work would begin. But the promise of an autumn harvest did little to ease springtime hungers.
The only lingering question in his mind was the outcome of the test he had crafted for Natshea. The child had left shortly after the duel, and Jesheks was already growing bored with her. Ever since meeting Shara, Natshea had seemed a paltry substitute for a true kindred spirit. The Zelani mistress’s potential was unlimited, and Jesheks longed to unleash it, to mold it.
He took a deep breath and cycled through his disappointment. He had always savored the hunt more than the kill. There was no helping it; he would just have to keep hunting.
Unwilling to spend another night alone in his rooms, Jesheks headed abovedeck. He loathed walking, but perhaps he could find an amusing distraction amid the revelry over Vinghelt’s victory.
Forcing his bulk up two narrow ladders, he emerged onto Glory of Summer’s wet deck. It was mostly empty, just a few servants cleaning up after the celebration as the rain fell softly. Vinghelt must have moved the party elsewhere to honor the shiphomes of his staunchest supporters. The prince had always been very generous with other people’s wine.
Jesheks was not interested in walking that far. He considered brewing some betony into an extra-strong sleeping draft and heading to bed, or—
Something at the bow of the ship caught his attention.
Shuffling forward, he noticed a woman perfectly balanced on the tip of the bowsprit. She stood absolutely still, legs together, arms at her sides. He extended his awareness toward her and briefly tested the turbulent ani swirling around her.
It was Shara, of course. Her power was unmistakable. But this was not the same woman who had bantered with him earlier in the day. She was distraught, deeply tormented. Jesheks smiled but kept control of the fluttering excitement in his chest.
She waited for him, no doubt probing him with her own magic as he shuffled across the deck to meet her. The few servants remaining on deck saw Jesheks coming, and all suddenly remembered important duties they must attend elsewhere.
He stopped at the prow just below Shara. Flipping his cowl down to reveal his face, he asked, “Have you been crying, child?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied, still staring out at the starless night. “If I wasn’t, I should have been.”
Jesheks took a deep breath, careful to remain calm. Somehow, she suddenly reminded him of himself. “I did not expect you to return so soon.”
“Neither did I,” she replied.
With a single breath, Shara swept away her turbulent emotions. She funneled all of her ani into a surge of power and wrapped it around herself as if donning magical armor and preparing for battle. As graceful as the legendary sylph the bowsprit was carved to resemble, Shara walked heel to toe down the length of it and jumped onto the deck. “I think I might have come here to kill you.”
“Really?” Jesheks enjoyed the sudden flush of fear as it rushed through his body. “Might I ask why?”
Shara smiled at him, such a sweet smile. Her lips so full, youthful. She looked barely twenty, but he knew she was older than that. Time did not move for true mages as it did for other people. Jesheks himself appeared to be in his mid-fifties, but he was half again that old.
“Consider it a favor for a friend.”
“I see.” Jesheks smiled. “Is your friend that pretty young woman who lost the duel today? Is she your apprentice?”
Shara shook her head. “No. My teaching days are over. Brezelle was just a canvas I was working on.”
He nodded. “I understand perfectly.”
“And now she is dead.”
Jeshek
s nodded reluctantly. “I had heard. A very graceless turn of events. I assure you; I had nothing to do with that.”
Shara watched him carefully, obviously searching for the truth in his words, but she kept her power to herself, not provoking a confrontation, not yet.
“And where is your canvas?” Shara asked.
Jesheks raised an eyebrow.
“Your towering young woman with the sharp tongue and eloquent blade?”
“Ah,” Jesheks said. “I must admit that I have no canvases. My art is more akin to sculpture than painting. I have sent my latest piece off to the kiln to be fired.”
“How long will she be gone?”
“Until she breaks,” he said. “Or comes back stronger.”
Jesheks watched her face; she had seemed terribly sad, almost dazed earlier, but now the wheels were turning inside her. He watched her lips for a long moment, imagining a few flecks of blood on them. Perhaps a thin cut in her chin right…there.
“Have you decided whether or not to kill me?” he asked.
“No. But I would like to discuss our proposition.”
“You would pool our knowledge? Share our experiences?”
“The idea has merit. With the archmages long dead, we are all that remains. If we do not share our knowledge, from whom will we learn?”
“What do you know about the Necani form?”
“I know you harness power from pain.”
“And why haven’t you sought knowledge of this before now?”
A flicker of a smile. “There are ten paths. Necani did not seem to lead where I wanted to go.”
“Or you were afraid to try it?”
She paused, and he waited for the benighted lie that everyone professed at first.
“Yes,” she said. “That also.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I see you are not afraid of the truth.”
